<font color=#950908 face=times size=1>and there are many paths to tread</font>

and there are many paths to tread
IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on January 20, 2014 at 05:54:31 AM by arthur

She looked up at him with large dark eyes and it made his smile easier. There was something reassuring about the warmth of the brown; he had never been harmed by brown eyes. Gwen�s eyes had been blue, light like ice, and Lilith�s had been cat-green, striking in their own way but colder somehow...less inviting. Arthur had always been aware of the colour of his own eyes, the striking silver-grey which were easily the most remarkable feature of his face, defined by a darker shade at the edge of the iris. He knew that they could be cold, sometimes hard as stone, and he found it harder to make them soft than he did allowing them to be forbidding. The king worked against the trend of his own face, keeping his mouth supple in its expression and preventing his brow from furrowing overmuch as it was wont to do. With her hair pulled back away from her face, she seemed handsome, rather than pretty, but it was a kind of wholesome beauty that was so different to what he had grown accustomed to that there was an instant appeal to her. In his life before Shaman a thicker waist had been desirable on a woman, and whilst Arthur had come to find pleasure in a slimmer frame, there was something more familiar and naturally pleasing about the maid on the barrel.

The girl�s tone was conversational, and Arthur was glad that she had taken the nod from him and proceeded as such. It could be exhausting, he had found on many occasions, maintaining a conversation across a social divide when deference kept words unspoken. There was a time and a place for it, and a private conversation in a busy courtyard was not it. He was not actively exercising his office, he had no need to, but he knew well enough that it followed at his heels anyway, like a loyal old dog. The king watched her as she spoke, his eyes focused upon her face, and a chuckle rumbled warmly in his throat when she joked. The sound of laughter coming from the kitchen at his back distracted him a moment, and he turned back to peer at the building with a puzzled frown. He dismissed his curiosity quickly, in no doubt that the riddle would solves itself in the end and turned back to the girl in time to offer a sympathetic expression as she winced, her fingers probing the wound at the back of her head.

�I insist,� he said at last, his hands coming to a rest on the pommel and cross-guard of his sword, �princes must learn grace if they are to be kings, and he is proving a rather difficult student.� Smiling, Arthur checked her eyes again to see if she would pick up on the play on words, wondering if the intelligence he detected in her gaze was real, or on his part imagined. She certainly seemed articulate enough. The sound of laughter issued from the kitchen door again, and Arthur�s smile turned wry; he had no doubt as to who was responsible for the change of mood. �He has a good heart; I just think we need to work on getting it and his brain to override childish impulse.� Sometimes, despite his faith in his son, Tristan worried Arthur, and for a heart beat that concern found its way onto his face in a rare moment of unguarded expression. He had been such a boy once, he reassured himself, and he had found his way (more-or-less), in the end.

As if she deliberately sought to distract him from his more ponderous thoughts, the girl captured his attention again which drew his gaze to her dress before he had time to consciously prevent himself. Arthur covered his faux pas with another laugh, compelled to reach out and rest a warm, rough hand on the smooth skin of her upper arm in a reassuring gesture. �You do not seem barbarous to me,� he promised, with an amused twinkle in his eyes, �trust me, I have met barbarians, and you make far sweeter company.� A different man might have balked at making such a declaration, but kingship has the habit of lending confidence to the one who carries it, until self-consciousness becomes rare. Arthur had carried his crowns for long indeed and such practice often allowed him to engage bolder language without any loss of ease in his manner. In fact, the weight of the statement almost escaped his notice entirely, perhaps running the danger of it meaning more to her than to him.

She stood, before he had time to stop her, and the next moment she had fallen forwards to press against his chest. Arthur�s arms braced against her weight automatically as he tipped her gently back onto her feet and held her upright with a strong grip.
�Guards!� he shouted across the yard, leaning forwards a little so that he might search her down-turned face. He thought she seemed more than a little pale; head wounds, he knew, could be mighty troublesome things. Arthur sat her back down on the water barrel and held her steady upon its surface, anxious that she may fall off if left unattended and bang her head anew upon the cobbles. The guards came running, drawn to their monarch�s voice and Arthur glanced up at each of the young men in turn. He instructed one to go to the infirmary and warn the matron of his arrival, whilst sending the other to inform Tristan where he had gone, and make sure that the Prince found his way there too, in time.
�What�s your name?� the king asked the girl in his arms, resting a hand against her cheek to support her head in looking at him, �come now, and gently put your arm around my neck. I�m taking you to someone who can have a proper look at that head of yours.� Offering her a new smile, he helped her to her feet and wrapped his muscled arm about her waist. �I�ve got you,� he promised, �and I will accept no arguments,� he paused, a warm joking laugh finding its way out from between his lips, �I am your king, and I command it.�

_{photo by james_clear at flickr.com}
Replies:
There have been no replies.

Post a reply:

<-- -->

Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:

Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post: