<font color=#950908 face=times size=1>through mist and shadow</font>

through mist and shadow
IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on February 9, 2014 at 08:00:47 PM by arthur

She was little more than a child, Arthur realised, as he watched her shaking hands clutch at the wine goblet. She could not have been much older than Tristan, a little puppy fat still lingering in her cheeks. She should have been out playing in the snow, building forts and throwing snowballs. She had the wide eyes of lost youth as she sipped a little gingerly at the wine, and the king's expression softened a fraction. Her words told him that she was from another world, not his old home on earth but somewhere else entirely. A place where faerie meant something different, snatched from the pages of a book of fairy tales from a dusty shelf in the castle library, forgotten by all but the youngest of children. The transition could not have been an easy one; the identity of self was such a fragile thing, and to have it challenged so absolutely and so suddenly would have been enough to unsettle even the most world weary of old men.

The king could understand why she was weeping, and it completed the image of her youthfulness as she stood there, but he had no set reaction for them. He did not carry handkerchiefs on his person; a dagger, keys, a rosary, but nothing to offer a crying child to dry her cheeks. Arthur had never been a father to daughters, and on the rare occasions when his sons had wept in front of him they had never looked to him for comfort. Praise, perhaps, reassurance, certainly, but they had not desired physical aid. They would have rejected it. Tristan's tears often turned to determination, to frustrated anger, or to a strange kind of shame-faced embarrassment. All Arthur could do for Periwinkle was offer her the smallest of smiles, a softening of expression which made him seem a fraction less stern. His face did not accommodate it well, he had been a soldier and politician for far too long, and such masks once worn were impossible to discard entirely. Emotion was a thing to be hidden, sometimes used, but carefully and with judgement.

"You are young," he said, his voice easily more expressive than his face straining towards gentleness in its buzzing warmth, "and this world is new to you. I think what you need right now is company and guidance, neither of which you will find if you hide yourself away amongst trees and stone circles." The king paused, watching he expression, searching for signs of disappointment, or a teenagers righteous, indignant temper. "I will gladly supply you with a room in the castle for tonight, and you may join the court for dinner. Tomorrow, if you are agreeable, I will have my sister escort you to a little settlement a short distance from here where you can find a home until you are older. There you can make friends and learn our culture; perhaps you can learn some skills that may be of use to others." It was not what she had wanted to hear him say, but he was not going to give land to a child. It was a precious resource, and those who sought it needed a set purpose for wanting it.

"When you are older, and you have others with you who want a new home, or you have some more specific purpose for requesting land of your own, then I invite you to return and petition me anew. I will listen, and I will reconsider. I hope you will believe me, Periwinkle, when I say that I do not say this to be unfair, I believe if you heed my advice and meet with the Lady Morgana then you are most likely to thrive in this new life of yours."

_{photo by james_clear at flickr.com

ooc: sorry for the wait, I have been rather busy working on my PhD proposal. Thank you for being patient.}
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