Post by Lancelot on Feb 16, 2013 1:57:43 GMT -6
Secrets and Surprises
With Lancelot and Uriell in the Vale
Castra, Valentia Province,
South of Antoine's Wall
early October 468 AD
And as she started to near the door of the hut, he took her arm gently…
She turned toward him as he took her arm, the contact of touching, liken to a spark, a flicker of fire between them that could consume them if they were not careful. Eyes the color of frozen seawater lifted to lock with his... yet they were not frozen, not chilled or emotionless... her pupils flared wide and she swallowed at the sensation of the simple contact... her mouth half open in surprise... her pulse jumping in the soft spot at the base of her throat, almost hidden by the furs she wore for warmth. It seemed a moment frozen in time, the anticipation of something more hovering between them until the spell would be broken by the sudden intake of breath she had been holding. As she stepped back hastily, withdrawing her arm as if she had been burnt… then turned from him heading toward the warm lighted house that was Gerald and Maeve's.
The seers, prophets, or even the ones who worship the ancient god Cupid, articulate that humans are built to instantly assess a potential mate, an intuitive skill that likely developed eons ago as we struggle to rapidly sort friends from enemies. And while we still need to protect ourselves with a strong, virile mate, we regularly make up our minds about whether an individual will meet our standards as an appropriate match. And Lancelot could find no equal… nor one that could mold or shape his future… and to that end, he became a womanizer. To some, falling in love is very real, but Lancelot used to shake his head when people talked about soul mates, and he would tease the poor, mislead individuals… their attempt to grasp at some mystical ideal, reserved only for the gods or those of poetry. Then…
Then he met Uriell… now everything has changed; the disparager has become the converted… the skeptic, an enthusiastic advocate. And when she pulled her arm back he smiled. And as her legs carried her from him, he followed. The unforgiving concern of insulting a host by being late.
Once there she opened the door leaving it for him to follow inside; the modest home was warm and homey, the hearth burned bright and cheery, and the smell of good food enveloped them reminding her how long it had been since she had a proper meal. It had been weeks on patrol, before she and her men had come upon Lancelot and the Saxons. Suddenly her arms were filled with the bounding form of the little boy once more, his dark hair and cerulean eyes did indeed brand him her son, she hefted him up and nuzzled him softly, inhaling his little boy scent with a soft hum of motherly love and appreciation... then settled him back on a low bench at the table that was already peopled with Gerard and his wife, Maeve. A hand motion to them both in gratitude and warmth for the meal and she slid onto the bench with Arn... leaving a spot to her side for Lancelot, her hand motioning for him to sit.
The little boy grinned back at the knight attempting to wink back but only managed a set of blinks of both eyes, scrunching up his face to try to make only one eye close he gave up abruptly, in deference to a fit of giggles, as his mothers fingers tickled his sides playfully, though he kept his cerculean eyes trained on the stranger throughtout the dinner, occasionaly trying out the art of winking and failing miserably. It was obvious he was a well manners happy little boy, well kept by those in the vale , a little wolf pup still all wobbly legs and yipping noise.. rought and tumble and playfull. How odd such a happy enthusisatic child should belong to a lone wolf like Uriell..?
He was the guest, and as usual, kept silent as the room adjusted to his presence. Once more the boy from outside appeared. The familiarity of Mother-Son filled the silence as Lancelot stood behind her… and when the boy looked over her shoulder to him, he winked and smiled, the neatly trimmed beard quirking in the usual fashion. And when silently instructed, he too, sat at the table, next to Uriell.
"Welcome to our home Sir." Gerard spoke respectfully, his hand motions offering the hospitality of his table… "Our home is modest and our food as well, but it is good and will warm you… Wine?" he offered a pottery crock of wine, poured into wooden cups before Uriell and Lancelot, before retaking his seat. Maeve began to serve them, each with their wooden plates filled with roasted meat and root vegetables and good warm brown bread and fresh cream butter. Already the lad, Arn, was eating away, dipping bread into thick hearty gravy and gulping at his cup of milk, while his legs swayed to and fro, it was as if he were filled with energy and could never be still not even to eat.
“My thanks and good tidings to you and yours M’Lord…” as he bowed slightly to the man who met before. “Yes please…” as he took up the newly filled cup of wine… He smiled reflecting on how privileged the knights were by drinking from brass goblets… and now he drinks with the common man from wooden cups. Had he lost his sense of reality? He vaguely remembers his parents drinking from wooden cups as well.
He watched the food being served and he glanced to the woman filling the plates… Her eyes were harsh and seemed to have a bit of discontent portrayed there. Still he took the plate with both hands in respect, whispered a hearty “Thank you” and retracted to his own space.
“Arn... be still child, you are rocking the table." Maeve scolded tenderly, shaking her head at the boy, then smiling at his devilish smile he flashed her back. "Yes... Gammy " he spoke to her as a grandparent… and tried to settled, for a moment anyway, his attention drawn to Lancelot whom he watched with open admiration... he was a Knight, a thing that Arn had only heard of in Gammy's stories.
As Lancelot looked at the boy, his mind would veer to his own past, having watched many lads leave the village upon the Steppes to serve the Roman Legion in Briton… and the looks upon their faces, and those of their loved ones burned mental images upon memory. And eventually he and his sister would depart in the same fashion for the same reason.
He smiled at the boy and winked, knowing the boy would never be forced to fight for another as he had as a youth and young man. The boy was innocent and his face reminded Lancelot of his sister’s face. But the boy’s smile prevented him from slipping into one of his depressive moods at her remembrance.
This time the knight’s wink was met with a rather ingenious solving of the problem; chubby little boy fingers held one eye wide open, while the other one winked back, then he smirked almost cockily that he had managed such a feat, as the Knight had displayed...! It was odd this tanned swarthy child with dark curls, could have in another life been Lancelot’s own offspring, or what one of them would have likely looked like... a perfect blend of Lancelot and Uriell with his dark curls, and icy blue eyes, he even smirked like the Knight..! It perhaps would beg Lancelot to wonder at his paternity... he was obviously not of Pict decent with his swarthy tan and Mediterranean mop of curls... could his father have been Roman?
All the while Uri ate in silence, her twisted fingers working the fork and her own dagger on the roasted meat with skill and finesse, of a courtier. She ate with the manners of a courtly lady, no doubt the teaching of the Romans, whose home she graced while in captivity. Even slaves needed manners... and masters needed reasons for slaves to fail, so they could be punished... even such small things as table manners were life and death to a captive Roman slave.
"Will you be headed back to Camelot now?" Gerard question making light conversation... "Have they opened the markets to trade with the locals yet… in the spring we will have much to trade if we could be assured fairness and safety while there." he spoke while he was eating… "Some of the people here do not like the idea of trading with Camelot, but I reckon if it’s good enough for Merlin’s folk... then we of the Vale could make use of such an ally as well…" he sopped up some gravy with his bread and munched on it thoughtfully. "Tell us of Arthur and his Knights... what are his plans for these lands?" he questioned and pried while the dinner continued, seemingly endless questions of Camelot and it's Knights and Arthur... until finally Maeve interrupted.
Lancelot ate as the others did… and dark eyes would evaluate those present… Roman presence did have a way of affecting change… whether it was acceptable or not. And when Gerard spoke, Lancelot swallowed his food taking a drink of wine to clear his pallet, looking briefly to Uriell for reassurance. “I shall be returning soon… I am sure my duties are stacking up in my absence.” And he offered a forced smile.
He could not help but smile regarding the trade question… and wondered if Arthur had time to ponder such questions. Looking at Gerard, he took a sip of wine… “I know not of such mercantile business, but alas, I can guarantee safety at Camelot… and upon her roads, patrols of both Knights and Pict shall circuit the area. How Merlin shall handle his affairs will be worked out between leaders.” And he looked to Uriell, then back to the man… “I would think Arthur considers the Vale part of Briton… and would be glad to ally with the Vale…” then he drank some more wine.
Lancelot swallowed quickly. Was he now considered an ambassador… or just an informant of the outside world? Smiling at the boy Arn, he offered a quick glance to Uriell, then to Gerard. “Arthur and the Knights have forced the Saxon Kings to return to their enclaves, how long they shall stay. I know not.” He included himself in the feats of the Sarmatian knights serving Arthur and the pride was evident. "Arthur knows his life is here in Briton… not Rome… and we knights consider Briton our home… for we know our homes on the Steppes no longer exist for us.” He did not smile, nor did he pout… the emotionless face was stalwart… Yet inside, he knowingly faced a new life here, able to forge his own path.
“Not all of the Saxons... they still raid here, north of the wall... this is what Uri and her men tend to... they keep the Vale safe... Keep the Folk... safe." he nodded as he forked a mouth full of meat. "An ally to help rid the land of the Saxons would be a blessing... but not at the price we come under the boot of Camelot… we have suffered to long under outlanders boots." dark green eyes landed on Lancelot in warning. "They take our children, rape our women and steal our lands... can you promise this will not be Arthur’s way as well... not long ago... Your people rode with the Romans... doing their bidding... we called you Roman Dogs..." it was true... it was a tenuous peace that remained between the Picts and the leftovers of the Roman rule... those who had stayed with Arthur... the room grew uncomfortably tense as Gerard’s words were like a sharpened blade pointed at Lancelot.
"Gerard, you are being rude, do not poke the man for information while he eats at your table. He hardly has time to chew." Maeve scolded... then looked at Uriell... who was silently contemplating her plate, then talking with her hands quietly to Arn... almost obviously not looking at the Knight.
Lancelot shook his head at what the woman said, acknowledging that it was okay to ask questions. Looking back to Gerard, his smile faded… “Arthur is Breton… His father was Roman, but Arthur has come to realize that Briton is his true home… Nothing in Rome belongs to him… And we Knights… we know all too well what Roman rule is…” and Lancelot’s eyes narrowed and he focused in on the man… “Nothing is as it was… nor shall it ever be again… If you live for what was, then die you shall… whether at the blade of some invader or from loneliness of what was…” The knight then drank from his cup… “I may have been considered a Roman dog… but I am one you may wish to be friends with…” and he sat the cup down with a thump and narrowed eyes… “Unless you can fight the Saxons…”
But Maeve knew her ears pricked with each word the man spoke, and saw the little sideways glances here and there, not liking the apparent season of things the closeness the Knight and Uri had forged. Her brow lifted stubbornly as she spoke to the Knight, "Will you be leaving with the Dawn then?" she might as well have been telling him he had till dawn to leave... her tone brooked no nonsense…
Then to his surprise, she asked a question that could be interpreted or misinterpreted, depending on how one took it… “Nay M’Lady… tomorrow midday at the earliest…” then he looked to Uriell… “or later…” Then he took the cup and held it out for Gerard to pour more wine.
When he glances at her... as if to say, later, would be preferable... their gazes locked, a soft blush colored her cheeks, and the slightest pull upward of her lips could be detected... but more than , it was the softening of her eyes... she looked at him with something akin to hope... a little jump in the vicinity of her heart fluttered... and then she hastily looked back down to Arn, tending his plate, and cutting up a piece of meat for him.
Her brow furrowed as she watched Uriell further... then her hands fluttered in a way he would know she was speaking to Uriell. “You should’a nae brought him here, you put us all in danger... and don't think I do not know those looks he gives you… he'll leave your belly full with another bastard and I won't raise that one for you…” there was no mistaking the reference to a full belly when her hand rounded her own imaginary full half circle.
The only hand signals Lancelot knew were those of battle… but the flurry of fingers, and movements of hands and arms gave him an uneasy feeling… but there was one hand signal he figured out quite easily… and his dark eyes furrowed and narrowed.
Uri's face had reddened and her body jerked up to standing, shuffling the table abruptly, making the dishes rattle and dance as she went… her hands cut thru the air, efficiently and violently ending the line of conversation that Maeve was signing... then Uri's palms smacked the table loudly, her eyes cold and angry at Maeve... “Never call Arn a bastard or I'll cut your tongue from your head.” her hand movements were swift, as she hauled a stupefied Arn up by the scruff of his neck to his feet, and then up onto her hip...
They had hardly touched; much less have carnal knowledge of one another… And he was amazed at Uriell’s aggressive actions toward the woman who cared for her child. She had smacked the table, and he was thankful, his hands held the wooden cup, or the contents would have sure been spilt.
Her gaze going from a shocked Maeve and Gerard, back and forth for a moment, before she spoke… "Lancelot is honorable. He would never do that." it was the first time they had ever heard a word from her... and the shocked look on their faces were stunning to behold... and then she turned from them all stalking out into the night... with the slam of the door taking Arn with her back to her hut.
Again he would be surprised; nay, nearer, shocked… She spoke… The scratchy, hoarse speech carried some weight from anger… whatever Maeve had said, the response was surely negative… but Uriell’s words, despite the emotionless expression, made him feel proud… proud for her to see him in that light…
He had been a womanizer… surely a bastard child, or two, had been sired over the years… but had he known, he would have surely cared for the child, whether he cared at all, other than sex, about the mother. But in Uriell’s case, it was, from the moment in the cave, truly different. For the earlier days of his life, he would have charmed them and taken what he wanted from the females… Had time changed him? Had this She Wolf hexed him? Or Both?
And when she scooped up her son, and made her way from the scene… Lancelot too stood up… He took Gerard by the hand and gave thanks to the hospitality… With a silent smile, he bowed a bit to the lady of the home, then depart, following the path back to Uriell’s hut.
Once there she settled the little boy near the fire, and put on a few more logs, kneeling before him she smiled softly signing to him... "You are not a bastard... your father died in battle… You are my son... You are loved..." This she repeated over and over to him... "You are Arn... son of Uriell…" then she crushed him to her holding him tightly, her twisted fingers combing thru his dark curly hair… "You are loved."
Ahhh, a Mother’s love…!! He missed it so… The embrace of a mother and son filled his heart… He had missed the words said, but the scene was beautiful as he entered the hut. He did not speak, only smiling to the boy, offering him another wink in support.
Moving to a box, he turned it so he could sit comfortably watching… A cant of his head in response to his thoughts made him smile. He visualized she and the boy staying with him in Camelot…
She knew he was there, silent, yet she felt him as surely as she felt her own arm; there was a quiet energy about him, she would never mistake. She rose from her kneel before her son, swatting him on the bottom playfully laughing openly as he jumped about like a monkey on the smaller bed that was his... then she made a growling sound like a bear and pounced him tickling him silly. It was important to her that he know; to feel the love she had for him; that she was a good mother in the time she had with him between patrols. She wanted him to have the security, the surety she had known as a young child, before the Romans stole her life. She wanted him to have this always. It was her task in life, her life’s work, to see this child was happy and whole... into his adulthood.
It had been her task since the day she realized she carried him… that she would not let another child go silently into the darkness, by foul exile or beatings… to rid the slave’s body of its unwanted baggage. The Romans had made sure they didn’t breed with their slaves; they would not taint their blood with bastards... born of slaves. It was better to rid the mother’s of their fetus before it came to fruit... or at worst at birth... the things were left beside the road for creatures to feast on.
This time Uri had made sure her child would survive. It had been the one burning flame in her life, the rage and anger that fueled her… made her strong... gave her the reason to live; all of this was bundled into the little boy who jumped about happily on his bed, all smiles and curls... and childish giggles... Soon enough she turned to Lancelot, to catch him smiling as if he were caught up in some far away vision… and she smiled back at him shaking her head softly taking a step toward him. From behind her, Arn launched himself from the bed onto her back tackling her, with a war scream... to which she laughed and twirled about. He held onto her neck, his scrawny legs locked about her waist, struggling to wrest her down as she pretended to fight against him all the while growling like a bear, or a monster of dreams… All this was sure to entertain the knight who had never seen the famed she-wolf in such a light. She was mercurial at best... a Killer, a mother... a woman...