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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 11, 2011 19:02:10 GMT -5
Mine. Mirielle had been many things, but mine – Elua, no, never, I may have been hers, but that she be mine – that wasn't something I would easily allow myself to believe. I smiled, though, because she was, Elua, she was adorable and frankly, a younger duca would have swept her in his arms and taken her to bed without thinking of the morrow.
But I was older and wiser, and my heart knew to keep itself safe.
“Home, aye,” I replied slowly, and I gave her hand a quiet squeeze, trying to be reassuring, that she was safe with me, safer in fact than she'd ever been.
“I am healed,” I said, at last, out of the blue. I meant healed from that demon which had lashed her, and free. But she had a demon of her own, now, and one not so easily vanquished. I smiled weakly. “When have you last been astride, Angel?”
It was almost banter, and I tried not to think of her riding, of the way her graceful body moved, of her hips swaying to the rocking motion of a prancing steed.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 11, 2011 19:35:15 GMT -5
In many ways, I was quite alone now. My safety net had left by my word, already disappeared around the corner ahead, and I was standing with a man I still bore many a feelings for, ones that seemed to grow with every glance, with every word and touch, and feelings too that I was terrified of. I'd lost confidence in myself where my heart was concerned, and though my heart pounded below my breast, I knew too that I wouldn't be able to believe things were as they were. Too much heaped upon me in too short a time, and too much too to hope that things would alter. I could pine, and I somehow knew I would, but I couldn't trust that it would come to fruition.
Still, I knew I wouldn't have things any other way at this moment. He squeezed my hand and I gave him a soft smile, hoping he knew that I did trust him, else I wouldn't have sent my carriage away.
He was healed? Of what? Concern rippled through me, but before I could ask him what he meant he asked me a question.
"It's been quite a while," I admitted. "I take a carriage most everywhere since I became pregnant with Christelle, and with the poisonings directly after... I didn't want to take a chance," I added.
Abruptly I realized; I answered him, so smoothly and effortlessly, to the nickname he'd given me. Confusion blocked my senses again, not knowing or understanding, but I gave him another soft smile irregardless. "I think I remember enough not to fall off, though."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 11, 2011 20:38:00 GMT -5
Slowly, I led her back to the Cockeral, where I would beg my horse be brought. I liked having the excuse of the ride to hold her against me, and I liked having the excuse of her recent rest from it to hold her tightly.
“You won't fall,” I informed her sternly enough, though inwardly, I felt warm, and good, and happy to be with her, regardless of the past and its impact on the present.
Of all the things of which I was not assured, there was a few of which I was certain. I wanted to keep her safe, I wanted to be close to her, I had no desire to be left for another a second time around. For tonight, I could only see her home safely, perhaps ask if she would allow me to see her again, but that would be the end of it for the evening.
I had much to ponder and so silence was unbroken as we walked back to the in and the horse was queried. While waiting, I asked, still quietly, “Are you cold?”
This was surreal – all of it. I felt light-headed.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 11, 2011 21:24:26 GMT -5
He brought me so easily, and I followed along beside him, unhurried and unfettered. Christelle was sleeping, and there was no need of me to rush, though a piece of me ached fiercely as it always did to return to my daughter.
Oddly, the smile on my mouth grew a little as he so firmly repeated that I wouldn't fall, though I couldn't have said why exactly. How he could stop me, with me sitting behind him, I didn't know, but somehow I did know that he would. It was in the carriage of his body, the self-assure way he moved. There was something different; my shining Fox had grown, had changed, but it was still him. It was him.
"Not terribly so," I smiled, my Azzallese pride not allowing me to admit it even if I had been. I wanted to ask him where he'd been, wanted to ask what things had been like for him, but I just didn't know how to. I shied, and changed instead to a different topic. "Your hair's longer than I remember," I said, the smile on my face gentle, and my free hand half rose to touch it before I caught myself, and instead tucked a lock of my own hair behind my ear.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 11, 2011 21:43:48 GMT -5
I almost wanted to smirk, and managed by chance to change it to a wry smile. “It's because my face isn't as fat as it used to be,” I explained. “It's the same length, a touch shorter, maybe, even.”
I rolled my shoulders and the lad brought my trusty horse, a stallion that was just this side of restless, but trusty and enduring. I just needed another excuse to touch her. I ordered the lad to bring the stepping stool, a plan devised to allow me to have my arms around her for reasons that were perfectly legitimate.
“I'm getting old,” I jested, to justify my probably odd-sounding request.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 11, 2011 22:13:28 GMT -5
I opened my mouth before closing it, blushing anew, and wishing, Elua I wished, that I could stop coloring. I felt like a schoolgirl again.
I was saved from my own mishap, though, by the approach of his horse, and I looked to it with more curiosity than I felt, taking the distraction inadvertently given. The horse was sleek, mayhap a little hot blooded, but well bred. I had a fondness for horses, little spoken of or acted on, but admittedly one of my favorite smells was worked leather and clean horse.
He jested, and I gave him an amused smile. "Mayhap it's you we have to worry about falling off," I teased, giving his hand a little squeeze before we ended up having to separate. "I can promise to try to stop you, though."
My playfulness was unexpected even to myself, and my smile grew a little more as the boy returned with a block, setting it securely at the stallions side.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 11, 2011 22:40:08 GMT -5
“I don't need promises,” I replied before I thought better of it – it was quiet and barely audible, but there nonetheless, and I sighed at myself for my harsh behavior.
Still, the block was there, and prior to leaving the warmth of Mirielle's hand, I brought it to my lips, “Here and now is good enough,” I explained before I laid a kiss on her knuckles. “Now let me get atop this old git, ere we find ourself still bantering at sunrise.”
Letting go of her hand, I hopped astride the stallion, and secure on the saddle, I opened my arms to her. “The block was for you, Angel.”
I felt smug for my little game, and made no effort to hide it.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 11, 2011 23:02:55 GMT -5
Back and forth like a childs game, I was constantly off balance around him, never knowing where I stood, where he stood, what was going on. The Azzallese in me stiffened, trying to scramble to figure the situation out, but the woman in me flexed, bent with it. We'd only just seen each other again, and there was no point in expecting everything to be clear cut, especially as I didn't know what he'd been through. That he had been through something was obvious; everything about him screamed it, but when I looked at him, I still saw the Gillermo of old.
"For me?"
I was surprised, and looked from his arms to behind him; I'd been convinced I was supposed to sit behind him. But, no, he had this planned, and I shook my head at him and gave him a little smile as I gathered my skirts and stepped up, my hands reaching up for him as well.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 11, 2011 23:36:51 GMT -5
I smiled a bit more widely, truly amused and mirthful for the first time, because Mirielle was undone and she was yet more beautiful in this state, when I'd never thought it possible.
“No,” I teased, “for the lad. You'll be walking behind.”
But then I reached and hoisted her up, seating her on my lap and astride, arms secure on each side of her, yet holding the bridle. The boy laughed, clapped his hand, thinking perhaps this was a minstrel show, and he got a ducat for his trouble.
Gently I heeled the stallion to a walk, for I was in no hurry to part with her. “Comfortable?” I asked, as lightly as I could.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 0:23:02 GMT -5
The smart comment I had back to him fell away as he lifted me up, picking me up with no more effort than a rag doll and sitting me on his lap, the cantle of the saddle buffering my outside thigh. I gasped and grasped his shirt before I knew it, but immediately released it, and apologetically smoothed the fabric out again.
The rolling walk wasn't hard to sit on, and I found the stride instinctively, moving in time with Gil. His question received a smile, and I tilted my head up to look at him, feeling like a schoolgirl all over again. "Very much," I said, before the corners of my mouth lifted in playfulness. "Much better than walking behind."
Not knowing what to do with my hands, I reached, stroking over the base of his mouths neck, tenderly petting him. "What's his name?" I asked, drawing my hand over his glossy hide again.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 0:41:06 GMT -5
“Strider,” I replied, and as the beast was amenable this night, I shifted the bridle to one hand, allowing myself to wrap an arm around Mirielle's waist and securing her to me a bit more. “An Aragonian breed, steady and solid. He served me well on the way here.”
I could smell the scent of her hair close to me, and felt the urge to have more of her touch. “And though he is a goodly beast,” I added mock seriously, “and currently carrying the two of us, truth be, I envy his fate this moment.”
Her touch on Strider was gentle, and that was the only part of his fate which I envied, in all earnest. Everything else... I had no desire for any master.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 9:57:22 GMT -5
"Strider," I murmured, but the end of the name was turned into a half gasp as he slid his arm around my midsection, holding me securely. It was utterly impossible to ignore how it felt, utterly impossible for me to try to think about anything other than the feel of his chest against my side, his arm held securely around me to keep me safe, and, though I'd never admit it, knowing it was his lap that my rear was perched on.
But Elua, I tried to think of something else, anything else, than how it felt to have him next to me again. It was amazing, incredible.. and yet painful too, because I wasn't sure he wasn't just toying with me, getting revenge for how I had jilted him before. And still, through it all, I wouldn't have changed it, wouldn't have traded the hurt and silent humiliation for these few stolen moments of unspoken pleasure.
"You wish to spend your night in a stall eating hay?" I asked, trying to be teasing, and I patted the stallion before leaning back and against him more, only slightly on purpose.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 10:10:18 GMT -5
Her body was warm and my mind was at ease, more and more, as Strider slowly clambered on the cobbled streeds of the City of Elua, and I allowed myself to steal a whiff of her perfume, half-closing my eyes, glad she couldn't see.
I'd dreamed of her, betimes, when the lash of the whip was falling on my back, I'd exiled myself into memory, in her body dancing atop mine, in the dresses she wore and the way her voice sounded when she cried in ecstasy. It was not only the thought of my sister and my mother, that had kept me alive as I crossed the desert, stumbling over my own feet in unbearable heat.
It was her, too, and the sound of her voice, the words she'd written, and said, and repeated, and Mirielle in her shift, laying her head on my chest, and I bound, unable to hold her, but remembering every feel of her skin under my fingertips.
My answer came unbidden, an admission which I immediately regretted. My voice was a bit raspy, not quite a croak.
“I've known worse fates.”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 11:04:44 GMT -5
His answer was another of tiny knives he'd thrown at me, lodging in my chest as securely as anything ever had before. Every time I tried to jest, every time I tried to smile resulted in the same, and I fell silent, not giving him the opportunity to add another knife to the collection already gathered in me.
One time, mayhap, I might have demanded he let me down, and I would have walked off into the night without thinking second about it. That woman he'd known though had been broken, was only just beginning to heal again, and rather than leaving him I merely took his insults. Elua forsake me, but the few moments of sitting on his lap like this was worth every hurtful lash of his tongue. My hands folded together, and I kept my face angled down and away from his, watching silently the dim cobblestones appear and disappear under Striders hooves.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 11:21:52 GMT -5
I didn't know why it seemed that the night had suddenly become darker, but I sighed, and pressing my lips to her hair, I let Strider go along his way, paying little attention to our direction. I held her to me still, relishing the touch of her, but worried about her, now, and at how changing her mood was, though in earnest, so was mine.
It was a difficult time for us both, this unexpected re-acquaintance.
I let silence stretch for a while, and said, after a moment, “Forgive me. I seem to have misplaced my sense of humor, this night.”
I wanted to cradle her, to tell her everything would be alright. I wanted to make her promises I didn't know for certain I could keep, and so I made none and held her close, trying to convey with my body what I failed to express with my words.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 11:38:00 GMT -5
Sweet Elua, I didn't know what to think. My heart fluttered as he held me closely, my mind scrambled to block it, to not allow myself to sink into old feelings, shied from the memory of sharing laughter and love, of laying sated together between silken sheets, of doing little thing like eating breakfast on the balcony, or attending fetes together.
Without responding, I shifted just a little next to him, moving so I could face him a touch more. I didn't look up at him still, but slid my arms so I could hold onto him as he held onto me, and laid my head back against his shoulder, my forehead pressing into his neck.
"I missed you so much, Fox," I whispered, my voice just louder than the clip-clop of Striders hooves.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 11:49:15 GMT -5
I bit back a reply about how little I expected she'd missed me, if she'd had August's babe, and the Brat Prince himself to keep her in his oh-so-shining company. Oh, yes, I tried not to think on it, but in all truth, I was still hurt and angry, that she'd allowed me to court her, knowing my intentions were so pure and so serious, then withdrawn her favor and given it to another in what seemed to be... remarkably sudden.
Did you now? I almost said, and instead I said nothing and tried to ignore the anger in my heart in favor of the moment and her words, which I was disinclined to believe, no matter how tempting.
Ah, this woman. She'd burn my soul thrice over, and I'd still love her.
“I didn't write because I couldn't,” I said at last.
And had I been in a position to, would I have? I wasn't sure of it. Rather, I was certain I would not have given sign of life, because a jilted lover's dignity is best tended to in solitude, rather than through ineffectual and inane begs for attention.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 13:41:59 GMT -5
Again the pause, and again I wish I hadn't spoken. What kind of life would that be, where I constantly had to worry about what acrid retort would roll off him next? But ah.. what kind of life would it be if I didn't have his tongue to worry about. I was stuck, caught, and I berated myself for feeling so much again, especially in light of the fact that he didn't seem to enjoy my presence at all. Mayhap it was my body he missed, then... mayhap.
"Can I ask where you were?"
My voice was still pitched soft, but more because I didn't have to talk to loudly for him to hear me. The night was calm and dark, quiet and almost oppressing, and I didn't stir from where I sat, curled up upon his lap, my arms holding him as his one held me. I both didn't mean to pry and did mean to; where he was, what had happened had changed him. I could pin it on our breakup, but he'd stayed around after that, and I'd think if he wouldn't have he would have left straight off. No, it was something... but why had I been told he'd died with the plague?
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 15:38:26 GMT -5
Ah, of course she had to ask, and I had to answer. There was no lying, was there, not to her, not when she was right there, so close and so broken, so shaken.
“I was shipwrecked south of Carthage,” I said simply. “That we be riding here today is nothing short of a miracle.”
And so it was, if I were earnest – it meant that I had survived the plague, the shipwreck, the desert and the enslavement of my body. But my soul had never been locked in bonds, and I found myself full of life and hope, full of expectations.
If Mirielle lived, maybe others did. Hells, if I lived, maybe others did. “Talk to me about your daughter,” I asked, because that was all I would say of Carthage, for now.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 16:53:20 GMT -5
Shipwrecked? Oh Elua, the sound of it alone sounded formidable, and though I knew relatively nothing of Carthage, I felt so very disheartened by it, by his troubles and woes. I wondered everything else he went through, if he'd been sick, if he'd almost died, how he'd survived...
So many questions jumbled through me, and my arms froze a little around him before I lifted my head so I could finally look at his face. He asked about Christelle, and I nodded, not pressing the subject.
"Christelle's my life," I said simply, but softly. "She's everything to me. You should see her when she smiles, her face lights up, and she has a little dimple in her left cheek." Despite myself I felt my own smile growing as well, my demeanor rising with the simple talk. "She's small for her age, or so I'm told, but she's strong.. she's healthy, and strong, and I'm so very proud of her. She's sweet, rarely cries save for when she's hungry. I read to her.. she seems to love it when I do, when we sit and rock together."
I didn't know how he took Christelle, but if there was one thing in this life that kept me strong, it was my daughter, and I hoped with every last ounce in me that he didn't forsake her. If he did... Elua, but I would choose my daughter, no matter how my heart would shatter, just as I knew he would choose his own child had situations been reversed. What parent wouldn't?
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 17:29:41 GMT -5
I listened as Mirielle spoke of her daughter, forced myself to think of the child as Mirielle's and Mirielle's only, to forget who had begotten her, to leave it out of my mind.
It worked, partially because Mirielle smiled and brightened and shone with love when she spoke, and I knew that if I wanted her, I'd must needs want the babe too. In truth, it was easier than I'd expected, to nurture feelings of protectiveness for an innocent child. She had not committed the sins of her father, I reminded myself. She was but an innocent.
“She sounds like you,” I said quietly. “Just as lovely and bright.” And worth loving, I didn't add, for fear that she may take it amiss. “You look happy as a mother, as I thought you would be.”
My hold on her did not waver, I gripped the bridle, guiding Strider on a known path along the river. I was straying us from her home, apurpose. “Did you suffer much?”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 18:00:39 GMT -5
I was aware as he turned, angling his horse away from the cobblestones, but I didn't ask, didn't inquire. Christelle was sleeping, and had been sleeping through the night since she was but a few weeks old, thank Elua, so I wouldn't be needed. Too, a wet nurse awaited in the case she needed someone and I wasn't there, so I knew she was well cared for. Nothing I would tell Gillermo, of course.. Not now, not here.
He seemed more.. relaxed, though I scolded myself, telling myself to not read too much into anything, even the fact that he wanted me on his lap like this, or that he'd told me once before that he'd missed me. What was I to say? What was I to think? I didn't know.. and the best thing, I supposed, was to simply not think anything.
"I am happy," I said, and though I was, I was eternally sad as well, something else I could never bring myself to tell him. He asked if I suffered, and I glanced up to him, confused. "During childbirth? Some, but.." Oh Elua, how could I speak of that to him? My cheeks fanned bright for a third time this night. "The river is pretty," I said suddenly, cutting my gaze out across it, my fingers fidgeting unconsciously behind his back.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 19:28:23 GMT -5
I couldn't help but smile a bit more – the shade of my older smiles, those that did not bear anger, or hurt, or unhappiness. I was, to be perfectly transparent, amused, and in truth, I nigh wanted to press her, to make her speak of those feminine things which are so often kept occult to men.
And yet I didn't, fearing, perhaps, that it would be cruel.
“The river is beautiful,” I agreed with Mirielle, telling her that I accepted the subject change. One day perhaps, she would tell me and I would tell her – for now, we could speak about others.
“I was told only a fortnight gone about Queen Sabrina's passing,” I finally said quietly. “Though it is no longer my business, I am curious. Will you tell me your view of events?”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 20:17:48 GMT -5
He didn't press about the childbirth, and I was eternally grateful for it; how could I tell him I screamed for what seemed like hours, the agonizing pain, the way I couldn't stand or sit or lay; nothing made it feel better. I couldn't tell him of that, or of the blood.. But I could tell him how wonderful it was to hold her for the first time, to know in my arms lay the little life I'd born. The little life that now was at home, sleeping soundly, my own little Angel.
"My view," I repeated, not condescending, but musing almost. "It's.. shocking, so very. Infuriating.. and terrifying. Queen Sabrina died and Prince Christien in a poison coma, one he drifts in and out of; it baffles doctors, I've heard. But the very fact that poison could be in their bottle and served to them... Oh sweet Elua. If they can kill our Queen, they can get to any of us."
I was shaken thinking of it, but I pulled myself together, my back straightening a little, but not much as I was perched before him on the saddle as it was. "Did you know, too, that a Comtesse was kidnapped from her townhome? I was there," I added, and the terror of that day still infected me. "She was having a tea party for ladies only.. Princess Leyna showed up, Princess Azabel, a few noblewomen... we were sitting in her receiving room talking when she went to answer the door again, and they took her."
My voice trembled, and for a second time I pulled myself together, swallowing. "Her maid came running back and bade us escape out the back; she was gone already, by carriage I learned later. Skaldics were behind it, with a d'Angeline driver."
The disgust in my voice was near palpable at that, at the traitor who sold his country over to the enemy. "We escaped to her neighbors by way of a back door... a Duc Castiel de Bonnels. They recovered our Comtesse two days later, and she is safe, but.. Elua Gil, it's frightening. I know the chances of anything happening are slim, but is anywhere safe anymore? Were we ever?"
I shook my head, having said so much more than I ever intended, and I watched the river blindly, lost in emotions, lost in thought.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 20:42:35 GMT -5
I listened and felt my mind returning to its old habits, recording facts and tales, and most of all, the desire to protect her was greater, stronger for the scenes she'd been exposed to. I held her tighter as the horse went its way, slowly taking us along the Eisande, and took a deep scent of her hair.
“You are afraid,” I said softly, barely audibly, a confession between the two of us. “Something is afoot,” I added. “But you won't have to face it alone.”
Was I her lover? I did not know, but I'd ever been her friend, and ever would be, and I knew that if I had to lay my life on the line, to keep her, her babe, her mind, the tip of her slipper safe, by Elua, I would.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 21:20:59 GMT -5
You won't have to face it alone.
Oh sweet Elua, if only I could believe in that. I didn't know what was going on, I didn't know where things were going, I didn't understand any of it. I couldn't allow myself to believe and trust in it; my heart was still very tender, still very on the mend, and I was terrified if it was broken again I would never have it back again.
"I am afraid," I whispered. "But not for me.. I'm afraid for Christelle, that something might happen to her, or that something might happen to me and she'd be left without a mother like I was.. But I was ten when I lost my parents, and she is only a little slip of a thing, cannot sit on her own, or walk, or talk or play.. She's already lost her father."
I knew when I said it that he wouldn't like me referencing August in any manner, but August was a part of my daughter, and I wouldn't have her growing up feeling she had to be ashamed of it because of the thoughts of another man. I closed my eyes, and quivered.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 21:31:36 GMT -5
Why did she have to reference the bloody Brat Prince constantly? I took a deep breath and looked over the river's dark waters, willing myself to pretend I hadn't heard it.
"The girl will need a father, Mirielle," I said quietly. "Have you thought of it?"
It wasn't exactly an offer. It wasn't exactly a reproach, but it wasn't exactly --- oh, Elua, I had no idea what it was, but a statement of truth, and concern. For fear that she may scamper away once more, even secure as she was on my lap, on Strider, I kissed her hair, smoothed her dress.
"I said, you don't have to face it alone," I repeated. "If you fear for your life, or for your daughter, by Asherat of the sea, Mirielle, my sword is yours." I closed my eyes, and whispered, "it ever was."
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 21:53:29 GMT -5
I couldn't answer him straight away, couldn't begin to wrap my head around what he was saying, what he was offering or what he wasn't offering. I didn't know how to take Gillermo, I didn't know what he wanted or where he stood on anything.
But.. oh, he kissed my hair and he straightened my dress, and I closed my eyes, drinking it in, the tender touches that I was never sure would ever again be repeated.. and then he offered me his sword.
I should have expected it, and it was foolhardy, folly of me to hope for somewhat else, but I couldn't help the disappointment that welled up in me. Stupid girl, to let your heart open so easily.
But I couldn't help myself, and I wouldn't help myself. I moved and between one breath and the next I was kissing him, a sweet, full-lipped press of my mouth to his, one that lingered only one shuddering breath before I broke away again and ducked my head, my heart pounding in my chest so loud I thought he must be able to hear it.
"There's so much I want," I said softly, my voice seeming swallowed by the night. "But pressuring you to be where it hurts you is not one of them."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 12, 2011 22:18:43 GMT -5
For a moment we were silent, and I feared I'd overstepped my bounds in just about every possible way, until she leaned up and kissed me, and for all the women I'd kissed silly, I reckon she avenged them all, because my hands let go the bridle in surprise, both wrapping around Mirielles waist.
Kissed at first, my eyes widened and I made a muffled sound of surprised, until I relaxed into it, kissing her back like a long drink of water after traversing the desert, a metaphor nigh literal in my case. I might have kissed her all night, but she pulled away, and spoke, and to be fair, I had no idea what she'd just said, and so I blinked at her a moment.
"-- what is it that you want?" I finally asked, voice hoarse.
Meanwhile, Strider decided a break was in order, and proceeded to graze on the side of the road peaceably, and I paid him no heed.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 12, 2011 22:29:00 GMT -5
Truth be, I'd cut the kiss short for fear that if I didn't, he would have, and some cutting remark would have followed and another fistful of knives would be lodged into my heart. What I hadn't expected was his reaction, how he favored holding me over guiding the horse, how he kissed me back...
My eyes found his again, wide in the moonlight, and I took him in as readily as I ever had before, seeing in him the same man who had courted me. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what it was that I wanted, but I didn't just fear rejection, but was utterly terrified of it. "To see you tomorrow," I answered, my heart still pounding like the mad dickens in my chest. "And the day after, and the day after that, and the one after that..."
I was a coward for not saying it outright, but my mind was clamoring, trying to put my feelings back in the box they'd escaped from before they betrayed my heart. I didn't kiss him again, but my fingers fisted into his shirt behind his back, and I was as nervous and I thought I ever had been in my life.
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