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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 26, 2011 20:24:45 GMT -5
The morning after this.We'd set off in the morning with a larger company of men, all bearing the sigil of our house, a castle with two towers, sitting over a delta. Remy rode ahead, with Mael, Adrien and myself behind him, and Florence and the men forming the rear. We arrived there at midday, and I left Mael, Remy and Adrien to the fastitudes of sign-ups, while I sought out a man in the chain of command. A captain was found soon enough, and I gave him my full name and both titles, indicating the forces which were joining the camp, and requesting the honor of meeting the Regent Sovereign Duchesse Mirielle Bellamont, as any peer would request to meet their liege. Led to a tent, I was told to wait outside, and so I did, my helmet under my arm, sword sheathed, body at ease. Now was the time not to look too proud. I remembered my days as a slave, and found humility, in there, somewhere. And then I waited.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 26, 2011 21:26:05 GMT -5
For me, my days were full of repetition and strangeness alike. Wake, travel, eat on the go, sleep, wake, travel, eat on the go, sleep... it repeated nicely until we reached the vantage point where we were stationed, set deeper back inside Azzalle, miles from the border to keep our existence well masked. Only a skaldic raiding party delving deeply into the countryside would stumble upon us, and the chances of them escaping were minimal at best. It was none-too-worrisome though; the raids were never as hot here as they were along Camlach, where the brunt of the war was headed. Surprise was on the side of Terre d'Ange, and we wouldn't sully that surprise for anything in us.
And so it was that we were picketed, our small regiment kept in reserve for the defenses of Azzalle, to watch for any parties swinging from the north in retaliation once the initial fight is brought to the doorstep of Skaldia. We would watch, and wait, and wonder... and my nerves were so frayed that it amazed even me how calm my voice was whenever I spoke. Years of training, years of class learning things designed for precisely this sort of moment, and things, too, I was sure I would never need to know. If not for my babe, tucked safely in the City of Elua, I still would have no need for it. My duty to my country lay deep, and I wept every night for my daughter, wept betimes throughout the day when I was granted some privacy, missing her with every last fiber in me. Gillermo I tried not to think of at all, tried to keep from my mind and my heart, but no matter how I tried to eradicate him, he remained. I couldn't evict him from me; it was like a barb of love buried so deeply within my soul that if I ripped him out, I surely would die as a result.
And so, I filled my days, every possible moment, with work. Planning and plotting, strategizing and receiving council, even going so far as to inspect my troops and their camps, though that wasn't for my benefit as much as theirs. The Regent Duchesse was here, the Regent Duchesse would see them safe. I was mired so thick in duty that it was amazing I could even move my feet.
I was exhausted. The days took much from me, missing my daughter took much, my shift in hormones took much... and my trying to ignore what could not be ignored took much from me. When a guard stepped inside the tent that doubled for my office to inform me a certain Duca di Belafonte and the future Marquis d'Iz-entre-Mer had arrived and requested an audience, I merely stared at him, a sudden drop of coldness lighting through the pit of my belly.
He was here. He was here? Why? Why was he here, after sending me away as thus? I drew myself straight, unaware I'd been leaning so far over a document as I had been, my mind sharpening some as I lifted my chin, and rose from my chair.
"Send him in."
Part of me wanted him to wait, to sit outside for hours and wonder if I'd ever see him, to watch others go in and out of my tent, but I couldn't bring myself to be so cruel - it just was not in me. I waited for him, standing behind my desk as I was, parchments rolled up atop tubes to either side of the tent, other tables set up with maps and lists. There was little finery here, little beauty; it was a camp dedicated to war and safety, and even the clothes I wore, a deep blue of modest cut, reflected that idealism. My hair was swept back to keep it out of my face, caught up in a caul of seeded pearls; the one pretty thing I allowed myself this day, void even of jewelry. I looked horrible, but then, I didn't suppose I had to worry about impressing him anymore. He'd made that quite clear already.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 26, 2011 21:55:12 GMT -5
It seemed like forever while I waited outside the tent. Forever and a day, and that was also what I wanted to promise her, what I'd always wanted to promise her. I entered the tent with my heart in my mouth, feeling humbled like a schoolboy. I'd known such setting as the one she was in, I'd not known her in them, or even imagined her as she was. Elua, she was tired.
My Mirielle – no, no longer mine, I had to remind myself. She was beautiful, more so, in fact, than ever, because then I saw her as perhaps I'd wanted to see her before. Simply dressed and without artifice. She was shining.
“Mirielle,” I murmured, and I said her name softly, a caress and a promise.
I didn't wait. I knew what I'd come to do.
I knelt, then, keeping my head bowed. “I've come for your forgiveness – and to keep an oath which I almost broke, love.” And hand on the pommel of my sword, I said, “You may not want me, and I don't blame you for it, love. But my sword is still yours. Please, accept it in this time of war, and send me away, when it's done, if nothing else.”
I spoke with quiet dignity, but with little pride. I'd left that outside the tent.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 26, 2011 22:18:09 GMT -5
I didn't know what to think, or how to even think when he strolled in not but a moment after I gave allowance for it. The guard hesitated, tucked inside the tents entrance, but I ignored him as I watched Gil.
I was riveted. I stood stock-straight as I was as he said my name, and so much was inflicted into it, into that one roll of syllables off his tongue. The accent of his native tongue still inflicted it, and always would I hoped; it defined him, it was part of him, it was his heritage and upbringing. I heard it as much as I heard his words, but it took little for me to forget anything but exactly what he was saying.
That one word, that one four letter, tiny little word that was so easily thrown about nearly undid me. I didn't know whether to throw something at him or hug him, but pain reeled in me, and I was terrified that he'd just walk away from me again. Why was he here? To keep a promise he made? To give me his sword? Was it even for me? But ah, he threw that four letter word in, and it left me utterly lost and confused, and I didn't know which way to go with it.
"Your sword is not mine if you join this fight," I said softly, my voice pitched quiet, well aware of the thinness of these tentflaps. Abruptly I became aware that the guard was still here, and I nodded at him, but dropped my gaze back to Gil before he'd even walked out. "Your sword will belong to Terre d'Ange, and you'll fight for her against those who would oppress her. You'll fight against those who would kill our Queen, who would come into our townhomes and steal our women, who would force themselves onto anyone they wished. You fight for the freedom of Terre d'Ange, for unity, for the safety of our children."
Our children. I paused, feeling the weight of my tiredness, the weight of my sadness, of my anger and hurt and betrayal, and the weight of my love. I came 'round the front of the desk and stopped before him as he knelt, but didn't touch him, remembering keenly the last time I had touched him. "For Terre d'Ange's children. But you won't stay here for a promise you gave me; I relieve you of it, from now to forever. You don't owe me anything, Gillermo Stregazza."
My voice dropped to a whisper at the end, and inside, I wept. I wept for what once was, but outside I remained dry. Sadness may have inflicted in my voice, but I was slowly remembering who I was, remembering that I couldn't afford to let people have their way with me... no matter how much I loved them.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 26, 2011 22:36:01 GMT -5
She was relieving me, and in the worst ways. I wanted to make more promises to her, not less! I remained on my knee, not standing, not shifting from the position which, I had decided, I would hold stubbornly until she'd forgiven me.
Elua's vigil, if one of a different kind.
My throat was tight, after she spoke. Our children. I'd thought of them, and had found myself including the child August had sired in the lot, to my dismay. I took a deep breath through my nostril after she spoke, closed my eyes, but did not move, or look up. My eyes stung.
“It is outrage to return what has already been given, Angel,” I said softly, under my breath.
Every word that followed felt like sand paper as I spoke them. “Penance.” I swallowed, my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. “I hereby swear my sword and my men's to the service of the Crown, in the name of my mother, and of those before her, my liege. But with your permission, Your Grace, I will remain here, until you see fit to release me from my shame, and grant me your forgiveness.” Then, I looked up, and I knew my eyes were brimming, and Elua, if word of this ever got out to my men.... “... and your love, Mirielle.”
And there I stayed, on my knee, waiting. Truth be, I prayed Mael never heard of it, for I'd told him never to kneel just the day before.
But to lay one's soul at the feet of the woman you loved was as completely different matter. And I'd stay there, Elua, as long as needed.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 26, 2011 23:00:54 GMT -5
My mouth opened when he spoke of outrages, my ire sparking in me, but as tired as I was I couldn't get the words out before he continued on, and I closed my mouth. For a second time I lost myself to what he was saying, my face holding a slight frown, one born of both emotions and concentration, my eyes of hazel focused upon the top of his head as he kept it bowed to the trampled grass below. His voice was different, thicker somehow, and it wasn't until he looked up that I realized just how different it was.
Tears in his eyes, shining, and the frown on my face was lost in a sudden wave of sadness and apprehension. He wanted my love? He told me it was outrage to give him his freedom back, and wanted my love?
"You left me," I said, but my words came out in a whisper, accusing him of abandonment. "You tell me it's outrage to release you from what has been given, but it is done because of what you have done, not because I have a vindictive streak in me. I am not vindictive Gil, I never have been, and Elua help me, I never want to be. I cannot grant you my love. I cannot!"
My voice rose, not in volume so much as in pure octave. I was quivering again, the quaking coming onto me suddenly and violently, and I picked my hands up, rubbing at my kohl-less eyes, trying to clear my muddles my mind. My palms came back wet, and I realized that too I was crying, and I hated myself for doing it, for being that weak again.
My voice was back to a whisper again, and I shook my head, sad. "Elua Gil, don't you understand? I can't give you what you already have, I can't take it back as much as you can't take back your sword. You have me hand over fist.. You have me as much as you did when you took your pleasures in me and left me against the side of my carriage."
The stabbing pain hurt, but I had to get it out, and he had to hear it. I knew he hurt too for matters that were entirely different and not of my doing, but if we were ever to move past this, it had to be out so we could be fully past it. I didn't bid him to stand, but I didn't move away from him as I trembled, unsure if he'd stand on his own or not.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 26, 2011 23:26:39 GMT -5
Every word she said cut through me like a thousand burning blades – by comparison, the brand's burn was far sweeter, and its cut was much less deep. I looked up at her, feeling ill, hating myself more and more, for the intense emotions I could see on her beautiful face.
“Mirielle,” I murmured, but I did not move, and instead let my head hang as she denied me her love, denied me her forgiveness. I did not blame her. Aye, how could I dare ask her to love me – if I could not even love myself?
She spoke and spoke, and I waited, let her say all that she had to say, expecting her to hit me, perhaps, hoping she would, even. In the end, she did not, and then...
You have me hand over fist.
Oh, Sweet Asherat. Did she even know that she was the one to have me, that I was hers and always had been – that it was pride that had made me stray, ever, and nothing else? And tears, Elua, more tears, how much had I made this woman cry in my life, in hers?
I did not stand, because I wasn't worthy of it. Instead, my arms reached, grabbing her waist, tugging her and I closed the distance, pressing my face in the blue fabric of her gown. “Forgive me,” I said again. “Forgive me, Mirielle, or my life is worthless. Please.” I kissed her belly, then, through the fabric and through my tears, and without pride or shame, I begged.
If it would stop her from shedding any tears, truth be... I would have no regrets, and no pride.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 26, 2011 23:37:53 GMT -5
Again he spoke my name, but he fell into silence and let me speak my mind, as befuddled as it was. I couldn't keep my thoughts straight, I couldn't keep my emotions straight, and when he suddenly reached out, snatching me up in his arms and crying against my stomach, apologizing and kissing me, I near broke.
My hands found his head, found his hair, and I ran my fingers through it as he spoke against my stomach. My tears fell freely, and I sank down inside his arms til I was kneeling before him as well, and I buried my face into his neck just as I had the first time I'd seen him after he reappeared in my life. I buried my face and cried, but the tears now were different somehow, relieved, happy that he wasn't here only for duty, overjoyed that he was here not for a promise, but for me.
"I forgive you," I whispered, broken between gasps for air, soft sobs,. "I forgive you, I forgive you, don't leave me again Gil, don't do it."
I clung to him again, but this time I wasn't as fearful that he would leave me, that he would disappear like a puff of smoke. I was still not completely over the shock of seeing him again, but somewhere deeper in me I was sure that he wouldn't leave me.. that in the morning, he'd be there, and the day after, and the day after. I held onto him even as I pulled my face back enough that I could look at him, and carefully I brought a hand forward to wipe the tears on his face, tenderly cleaning his handsome cheeks.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 27, 2011 0:02:15 GMT -5
What image we must have made, I begging on my knees and crying against her belly, she crying, too, and crumbling to the floor after a short moment. I didn't let her stay there, gathered her to me, wanting to protect her, to keep her close, so close. The memories of the dreams had kept me hurried – true that she was well protected here, but if anything, they'd told me how grim my world could be without her.
Holding her to me, I cried too, quietly, kissing her face and her tears, finding that salt water would ever remind me of her, my Mirielle, my Angel of the Sea. It was fitting. I kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her lips, softly at first, all the while murmuring incoherent things about my gratitude and how she was my generous woman, until the right words finally came.
“I love you,” I said, finally, a promise and a confession. “I always did.” It was a play on words – I'd never said I was leaving her, not really. I'd only failed to go with her, when she needed me.
She was touching my face, and I looked into those darling eyes, and found a small smile for her, hunted down ruthlessly. “I'm not going anywhere, not without your permission, at any rate,” I whispered, and then finally I brought my lips to hers and kissed her.
It was nothing of the last kisses we'd shared. This one was slow, sweet, tentative. It was the kiss of an adolescent learning to breathe again. It was new and almost shy, timid, exploring. I wanted to learn her anew.
On my lips, there was another question. I bit it back - I'd put her through so many emotions. Maybe I should wait a little, for that one.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 27, 2011 0:26:54 GMT -5
He gathered me up to him and I went with it, welcoming it, trusting in it for the first time since I'd seen him again. I remembered his arms in ways I hadn't allowed myself to before, remembered how secure they were, how they could hold me and make everything else fade away. The entire word was gone in this moment, there was nothing left but him, but his comfort, but his strength and his voice.. Gravelly, low, inflicted with the accent of his motherland, and instilling in me feelings that terrified me even as I welcomed them. I was scared of much anymore, but oddly less so of this... but mayhap not so odd, not with knowing how I loved him, and trusting too in that he loved me.
That he loved me brought a smile to my face, one much at odds to the pain that had been there before, one that shone through the tears now. I smiled and wiped the tears from his own cheeks, stroking my thumb tenderly across his skin, as I near sat in his lap. "And I love you, Gillermo Stregazza. My Fox," I added, giving a little laugh as I smiled at him, and as he leaned to kiss me, I returned the gesture.
I kissed him sweetly, tenderly, carefully. I kissed him with love and fondness for who he was, kissed him with acceptance and a slow-burning passion. My fingers held his cheeks as the kiss slowly progressed, my lips parted and my tongue met his gently. I adored this man now as I'd always adored him before, and I wanted him to know that. I wanted him to know how much I loved him, wanted him never to doubt it.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 27, 2011 10:29:32 GMT -5
I was touching her face as she was touching mine, and there was so much tension leaving my body this instant, that I didn't know was there, that I felt as if we might... float. Oh, silly man. I was kissing her still, slow and gentle, as if feeding into her what strength I had for the days to come, and taking into me what healing she had for me, too.
When I broke the kiss for air, I stayed close, and nuzzled her like a hound does its mistress, nose to nose, pressing my lips to hers again. That was when I spoke, lip to lip, so that no-one would hear us. It was intimate, it was a moment that belonged to no-one but Mirielle and I, and I wanted to say it right.
“Mirielle,” I murmured, eyes half-closed, still basking in the warmth of our embrace. “Marry me. Let me call your child my own, and be my wife. I will never part without leave, and I will always come back to you, my Angel.” A kiss, again, and a beg, too. “My life makes no sense without you. Save me from myself, my love, and be my wife.”
With that I pulled away a little, and looked at her, showing her my face and my quiet resolve. We'd both cried, and what a mess we were – but I loved her more then than I ever had, and I wanted her touch, her body, her voice in my life forever. It had occurred to me that our mad coupling might have set her with child. She loved me – and if she was to be a mother twice over, then I would love her, and this babe, and the one she already had, and protect the three of them with my life.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 27, 2011 11:06:13 GMT -5
My senses were utterly and completely wrapped around him; I saw nothing but his face, smelled nothing but his scent, felt nothing but him, was aware of nothing but him. We could have had an audience and I would have been blissfully unaware; right now, to me, there was nothing else but him. A smile was on my lips again as he broke the kiss and nuzzled into me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him gently, but securely from where I sat perched into him.
It was a blessing that I wasn't expecting anything in particular when he spoke, my mind too flexible to be shocked by anything, because I most definitely would not have thought he would have said that. As it was, my smile only blossomed more as I drank in his words, a myriad of emotions crossing my chest. Love, relief, excitement, joy, adoration, contentment... That he loved me, that he would take Christelle to himself and raise her as his own meant more to me than I could have said, and I found myself nodding before he was even fully finished.
"Yes, yes," I breathed, the happiness in my chest thick in my voice as well. "I love you Gil, more than I could ever begin to tell you... I always have, I always will." I kissed him again, tenderly, lovingly, my lips lingering on his. "I love you so very much."
A life with him, a family with him. Our children, the ones we had talked about before, suddenly back into existence again, at least in my mind. Or, was it only in my mind? I'd never considered the possibility before now, but we had coupled together once already, and he had had his pleasures in me. My eyes widened a little, and I sat back a little more. "Could..." No.. Could I? No.. "You don't think I'm pregnant now.."
Oh sweet Elua. I looked at him, the man I loved, my fiancee... and the man, too, who I would bear children for.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 27, 2011 12:01:48 GMT -5
I was still kissing her face, her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, even as she spoke. I wanted to shush her with my love, but I was selfish and needed to hear it again, and again, that she loved me, that she wanted me. Oh, Elua. So much travail and so much time, so many detours to finally come to this, to us both, broken and tear-stricken, on the ground of a war camp, with our hearts broken and swelling with hope.
I reached to touch her belly, the place where I'd cried and begged, and placed my hand there protectively. “So what if you were,” I murmured tenderly. “You've been my wife since I saw you, Mirielle. I wouldn't renegade on our child, if you are, ever.” I kissed her again, then, and slowly reached into my pocket, finding something I'd bought for her in another life, and placed it on her slender finger, a ring with a little emerald and two rivers in a small string of delicate, tiny diamonds. I kissed the inside of her palm, then.
“Curse me, woman,” I said, and laughed, then. “I was so sure you'd throw me to the gallows, I'd not bought you a new ring. Will this bauble do?” And again, I kissed the inside of her wrist, and shifted to kiss her neck, nuzzling at her corsage, laughing, now, because the joy of her was too great to be contained, and needed out, Elua, out, into the open, where we could both breathe.
Truth be, it was a betrothal ring all the same, the one I'd bought before August had made his own nefarious move. It seemed fitting, and more symbolic, now.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 27, 2011 16:41:45 GMT -5
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, you silly man, no matter how mad you drive me, no matter what happens, I love you.
Another piece of me melted inside when he touched my stomach, firm and gentle, protective, and responded to me on the terms of our maybe-child. He didn't hesitate, there was no fear or wonder in his eyes; he'd suspected already then I was sure, but it didn't matter to me. He didn't run and he didn't avoid; he was here, he'd labeled me as his wife already. I shivered at the thought; a wife, a husband. Married to Gillermo Stregazza from here to forever, looking into his eyes and his face, listening to the little words he'd murmur to me in the depths of night, hearing his thoughts and ideas, vacationing with him on the cost of Azzalle, meeting his family in La Serenissima...
Elua, I loved him. I couldn't stop smiling as I looked at him, and when he pulled a ring from his pocket and slid it over my finger, it felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted. I'd mourned for so long, and I knew a piece of me always would, but I couldn't live my life in the past. I wouldn't... I refused. Gillermo was my future. Gillermo was the father to my unborn children, and he would be the man I laid down with every night, the man I woke up with every morning.
"It's beautiful," I whispered, holding my hand out so I could look at it and admire it. "It's perfect."
My smile was turned onto him again, and I kissed him once more, my arms wrapping around his neck, my thumb toying with the ring on my finger as my lips melded against his. He wouldn't leave me, he wouldn't walk away, and if I was carrying his child, he wouldn't leave it, either. There was much we needed to talk about, but for now this moment was ours. I kissed along his jaw, kissed his earlobe, and whispered into his ear. "My fiancée.. my soon-to-be husband.. I'm so glad you came."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 27, 2011 23:01:55 GMT -5
She was like a girl, given a ride on a palfrey for the first time. Oh, Mirielle. So sweet and so tender – so angelic, often. I must have been grinning ear to ear – my cheeks were hurting for it, and I didn't care. Oh, Mirielle. My only wish was for my sister to be with us again – so many departed, in so long. I touched her hair, almost feeling the urge to rock her in my arms. I'd hurt her so much in the past, so very much. Never again.
There would be delays, I expected. There would be waiting, too. But she'd accepted me as her husband-to-be, without hesitation, without conditions. How far was the night when I'd punched my knuckles raw into a stone line, in the Palace's garden, because she'd chosen another over me? So far, that it seemed as if it were centuries ago. I hadn't really thought on it, until now, but suddenly my thoughts on those matters were clear.
I'd forgiven her, somehow. I couldn't have told when.
“I'm not going anywhere, Angel,” I whispered back. “Though those men of yours are going to start rumors, if we let them.” I kissed her hair, smoothed it tenderly. “Tell me what you want to do now, love. The ball's in your camp.”
And it was – she'd just made me the happiest of men. I was hers here on end.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 28, 2011 11:18:45 GMT -5
Ever practical, he pulled back to note that others would begin wondering what was going on, especially if one stuck his head in, and I colored instantly even through the smile that never left my lips. My eyes darted to the tent flaps, and finding them empty, I looked back to Gillermo with a slightly guilty cast to my features.
"You're right," I ceded, though I stole another kiss from his lips before I pulled back a little more. "My private matters are nobodies business, but they are going to wonder, and I shan't hide our relationship. I shall inform my personal guards of whom you are and that you're allowed to attend me as you would, and knowing how gossip spreads among men, the entire camp should know by dinner."
My grin flashed wide as I teased him, a playful light sparkling in my eyes. "Gods I can't believe you're really here, that this is really happening. I thought you hated me when I first saw you again.. I was terrified of it, but I couldn't help myself and I couldn't stay away from you."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 29, 2011 9:12:33 GMT -5
The kiss was sweet, and I detested letting her go – but we were in a war camp, and she was their commander supreme. Responsibilities first. My future wife needed my support, not further hindrances. And so I got ready let her go after she kissed me, rising, and tugging her with me, settling her on her feet but still close, an arm around her waist to steady her.
“Do you have water here?” I asked quietly. If she was to make an announcement, she needed first to clean her face of our tears, as I did mine. I was still smiling like an idiot. I felt like love made me foolish, but Elua, it was sweet folly.
“We'd best straighten ourselves before we go out, and speak to our people.” I smiled a little more, and added, “I'll need to tell my men as well. There are two retainers who took some risk, on the way here, just to see me to you, love. I'd like for you to meet them.”
I had half a mind to ask Mael and Adrien to see to her safety. She would come before me, ever.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 29, 2011 11:24:34 GMT -5
I loved that he was smiling again, that the smiles were real and joyful, not bitter and resentful. They fit him, his face less severe, though I could honestly say I loved the severeness of his features when he was angry, even if that anger was directed at me. I loved him, each and every part of him.
"I would like to meet them as well, most especially because they helped you."
My smile was warm and dazzling, and on impulse I leaned up on tiptoe to press my lips to his, stealing one more kiss before I left his side to the opposite side of the tent. Pouring the water in the washing basin, I peeked over at him, curious, still completely thrown for a loop that everything had happened. The pitcher set down again, my gaze fell to my hand, and tenderly I touched the ring that signified our love and devotion.. a love and devotion that had always been there, though everything.
Somehow I knew I was forgiven.. Between the City and here, something had changed in him, and he acted completely different now than he had before. His face was open, his heart, he didn't hesitate to kiss me, and when he did it was with tenderness and love rather than anger and frustration. He already said he would welcome Christelle, but would he hold her father against her, even without meaning to? Would he welcome Sabriel? They could be fast friends, I thought, and fervently I wished they would be, that I would have to suffer through both of them teasing me, that we could have picnics with Sabriel and whomever he chose for his future bride. I wanted our children to know one anothers, and wanted Gil to be happy with it, not to simply put up with it for me.
My eyes went back to him again, and I smiled at him, warm, soft, loving, adoring. "Let me tend to you," I said softly as I dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out and carried it to him. I leaned up again and kissed him instead, my lips gentle against his mouth, loving.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 29, 2011 14:11:16 GMT -5
Her smile – a thousand radiant suns would not have been more blindingly beautiful. I smiled back at Mirielle, and when she kissed me, I kissed her back, wrapping my arms around her impetuously, threatening to retain her playfully before I let her go. I was glad that she wanted to meet Mael and Adrien – for myself, because having friends had, somehow, made me lighter, and I felt less lonely and my past seemed less unfathomable, even to myself.
I nodded, watched her go, eyes embracing her silhouette. Now I wanted to take her to bed – the logical, simple conclusion to our eventful, emotional day. I wanted to touch her skin and bury my face between her thighs, to erase her tears and stress and instead make her sing with bliss. Tonight, I told myself. Tonight. Until then, there was much to do.
I laughed, though, when she returned with a cloth, which I'd expected to be for herself, and put my arms around her again, cloth forgotten in favor of another kiss. “Woman,” I murmured. “If you keep this up, so help me your gods and mine, you'll be even less presentable when your generals and your captains come for their orders.” And again, I kissed her, slow, long, and deep, giving in, if only momentarily, to my desire to pleasure her all night long.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 29, 2011 16:06:41 GMT -5
A flush rose through me as he hinted at having me right here and now, and I froze against him for a moment before I could remember how to use my muscles again. Thankfully he was kissing me again, and I returned it gladly, languorous and sweet, my lips parting without hesitation for him and letting him into me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, just barely remembering to hold to the cloth, and when the kiss came to a close I whimpered softly in disappointment.
"It's entirely tempting to take ill for the rest of the day," I whispered with a soft grin as I looked at him, rose up on tip-toe again, though I couldn't have said when I'd done that. Sinking down on my heels again, I brought the cloth forth to gently wipe over his cheek in an introductory touch. My smile remained soft on my mouth as I brushed the cloth over his forehead, down the outside of his temples and over his eyes, his cheeks, tenderly and gently washing his face clean of both tears and journey dust. Everything we'd been through, and we still ended up here together. My eyes took him again as I finished, lowering the cloth and my arms both, but not stepping away from him just yet.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 29, 2011 19:19:49 GMT -5
The kiss was so very sweet – it was something else, something closer to heaven, when I'd felt I'd been in such hell these past few weeks, this past year. I'd reached to touch her cheek in the kiss, careful with my callused hands on her silken skin. How tempting it was, to talk her into taking her day with me. I wanted air, and sunshine, and lounging with her under a canopy of leaves.
Instead, she put a fresh cloth to my face, cleaning away the dust of the ride, and with it, all that was ugly and dirty in the past. It was a rebirth, in a way, and before she stepped away, I reached for her wrist, gently pulling her onto my lap again. “Let me,” I whispered as I slowly took the cloth off her hand. The cloth was turned to its clean side, and slowly I raised it to her face, returning the care, wanting to remove the redness from her eyes, to clean away the her tears and what the past could have left on her divine features.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 29, 2011 19:49:35 GMT -5
He was so tender and gentle, and I smiled at him, my eyes only for him. When he pulled me into his lap I didn't protest, but settled down happily, my eyes closing, letting him touch my face as he wanted, trusting him, and when the touches ceased I reopened my gaze to focus it upon him.
"You've changed," I said softly, my smile still on my lips. Gently I reached out and touched his cheek with my fingers, my eyes following my touch, relearning the texture, his stubble, something I'd always been fascinated with. No one else had stubble like he; I loved touching him, loved the texture, the stark contrast of his smooth upper cheek to his coarser lower.
"You're different, but the same... The Gillermo I remember," I added, my smile growing a little more. "My Fox. Did you know you've grown more handsome since I've seen you last?" And it was true. He had changed, but the changes made him more mature somehow, and I found I coveted it. What all he'd gone through I couldn't begin to imagine, but I hoped one day I'd learn, just so I knew what it was that made him him. I leaned, pressing my lips to his forehead, then to each eye, whispering my love to him after each sweet kiss.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 29, 2011 21:21:37 GMT -5
She seemed to be rediscovering my face, and I let her, though inwardly I winced at the thought of the scar over my eyebrow and how I'd been given it. Instead of pulling away, though, I leaned into her, a bit tense, afraid that she might ask and break the peace of the moment with stories of the past.
I kissed the inside of her palm. “I've changed,” I said, simply, because it was the truth, “and so have you, Angel.” And that was also true. “But we are still who we were, somewhere deep down.” I twined my fingers in her hair, relishing their featherlike texture, marveling at her blondness. Hair like golden wheat, or like starshine. Oh, Mirielle. “But thank you,” I said finally, realizing my ill manners. “You are more beautiful than I remember.” I slid a teasing glance her way, and added, “You know, I reckon I like you more like this. Without baubles. Your beauty doesn't need adornments.”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jun 30, 2011 10:39:27 GMT -5
His lips against my palm nearly made me shiver, and brought exquisite memories of how his mouth felt pressed against other parts of my body. I squirmed lightly in his lap with them, acutely aware now of how my rear rested against his clothed phallus, and I had to force my thoughts to focus elsewhere.
Aye, he was right, he had changed and so had I. I knew it in my bones that I wasn't the same, my self confidence and worth shaken, but not lost. No, not lost, only buried under a mountain of grief, a mountain that was weathering away faster and faster, and I was feeling myself emerge again from it's weighty grasp. I smiled at the feel of his hands in my hair, and reached back to pull it from the caul that held it up.
"I look horrid," I laughed as my hair fell free, and I laid the mesh in my lap before looking back at his face again. "But if it pleases you, I promise not to wear anything but my ring when I go to sleep. No baubles," I added, my smile flashing towards impishness.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jun 30, 2011 11:15:00 GMT -5
Ah, her hair. I smiled a little more and ran my hands through its rich texture. “Nonsense, woman,” I said, smiling a little. “You are radiant, and alive.” Slowly, I combed through her hair with delicate fingers. “If a bit puffed up from all that crying,” I added, teasing. “We'll have to make sure to lose that habit, you and I.”
And oh, the thought of her body, her nude glory, the richness of her skin and her curved, bathed in moonlight. I wanted her to myself, her and silence only broken by her song and mine. Her, and the moon to bless our coupling. “I'll hold you to your promise, Angel,” I murmured, before I kissed her behind her ear.
“But now,” I said, “to end rumors ere they get more colorful than you and I care for, love.”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jul 4, 2011 21:35:09 GMT -5
My smile was a little crooked, but soft and warm, loving and affectionate for the man who held me so tenderly on his lap. I could still hardly believe he was here when I thought of it, and it was all I could do not to kiss his face, to hold him and hug him and feel the warmth of his body pressed up against mine.
"I don't know how I'm going to concentrate on anything with you here," I said, laughing softly. My fingers cupped his face as his combed gently through my hair, and without warning I kissed him again, a long, slow, warm kiss that lingered for a goodly moment before I pulled away again. "Are you sure you're not some apparition, some otherworldly and beautiful spirit?"
My eyes danced with mirth as I leaned forward, stealing another little kiss from his beautiful mouth.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jul 5, 2011 9:30:27 GMT -5
We were all but talking and kissing intermittently, and I smiled, nuzzling her a little, and playfully bounced her on my lap. I was starting to feel a strain in my braes, for all this intimacy, all this emotion, all this kissing. Likely, the simple playful nudge was enough to make her aware of it.
“If I'm only a spirit, I'd sooner know, that I might abuse my powers and observe you when you're not looking, beautiful Mirielle,” I murmured on her lips.
“Tonight,” I added softly. “Tonight I will prove to you just how so very real I am, if you have any doubts, still, my betrothed.”
And then I kissed her again, this time more powerfully, more passionately, a shade of the violence of our first kiss, but enough to show my raw desire and the intensity of my emotion.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jul 5, 2011 16:13:09 GMT -5
He bounced me upon his lap, and at first I gasped with surprise and delight, but immediately upon landing I realized there was something much more in his mind than simple playfulness. I very nearly groaned, but kept it back only to have it spilled forth with his comment on showing me how real he was tonight.
And then he kissed me, and I wriggled my rear in his lap against his rising manhood. The memory of our violent coupling before reared in my mind, especially coupled with his powerful kiss, but I struggled to stamp it down; that wasn't about that, this was about our future. I melted into him, and I just barely had to stop myself from begging him to loosen my dress.
"Tonight," I whispered. "Tonight."
With another soft groan, I pulled back, my heart pounding in my chest and my my chest rising and falling with quick breaths. "Lets tend to your men; I have items I must see to before the day is out, but I can spare a few moments."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jul 5, 2011 23:59:26 GMT -5
Oh, Elua, how she made me want to forsake everything and just have the day to us! I grinned, smoothed her hair, played with it a little. I loved it – its feathery texture, its golden color... ah, and I loved her.
I leaned lower, to kiss her shoulder. “Aye, let's tend to the men,” I murmured. “Let me speak to them first – share the news while you tend to your own business. Then I will bring them to meet you, hm?”
I nuzzled at her, then took a deep breath. “Curse the gods,” I said after I exhaled. “If this keeps up, I will never want to let you go.”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jul 11, 2011 11:18:39 GMT -5
"That sounds fine to me," I murmured, my eyes half lidded. I was trying to listen to him, but his lips on my shoulder were stealing my attention, his hands in my hair, the fact that he was here with me, touching me with tenderness and love, holding me, not giving me hooded looks of anger and resentment. I would never forget them, those looks of disgust in his eyes, but I would try to move past them.
"Mayhap I should leave your lap then," I murmured, flashing him an impish smile as I did just that. My fingers slid over his arms as I stood, just to keep contact with him, and I tugged a little to draw him up. "Go tend your men, and I'll be with you shortly," I murmured before lifting myself up on toe and kissing him softly. My heart fluttered with the contact, and, breaking and lowering back to my heels again, I gave him a warm smile before turning, knowing we had to break physical contact soon before we ended up rolling on the ground. My paperwork called, and though I longed to hurry through it, I would not; I would go through it as diligently as before, and a piece of me wondered where Sabriel was, if he was alright. His presence here would not be unwelcome, and on top of the war I longed to ask him about matters that had been on my mind since the first time I'd seen him.
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