(no subject)

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Bois-Guilbert is standing outside by the lake.

He has used the day to walk the grounds near the forest, mindful of the warnings he received about venturing too far within, but otherwise thorough as possible in his exploration. Ostensibly he wished to gain some measure of familiarity with this place, but it is no small part of him that hoped he might round a corner and find himself in sight of Templestowe. He quickly came to rue the utter foolishness of it; the land may be bounded by magic, but it is still too vast to cross on foot in a day, and devoid of even a flickering mirage of home.

The cold has long since seeped through his cloak and and mail, both of which were intended for an unusually fair English morning. It has been years since Sir Brian felt the teeth of an English winter, but he has a taste of it now in the wind rising off the lake. Yet he makes no move to return indoors; his gaze is fixed on the water, as though the key to his return were written in the rippling waves. His hands are clenched at his side, white-knuckled, but not with the chill.

Great serpents live in the depths of that lake. Big enough to swallow cattle whole, they say.

So he had told Rebecca, on a warmer day, and he knows she did not believe him for an instant; he had not intended her to. Still, her mouth had softened with wonder. He would give anything to see her face here as she looked into these waters, even knowing that they might well contain vaster oddities than the serpents of his tale.

Edit: And as of about 1 am est, I'm off to bed! Many thanks to everyone who tagged, these threads are too much fun. *g* I'll pick up with slowtimes tomorrow!

[Tinytags: Brian de Bois-Guilbert]

Comments

[will_scarlett]

Will has just finished practicing at the archery range and freezes at the sight of the Knight Templar, afraid and curious of who the man is.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

It's a long moment before Bois-Guilbert turns, but he does not seem surprised to find someone watching him.

"If you mean to strike an arrow through my heart," he says, without any noticeable inflection, "you had better stop gaping first."

[will_scarlett]

His bow is unstrung and at his side and Will gives a nervous and proper bow,

"N..nay, my lord, I wouldna do such a thing."

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

He makes no answer to that, but faces the younger man fully. Something in his eyes seems to clear -- or harden -- and he studies Will in silence for a time.

"Have you been hunting?"

[will_scarlett]

"Nay, my lord, tis targets o'er there, was simply practicin'."

One of Will's hands is now rubbing at his wrist as he thinks of how many of the King's deer, the men have killed.

[lissla-lissar.livejournal.com]

A pack, or perhaps even a horde, of dogs passes, following hard on the heels of a white woman.

White, because her skin, her hair, and her clothing all blends in with the snow. She left pale behind some time ago, save for the sunburn spread across her nose and cheekbones.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Brian turns at the sound of the pack, watches the dogs approach without flinching. It's been a long time since he hunted with Richard's own hounds, but he remembers them all fondly. There is comfort, too, in the sight of something so familiar.

The woman, though -- he stares, trying to reconcile the sheer whiteness of her with what is clearly a youthful form.

[lissla-lissar.livejournal.com]

They have long legs, and long heads, and in general long and lean are the words that apply best. The woman stops, drawing up, and watches the knight in turn with eyes the color of a worn gold coin. Silent, wary, but (although he has no way of knowing this) not so frightened as once she would have been.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Far longer and leaner than English hounds, Brian thinks, studying the dogs as they draw closer. They remind him of the animals he saw in the Holy Land, their ribs sharp against their sleek coats, swift as the Saracens' prized horses.

All traces of familiarity flee the moment he looks back to the woman. He cannot account for the fact that she runs at the pack's head, unmounted and alone, like some maiden goddess in a Greek tale.

"My lady," he says to her finally, finding no other words.

[lissla-lissar.livejournal.com]

"Lissar." she corrects, voice low. It is no longer so unused as it once was, but she will always have a soft and low voice. "My name is Lissar; I have given up titles with my world."

[nothawkingbird.livejournal.com]

Kate was bored, and walked around with her arm in the sling. The wounds from the fight back home weren't so bad with the pain killers but still sore, especially with stitches in the one in her shoulder. Dressed warmly against the cold, and wishing she could practice more with her bow, or sword.

At least she could do light katas that didn't need the one arm, or a few of them. But she paused when she noticed the man near the lake, dressed in medieval clothes as well. She wondered if he might be from around her Will's time too.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Bois-Guilbert is just turning away from the lake when he notices the woman watching him. He doesn't break step, but moves up the bank as though already headed in her direction.

His path won't intercept Kate; he's using the time to study her. If she wants more out of him than an even 'my lady' as he passes by, she'll have to address him first.

[nothawkingbird.livejournal.com]

She was likewise studying him more intently now, almost measuring about that gaze.

She then figured, be wise to attempt a curtsy, and a "Good day." Sometimes having a medieval boyfriend can come in handy.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

He stops at the curtsy.

"The day is almost evening," the Templar says as he makes her a formal bow, "and you, lady, are injured and unchaperoned." The tone of his voice is not easily interpreted; it could be wry, it could be stern, it could be threatening.

[nothawkingbird.livejournal.com]

She straightened up, and remarked, "Must have lost track of time. And I'm fine. My...escort just had to step away for a moment." Just manages to keep a neutral face. "Injury was a lot worse yesterday. Just needs a few more days to heal." She certainly doesn't stand exactly like a lady, in fact her ready stance and tense frame suggested someone familiar with fighting.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

Sadly, Rebecca is probably not the Lady of the Lake, so there won't be any revelations there. There is, however, barking behind him. Barking, and cheerful whooping.

What's the point of having big dogs around if you can't make them act like mushing dogs? Especially when you tie tug toys to your sled and offer them to said dogs.

Thus, one pyro, one sled, and three dogs (one doberman and two... big fuzzy dogbears) ahoy. Quickly approaching.

Dude? Duck.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Brian hears the dogs coming, even turns to watch their progress. His puzzlement at the accompanying sled and driver would not be enough to prevent him from getting out of the way sooner; it is his rather instinctual assumption that the driver will see him, and turn the dogs, that puts him directly in their path.

The Templar does not, in fact, duck. He dodges.

Unfortunately, there is just enough ice mixed in with the snow underfoot to turn his dodge into a slip. He hits the ground, hard, and hears his teeth clack together under the crunch of cold snow against his face.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

Ace, order dogs around? The only time that works is when the canine in question is Spoon, and then, only sometimes.

Ace, for her part, gets dumped in snowdrift soon after, the trio of dogs sprinting off over the snow as Ace flails.

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

The Templar gets up snarling in a fashion that would make any dog proud. He looks around for the driver, surmises (by way of a suspiciously flailing snow-covered lump) that he has been deposited in said snowdrift, and lunges for the spot.

He hauls the driver out by a handful of hair. "Madman, you could have killed us both--" And cuts himself off as he sees that the culprit is a madwoman. He lets go of the handful of hair, too, but somewhat belatedly.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

And Ace falls back into the snow.

A rather unhappy Ace. It's just as well she hasn't got any explosives on her person at the moment.

"Bloody hell you knight blokes are fragile. Killed by a couple dogs an' a plastic sled? That's new. Not my fault you have all the self-preservation instincts of a louse." Ace growls back, though her growl has a definite feline pitch to it as she tries to get her feet under her. "Thank goodness y'aren't as ugly as y'are stupid, or you'd shatter mirrors, ferretface."

[binaried.livejournal.com]

Merlin likes to jog, whether here or in his adopted home. There is something to be said about four limbs moving as equals across the ground, muscles exerting enough energy to power a small village for a full night. The feel of the wind in one's hair, and the sweet ache of cold air in one's lungs.

What's not so good is almost running into a stranger because you aren't paying attention. The tall, dark-haired runner manages not to collide with the Templar by twisting himself backwards into the snow, and then sitting there and blinking rapidly.

"Whoah, sorry. Didn't see you there."

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Brian had thought to stand his ground against the approaching runner, expecting either an attack or a last-second swerve. He had guessed that the runner was drunk, or perhaps mad. The man sitting in the snow at his feet looks quite sober, and sane enough to apologize.

He grasps Merlin's arm, almost reflexively, and pulls him upward. "What were you running from?" he asks.

[binaried.livejournal.com]

He gratefully accepts the aid in climbing to his feet, then steps back long enough to dust the snow from a pair of leather breeches. He is, sadly, completely sober, and aware of the biting cold beneath his tunic. At least the boots keep his feet from frostbite.

"Thank you. And I was mostly running from my own thoughts."

[sir-templar.livejournal.com]

Looking at him makes Brian remember that he's cold, and has been cold for some time. He shivers, involuntarily.

"Most men drown those thoughts in drink first." He speaks through his teeth now, not out of annoyance but in an effort to keep from shivering again. "I thought perhaps you had tried."

[binaried.livejournal.com]

"Drink tends to dull the senses after a while. Don't get me wrong, there are times when getting stinking drunk is the best thing in the worlds. Just ...not now." He finishes wiping off his clothing and straightens up. Huh. Even at two inches over six feet, it looks like the stranger still has a couple of inches on him.

"Merlin of Chaos, at your service, sir." He extends his hand.