I'm here.

[supernal]

Well, it's not quite as smooth as you would think in the fantasies, is that right, Arthur?

Arthur looked Brandon's way and cocked an incredulous eyebrow. He could almost hear Brandon's boyhood voice calling through the years, back a time when Arthur tried his hand at Brandon's discipline. He ended up falling nearly a mile before Solomon caught him. Things were, indeed, not quite as smooth as you'd think –

Isn't that right Arty?

The 'middle finger salute' is derived from the defiant gestures of Rosinder archers whose fingers had been severed by the Pillacks in the battle of Argencout. The gesture, in those archaic times, equated to 'look look! I can still shoot you!', but had since been watered down into a plain and simple 'Hey, fuck you'.

(Turns out the real world parallel is false, can you believe that shit?)

I think it's too late for saving grace Brando. Shoulda just told her to hold on tight. But watch her go on anyway, she's a curious thing

"Here, I'll give you a boost." Arthur extended a single hand to act as a platform for her feet. Should it come as a surprise by now? "Just make sure to hold on tight and let Solomon handle the rest. If you fall, Solomon will catch you."

And if he doesn’t, I will.

"It's really quite breath-taking once you get up there, don't let Brandon spoil your fun."

[mire]

Charmae watched as the brothers exchanged jesting words and crude gestures, a seemingly normal part of their relationship. She thought of her brother, and how appalled he’d be if she ever used Arthur’s hand gesture on him. He’d likely tell their mother, and she in turn would chastise her eccentric daughter for such unorthodox behavior, which would eventually turn into a sermon about her duty as a lady of the Magnus House; she’d ask if she had found a suitor yet, and if not, to do it quickly before all of the men of good families were taken. If Charmae remarked she had no intention of marrying just for the sake of the family line, her mother would then burst into uncontrollable tears, and she’d loudly wondered just what kind of sin she ever committed to have receive such a strange child, and if it weren’t for the fact Charmae had inherited all of her mother’s beauty, she’d have reason to doubt the girl was even her own. Her father, used to his wife’s hysterics, would come to console her, murmuring endearments in her ear and promising all sorts of impossibilities. He would then come to his daughter, ask for forgiveness in his wife’s behalf, and hug her so tight she could almost feel her lungs collapse. Just another typical day in the Magnus House…

Gods, she missed them terribly. She ought to really try and make her way back to Muhir sometime soon. But for now, she was content to be with Arthur, moments away from riding a dragon. Without considering Arthur’s words, Charmae placed her foot onto the hand platform he created, and was easily lifted on top of the majestic Solomon. It was only once she was up there that she began to worry about her safety.

“Wha…he’ll…”

Far more terrified than she was willing to admit, Charmae clung to Solomon like he was an extension of her arm.

“Oh my…”

She already felt a little dizzy. Slowly, she turned her head to look down on Arthur, his easy smile slightly reassuring.

“It will be all right, won’t it?”

[supernal]

It was hard to see, given the natural expression of the draconic countenance, but Solomon grinned mischievously. He was every bit the trained soldier Brandon was, their intimate link of mind demanded as much, but Solomon was still quite young. Still quite impish. No sooner had Charmae settled into place, and for this Solomon waited until he was absolutely sure she had a grip, then his wings unfurled and shuttled them into the air with a single, mighty twitch.

Solomon's upward thrust was impressive, easily comparable to even the advanced machinery of the other realms. Charmae couldn't fall off if she tried. The G forces acting upon her, bearing down on her back and her shoulders, wouldn't let her move. Then suddenly . . . weightlessness. Her hair rose above her head like algae waving underwater. The ground beneath them was obscured by clouds and the air was thin this high up, but still breathable.

Solomon's wings flapped but did so rarely, yet they stayed aloft just like the clouds they bested.

[mire]

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod

Frightened out of her wits, Charmae could do little else but cling to Solomon and chant incoherent prayers to some benevolent god she’d never prayed to before. With her eyes squeezed shut, she prayed for it all to end soon, and begged the good gods to let her feet again touch the ground she should’ve never left.

Gods, please! Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

It wasn’t until later on, when she could breathe without whimpering, that she began to appreciate the fact that she was FLYING. On a motherfucking dragon! Slowly, she relaxed a little, and ceased her fear-induced cries. She dared to peer over the side, and was amazed to see just how little everything else looked from so high up. She thought of Arthur, down below, and how for once she was technically looking down on him. She laughed a little at the thought, and briefly loosened her grip on Solomon to brush away the wild strands of her hair.

By the time the dragon began to descend, Charmae had almost forgotten the initial fear, the death grip she submitted Solomon to, and the deafening scream she’d let out during take off. Soon enough, the trees started to regain their height, the people began to wear recognizable faces, and Arthur could tower over her. She hopped off as soon as she could, and barely resisted the urge to kiss the ground. Instead, she wrapped her frame around Solomon’s gigantic front leg, and thanked him for the wonderful experience.

“Thank you, thank youuuu. Forgive me for being a baby! I’m not quite as brave as your rider. I will never forget this, ever.”

[supernal]

Solomon lacked the organs necessary to reproduce human speech in an intelligible manner, but the human tongue was unsophisticated, and so the languages it could master fell comfortably within the range of a dragon's grasp. Even a young one like Solomon. He craned his head back at her, thick neck twisting and braided with muscle, and merely nodded. He smiled, the gesture more menacing than it should have been thanks to the rows of jagged teeth filling his maw, but his eyes danced with a warm light.

They petered around in the air for quite some time, Solomon no longer feeling the drive humming in his chest to explore new heights and zap the poor, frail little thing on his back with jolts of adrenaline. He knew that it'd scare her, but what human beings failed to grasp is that fear was never meant to be feared, but revered! That it helped remind one that they were alive.

They stayed airborne for about five minutes. Solomon drifting gracefully through the air, occasionally jolting the girl with excitement with 'unexpected turbulence' and things like that. Helping her remember she was alive. But before long he touched down. When Charmae dismounted, Brandon and Solomon departed. Dragon-rider duties and all that. The Geryon wouldn't fall all on its own, after all. Not even if they asked really nicely.

And so before long, Arthur and Charmae were left alone.

"Did you have fun up there?"

[mire]

Charmae bid farewell to Brandon and Solomon, their duties shortening their available time. She thanked both profusely, and expressed a desire to repeat the experience someday….someday far, far away. Energized by the flight, she skipped over to join Arthur, as he was the only one to remain of the small group that had gathered to watch her scream her throat off. He inquired if she’d had fun, invitation enough for her to spin the tale of every thought, emotion, and sight she could remember.

“It was truly amazing! I’ve never felt so terrified and excited at the same time. At times, I felt as though I was about to die, and other times I had never known a greater joy than just being alive. All in a matter of seconds too. Goodness, how can anyone withstand that, day in and day out?”

She continued to comment on the experience, using hands and lively face gestures to illustrate all of that she’d felt during the ride. It took her a while to realize she was rambling, and that he hadn’t had a chance to say more than two words since she started talking.

“Ahh, I am talking too much again. Forgive me. Tell me, are you well? Last night…” She felt her cheeks flame a little, but hopefully not enough to alert the knight. “I was concerned, given what happened. I had hoped to have seen you earlier, but I heard you were busy and I did not want to disturb.”

[supernal]

Charmae's energy was infectious. A smile spread wide as Charmae regaled Arthur with an account of the events that transpired not more than moments ago, told from a perspective that conveyed a level of exhilaration Arthur could not recreate from the ground. His smile did not vanish when the woman brought up events from the night before, but it dimmed. Noticeably.

"Yes. Yes I am well. You shouldn't concern yourself with me Charmae, there are much more fun things to do. I've suffered through much in my time spent serving the land and crown. It has left me with many scars, but each scar I get is a mistake I know will never again be repeated."

Throughout the address, Arthur's eyes somehow slipped away from Charmae's own and ended on the ground. As he spoke of those scars, ones received long ago and some still fresh both to the body and mind, his hand pressed against his chest delicately. Perhaps calling to mind some horrid event; perhaps trying to push one such event further away.

"There's no devil that's gotten the best of me yet, and plenty have tried. Countless deals, as many threats, and twice as many cold-attempts to pluck my very soul from me on occasion when I've been found barely hanging on to life by a thread. Not a single one of them has succeeded. Legion is far from the one which will succeed.

"Tomorrow though, that is a day of worry. For you. For me. For all the others. Many good men will lose their lives tomorrow and I've signed no contract with Fate that holds me exempt. I could die tomorrow like any other. Although . . ."

Arthur glanced back up at Charmae fleetingly.

"I suppose I have a little more worth fighting for than your common soldier. What will you do when I ride off for war? Will you wait here? Return home? Will I see you again?"

[mire]

Ah hah! Just as he expected!

There Charmae was, standing a few feet away from that wretched knight. And that face of hers! Her big brown eyes full of concern, her mouth a slight pout, and—by all Gods, her hand on his arm! He could see it too, from this far, something more than just concern in her expressive eyes. Little Atticus couldn’t believe his unfortunate luck. Of all the creatures she could have feelings for, his master picked the one he liked the least! Granted, he hardly ever liked anyone, but still…you’d think she could try to be a little more selective. He could do nothing but watch from afar, his duty to protect Joyeuse at all costs binding him to stay close to the sleeping sword.

Bah! How he wished he could hear what they were saying…

Charmae hadn’t meant to react so strongly to Arthur’s comments. He was dear to her, and couldn’t imagine she’d never see him again. Almost without thinking, she stepped closer, enough to let her hand timidly touch his shoulder. She had a great thing of things to say, all of which evaporated the second she opened her mouth. What a time to be at a loss for words! Since she couldn’t reassure him with words, she let her touch speak for itself. Boldly, her hand traveled down to meet his, her small fingers wrapping around his palm to give it a firm squeeze.

“I…I wish I had better words to give you. I will pray for Rosinder; for you, your brothers and your people. If I were more capable, I’d—well, it matters not. I am not capable. All I can do is wait.” She smiled, just a little. “I’ll be here for you Arthur. I'll be here when you return.”

[supernal]

When she lay her hand on his shoulder a thrill shot through his nervous system, pressed against the back of his eyes and clouded his vision, pressed around his lungs to shorten his breath and made his heart beat like war-drums. Her hand slipped sweetly into his own the frailty of her hands starkly contrasted against Arthur's rough skin, his strong palms and fingers, and the knight felt his face grow warm.

But despite a growing blush Arthur had never faced an enemy that could stare him down; not a legion of men with pointed swords and not this great, timorous beast of unfamiliar affection.

"I . . . I . . ."

Charmae wished she had betters words. Arthur wished he had any words at all. Compelled by something like desire, something like it but stronger and softer all at once, Arthur felt his body move by urges that did not seem like his own but which he knew could be nobody else's.

His left hand came to rest against her right cheek, hidden beneath her chocolate brown tresses feeling all too much like silk. His hands were rough when holding but he had a certain way of wielding a touch that seemed as gentle as a wind.

Arthur's gray eyes stared deeply into Charmae's gold, soft like the setting sun and five times as stunning and breath-taking and cosmic.

"I . . ."

His other hand freed itself from her grasp even though it pained him to do so, and that hand came to rest on her other cheek. He now held her face between his hands, the line of sight between them never broken. He cupped her face like a chalice, like every nuance of flesh he felt radiating beneath his fingertips was sacrosanct, to be treasured and revered.

A kiss. He did not rush her like a drunkard. Did not bruise their lips with the reckless ardor of a bumbling fool. No, he let himself be led into her, their bodies fitting together like cogs to the Great Machine. He did not force the moment but instead let the moment birth itself.

A world of passion effloresced between their lips.

. . .
. . .
. . .

The trumpets sounded and with visible reluctance Arthur pried himself away from Charmae's warmth.

"I wish I had words to give you." A whisper. Not shy, but they were meant only for one to hear. "You've given me no choice Charmae. You'll wait for me. So I will return. I must. Thank you for saving my life."

Another kiss, this union of their lips more ephemeral but no less sweet than the last, and Arthur left her.

[mire]

Long after Arthur had gone, Charmae remained rooted in the spot where she had experienced her first kiss. Though she was of an age where most girls could claim to have locked lips at least once, Charmae had been raised by a mother with a wary eye and a penchant for old fashioned courting rituals. Lady Magnus insisted on being present every time any of her daughter’s suitors visited, and made certain none of them ever got so much a kiss on the cheek from the young girl. In any case, Charmae never showed signs of true interest, and the young men stopping coming, much to her mother’s dismay. Some time after that, Joyeuse and Atticus entered her life, and the combined mystery of the two was far more intriguing to her than the idea of love, marriage and baby carriages. She eventually convinced her father to let her travel, to let her see and experience the world. Within days she was gone, engrossed in her own search for a “truth” of some sorts.

For a while, she was content to travel without much of a direction. She simply went where she felt she wanted to be, and let the rest take care of itself. Aside from Joyeuse, she wasn’t interested in much, and hardly thought twice of people she’d met along the way after they had parted ways.

When Charmae first met Arthur, she took a quick and easy liking to him. He was kind, generous, and—yes, she thought—a handsome man. She was surprised when she noticed she occasionally thought of him, even after they both had gone their separate ways. Their paths crossed again and again, each time a new opportunity for their mutual feelings to grow. Before she knew it, Arthur Terces meant more to Charmae than any other man ever had. Inexperienced with the dealings of the heart, she tried to rationalize her feelings, and in vain tried to convince herself she simply cared deeply for him as a friend.

But now, after their kiss, she could no longer deny it was Arthur’s presence that accelerated the beat of her heart, nor could she continue the blame the heat of the sun for the violent blush that covered her cheeks whenever he spoke to her. She had feelings for the knight, intense and strong feelings she wasn’t at all certain how to control. By all the Gods, if he hadn’t been summoned away by the drums of war, she would have been tempted to let that adoring kiss turn into an ardent mating of lips. But that, she supposed with a bit of a blush, would have to wait for another day.

So she’d wait, as promised, and pray for his safe return.






/thread.