ClosetMonster

The Highwayman Came Riding

Bess reveled in the quiet beauty before her, the perfection of it all. Her heart soared with the night breezes as they plucked light off of the waters and the grasses, the aspens and the brush – leaves made of glitter under the clear sky. All about was the warmth of the lord at her back, lost to his fairy lands as she was lost in them. Still the soft puff of air against her cheek carried a humid chill of deep night and all was laid bare and alive before them.

For a moment, a heartbeat, Bess was made one with the world about her. Through the touch and the words of the man wrapped about her, she felt she knew some great, unspeakable truth whispered into her. It was a catch in her throat, a tingle throughout her person. Then it was gone and left behind it a blessing, the hand of God upon her breast and here, she was to be, for whatever space she was.

Heathen though it might have been to imagine that her world and this fairy one could exist together in tandem, yet Bess' youth worked for her and in her untutored imaginings, even such disparate parts could become one, glorious whole.

His voice returned her to the world and she breathed it in, regaining her senses as it were. His life in her hands, this great lord outside of his home. She could feel the rush of excitement that this need not be the only time and she tensed with it, but held her tongue. Anything she could think to say would only seem course and unseemly. She was a tavern keep's daughter, was she not?

As he wrapped her snug into the cloak smelling of citrus and the bay leaf powders her father kept a tin of, she let her fancy take her. What had she dreamt of before this? Fairy lights on a breeze? Hidden eyes taking in her morning singing?

“Nowt as glorious as this,” she bit her lip and looked about. “Never had time ta think on anythin' so fine.” With a shake of her head, she strove to gain her decency back and found it completely lacking. “It's all so lovely, innit? Like fairy lights at Christmas up at the manor. Only not on just a bit of tree, this 'ere's all bouts, like a king's ransom of it all. An' there's the ride an' this bit'o Shadow he is,” she patted the crest of the horse beneath with a smile. “An' you!” She turned slightly to look up at him. “'M no doxy ta be ta'en in by a pretty face nor a bit o'flash. But you, you 'aven't asked for a bit a'me, have you? No, it's all lights an' rides through a land what don't exist nowhere else, an' you, a lovely lord such as yisself, askin' ta know annithin' about little me?” She laughed then. “If y'ain't a fairy lord, you're barmy. Y'd have ta be.

“Ain't got nowt but th' tavern an' Da an' Theo. Tha's m'brother, Theo is. I done little else but clean up an' cook an' watch over him when Da can't. Theo's a bit of a handful, he is. Him and the Little boy. The pair of them can get up to mischief afore you blink, let alone after!”

With a tap of her knuckles against her arm, she peered up at him. There was a glitter back and she could see him almost plain, enough to see no sign of anything supernatural, though it wouldn't make sense for him to look anything but real, if he was walking the lands about. “And if we're bein' honest, I didn't know what it were I was t'do ta save you. I'm thinkin' ya did it yerself on me, all unwillin' like. I wouldn't ha' known how ta make anyone leave ya be. Sides, what was they chasin' you for any ways?”

Oh, there was the twist of those lips and if she knew boys, she knew that half cocked smile. Her eyes narrowed up at him. He was a fox, he was, all the way through. But he was her fox and if she could hold to the evening a bit longer so as to get him to not run off, she'd count herself lucky, for as he said, her memories would not die with the morning.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Oh no.. I'm sure you are right and Fanny will be a deterrent. However, sometimes deterrents can be quite effective catalysts (or in this case, I hope she proves to be).

Also - terribly sorry for the lag in that reply. I kept being called away by the day. Sun was out - there is just so much to do!

Light in the Dark

Definitely had fun.. and it's nice to be back, as well.

Trolly - Troll-y.. heh heh.. I can see how that would happen!

How's the garden? You've all got one this year? I have been eyeing a patch and then had a survivalist friend come and spend some days here where all she could talk about was where we could put gardens. Heh.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Hmm... that sounds like a fabulous idea. Fanny would love to put on some appropriate histrionics. And yes - I'd like to see how Diana and her husband get along. I almost feel like they're the real story, against the backdrop of this great romance.

A gorgeous post, by the way.

The Highwayman Came Riding

It's really sweet... and then reality crashes into MY world and a tiny voice in the back of my head goes "Don't get toooo attached, heh heh heh."

I've never done anything like this before and it's amazing writers pull it off so often. Creating a personality which will then be .... erk! Promise not to get prissy about it, but no promises to not moan at the oncoming trainwreck. (It would be fun to create a psychic who can't change the future they see. What kind of personality could pull that off on a day to day basis?)

The Highwayman Came Riding

I think he's never going to be human to her. Not really. She's a young girl and she's just had her taste of the magic of it all.

I do think, though - that you're right and that reality will crash in. I'm sure she'll still remain twitterpated, but the let-down is going to be a proving ground for her character and I'm looking forward to using it. heh. It may be that she's been living in this fantasy world to some extent with her hidden hollow in the early mornings and that ought to help keep her head in the clouds somewhat. She won't crash so horribly that she's no longer a good character for the story.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

I'm enjoying the "lack of interest" on both their parts. They are strangers meeting, Wren is aiding in a slight way and Chall is intent on getting back on the road (though is younger and far more involved in figuring out his host - a momentary diversion) and neither is thinking this could be more than a quick stop along Chall's journey.

Wren is coming off cold and I think if I spend too much time in his head, he will do just that so don't let his thoughts make it seem like he's making all of these faces and being all dark and broody. I suppose he's far more reticent and naturally very like anyone else of the country might be, though much, much less in awe of Chall than his neighbors would be in his place.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

Wren gives a grunt of acknowledgment while dipping the morning dishes into a basin of rinsing water than placing each dish into the drain pan. The cast iron is wiped clean and set back over the still hot hob. Food already put away but for the little on the table, the shepherd muses as to his guest and the man's imperious nature. It isn't that the man is so sure of his place that all others haven't their own places. No – at the very least, this mage's apprentice hasn't pulled on the airs of a true court mage just yet – looking down their noses at the rest of the world as if only their magic was of any use. Instead, it is a simply view of the world about him that the boy seems to carry about him. This was not his world and he was, almost understandably so – considering the state they'd discovered him in, wary of interacting with a world where he did not fit in.

Well, best to get the boy back to his courts and his comforts and out of Wren's kitchen. That was all it will take. Wren kneels to draw out his heavy herbal box from under the kitchen cupboard and takes it to the mage. It is a box of rowan lined with cedar, created to keep the faint properties of herbs dry and active, with a tooled top intricately scrolled along the edges and oiled with linseed until it gleamed like moonlit wheat. To the untrained eye, it is a art piece. To one who had been in the courts, there is a chance that the mage would recognize the marks of the House of Madrigal, a royal house of Urr.

Then again, Wren isn't sure the boy is well traveled enough. Urr being a twice removed country to the north, its political influence on their home courts is negligible to the point of nonexistence. A significant mountain range between Urr and their nearest neighbor, as well as poor weather, makes Urr the land of mystery to most, as far removed from their king as the other side of the world might be. Still, now and again, Wren has heard tales of Urr, knowing most are aware of the magical differences; working with winds and the pockets of wild fae as opposed to the more civilized interior countries working with the ley lines and the land beneath their feet – tramping it down and bending it to their will. Had he thought to mention that the box is a rarity from the House of Madrigal, he has no doubt the boy would know the name, but outside of that, he risks little in setting it on the table between them both. It is, overarchingly, a well created box of wood in which one can keep herbs.

It is also very much the cause of Wren's quiet, innate disgust of his own country's mages and courts. But what else was he to expect them to be, really? His own countrymen were spoiled, indolent. Urr's nobility had rough calluses on their palms and all were more peasant in appearance than royal. There was little room for anything outside of hard work in a land where the lack of a pair of hands could mean one less mouth to feed come the hard-won spring. Life was precious, magic more so, and nothing came easily. It is a life Wren has a great appreciation for and one he lives now that he has resettled in the town of his father.

He pauses with his hands about the edges and looks at the young man sitting at his table, giving introductions of himself like any highborn brat might well do. His dark eyes meet bright, pained green and takes a moment to assess the other. Chall has attempted niceties while injured, and the stupidity of it in a shepherd's home does little to impress the tall man. But it is a gesture and it is kind, innocent even, of the boy. It does soften an edge in Wren and he gives a half smile, then nods slowly without playing the same airs back at the young apprentice. It is Wren's home the boy has graced with his grand self, not the other way around.

“Wren,” he gives with little pomp or circumstance. “Autenberry. First of that name and of no court, nor none of that. Now take as you'd like and we'll go.” He returns his attention back to the box between them. Knowing the Kirin-man's name and place will be of little good to him come an hour's time, provided the waters work for him.

The top is easily lifted, despite it being fitted, and he sets it to the side, then leaves the mage to take as he wishes. Inside, along the edges, herbs, wrapped in soft lamb's skin or felted rags, fit into each compartment. The herbs circle the center where an array of vials filled with tinctures of this or that, all labeled in neat, tiny script along the sides. And in the very center, a locked box with no key in visible sight thrums with a low, hedge-witch magic and completes the entire ensemble, keeping all the innards fresh and viable long past the date of picking.

He has two of the boxes, though the second has the more precious herbs from far away lands and Wren is not interested in sharing that with this mage, no matter what the reason. Even to rid himself of the boy.

Wren clears the table and puts out a small pocket of felted lamb's wool as a carry for the herbs Chall chooses, then climbs to the attic and pulls down a thick blanket he's had stored for some time. It is tightly woven and will keep the boy dry if he chooses to not do so with magic. It isn't as important to Wren that he'd feel poorly if the mage chose to throw it out upon arriving home, either, having been one of the first blankets he'd begun and without the perfect edge which the weaver was accustomed to offering his town and the neighboring communities. Still, it was warm and thick and dry enough to be light until rain came.

He dusted off the blanket outside of the cottage, then returned to where Chall had set aside what he needed. It was good to see Chall wasn't overly grabby over the various herbs, taking on what he needs, and Wren nods in approval as he sets down the blanket and ties it to the food satchel which he then hefts and jerks his head toward the door.

“Away, if y'don't mind,” he then adds, “Baxter, come on then.” At his master's command, Baxter leaves behind his bone as if it were nothing and is quick to the side of the large man, hindquarters bumping against Wren's shin and his doggy face looking up in adoration at the man above him. “Sooner started is sooner finished,” Wren intones and humps out of the cottage, making his way to the large draft waiting for them. A quick ride to the pond and then he'll be washed clean of this boy and back to his life once more. It will be a relief, he decides, as he hadn't made plans at all to have anyone come in and stir up his life so. Not that he minds company now and again, but this mage's apprentice is not the kind of company he generally keeps.

The Highwayman Came Riding

So I'm sorry I did the very thing I struggle with in people re-writing my posts for me. *L* However, I swear Bess was just insistent on having her say. I think we often settle our characters in with words, when they have a good solid structure we can then begin to pare off extraneous descriptions. I find I'm just now getting a handle on Bess. Hopefully she'd do better than gape about like a silly chit and start to interact some more.

That was a gorgeous post, by the way. The ride had a life of its own. Very nicely done!

The Highwayman Came Riding

Bess had been flushed, taken by the hand and led into the dream world with this witching man as its lord. The beast was like any lord should be astride and her girlish heart leapt into full life. Eyes bright, she offered a hand to the steed as the man untied reigns and turned to her. A warm puff on the palm of her hand felt as if it were nothing less than fire and it rippled through her with the force of a midday sun.

She was pliant as he set her into the saddle and when he squeezed in, forcing her to fit between he and the pommel, she blinked up at the dark hat and smiled in pure, unadulterated delight. No matter that she sat astride a man's thighs to make room, never had she ridden a horse with a saddle, least of all a royal creature of eventide before a lord of the forest! He gathered the reigns and turned the horse's head, the cords of muscle in his arms rolling against her back. Then they were off.

It is not an easy thing to ride a horse alone, more so together with another and in the dark, but Reynard directed his mount easily, obviously knowing the forests as well as he might his own apartments. The beast, too, was smooth – a rider's horse and not a great, jarring draft as she had ridden when a child. She began to settle into the pleasantness of the ride, when they broke free of the forest's confines and almost as if by magic, the great horse gathered its hindquarters and leapt into life. Bess gasped softly, hand going to catch at the pommel and catching instead at his sleeve. She let it go so as not to interfere with his riding then found the pommel.

The horse mounted the higher way and with dirt under hoof, proved that he had been crafted out of winds, just as his master had been formed from night shadows. Bess was thrown against the man's solid chest and she gasped for breath as the wind tore tears from her eyes and she laughed in sheer shock and awe. Never had she moved like this! It was as if they were flying. No – nothing so smooth as the air carrying them, for it was a creature under them, but with the man's body behind, guiding her into natural motion with the horse's rhythms, she had little need to consider their earthly state. Instead, it was the wind and the sheer rush of life which flushed her and stole her breath. Above, the stars glittered and below, the pale road wound through the countryside as if it were a stream of moonlight.

After what felt like an instant, they were back into the shadows and moving at deathly speed along a lesser used track, clearing stiles and through pastures which her mind may have recognized had it been her own world. This was his, however, and only he had the map of it in his heart. Bess was a guest, kidnapped by the lights and the shadows, the winds and the greatest trickster of the English countryside.

All too soon, and an eternity later, he pulled the beast to a stop. She could feel the great heart of the beast against her heel as he tossed his head and blew out a gusty sigh of disappointment. His chest bellowed underneath them and they rose and fell with the horse's attempt to catch his breath. Behind her, the man was still and she -

She was alive! She turned her head to look back at the shadowed face under that great brim and overcome, grasped this dream about the neck to pull him into a clasp. Not so forward, but already, she was lost and she laughed breathlessly and a bit on the edge of madness for what had driven her to such lengths if not madness? He was more intoxicating than elderberry wine, leaving her light headed and senseless.

Burying her face into his breast, she closed her eyes against it all. Her cheeks were cold and his chest was as warm as the beast beneath them. “Thank you,” she whispered and then, returning to a semblance of reality, she pulled back and set her hand on his chest with a giggle (one which she would have been loathe to give him only a few days prior). “Lor', but it's... “ she turned to look out upon the fairy land he'd taken her to.

“Got nowt ta say,” she admitted, ashamed she couldn't give him the words he'd given her. But then, these were his lands, not hers. The magic rolled about him and for her, she was left without a wit in her head. Frozen in place, she mused herself into silence and stared at the silver tipped grasses, the gleam of bright upon waters, as if each one was made of some strange, liquid metal, and woven all throughout, the sudden warmth of the man, the beast, each carrying something sweet and wild to her nose.

The surreal aspect of it all bowled her over and if he had thought to make her stand right then, she'd have merely crumpled to the earth, shaken as she was. Not even inside her hidden hollow had she been so encompassed by Beauty. No simple trinket this. He had given her a key to a country she was sure did not exist but in dreams.

And was it a dream? She lay back against him again, as if she were a puppet with the strings cut. “Are y'real?” she mused. “Ta'en me ta th' underhill, have ye? But I'll nowt ask ta go home, I promise.”