Solomon & Isolde, pt. 6

Isolde
|| Isolde had woken the following morning in an unfamiliar place. Her eyes had taken a moment to adjust, as had her thoughts. She stared up at the peak of a canvas tent, eyes scanning overhead before she rolled over to look at her surroundings. It was the same setting as the previous night— Solomon’s tent, but she’d been moved from the spot where she’d sat with him (and ultimately fallen asleep against his shoulder, hands entwined as they spoke in hushed tones under the sound of rainfall and thunder). She imagined he’d moved her to his cot, but at the present, she’d been alone. Sure that nothing had happened against her wishes, she remained there, ruminating over the previous night’s events. The sound of Solomon’s voice had been the background to her dreams, and she was still a bit unsure about the distinction between the real and the dreamt. He’d collected her chin, advancing as she retreated in a fashion that was a pleasant surprise, and offered precisely what her wilting heart had needed to hear ‘I won’t hurt you.’ so gentle and sweet that she couldn’t have dreamt it any better. In that moment, he’d tapped straight into her core and grasped her emotions in a way that only a mind-reader might have been able to. She wavered into the strength of his arms, knees weakened by the realization that in that moment, he knew her more intimately than any other had ever known her. The prim florist felt her heart race as she laid in the cot, arms coiled in the light summer coverlet that smelled of him— leather, smoke and cedar. She closed her eyes as a deep crimson painted her cheeks while her thoughts continued to replay the night’s events. Just when she’d thought he couldn’t have rendered her further derailed, the rain sighed over the world around them and he leaned down to seal his word with a lingering, yielding kiss. Soft, innocent, and somehow far more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced before. He’d brought her back to camp, sought fresh clothing for her, and honorably remained outside of the tent while she changed. When he returned to her call, she’d collected her hair to one side of her head, curling it gently to wring it of water and the two smiled at one another in the quiet still. Soon after, the pair caved to their comforts, becoming more familiar while the hour grew late. While nothing beyond talking and the gentle coil of their fingers happened, she felt light headed just considering it. Like two magnets drawn to one another, the steady support of his frame beside her felt as if it had been made to pair to her shape, providing surprising comfort, despite the rigidity of war-forged muscle beneath her cheek. ||

Solomon
 It was simple, it was beautiful, and ultimately it was unlike anything he'd ever shared with anyone else. The Warlord had given into the whims that ended with him embracing her in such a way that he was certain she had changed the chaotic nature of his being. To think a florist, tender, and gentle. Who smelled of the earth and hints of lilac could ultimately tame him in such a fashion. As her petite form drifted further and further into slumber. The Warlord watched over her, gently brushing his fingers along the back of her knuckles and soothing her until she found herself in a blissful slumber. Then he moved her to his cott, ensured she was comfortably covered and with a tender kiss to her brow he let her sleep, and honestly he felt somewhere in his mind that she may have needed that sleep more then she tried to let on. As for him, the Warlord, comfortably placed himself across from her, on the other side of the small wood oven used to grant light, tea, and food from within the tent. When the first light of morning tenderly peaked through the small opening upon the Roof, the Warlord awakened and ventured out into the world with a different view of it then he'd had before. That sweet feeling of her supple lips against his own, would not allow itself to be forgotten. Nor the sound of that contented sigh she loosened into the moment. Which made him feel all the more giddy about how he awakened. Families within the collective had started their daily routine, flat breads baked and eggs served with mixed vegetables of the season and exotic spices, and for once Solomon joined the line of men with one bowl for him, and one for his guest. Whom he ensured her sanctuary would not be ruined by any of the ruckus around. Eventually the warlord returned to the peaceful comfort of his tent, with food, bread, and a clay jug filled with water adorned with sweet berries and just a bit of sugar, Remembering his guest, Solomon wa sure to announce his presence, with a tender whisper of her name. Just loud enough for her to hear, before entering within to set the midday meal a create which lay on its side to be used as an make shift table. " Did you sleep well? " He asked softly, separating the meal so she had a place to sit, and eat. " the last of the storms have rolled through, and it promises to be hot, muggy, and uncomfortable " he offered softly a small smile upon his lips.

Isolde
|| Isolde’s thoughts were interrupted by the flesh-and-blood version of the haunt who moved swiftly through her mind. She glanced up at the entrance of the tent and sat up, running a hand over her forehead to push stray curls back into place as he called her name. She was dressed in the borrowed clothing of someone relatively the same size as her, which she’d slept comfortably in. Her cheeks were still a bit pink from her reverie, though it may have easily passed as the morning’s color. Stormy hues drank him in as he entered, the realization that this was all very real hitting her once she smelled food. Isolde’s frame was small in the cot, but she seemed to belong there, happily greeting him with a sleepy smile as he stepped in. “I did.” she confirmed, arms reaching overhead to stretch the length of her delicate frame before she stepped off the cot. “Surprisingly well,” she admitted, glancing back at the cot. She’d never slept in a tent before. And never in the company of anyone but her own parents and grandparents. The prim florist folded her hands and laced her fingers as she felt a low growl in the pit of her stomach. “I might take up tent living.” she added, glancing around casually as she swayed, placing one foot before the other as she took in the tent in the morning light. It was fairly big, housing his entire life and provisions. She made her way to where he set up the crate, settling herself across from him as he put together the breakfast spread. A bit self-consciously, she pulled the mane of untamed curls to one side of her shoulders, wrapping it around a hand as she attempted to tame what she was sure was an unruly mess. “Mm, that’s good.” she nodded, letting her grasp on her hair slip. As it loosed, the scent of their combined signatures passed her nose and she internally sighed. “Henry could use it.” she admitted with passive affirmation. Henry was the name  she’d affectionately given to the man-eating plant she was tending to on behalf of the Tyrant Emperor. A thought occurred to her as she watched him set a bowl before her. “Solomon…” she said hesitantly, spine straightening as her eyes flickered to his features, “This…” she gestured between them, “will anyone…come to their own conclusions?” she asked, realizing that it would become fairly obvious when he sought a dress for her, guided her to his own tent, and brought breakfast for two. She could feel heat prickling at the nape of her neck as she asked. ||

Solomon
It wasn't a bad life, he could pack up and leave whenever he desired, and so long as the royalty and land owners didn't convince themselves he was a gypsy or some kind of ill spirit wishing harm. Of course during the summer there was little to no protection from the heat, but It helped that he could wear as little or as much as he desired. As the food was set out, and she commented on Henry his brow lifted amusedly before taking a bit of bread and meat for himself to absently nibble on. When she considered the possibility of people drawing conclusions he glanced up at her briefly then back towards the food below him. He was given two choices, tell the truth, or be mischievous. Given the fragile nature of the circumstances he felt being truthful was likely the best choice. But he drew it out for as long as he could before speaking honestly. " They know me " he started taking a moment to pour some of that berry drink into a clay cup for her. His form shifting to sit bat to look at her as he considered how best to continue " I've traveled with them for a long time, and have never taken a woman into my tent, so I would not be surprised if someone out there believes that something entirely salacious has happened in here " He looked toward his food for a moment " But the men who served as my militia, and those who lived within the Valley with me know better and will quell any rumor with truth. " He looked to her honestly " Because they know me as a Man of God, who holds true to his convictions, I am yet unmarried ,and thus despite having been intimate with a spear through my ribcage, I am...chaste " A surprise no doubt, most men his age would have ventured into a whores arms to soothe the aches of war with carnal sin. But Solomon was not most men, his earliest educated came from the depths of the bible, and thus he'd built his own convictions upon it. He looked toward the food for a moment speaking softly " I've spent a lot of my life on the battlefield  in the two hundred years of my life, I've never taken an interest in anyone " he glanced up at her " At least not until you " He seemed to soften some, his hand moving gently to her own.

Isolde
|| Naturally, she felt a bit anxious about the assumptions of others. They’d been on her coattails for years. As he paused, allowing a bit of time to pass, she shifted from one side to the other in her seat. When he finally spoke, she wasn’t sure if his initial phrasing was meant to soothe her or not. But as he continued, she found herself deeply intrigued. She leaned an elbow on the crate beside her plate as he poured her a drink, chin resting in her palm. She watched his expression as he spoke, seeing the scars peeking from beneath his collar in decent light for the first time. His expressions were down played to minute shifts, which she suspected had something to do with his military life— emotions were an infrequent part of the soldier’s tool kit. Her expression softened with empathy as he spoke, fingertips unfolding under her chin to slip over her mouth. Isolde went from ease to curiosity fairly quickly, being given so much at once to think on. She began to immediately understand their innate, automatic draw to one another. And then briefly, she paled at the mention of his spear. Her heart pounded, eyes pricking as the fingertips of her free hand curled around the small clay vessel. When he concluded, her hand rest motionless under his hand for a moment before turning over to grasp his fingertips. Her thoughts were reeling, but she was brought up momentarily short by his admission. His demeanor had gone from passive, to frank, and then a bit grim, reverent and then gentle as he addressed her. Despite the wilting expression of empathy playing at her features, a laugh suddenly bubbled out of her, “I’m sorry…” she shook her head as her expression became pained with the effort of recovering her thoughts, mixed with the overwhelming comfort he’d just provided her. “I thought I heard you say two-hundred years.” A figure which, despite having heard it clearly, she was certain must have been a mistake.||

Solomon
Solomon eventually finished his meal, and likely long before her. One of his many useless talents being the ability to multitask while eating. Which he was doing well for the most part, even avoiding dripping droplets of the oil used to cook the vegetables upon his person. lifting his own clay cup upward he blinked a bit in realization, that while he appeared mostly human, He wasn't which had him chuckling some at her bringing up the length of his life. " Yes, two hundred and ten years, that I can remember clearly " He leaned back and brought his hand absently to his neck and glanced toward the tents entrance a moment, as if expecting her to run away the more he spoke " I'm not human " he said finally drawing his eyes to her own. " Everything about me, is humanlike, either through my creation or conception I'm not entirely sure. My earliest memories...I was just as I am, only with more hair and less clothing " He chuckled some hoping to ease the tension before bringing his hands together before him. " I was found " he said finally glancing to the empty plate before him " On the outskirts of a village. The Gentleman who found me was a man of the cloth who saw me as an opportunity to spread the gospel of his god to the savagemen of the world " He lifted his hand upward parting his collar to show the silver cross around his neck " They provided me an education to learn to read their bible, which lead to other educations like writing and language " He paused " I'm sorry, you likely don't want to hear me babble on about my life " he smiled some " In fact, I am honestly more concerned that if I continue talking, you'll....well you'll turn tail and run and I don't know if that's a wound I could heal " He brought his hand upward to his cheek. some.

Isolde
|| Isolde had realized as he continued that she had not mis-heard, nor had he mis-spoken. She searched his expression as he spoke, coming up blank for traces of evidence that what he was telling her was true. She could find no lingering facet that told her he wasn’t human. Always a grazer, she nibbled on the breakfast between sips of sweet-water, only pausing in momentary surprise or at a passing thought before resuming. Naturally, she’d eaten less, but had her fill by the time he glanced out the opening of the tent. Unassuming, she turned her gaze to follow, thinking that perhaps someone had approached. Realizing there was nobody there, she turned back to him as he withdrew the crucifix from beneath his collar. She reached out and caught it between a couple of slender digits, turning it over as he drew to a conclusion she couldn’t disagree with more. She shook her head, “No, I’d love to hear nothing more.” she offered with genuine warmth. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit…shocked.” she admitted, letting the silver cross fall from her fingertips. For a moment, the timid mouse leaned back. And then she rose, taking up a spot beside him to settle into. “I’m not going anywhere.” she resolved as she collected one of his hands with both of hers. With a bit of hesitation, she released one of her hands and set it gently on his chest to feel the subdued thudding of the heart beneath. Her fingertips shifted gingerly over the cloth there as grey-green hues turned down under dark lashes to unfold his hand with her own, gently running her thumb against his palm before she took a deep breath. Slowly, she brought his hand to her chest to let it rest over the cloth and yielding flesh beneath so that he might feel the gentle, fast paced thrumming of her own heart. She cautioned a demure glance up at him as her hand settled over the back of his, holding it there. “All I have ever known of human men hasn’t ever come so close to the things you’ve stirred in me.” she admitted quietly. ||