Isolde & Solomon: Proposal

 ◇─◇ In the early evening light, the wind chased silvery lines along the top of the grass on the bucolic countryside farmlands beside Isolde’s cottage. Bright red poppies lilted in the breeze, long strings of fragrant lavender tangling with one another amidst bright yellow bachelor’s buttons below an open kitchen window where the ingénue stood. Her attention was on something blocked from the outside eye, hands gently prodding and guiding her arms as she tilted her head to inspect the work at hand: nubile seedlings of the macabre carnivorous plant. A wet linen towel laid on the counter beneath, where several of them had been placed in neat rows to soak overnight. They were strange upon closer inspection. About the size of the average apple seed, striated through with lucent amber threads. Isolde wondered at how Henry had ever come from such a tiny thing. Brushing each gingerly with a fingertip, she spent time inspecting each, marveling at their gem-like beauty. She was new to magic, and honestly couldn’t understand how the task had managed to fall into her hands, but thus far she had proven successful. By some stroke of luck, her natural inclination for plants had grown beyond harvesting seasonal flowers to sell at market into growing a commissioned army of sentient, man-eating moving trees. Not that she could ever imagine any of them in such a role. Well, she ought to rethink that. Henry had been up to no good until she procured a daily meat delivery for his appetite. Folding half of the damp linen over the seedlings, Isolde turned to her next task, running honey from the hives through a sieve to catch all of the wax remnants from the hive. Watching the pale golden column drip into the decanter in thick, sloping pillars, Isolde facilitated the work by adding more unfiltered honey once the first pass was finished draining. Bees buzzed happily outside the window, through which the breeze cooled her forehead. Dressed casually, in a loose-fitting chemise and a long taupe linen skirt of diaphanous weight, Isolde’s collarbones, shoulders and bare feet were visible. Her hair was braided loosely from her face, a bit unruly from the day’s work as she quietly went about her work. She’d filled her day with tasks— both to busy her mind and to also because she wanted to free up her time for the following day. Solomon had written that he would then be home, by letter delivered by the far dragon, Shade. Ever a welcome guest, the dragon had been their courier in the weeks during Solomon’s absence. Bringing and delivering written words by which the pair had been able to knit their bond, and Isolde was thankful for it. While the days had been full in his absence, to receive word on occasion had been a bright spot in an otherwise dutiful day’s work. It also afforded her the opportunity to express her thoughts on personal matters that, up until recently, she felt might have been presumptuous to bring up. Given the tenor of their bourgeoning affections, there came a point where it felt that withholding the information would be wrong, and so she wrote to tell him of her visit with her family, the official dissolve of her betrothal (and the tumultuous years leading up to it), and news of her escorts having taken word back to her parents of Solomon’s presence when she’d arrived from that trip (just a day before his departure). Her parents’ impressions had been mixed, but of course, they had yet to meet him. Isolde had written to them of her delight, but shared little other than the necessary details— sparing her mother the thought of her slip somehow finding its way into Solomon’s care. ◇─◇

Solomoŋ
 Tremulous, anxious, and excited, these were the only words he could find to describe the feelings of returning home after what felt like ages away from what he was coming to know as his daily life. Since the dissolvement of the lost souls of Glenn Haven. This of course had brought upon the heart and mind of the Warlord to resolve, and thus end his years of dutiful servitude to a populace not his own. This also reminded him of a need to return something to its proper place. He had told Isolde a full truth that day. He would return to Glenn Haven, and bury his turbulent past along. How he did was of course symbolic and no doubt of no consequence to anyone other them himself. But that was fine, the long weeks that took him from Immortalis and into the Valley, were filled with thoughtful contemplation of the future. He would ever be a man stained with blood and conflict. Things he could not change would be sorted, and that which he would strive to placed high in priority upon his heart. Of course ever present was thoughts of Isolde, He wrote her with every opportunity he had, and poor Shade was no doubt growing weary of being forced to constantly come and go. (Though the dragons 'torment' was oft rewarded with treats and affection from both parties.) Despite this of course he still clung to the memory of a simple and chaste kiss as they departed one another. With a single promise to return home. The Warlord did come to the conclusion that home was where the heart lay, and it most certainly was nurtured by the florist's tender hands. Solomon felt no other had the strength to tame his Warlord's heart. A long road turned into a desolate city, long forgotten by the living and filled with ghosts of the past. Beyond that a castle, turned to rubble by the hands of an unhappy population. No doubt the royals still clung to those partitions of false nobility. The Lion was no more and his children now wraiths wandering the halls of their hubris. He did not visit this place to wallow in their miseries, but to be freed from his own. What transpired upon his arrival within those dilapidated walls would remain ever etched into his heart. But as he drove his sword deep into the throne, Solomon felt the weight of the world slip free from his shoulders. The horrified scream of a Princess, and the empty threats of a Prince were met with a peaceful smile. " May you live long, and rule well your kingdom of Ghosts my Lord and Lady. " He bowed and turned away from them leaving behind a Sword, and a Legacy of bloodshed behind. There was but one more task at hand-- one that had come forth upon the news of a dissolved betrothal, and truths coming to light. For a man whose life had been marinated in violence and conflict, he was not against contemplating the early demise of someone. But would that make him any better? As a final letter was sent to Isolde to confirm the time of his arrival. Solomon had come to the a resolute conclusion. The Warhorse, was lead up a now familiar path that lead him to the farmhouse that Isolde had built. Where soon they would be reunited.

Isolde
 ◇─◇ The sound of distant hooves didn’t immediately alert her, as it was a common sound in the countryside. There was a small trace of hope lingering in the back of her mind that they might carry Solomon home, but she quickly dashed the thought, knowing that he would arrive on the following day. So it was with casual interest that she glanced out the open window to see who was passing by when she spotted the familiar face, riding confidently in on the war-horse while Shade flew overhead. Dropping the un-sifted honey into the sieve as a giddiness spread through her expression. Isolde left the unfinished task to slip to the door, through which she passed barefoot into the front yard. She paused at the gate, making a weak attempt to stifle her excitement that tightened in her throat and made her stomach flutter. Her fingertips grasped at the wood of the gate as he weight bounced in momentary, childlike glee before she finally succumbed to her delight. She’d done her best to remain composed, but the combined surprise of his early arrival and their long separation had each done their part to spur her along with unrestrained arcadian glee. Half between a walk and a sprint, she cantered toward the horsed warlord, free of concern for anything else. She looked on him with felicity, expression and mannerism both free from the confines of the old promises her parents had made on her behalf as a child. It was with new step that she came to him, freshly untied from what once restrained her affections and made her second guess her worth. As his features came into focus she breathed in relief, having not realized quite how much she’d missed the brooding silvery eyes beneath heavy brows. Even the scar over his eye, which once struck her as fearsome, had become endearing to look on. Flushed from her gerful approach, lovat hues bright with anticipation, Isolde’s step slowed as they drew nearer, heart thrumming in her chest as her hair blew loosely at the edges of her face. Her house clothes were loose and flimsy, blowing around her calves and shoulders, gently chasing the outlines of her frame where she stood. “You’re home!” she settled as an acceptable greeting. ◇─◇

Solomoŋ
 He had hoped in some sense to be able to truly surprise her, to knock lightly upon the wooden frame of her door and as their first meetings amid the crowds of Immortalis-- move to the side and surprise her by making his presence known at the very last moment. But alas, this was not to be his luck. However he was in truth more then happy to finally see that willowy frame as it came ever closer, and like a one would expect of a trained warrior he dismounted his horse mid stride, catching himself with a slight stumble before meeting her halfway. Their affection for one another had not diminished, if anything for Sol the absence only made his hard heart soften to the woman now a foot before him. Before words and thoughts his body acted. A hand raising upward to brush along the soft skin at her cheek, with a forward movement he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth just light enough to ensure she felt the moment of affection before he wrapped his arms about her form and hugged her smaller form to his own tenderly. " Now, I'm home " he whispered before drawing himself back to look upon her more intently. To admire everything he had come to know as beautiful. More and more each day he found himself falling into this chasm of glorious elation when she was thought about. He fell endlessly, only allowing the chasm to grow wider and deeper with every moment spent with her. For Solomon there was no escape, and if he was versed in such romantic notions he might have considered himself falling in love. But despite these intimate thoughts. He smiled, and the smile touched his eyes lightening the deep silver as they looked upon her. " I missed you " he said finally, after long moments of pensive silence, " and if I am being honest, I did not think I could ever 'Miss' someone " he frowned, " what kind of magic spell have you weaved upon me Isolde? " he asked mirthfully. " to have me missing you! " his lips turned upward to a small and affectionate smile " you know... " he said softly " if there was a magic at work of any sort then I have walked willingly into it " He drew his hand to her own " And since you've no obligations, and I am home, I would like to spend some time with you. " He paused " and perhaps discuss what could be...our future "-

◇─◇ As she stepped into his caim, her weight shifted onto her toes with an unrepentant tilt of her chin to meet his lips. Small, thin hands held the sides of his face, palms resting on his jawline while fingertips cradled his temper gently. Her lips met his eagerly, but with a timid, soft embrace which held his lower lip before the pair parted. As his hand fell from her cheek and his grasp closed around her waist, her hands fell to a gentle rest over his chest. An irenic mood settled within her, informed by the circle of his arms and his proximity. As he whispered his greeting, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, nodding in the abendrot light of the evening sky. She’d realized by then that their meeting had been a rush compelled by the heart, without second thought. Internally, she quelled the anxieties of exhibiting such unchaste, thoughtless mannerism as he assured her with tender accolades. Watching his expression soften, she let her weight fall from the balls of her toes to rest flat footed, nodding modestly as she lowered her chin. “And I’ve missed you.” she added demurely in his thoughtful pause. As he continued, she laughed and shook her head in protest. “I stand wrongly accused!” she offered in jest, “I’ve not a drop of magic in my soul.” she added, honestly. (Or so she thought.) As his calloused hand collected hers, she squeezed it to affirm his suggestion. “I’d love nothing more. I…don’t know that I could stand to be apart now that you’re home.” she admitted hesitantly. Was this happening? For a heart that had been long closed to the notion of endearment alone, hers was suddenly as bonny as her youth. Of course, she stared blankly at him for a moment as he concluded his thoughts, weight shifting as she wavered ever so slightly. “I…” she was at a loss for words, thoughts entirely derailed by the suggestion. It was with pleasant shock that she gave pause, breath catching as she connected the dots. “I can’t imagine a future without you.” she finally concluded, expression caught between surprise and propriety. “Come with me,” she added quickly after, not wanting to spoil the moment with what would have surely been an ill-timed, clumsy rush of words as she tried to avoid pulling him into a kiss. She drew him after her, leading to the house where she would collect a basket of food, a skin of water (and one of wine). “Let’s go to the forest.” she suggested as she packed the basket in with tidy, intentional motions. While his tent wasn’t yet set for the evening, she realized that should she let herself be couped up in the house with such strongly charged emotions, she might forget herself. So, a quaint forest supper for the pair of them would keep the innocence of their tristful thoughts guarded. ◇─◇

Solomoŋ
 The nature of life was that it changed, and there they stood two beings who had changed each others outlook on life. Solomon could not speak for Isolde but for himself. he could sense the change entirely. Perhaps part of it was the magic dampening. It drove away the ebb and flow of chaotic tendrils that reached beyond him and into him. They made it easier to see the world without that haze of violence. Or maybe it was the woman herself. She was peace and serenity incarnate, mayhaps the otherside of the coin that was created to be the counterbalance to his existence. Either way, he had considered long and hard his future and as she spoke softly her inability to imagine a world without him, he nodded softly. How easily they worked from tender mirth and jest, to this moment. " Yes " he said softly " Let's not contain ourselves indoors today, the evening is lovely and should be enjoyed. " Of course the night was drawing close and their preparations, or rather hers. (as he truly would not have had the patience to pack a picnic basket ) However he was at least confident that despite the encroaching darkness that he could provide a comfortable setting for them to spend the evening talking the night away. Eventually this would lead to them walking arm and arm, with picnic basket skins and other items they'd likely need to enjoy the cool evening. Where Solomon loosened some of where his mind had gone in his absence -end-

◇─◇ Isolde had pulled a sweater off of the hook beside her door on the way out, slipping into a pair of small leather boots before they departed. When they set out for the woods, she’d have taken the opportunity presented by their linked arms to draw herself closer to him. With the large knit cardigan hanging from her delicate frame, she breathed in the cool summer evening and the smell of Solomon beside her. A cologne of leather, cedar and smoke which had become a staple among her favorite smells marked the man beside her, whose warmth she shamelessly huddled close to as they walked. With a pair of lithe arms wrapped around one of his, she could feel the staunch resistance of his muscle against the yielding flesh of her own arms and hands. It carried security, along with years of daunting combat, and something about the feel of his firm grasp drew her like a moth to a flame— something which she’d never expected of herself. Where Linden was lean, elegantly composed and sniveling, Solomon was the opposite. He was a tall, athletic, well formed man. His upright carriage suggested the years of military experience. His countenance was much older in expression and decision of feature than Linden’s, looking intelligent, and retained marks from his former degradation. A half-civilized ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows, and eyes full of silvery fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was dignified, divested of roughness though too stern for grace. And still, he held her with such gentle regard that she wondered at how he could have been any different outside of her company. And strangely, it endeared her all the more to know that such strength could be rendered inconsequential in her presence. Meanwhile, he had emboldened her, giving her reason to settle old scores and make herself new. While such pleasantries were the focus of most young women’s social lives, they were far outside of Isolde’s comfort zone as a staunch pacifist, but she wouldn’t let herself be coaxed into marital turmoil even before she’d met Solomon. It had taken every ounce of her courage to decline the raging bull, and Sol had given her the bolstering she’d needed— simply by existing. With these things on her mind, she let her head rest against his shoulder until they reached a peaceful nook of the woods where they spread a blanket and supped on fruits, nuts, and bread. She was quiet, allowing him the space to approach the subject on his mind without interruption.◇─◇

Solomon
 Thoughts of the future still remained on his mind. A pleasant spot was found adjacent the flowing creek that had once lead her from the comfort of her lands to those of his and his former peoples' campground. It was clear enough that he could see the sky, and the reflection of the sun as it made its way from above to rest beneath the earth. No doubt she'd thought of everything including a blanket, and the likes. A lantern taken from his packs which remained upon his horse's back. ( A horse intelligent enough to follow them into the woods as far as it could get.) Their little paradise in the woods came to be created. His mind was shifting amid the multitude of things he wanted to say. Solomon not one prone to conversations of this sort and was anxious and slightly uncertain of what to say, and how to say it. As he traveled alone to Glenn Haven, the ultimate conclusion of what he and Isolde now shared was the creation of a family. Either just them via marriage, or otherwise. Which as logically as he was attempting to think it through brought him some flutter to his chest. Their walk, was perhaps one of the most enjoyable things he'd done in quite some time. To feel her gently clinging to him, to feel the heat of her cheek on his shoulder. It made his scarred cheeks lightly light with flush and his heartbeat just a bit faster. Eventually when they'd finished preparing their 'camp' Solomon would shift to gaze at her, and he contemplated further the thought they both shared. Ungracefully tried to shift his thoughts to a proper way of speaking his words. " Isolde " he cleared his throat drawing his hand to his neck looking toward the sky for a moment before shifting his glance down to her " perhaps this is...inconsequential to our future but....I've laid down my sword..for me my future is uncertain for the first time " he moved a bit more toward her " the only thing certain for me is that my life before now was...incomplete and missing a very important something " he alluded to her with a motion of his hand before he continued " Now I, am uncertain what I should be doing with my hands "

◇─◇ When the pair had settled their sanctuary for the evening, they sat together under the canopy of tall pines, surrounded by the sounds of the forest— singing crickets, the fading song of cicadas, and the dampened sound of the night’s breeze. A clear moon shone overhead, greeting dusk to wink at the sun before it set, and she watched Solomon patiently as he struggled to vocalize his thoughts— something which she found entirely relatable. As he grasped the back of his neck, he expression softened with empathy. Just as she’d been about to tell him it was alright to shelf the conversation for another time, he began to speak. Surprise dappled her features as he remarked about the resting of his sword— something which had seemed to be the very trademark of his lifestyle. As he continued to explain that he had found the missing piece of his life’s whole, one hand gesturing freely to her, the tension building in her had softened. She had initially been concerned that, perhaps her lack of spine had wrongfully encouraged him to give up his life’s purpose. As horribly selfish as the idea was, she couldn’t help but to feel relief— and then immediate guilt at the thought. The gentle florist caught his hand in the air as he gestured to her and concluded his thoughts. Taking it between both of her hands, she gently scanned the linework of his palms with both of her thumbs. As she examined his hand, lovat hues flickered to his expression hesitantly before she slipped her left hand into his and shifted her weight onto her knees where she sat before him. Having never been one to initiate any kind of affection, she approached it timidly. Her free hand lifted to find his other and she held both of them for a moment before slowly, but intentionally, guiding one of his hands to her waist, and the other to the spot over her heart. Releasing his hands to their respective locations, she leaned in to kiss him ardently, face flushed and blood warm. Her own hands held the back of his head gently as she drew herself nearer to him. Whether driven to boldness by wine, or having lost herself in the moment, she pulled back and let her forehead rest against his. “One of your hands can have one of mine.” she offered quietly, “and as for the other…” she let her weight fall back from him to rest on her knees, “I would never ask that you give up who you are on my behalf.” ◇─◇


Solomon
It was ironic in some ways how she had become more bold and in ways he was more timid. But there she was, guiding herself to him with a look in her eyes that he could not say he didn't enjoy. The kiss however caught him entirely by surprise and where she led his hands. One of them gently came to her lower back drawing her close while the other guided upward to her jaw and framed it so he could more eagerly return that moment of passionate affection. It made his heart skip hundreds of beats (but he wasn't counting) and in that moment as he drew back he realized the thrill of battle was nothing compared to what she could pull from him with something as chaste and innocent as a kiss. He remained silent, peering deeply into her eyes as she spoke, and he in truth took a moment to enjoy the warmth of her forehead against his own. Opening his eyes after a moment to look deeply into her own. " you never asked me to do anything, " he said softly " but from the moment I met you, I've been... " he paused for a moment trying to think of how exactly he intended to express himself " seeing things entirely...different. " He reached forward, placing his hand gently upon her cheek. " I am here, in the woods, with you having a picnic..." he looked around " If who I am is defined by what I have done in the past, then this is not something I should be able to enjoy. " he smiled, " Yet I do, and continue to look forward to all the new facets of my life I can learn while holding your hand." he brought his other hand to her own, lifting it upward to accentuate his point. " I am not laying down anything for you, I want you that to be clear. " another brief pause " I did it for me, because it's what I want " he glanced to her fully now. " Because this, " He of course meant the moment, " You, us, a future with you in my arms. Is what I want. " a moment of silence now as he watched her, wondering what her reaction to his words would be. " and I think it's what you want too. " now he softened his voice and shifted some, not uncomfortably, but rather thoughtfully as he moved closer to her. " Your letter, when you told me about your engagement, and how it has ended. It made me...think " he brought his hand upward to her cheek again " that perhaps, if you were asked " he could feel heat in his cheeks " properly..." he was blushing " What I mean to say Isolde is that, now that you're free to do as you please...that you would prefer to marry for love. "

◇─◇ The gentle woman could feel the brontide in his chest against hers, and the warmth generated by her sudden bravery. As he moved his hands to hold her, skirting the opportunity to let them hover over the yielding flesh of her chest or the small of her back, her heart was secured. Where she’d been taken advantage of in the past, here was a warrior moving his hands from the spots she’d welcomed him to. Her heart and mind were already his, and his respect for her maidenhood (even in her moment of lapsed judgement) left her feeling less vulnerable and far safer than she’d otherwise ever been. Without a word, she understood that the desire was there, but quelled with unmatched respect and honor— further endearing her. She was close, head swimming with the warm scent of Sol. Perhaps it wasn’t just the wine she was drunk with. As he spoke, she drew back enough to watch his expression in the fading light, listening to his quixotic and quiet explanation for his choices. A smile couldn’t be contained, though she did her best to avert her eyes modestly. Her face fell to one of her palms as she felt the apricity of her life’s winter given full bloom by his words. As he concluded, the thought about their mutual desire trailing, she bit down on the corner of her lower lip, nodding in the silence. She did, so badly, but couldn’t find the voice to say so. Her eyes prickled suddenly as the gravity of their conversation began to sink in. Sol closed the gap she’d opened between them, and as he brought up her letter. Isolde had hesitated to send it, fearful for what it might do. And now she braced herself to hear ‘but’…and it never came. As the broad hand cradled her cheek, she left the weight of her head rest against it, eyes closed as she listened. When he concluded his gentle proposal, she opened her eyes, which brimmed with water. He was incalescent, just as she was for their mutual redamancy. When she opened her mouth to speak, she found it hard to do so, but she managed a quiet, grateful admission. “I would.”  ◇─◇

Solomon
The Warlord was treading upon unexplored lands within his heart and he knew it. He would have to have been an utter fool not to know what lay within him was deeper than a mere midsummer's fling. He hadn't planed an admission of such depth, for it was far beyond him to be able to do so. But that did not stop him from trying. Solomon's eyes closed and he breathed a sigh of relief when she whispered softly that she would. To leave this unspoken would have been cruel on both ends, thus he found his strength of mind and continued carefully navigating the uncharted waters. " Good " he said softly before realizing the inevitable next steps took him from standing at the edge of the precipice, to falling over it. Such adventures to be found within the moment. However now he was turning his focus solely on her. He was intoxicated, and not on the wine. Isolde was delicate, beautiful, and demure. She was not the kind of woman he imagined himself with, and while he'd  never been one to really contemplate such things, she had surely changed that in him. He found himself suddenly reminded of poems he'd read in the clergy, and soon began to count the ways he had fallen for her. He let his forehead find her own, and those eyes the closed his hand moving gently to wrap around her own. " Isolde.. " he name came softly " I love you " he finally voiced the unknown yet powerful feeling that had been thundering in his heart. " I have, hundreds of campaigns under my belt " He said finally " And yet here I am, defeated by a tender soul who has conquered me " he looked to her and brought his hand upward to her neck " Sweet Lady, if you'll have me I will give you everything that I am " he brought his hand to her left boot and slipped it off, doing the same to the right " and I will take you for who you are. " He brushed his knuckles gently under her jaw " The most beautiful flower in the Emperor's Gardens " He turned his eyes to her own to solidify his statement " I suppose I'm being presumptuous aren't I " He closed his eyes " I should of course wait to see if you love me too before I ask for your hand " -end-


◇─◇ As their foreheads rested against one another’s, she sighed her own relief. The worst of her fears dashed— the story of her past washed clean by his unwavering empathy. As his voice brought her mind to the present with the hushed, reverent whisper of her name she replied in the stillness with matched fervor, “Solomon.” But his response drew a gasp from her, a quiet remark of surprise as she brought a hand to her mouth to reprimand her sudden sharp inhale. Of course he did. And…she did, too. She’d just not expected to hear it so plainly. While they pined for one another, both had done so in excruciating silence until now. The ingénue’s fingertips trailed her lips as they fell from her chin, head a bit fuzzy from the swill of comfort and confidant. He continued then, issuing her accolades for feats she hadn’t known she’d accomplished. Sol’s hand held the space between her neck and jaw while the other removed her boots. They slipped off with no resistance, and by the end of his sentence she realized he meant to imply that she ought not fight for propriety’s sake against who she was— a nelipot in the arms of a conquered warrior. The backs of his knuckles traced the outlines of her jaw and she basked in the lucent glow of their aubade. Further enamoring her with a compliment which she felt incredibly short of, she shook her head modestly and her features brightened. “I love you, too.” she finally managed, realizing that she had spoken in the most quiet of tenors the loudest thought in her head. Her bare toes curled with the admission, slight frame cloaked in an over-sized knit cardigan with her heart thundering in her ears. “Stay with me.” she said, suddenly, as if it weren’t already assumed. One of her hands curled around the edge of her sleeve, fingertips pulling at it anxiously. “I mean… close to me. It’s late, and I wouldn’t have you setting up camp until the afternoon.” she explained, suddenly realizing her indiscretion. “But, as opposed to so far off down the river.” she added. It was her turn to fumble numbly through her thoughts. She sighed, shoulders slumping as she attempted to articulate her thoughts. “I mean to ask… all things being proper, if you’d like to set up camp closer. Tomorrow.” she finally managed, lovat hues cast upward fleetingly before she continued. “And..in my guest room until you can set up tomorrow.” she offered, doing her best to preserve her fleeting senses.◇─◇


----

◇─◇ Isolde went willingly into the circle of his arms, but clumsily. She was a bit shaky from the shock and excitement of the passing hours, unsure of herself in the space they’d newly discovered together. Her bravado had settled, and now she found her thoughts lingering into the territory of self-consciousness. Under his careful guide, the wispy florist teetered into place, weight leaning comfortably against his chest once she’d finally recovered.  As he spoke, she felt at once relieved and guilty. Relieved because he thought nothing of her request, guilty because she knew what her mother would have to say about that. Feeling the gentle brush of his lips against her cheek, her frame softened as he admitted to thinking she’d meant the forest. The nemophilist laughed, shaking her head some as she tried to drive out the nagging of her conscience, instilled by a sheltered and firm childhood policy. Her hand turned over so that her fingers could slip between his to clasp their hands. “I imagine it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to see in Immortalis…” she offered with a thoughtful squeeze to his hand. “Though hardly proper.” she admitted with a humored grin. Once they’d collected their things and the horses had been stowed away into the stalls— Shade free to roam about the cottage as he pleased, Isolde made tea. She leaned on the table over a cup of warmth, both hands clasped as he told her about his trip home and of Malika. Her expression softened with empathy, realizing that while Solomon had lived her lifespan at least four times over, they shared similar views due to the unrelenting personalities they’d been bonded to. “And she…is…” Isolde asked hesitantly, “she’s not going to retaliate?” The gentle-minded florist searched for the right words to express her thoughts, and in doing so, revealed her own experiences. Based on her difficulty in escaping Linden’s grasp, and it being her only real experience, she wondered if Solomon might have the same troubles, but she was unable to think of anything quite so vile as the intentions of those who meant to do harm. She didn’t fear for herself, but couldn’t see any reason why someone ought to want to hurt Solomon. Likely just as he might not be able to imagine her in the same position. As the night grew late and their cups emptied, she set about installing all of the proper boundaries a lady might expect of a guest. (Save, of course, for the fact that according to those rules— Solomon shouldn’t have been alone with her in the house at all, let alone so late at night!) Guiding him on a small tour of the home and its various rooms, she eventually led the way upstairs. Two bedrooms made up the small upper-floor of the cottage, one for guests, and the other for herself. Both featured large windows through which the woods and sky could be viewed from floor to ceiling. The guest room was comfortable, its furniture arranged cozily. Thoughtful articulation hid in the traces of the room, ranging from a pedestal and basin for washing, fresh flowers, several pillows and a downy comforter atop a plush bed. “It’s not a tent…” she mused, leaning on the doorframe, “but it should do.” she half joked. “There’s a wood burning stove…” she pointed out, piled next to which were several logs and snapped sassafras for kindling. “If you’re cold.” she offered. She guided him as she would any guest, taking special precaution to avoid implying anything out of the ordinary. ◇─◇

Solomoŋ
Their time within the woods, the admissions of love and adoration, the further developing closeness. They would forever remain one of his fondest memories. One he would look upon as many times as he was able. Now they were within her home, where the slight awkwardness was hard to escape. No doubt the idea of being apart even if only by a few feet was a horrible notion after spending so long away from one another. Part of him desired to throw caution to the wind, and simply request that she remain with him. To rest beside him and enjoy the comforts that came their intended path. The other found reason to hold from such requests. If only to continue to admire the blossom that would come from the seed of their admitted love. As she acted the part of host, he followed along beside her, his hand tenderly holding her own, reflection upon her question of Mal for several moments before he spoke " If she does, she'd have to leave the comfort of her prison. " He spoke bluntly " The Emperor saw to the end of her father in these lands, and no doubt she would find herself isolated and with little power to do much more then become a thorn in our side " He added honestly " I had thought to end the line entirely while I was there, but I realize now I would be no better then a brigand if I did " he shrugged softly " if she comes, let her " he smiled " I am stronger beside you holding your hand then I ever was alone " Then it was to the guest room. No it was certainly not a tent, but he had no qualms with sleeping in a bed, or on the ground. where he slept was never a problem. Now it was could he do so alone with her so close to him? The realization that her living alone meant the wood beside the stove had been cut by her hand caused him some slight turmoil on using it at all. At least not without the intent to replace it in double. Shifting to face her he smiled warmly drawing his hand from her own to touch her cheek " It's perfect, tomorrow I'll set up camp a stones throw from here " he said softly " So that you can summon me whenever you wish. " A warm smile crossed his features and his lips found her forehead. " Thank you " he offered tenderly " I know this must inconvenience you horribly. "

◇─◇ Isolde listened to him as they walked through the quiet house, talking of old ghosts and a history far removed from their present reality it was hard to imagine. Curious but cautious, the woman nodded and bit her tongue. For another day— best not to let such a lovely evening go to waste with a dour topic before they slept. “I’m thankful for who you are.” she added in a quiet tenor, lovat hues surveying his expression before she continued, “I understand that at times, violence is…necessary.” she said, with some difficulty. “But unnecessary violence is a terrible thing.” she articulated without hesitation. “I am proud to call you mine.” she added on with the tilt of her chin so that she could watch him from beneath her lashes. “I imagine you have more than enough strength to…end… an entire line, as you say. Even greater strength is practiced through resisting those urges.” her voice was even, but her words came slowly, chewing them as she thought aloud. Discern and consideration for those who’d wronged him, and the sparing of lives after those considerations was captivating to her. As he glanced around the guest room, she held his hand, but remained outside the door. Her best intentions kept her from crossing the threshold, else she might be pulled in by the magnetism of him. She glanced out the window to the line of trees on the horizon, nodding as he spoke about setting up his camp. “I’ll be glad to have you close.” she replied as he kissed her forehead. With lashes to her cheeks, her head rest against his lips, clasped hand squeezing his before she nodded in quiet response to his gratitude. Immediately after she pulled her head back, expression cross with him for just a moment by the suggestion of her inconvenience. “Absolutely not.” she added staunchly. “I’d have you here each night if I were sure my mother weren’t going to trouble herself with a surprise visit in the coming days.” After she said it, she realized that she might have revealed a bit too much. “And by that I mean…you, here.” she pointed to the floor of the guest room, meaning to imply…sleeping separately, of course. Her mind played the fleeting reel of imagery associated with the sharing of a bed and she breathed in deeply before offering a refreshed, dismissive smile. Pushing her weight onto her toes so that she could reach, she kissed the corner of his mouth quickly before her weight settled on the flats of her feet in a step toward her own room. “I’ll…see you in the morning.” she added with a smile which told she was sort of pleased with herself. Squeezing his hand once before releasing it, she’d turn quickly to cut her derailed thoughts off. Once her door closed, she leaned back against it and let her head rest between both palms, fingertips rubbing her forehead, eyes and cheeks as heat prickled there. She let her hands fall to her sides as she sighed contentedly. A fleeting thought that she’d wake in the morning to nothing but a hazy, dreamy memory of the evening passed her mind. Like a giddy teenager, she pinched her own arm and went about washing her face (blessed Sophia, the water was cool.) and changing into her bed clothes. With her hair combed and long over her shoulders, she climbed into her bed and blew out the lantern to gaze out the sky-painted window and count her lucky stars to sleep. Except, there weren’t any stars. A cloud front had rolled in, snuffing them all out and promising rain over the night. 'How perfectly appropriate,’ she thought to herself, turning on her side to fold herself into the downy fortress of comfort as the distant rumble of thunder rolled over the hills.◇─◇

Solomoŋ
There was a line it seemed neither of them would cross, for her it was a near physical barrier keeping her from the comforts of the guest chamber, and for him it was keeping his back to her, ensuring she couldn't see the heat that rose on his cheeks briefly at the near mention or rather not meant to be implied but taken as such of them sleeping together. Sol was not ignorant of relationships, he'd seen enough of them, and any man could garner what happened behind closed doors. For warriors such stories were staples of tavern and campfire talk. However it had never been something he bothered to indulge in. Even now as he brushed his hands through the length of of his hair pushing it free from the leather band holding it in place. At her movement he turned toward her having collected himself for the moment. " Yes, good night Isolde. I am eager for dawns first light " their hands parted, and soon the door closed before him. Releasing a soft sigh the Warrior sat at the edge of the bed bringing a leg to cross over knee so that he could go the process of unlacing his traveling boots, letting the lightly armored leather thud to the ground, and shifting to do the same with the other foot, eventually standing and making way to the window as he removed the thick leather jerkin he wore inplace of armor these days. The Night Skye ushered in clouds, and the scent of rain was on the air. He heard it coming long before it was there. opening the shutter just slightly the Warrior watched the sky for several long moments, before removing his tunic and placing it along with his boots upon a wooden chair beside the bed. There was so much to be done and a short time to do it. He would need a trade, part of him considered joining the Palace Guard, while the majority of him wondered if perhaps he could learn a trade far from the violence of his old life. It was a heavy realization, that he would be changing his way of living entirely. No more hunting for work as a Mercenary, no longer would he have a sword to grab when conversation went south. He wondered absently if he would find some outlet for those urges, this only served to bring him back to moments before when she seemed to have praised him for abstaining his hand. Which lead directly to her calling him hers, and that had such a profound effect upon the Warlords heart that he found himself bringing his hand absently up to brush his hair back from his features. Then it was to the bed, which was far larger than the Cott he typically slept in, or the bedroll he carried with him. But eventually he settled upon it, over the sheets, with ankle over ankle and arms behind his head. Listening to the sound of rain upon the roof top. Considering how lovely it would be to have Isolde curled against him again, talking the night away. Or laying in silence listening to the other breath.
​
◇─◇ Naturally, it -would- be difficult fall asleep after such an exciting night. Her thoughts were active with things, lost in a pleasant tangle of vorfreude. It was, at least in the privacy of her own mind, acceptable to imagine their futures interlaced. While it might have been tasteless (or perhaps just presumptuous) to say them aloud, she let her thoughts linger toward the fastening of their lives, and the distant thought of what people would be made between them. Until now, she had considered her livelihood as a single participant, marching toward the end quietly, planting things to grow along the way and enjoying them as best she could. But the world had changed for her, she was no longer to induratize herself against the notion of a partner. They could grow— her thoughts stopped suddenly and she sat up in the bed. One hand anxiously collected the ends of her hair and pulled them over one shoulder. Never before had she considered her mortality such a curse— it was just the way of things. All living things were born, grew old, and died. But the sudden realization that she would, while Solomon would not, was a crushing one. She would be but ephemera to him in the grand scheme of things. While it wasn’t the thought of her mere passing that bothered her, it was a troublesome thought that broiled at her anxious heart. Leaning back into her pillows, the prim florist did her best to distract herself by the counting of seconds between rolls of thunder. The thought was pervasive, and as she sat in contemplative silence, lightening flickered across the sky. As if fate meant to punctuate the gravity of her sudden realization, a cloudburst rained down abruptly over the farmlands. The sound of rain came abrupt and hard, unlike the soft whisper of rains in the grasses from the weeks past. Having moved restlessly with tacenda, the nemophilist resolved her pained thoughts by rising quietly from her bed. Stopping herself at least three times across the room, retracting her steps, and then urging herself forward again she went to and from the door. The first time because her resolve was stronger than her fears. (So what if she had but a limited time on earth? It was best to live as morally as she could so that, in the end she could die purely.) The second time was because her fears went renewed, chasing her away from her bed and beckoning her to follow through. (You’re a woman grown! Take heart.) And the third was to collect a cardigan to slip over her shoulders to guard her modesty in the filmy, summer linen slip she’d worn to bed. With the quiet step of a mouse, she hesitated at the guest room door. Her hand hung in the air in front of her, fingertips prickling as she hovered there. She took a step back, second guessing herself before her hand clasped tight with resistance. Isolde’s glaucous hues welled with the tears of fleeting thoughts. (Just open the door, and then you’ve done it. He can turn you away, and you’ll have both done your parts properly.) Her hand was balled up and loosed, not daring to knock as it would only give her time to flee. The door fell open as she pulled the cardigan closed across her frame, eyes wet with fret as she averted them, just in case he’d been indisposed. “Solomon?” she asked quietly, wondering whether he had even been awake. ◇─◇