Sol and Iso, pt. 4

Solomoŋ
 The evening spent in the small stable with Isolde still beautifully haunted him, and of course it was not for any reason other then the fact that he had spent an evening, within a small space with a wonderful person talking about everything, anything, and nothing at all. Sitting with his back to her watching the rain as it fell beyond the wooden shelter was wonderful. More to a point Solomon felt rather youthful since then. For a moment their hands touched, just the tips of his fingers to her own. But it was electrifying in so many ways. As he left he found he was longing for more interaction, almost as if he needed it. But in the words of Shakespeare, Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. Because while it was a few marrows later. He fully intended to continue the conversation they'd started that evening. Solomon found that there was more that needed to be said, that leaving such fateful sentiments untouched upon would only serve to hurt or burden them later. The Warlord, and his companion thus set out early in the morning and stopped first within the markets to peruse the shops in hopes of something more suitable to wear then summer hunters leathers and britches. When he found it, this Comfortable but loose fitted tunic with vinework done upon the shoulder down to the hips. He was swift to purchase and replace his garb, mind you that tunic was more showing then the thick hide he wore. Open at the chest with wooden tipped strings, you could easily see the legacy of war etched upon his flesh in the form of scars. When the shop was found empty, he wondered the streets a bit longer until he recalled the woman's ties with the Emperor and his Gardens, shifting his sword and ensuring he was presentable enough for court. The Warlord left the markets and made way for the castle. Shade of course protesting when the scent of fresh fowl raised the air as it was cooked. Though was quickly averted by the promise of fresh rabbit in its stead. Eventually Solomon arrived within the comfort of the castle, Stone walls that did much to battle the heat and yet remain cooler within. It was truly pleasant, and had him wondering if perhaps he should think upon building his own building in similar style, or if he would remain in the tents with the others. in its stead. Eventually Solomon arrived within the comfort of the castle, Stone walls that did much to battle the heat and yet remain cooler within. It was truly pleasant, and had him wondering if perhaps he should think upon building his own building in similar style, or if he would remain in the tents with the others. But his thoughts soon returned to his current task. Solomon was driven, when it came to what he wanted to do or obtain. He still could not find certainty in his desire to spend more time with the florist. But he was keen to do so regardless of understanding. For as cliche as it sounded, He quite enjoyed not having to be a leader, or a warrior around someone. Enjoyed the flutter of laughter that reminded him of butterfly wings in the spring. More so the sound of a dulcet tenor that seemed to ebb the flow of his constant need for conflict. Like he had done in youth, he was delving into something he didn't understand, but fully intended to know. So he made way with the assistance of a unsavory man known as Ben, who spoke in a dialect of the English language that made Solomon wonder if the Emperor kept fools in his household to torment the courtiers. If so, if he met Ben in the streets, he would kill him for the ache in his head was justification for a swift death. When he was left to peruse the public garden at his leisure. He thanked the spirits and began his search for the Florist.

Isolde
|| The Imperial Gardens were simultaneously awe-inspiring and frightening to behold. Never, in her twenty-five years, would the quiet florist have expected to have even been permitted to the Arboretum, let alone be blessed with its care. The long rain from previous evenings had been good for the foliage. Isolde sat, legs folded beneath her as she pruned the edges of several ‘Queen of the Night’ blooms. She tended them with ginger fingertips, careful not to disturb them as she sorted off some of the wilting edges of greenery. The flower was rare, both difficult to grow and impossible to shear and sell. It bloomed only once, between the hours of 11pm and Midnight, and wilted before morning. Despite its fleeting lifespan, the fragrant white blossom was one of the most beautiful of its genus— and it’s scent was intoxicating and calming. Isolde was one to retire early, though she thought she might make an exception to come watch them within the nights to come. Stormy hues surveyed the buds that had formed, hand cradling the waxy leaves beneath it. The delicate woman had opted for a dress of pale blue linen, which had always looked so lovely against her unmarked, ivory skin. Peeking beneath its hem were bare feet, toes curling in the fresh grass and soil as she worked, features soft and focused on her task. Beneath the edge of a modestly scooped neckline, a sheer white slip folded in gentle waves, again found at the hemline of her skirt. The sleeves of the frock reached her elbows, neatly buttoned back with small fabric buttons, which matched the line of them down her spine. Loose hairs curled at the nape of her neck, the length of her chestnut hair braided and coiled loosely just over them. Her hat sat beside her on the ground, along with her shoes and a basket that held discarded foliage for compost. She felt distantly fatigued, no doubt her late evening in the Herbalist’s shop had something to do with it. With her back pressed to Solomon’s, they talked quietly beneath the rumbling thunder and pattering of rain. Isolde had replayed that evening several times since they’d parted, finding herself torn between fear and comfort. Fear, as Solomon had been able to burrow his way into her heart (without seeming to spend much effort), and provide her with a comfort she’d never known. For the first time in her young adult life, she was at peace and she knew that repose could easily be taken advantage of. She doubted Solomon could possibly do that, but they were still but friendly strangers to one another and her inherent mistrust of men proved difficult to hurdle. Still, her mind wandered, tracing the edges of his face and reveling in the way his voice rumbled against her back as they both sat, drying themselves by lantern light beside a pile of hay. Their conversation had skirted subjects that both seemed hesitant to discuss at length, and dove into their interests without resistance. The prim florist paused in her pruning, watching as the buds of the Kadupul swelled before her eyes. She blinked, realizing that her heart raced. Whether or not it was due to the thoughts she’d been absorbed by, or the sudden realization that the rare flowers were preparing to bloom that evening -she could not discern. ||

Solomon
Likely neither would ever come to know where the mind and heart took them, at least not until they arrived. But by this time in his Life Solomon was keen to the unknown, unexpected, and learned to roll with the world and how it moved. A Warlord could plan the perfect assault but never ensure its success. His search, soon found itself coming to an end, as he rounded hedge to find the barefooted Florist amid her work, and for some reason the old Warlord felt himself compelled to simply sit and watch. For long ago he learned it was unwise to sneak up on a woman enraptured. Scars on his neck to prove it. Though he doubted Isolde would turn blades upon him for surprising her. Though her scolding him seemed entirely more potent then any knife or poison had been. Even if it was merely in mirth for his constantly scaring her. But he noted movement, just before her form which drew his curiosity, and it seemed her rapt attention. He was no florist, but well aware that flowers like gems could be common, and not so common, and then exceedingly rare. He wondered briefly as he moved quietly closer, pausing at the edge of the path to peer over her shoulder for a moment. Then quietly clearing his throat, intent not to scare her this time, even the tenor of his voice softened as if there was someone around to hear them, or be upset with their speaking loudly. " Miss Isolde " he called softly, realizing swiftly he held no excuse, nor accident for his visitation. She had thought of him, with the salve, and thus even if their meeting had not been chance. There was reason for he to have come to him. But the opposed? Solomon suddenly felt abashed by his arrival, in need of something to say beyond the sweet beckoning of her name he brought forth the typical " I hope, I am not bothering you " And a hesitant " But I...I needed to see you again " Needed? such a strong word, " I mean I wanted to see you..." Even then perhaps too much " I'd like to finish our chat " he said finally hoping that he might had mitigated some of the foolishness he felt there. Of course, Shade whom had been silent for the most part would ensure Solomon could not leave swiftly if told too, by leaping from his shoulder and quicky making way to the curious bud that was blooming before the florist. Wisely keeping its distance, but close enough that it's chin cheek might brush gingerly against Isoldes leg.

Isolde
|| Isolde’s eyes watched the plant before her, lips parted slightly in anticipation. She knew it wouldn’t bloom— it was just beginning to turn to dusk. She reclined a bit, shoulders relaxing as she settled back into her reverie about the man who presently stood, observing her. Briefly, she closed her eyes and let her weight shift to one side, knees unfolding a bit as her weight rested on a palm in the grass. The day’s work was evident on her cheeks, giving her the faint glow of summer sun and emphasizing her freckles. At the sound of his voice, gently coaxing her from the daydream was a near-perfect transition. “Hm?” she murmured, brows rising over closed eyes. Surprise settled in and she opened her eyes. She turned around where she sat, slowly and unstartled. “Solomon.” she replied, voice echoing the gentle tenor of his address. A smile seemed an immediate reaction, sprawling itself shamelessly beneath her pointed nose. Her eyes fell over him, briefly lingering along his jaw before catching the faint lines of ancient wounds. She felt her throat tightened, but resisted the urge for avert her eyes. Solomon’s frame beneath his day clothes was more traceable than when he donned armor and leathers. While flesh was softer than armor, he somehow seemed more fortified without it.  As he continued to speak, her features melted into curiosity. He seemed to stumble through his thoughts, endearing her all the more. The kind of comfort provided by shared feelings ought to have had a word— but it didn’t. The florist pinkened at the cheeks as he spoke, realization dawning on her that things still had the room to be ruined. Isolde considered the idea that she ought to save them both the trouble, but couldn’t bear to even think up how she’d start a conversation like that. Shade provided distraction from the self-deprecating thought and she was thankful for it. With a timid finger, she grazed the underside of his chin affectionately and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Hello there, sweetling.” she murmured before her attention returned to Solomon. Hesitation played at her expression as she watched him with guarded eyes, “Is something wrong?” she asked, certain he’d confirm there was while saying silent prayers that he wouldn’t. ||

Solomoŋ
 Inwardly he was trying desperately to find something to say that would loosen the tension being created there. No it wasn't tension it was that same awkwardness that had presented itself many times before. That space between them seeming to beg for something to be said or done and he couldn't fathom what. But to Solomon, her reaction to seeing him, that genuine smile bright and beautiful adorned with the light of the setting sun and that tint of dirt upon her cheeks, and suddenly he was feeling the kind of weakness in his knees that came after a well faught victory, and he suddenly found a correlation to how he felt around her. He felt victorious, righteous, and somehow at peace with everything around him. So he stumbled through his words just a bit more. " No, nothings wrong I just " He paused for a moment and allowed himself to carefully step forward drawing a deep breath " I just, there is, an " He frowned some not knowing how to word his thoughts " I just wanted to see you again " came the truth as his hands moved to sooth the tunic down some, and adjust the hilt of his sword. His features turning to shade who happily trilled at the affection provided by the Florist. Before quickly returning it in the form of nuzzling knees and ankles. To which Solomon did find himself using the poor dragon as further distraction, just a few moments to collect his thoughts before he allowed his lips to upturn into a broad smile and hand to come upward to his neck " I don't get it Isolde " he said finally " There is, just something about you I can't seem to get out of my head " he shrugged his shoulders " I enjoy your company, our conversations, our accidents, and everything " He shrugged some " I have so few true joys these days, that I am being entirely selfish and wanting to continue to enjoy you " He stepped forward again " that I am playing the cat to your mouse. " his words softened a bit before he realized he was standing directly before her. " I promise the claws won't come out " he said softly offering his hand out to her " So, Miss Mouse, if you'd be so kind as to indulge this selfish feline in some more of your brilliant conversation. Because if I am being honest, I quite enjoy whatever this unspoken thing growing between us is " He brought his other hand upward to his neck as if expecting some form of rejection. As silver tongued honied words were never, and would never be his forte he added softly " Also. you look really beautiful today, not that you didn't the other day, or day before...its just...well " he cleared his throat " you're really beautiful "

Isolde
|| She watched with empathy as he managed to articulate his thoughts. Though she wasn’t aware of it, the pair were both approaching the budding romance with their own internal demons, neither able to grasp exactly where they were headed. The feeling of the mutual tumbling was part of the comfort, and so it was with relief that hesitation shrank away from her. Solomon’s reassurance was affirming in a way she hadn’t anticipated, given she was sure he’d about to tell her something was wrong. He drew nearer to her as Shade nuzzled affectionately at her ankle. Distracted by Solomon, and his careful words, her hand hung in the air before Shade, fingertips prickling in the air. He’d wanted to see her again. She resisted the urge to smile widely, but it still managed to tug at the edges of her lips. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and nodded as he spoke and adjusted the hilt of his sword. Was it some unconscious defensive motion? Isolde let the thought pass, focus returning to the shifting of his hand at the back of his neck as he continued. She waited until he seemed to have finally made it through his thoughts, quietly considering her own before she spoke. “You…enjoy me?” she asked, distantly skeptical, brows lifting as she watched his expression. She internally melted at the thought of his desire to pursue her. The florist was unaccustomed to enjoying the game of cat and mouse, particularly because the cat who’d so often toyed with her was more like a vicious, drunk wolf more than anything else. Solomon’s continued reassurances gave her renewed confidence, but her wilting personality kept her reserved. With his hand extended, she glanced down to it, gently rubbing her own on her apron, inspecting them, and then doing so again. Her head was turned down when he began to articulate further about his thoughts regarding her appearance. Isolde’s cheeks reddened, and the blush crept from one collarbone to another under the translucent white trim of her dress. Her hands fell into her lap, heart in her throat as she turned her head back up to him. “You don’t know that.” she added modestly, despite so desperately wanting to believe he did. Despite herself, she smiled, though her eyes were sad. She meant to imply, of course, that beauty wasn’t skin deep, and she was deeply ashamed of what he likely didn’t know…and thus had come to a false conclusion. After a moment, she took his hand, fingertips grazing his palm gently. Despite her defenses, she couldn’t resist the offer presented. ||

Solomon
So there he stood on unexplored territory of his own. Before his courtship of Malika had been merely for the convenience of the crown there had been no flirting, no desire, only doing as he was told. Here he found himself uncertain of what to do or say, and there was a moment of silence that passed between them where he had no idea what it was he should do or say. But like a warrior he did soldier on and step another inch closer " Of course I do " he said honestly, his voice toned with a vehemence that held out hope she would not argue as he watched and felt the way her hand moved into his own. " I don't know a lot of things " Solomon admitted honestly looking toward her " In fact I'm pretty much an idiot when it comes to anything outside of my old life. " He shrugged his shoulders " But I am certain, that a smile as beautiful as yours, could not be smiled by someone with an ugly soul. " He looked down for a moment " Nor could someone as warm as you hold any darkness in their depths. " He glanced to her daring to look into the loveliness of eyes that bring me to meadows after the rain. " his other hand fell from his sword, to gently cup her cheek, wiping away the smudged dirt with the pad of his thumb " But here you are, So unless you defy all that is known, and are secretly a succubus intent on claiming my soul. " He shrugged his shoulders " You are beautiful and I'm not going to allow you to argue that " he smiled warmly " But if I spent this evening complimenting you then I would have wasted an evening trying to convince you of what I know to be true. I'm not a monarch, nor a duke I prefer action and substance " he raised her eyes gently towards his own. " but the only action I keep thinking upon is this " he gently squeezed the hand now tenderly wrapped in his own. " and since you have already indulged me this far, I pray you to continue so until I can define my pleasure at your company further. " Now he played bold bringing his face just a hair closer to her own " Then perhaps I might be able to say with certainty, that the next time I see you smile so radiantly or hear you laugh your melody. That it was for me, and selfishly claim them as my own. " He brought his fingers gently from her cheek, trailing the line of her jaw to her chin. " And if that was the case, then I would likely return it in kind with something that only you could be given " He nodded to that and leaned back just a bit " show me your gardens? " he said finally looking toward the nearly budding bloom she'd been so interested in.

Isolde
|| Isolde considered his observations, gathering through them that despite the overwhelming evidence of his dedication to the battlefield, his mind held surprisingly tender thoughts. She inhaled a slow breath and stood with his assistance. Her hand curled against his, fingers gentle at his wrist as she searched his expression. Again, with a surprisingly gentle hand, he brushed something from her cheek. Forgetting herself in the moment, her eyes closed, head tilting so that it rested against his hand. Her skin was soft against his calloused fingers, but she didn’t seem to mind. The gentle woman felt dazed as he spoke, beyond wading and straight into treading entirely unfamiliar waters. “I…” she breathed eyes opening slowly as she attempted to refocus her thoughts, “You make it difficult to argue.” she settled on, heart hammering beneath her ribs. His face was close, and she could smell the woodsy scent of cedar and smoke. Isolde lifted a hand to the one he held her cheek with and let it rest over the back of his. “I couldn’t want anything less than to turn your company away.” she admitted, despite knowing full well that it was likened to sealing the coffin shut on the insistence of her previous ‘engagement.’ Her hand followed his, fingertips hovering hesitantly as his hand came to a rest beneath her chin. She felt a flash of heat prickle her eyes. He was either born to bring her to her knees, or well trained to sabotage her decency. He wanted to hear her laugh, though at the moment she could hardly breathe. Thankful for the air between them as he leaned back, she breathed in fresh air to clear the narrow scope she’d been trapped in. “You…” she started, hand falling to her chest as she tried to quell the fire there. “…said you weren’t going to use the claws.” she added with a smile. The florist turned to survey the path she’d been sitting beside when he approached. “I will. But there was something you meant to talk about?” she asked, using the back of a hand to push the hair away from her forehead. “We can walk and talk?” she offered, gesturing down the path with her opposing hand. ||

Solomon
 He was a warrior, and she was a florist. In most times their meeting would have been only through the flowers placed upon his grave. Yet here he was framing delicate features as tenderly as one would stroke the petal of a rose. He found himself enchanted by her breathlessness, holding his own in turn as if needing desperately to hear her approval of this time together. Despite that she claimed he had used his claws, and he found himself smiling some as his eyes closed whispering sweetly " And here I had hoped I was using honey. " He admitted honestly opening his silvery gaze to rest upon stormy blues hinted with smoke and emerald. In that moment, there was something he couldn't understand budding. His hand so perfectly framing the softness of her cheek, and he memorized both the image, and the feeling that warmed the depths of his heart. He had wanted to ask her something, but that was all forgotten now. The moment was truly a blissful weight upon his chest, that drew upon more vivid memory of the evening spent simply talking as they awaited the storm to pass. No storm, no thunder, no lightning. There was nothing forcing their time together save for the want of one another's company. He exhaled a slow breath, and she seemed that much closer to him. Had she moved forward? Or was it him he couldn't really recall. She scented of every lovely flower she touched, and hints of earth. It was more then his mind could comprehend in that moment, and his ignorance blissfully led him into the ignorance of action where he deemed this moment without ever really knowing why, to be the right moment to be entirely bold. " I've forgotten " he said honestly " I've forgotten everything I wanted to ask you " he felt his heart thundering in his chest " I can only..." He brought his hand back to her cheek again " I can only imagine that I am not the first man to have desired to chase you. " he said finally " suddenly I fear that after all these years of conquering lands, and taking what I desired, I am unable to conquer my own fears " He let a nervous chuckle rupture from his chest before he finally found a bit more of his backbone to support him. " You're not a conquest " he said finally " I can't begin to find the words " He shifted some soon his hand found its way up to her jaw again, framing it softly turning her eyes back toward her own. " So I won't " he said finally " I remember now " he said finally " I wanted to walk with you " He didn't glance to the path " And I came to ask, if you wanted to walk with me. Down this path to see where it leads? " He paused some feeling slightly addled in his own right before clearing his throat some. " if you do, if you want to walk with me into the unknown...you don't have to say so...just squeeze my hand and off we go "

Isolde
|| She felt herself being pulled slowly out to sea by their shared feelings. Though, she’d be content to drift there endlessly if it meant she might be able to take him along with her. She was ensnared, by claw or honey. Her eyes searched his as he admitted to being just as hopelessly lost as she was. Isolde laughed quietly, realizing they’d been still whispering, despite being entirely alone for the time being. She had been, most of the day. Wavering in place, she felt the hem of her skirts graze against the tops of her bare feet, and her toes curled as she stabilized. One hand came to a rest on his chest, where the thunderous beating of his heart hammered beneath. It was a reminder of his fortitude, a towering warrior built from muscle, bone and blood. Isolde’s hand felt warm where it rested, features softening. “You aren’t.” she admitted with a remorseful tenor. His presence calmed and unnerved her. While he seemed entirely gentle with her, she was far too accustomed to violent outbursts. Especially those of jealousy. Her training with years of that sort of behavior had trickled down into her expectations, so it was with drawn hesitation that she admitted as much was true. Though, he’d likely overestimated the number of suitors. It was with relief that he admitted she wasn’t a conquest to be won, challenging those old intuitions that ruminated at the edges of her thoughts. She listened as he continued, realizing he wasn’t talking about the gardens any longer. It gave her momentary pause, but upon consideration she realized that he likely already knew he was treading into foreign territory. Most warlords knew their way around tricky obstacles, and it was as much his choice as hers to navigate that path. Isolde let her fingers uncurl inside of his palm to wrap around the sides of his hand, offering a timid squeeze. “I’ll…need time.” she followed, quietly. Her small hand still in his, she hadn’t quite released her grip. “I’m not…” she paused, then settling on “I’ve never done -this- before.” Her heart thrummed in her chest and she took a slow breath in. ||

Solomon
 " Hey, That's the beauty of walking " he offered softly " Can take your time, and go wherever you want " He offered with a warm smile. Solomon's other hand fell gently placing itself over top of her own. Finding more confidence in her not so entirely rejecting him. To which she might never know how much of a relief to have not been outright told that he was insane, or something to that effect. So with courage bolstered a new and more vibrant then before he removed his armor in a sense and bore his chest to her, in a most metaphorical sense " I'm glad to know I'm not the only one whose entirely lost in all this " he offered his smile broad and warm as he tried to bring some modicum of peace to her mind " because honestly It wouldn't be an adventure that way " He nodded firmly to that " So take your time, and walk with me, if we simply talk we talk, if the path brings us apart, then let it be with good memories, laughter, and feelings that won't become weakness in our armors. " another soft nod as if he was reassuring himself on that. In a way he was, she had been trained to expect outbursts, and negativity, and he was enlightened to believe that such things were not meant to be emotionally involved. So they stood at opposed ends of the same road. Merely figuring which way to go. " Besides " He offered now with grin bearing just a hint of his teeth. " Isolde " His keen silvery eyes capturing the movement of his companion as it shifted from cuddling between their legs. 'going from one calf to the next, to staring at the shivering flower behind them as it seemed to beckon to life at the light of the moon. " Your flower " Given her anticipation, Solomon surmised she'd been watching for some special moment, and if it was upon them. He would not rob her of it. So gracefully he turned her about, and somehow managed to bring his arms around her form to keep her steady. 'knowing full well she was waverying upon her bear feet. While his hand motioned toward the budding Queen of the Night, which did not escape him this time, the meaning, in the moment, and so With a gentle kiss to the side of her head. Solomon resolved that he would be as patient, and as tender as she was, because surely she like her flowers would blossom into something beautiful to behold, and the Warlord, selfishly enough hoped it was his hand, even if it was meant for another.

Isolde
|| His lack of brute force endeared her all the more. Not forcing her hand, or undermining her need for time, Solomon stood before her, continually escaping her expectations and keeping her on her toes. The mouse allowed a demure smile, nodding gently. “I suppose there’s no better company to be lost with.” she replied in earnest, finding that while anticipation kept her heart beating, the gentle dappling of pink at her cheeks was slowly cooling, reducing to a low and slow burn. With his own vulnerabilities given freely, and hers placed securely in his hands, it seemed a light long left unkindled burned brightly inside of her. As he searched her eyes, she felt as if he were perfectly designed to unravel her, though she wasn’t entirely sure she minded. He smiled and said her name, Shade meandering between the two of them as he did. “Solomon?” she replied, matching his tenor with a grin. But it seemed he’d meant to divert her attention. Distracted as she turned, her brow furrowed. The lanterns were lit in the garden, and until now, she hadn’t realized that the night had closed in around them. After a moment, the small woman glanced at the ground where she was intended to watch the gentle blooming of the rare flower. Isolde’s frame had been still while she considered her position, momentary confusion between the time of night and his intentions, and then the sudden realization that she was about to witness something she’d never seen, nor hoped to. “Oh…” she breathed, weight settling back into his chest gently as she wavered with the dawning of realization. The weight of the moment washed over her and her arms curled up so that she might latch them to his arms, folded around her frame. Her fingertips hung there as she watched in awe. “It’s so…” her voice tightened as she watched it begin to slowly unfold, beginning its short ephemeral lifespan. Several bloomed slowly over those moments that hung in silence, and she felt the warmth of tears sting her eyes. Her heart slowed in the still, eyes closing only briefly under the gentle kiss placed at her temple. Isolde breathed in the smell of the heady, perfumed blooms, committing it to memory as it bled into the heavier, wooded smell of Solomon. There, in that place, the the florist realized that all she had ever wanted was around her, and like the Queen of the Night, its time may only last for less than a few hours. She resolved then, to no longer resist the path fate hurled her into “thank you..” she whispered quietly, hands offering a delicate squeeze to his arms as she let her forehead rest against his lips.||