Solomon & Isolde, pt. 5

Solomon
Solomon, was first and foremost a warlord. So it went without saying that eventually he would have to return to the camp of men and woman all making home just beyond the walls of the Empire, temporarily of course, but for many of the Children of Tiamat it was all they had. The comforts of a tent, a warm bed, and the company of their brothers and sisters. There were people from all walks of life who had followed him from the Valley, warriors of course, but farmers, herbalists, scholars and families. All hoping for something better then what they'd been handed. Liberation, was glorious but finding a new way of life was harder then any of them bargained for. In truth, it was more so a burden that Solomon bore heaviest upon his shoulders. From conqueror, destroyer, and blade of the King. To well what exactly was he now? A king? A leader? in truth Solomon after all he had been through would truly find the greatest reward to be solace and solitude. But then came along a beautiful woman who took whatever goals he had in mind, held them in her hands for a moment, then let them slip through like grains of sand into the wind. Now he didn't know anything, Now as he and those few warriors ran their drills, ensuring that their swords, wits, and skills remained sharp. He was not  enthralled by the clash of blade to blade, or those moments of near conflict. Instead as wooden swords met, he was thinking upon chestnut colored tendrils draped about his arms. The sweet perfume of earth and floral bouquets. The tenor of a voice whispering breathlessly in the night. Solomon let his guard drop for just a moment, and paid for it, as wood shattered across his cheek leaving small cuts and splinters in its wake. The Soldier, swift to apologies and make ready for be punished. However as pain registered on his features. The Warlord simply waved it off " it is clear who the victor is today, well done " He gave the man a clasp on the shoulder moving away as droplets of crimson spilled across the colorless wool of his tunic. The Healer, who was always quick to fawn over any injury was swift to try to follow him, but was also dismissed in favor of the Warlord finding some time away from the collective of soldiers and young men wishing to know more about fighting. They could run their drills without his presence. He'd a mind that needed solidification if it was to continue on. But he didn't mind his failure, nor did blame come to the woman whose thoughts filled his mind. If he was so heartless as to blame a woman for his own weakness, then he may as well have been a drunkard who blamed liquor for his lot in life. Instead Solomon sought the silence of a body of water, not far off from the camp. But far enough away that he might be given the privacy Where in the dim light, silvery eyes caught the purple luster of globed amaranth. As the warrior's hand came upward to rub the droplets of red from his cheeks. He found himself suddenly more into those thoughts, To him that moment was somehow emblazoned into a mind that had once pulled quotes from the Christian bible with ease. Now, well now he was looking fondly upon some flowers, growing beautifully beside the trail, and thus Solomon set out to gently remove them from their home as best he could, having learned on how to transplant herbs from the healers, he made small satchels from the sleeves of his tunic and wet them to ensure the soil remained moist. Having forgotten the myriad of cuts on his cheeks. Solomon lifted from his task in the realization that he would likely not find her swiftly. Which made him lament the action all the more, at least until the soft caress of thunderous sound caused his eyes to lift to the horizon over the body of water he'd not been far of, and he noted a small wooden boat lingering lazily near to the shore which sported a pair of dainty feet, and a what appeared to be the form of a woman. (To which even Solomon could not help but question convenience) Thus bringing the curious Warlord from the slightly hidden path to the shoreline. " I'll be, damned " Came a soft amused whisper from his lips. Happenstance and fate seemed to enjoy playing whatever game it was they played.

Isolde
|| Isolde’s feet hung lazily over the edge of her boat, overtop of a white blanket which presently trailed along the water beside the craft. She was lost in the sky overhead, distantly counting the stars as she floated toward the shoreline. The bottom of the boat would gently graze the sandy bottom of the river, eyebrows drawn in momentary confusion before she sat up at the sound of his amused tenor. A real vision, dressed in a sort of comfortable, simple linen slip. Arguably designed for sleeping, though still prim in its composure. And then the untamed curls, loosed from their usual braided bun, still drying and scented with the delicate traces of camomile. Confusion turned to surprise as she fell backward into hiding. Her book tumbled into the well of the small craft, hands pulling a blanket to her face as she hid it in her palms beneath a mass of curls. “How did I end up here?” came the muffled sound of her voice, eyes soon peeking up at Solomon where he stood as her cheeks warmed. Granted, her pond connected to a small river, which let out into the one she presently floated on. Further still, she’d let the rope go untethered from her dock for what she assumed would be a solitary float. And even more, the recent rain had most definitely proven to increase the water flow, assisting in a pleasant starry cruise. It was far and beyond her expectation to have drifted directly into his path (or else she might have dressed and at the very least, tamed her hair), though it did confirm her theory that the fates had seen fit to continually do so. The prim florist revealed a bit more of her chagrin, holding the blanket to her chest as she glanced down the bank of the river, from the direction she’d come. Realizing rowing upstream was going to be quite the challenge, and also that the thunder rolling in presented its own hurdle, she let her shoulders drop in resignation. ‘Alright,’ she thought to herself, ’so be it.’ Her eyes came back to him, soft with her tumbling thoughts. True, she felt as if by some miraculous form of willpower, she had thought him to existence there before her. But still, the fact that Solomon stood at the bank grinning at her was a bit startling. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully and leaned forward in the boat, eyeing him suspiciously. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” she asked, half jokingly. ||

Solomon
For whatever the reason, be it divine intervention or merely some strange tether that joined them and ensured that no matter where one went the other soon followed one thing was certain. Solomon and Isolde would be forced to navigate the quagmire that was nearly awkward situations. This of course being one more memorable one. If the pair did live to have children, no doubt they would enjoy regaling them of their serendipitous romance, that had started with a walk home, a happy accident, a chance meeting, a midsummers night in the garden, and now a boat adrift on calm waters. Solomon, who was perhaps more aware of manners then he might have let off, was soon to recognize the slip, and swift to turn himself about to look at the waters. " I assume you drifted down stream " He stated to respond to her question, which he was certain she herself already knew, but even still the slight hint of skin, even if tastefully covered had him blushing quite fervently. If only because as a man he could not deny that even for just a moment there was a perverse desire for the blanket to slip down. (His sole saving grace being an education in the clergy) This had him thoughtlessly removing his Jerkin, and extending it outward to provide her with something to protect her modesty. Her second question, brought his momentary slip into his gender from his mind to bring about the smallest of smiles upon his features which turned mirthful swiftly" I am quite real " he stated softly shifting to provide her assistance from the boat of she so desired it. " Though, I must ask " the mirth in his voice lifted to amusement " Do you often dream of me? " where in he provided truthfully " Or is it merely you have a knack for finding me when you are the sweetest parts of my thoughts. " He shifted some and glanced over the treetops. Another storm, it seemed that there was a higher power ensuring the pair would be provided with something of a proper excuse for their lengths of time spent together.  this of course not including the several long moments they spent silently looking over the Queen of the Night in all her glory as she rose to greet the waking world. Sol's thoughts shifted to that moment, and his hand raised upward to rub the area where her tainty hands had grasped his arms. A Fond memory, and one that truthfully had brought more comfort then he had thought possible. However he shifted from his thoughts to offer politely " My camp is not far, and I am sure one of those within would have something more suitable to wear " he glanced over his shoulder. " as happenstance has seen fit to deposit you more than a ways from your home " As he had walked her home previously, he was aware that his camp was far enough away to make an escort with a storm looming just moments away a dangerous time. " Besides, if you are dreaming...you could do worse then spending an evening beside the campfire with me "

Isolde
|| Solomon averted his eyes, almost as soon as he’d laid them on her. She smiled despite herself, lips hidden behind a fragile hand as she observed the deep crimson flush fill the turned cheek. As he produced his jerkin, she blinked, head gently tilting with genuine confusion before realization dawned on her— he intended her to use it as a means to cloak herself. Isolde had seen gestures similar between her parents and grandparents, but had never seen them in the youthful gestures. And things being what they were, she’d never truly experienced them herself. A bit touched, she maneuvered to the bow, using one hand to balance herself as the other tugged the blanket along modestly. As she reached out, though, her weight warbled in the boat. Luckily, its underbelly was secure enough to keep it from tipping, but she grasped at the extended hand and jerkin as well. As she steadied, she slowly stepped out of the boat, bare feet curling in the damp sand of the riverbank. Isolde flushed as she slipped into the jerkin, loosing her hair from the collar, and held it closed around her small frame. She was swimming in it, and also swimming in the woodsy scent of Solomon that had so recently become one of her favorite warm smells. “I…” she hesitated to answer, torn between lying and exposing the dreamscape she was entirely -not- responsible for. “I might have.” she admitted with a demure side glance to the boat. It was her turn to adopt a deep shade of crimson. Her thoughts lingered on the far less modest version of events that had tortured her subconscious as she resisted the urge to climb back into the boat and hide for the rest of eternity. Thankfully, a roll of thunder derailed her thoughts and drew a wary glance overhead. She wilted a bit, feeling exposed beside the waterline, and instinctually stepped closer to the warlord, head ducking as her fingertips gripped the hems of the jerkin’s bust. As he continued, she considered his offer, repressing the urge to protest against taking anyone else’s provisions. The delicate woman turned her chin up to watch him as he made the offer, frame wavering. After a moment of silence, she let her hands drop. Her shoulders released their tension a bit and her fingertips grazed the backs of his knuckles gently. “There are worse ways to spend an evening.” she chanced with a side glance at him. At which point, she paled. “You’re bleeding…” she observed, free hand immediately finding the broken skin at his cheek. She had to push her weight onto her toes to do so, but her thumb gently grazed the lower edge of the wound, concern dappling her features as she fought the wilting periphery of her vision. ||

Solomon
"One of which being amid the rain with little but cotton and leather to keep them warm " he smiled to her fondly, as if he could simply smile away the many cuts upon his cheek. Which her hand soon found its way too. Solomon found himself suddenly unsure of what to say. It was no bother to him, one of many he sustained during practice. If she could see his sides and back she'd likely grow ill. But he didn't bother to show, nor make her aware of this but instead as she lifted upward onto her tiptoes. Solomon stole the moment to gently wrap his fingers around her own, and giving the lightest of squeezes to reassure her " It's but a scratch " he whispered tenderly before Solomon finally caved into leaning in the rest of the way his hand gently squeezing her own, as lips pressed oh so softly to her own for a mere moment before drawing back to gaze deeply into her eyes. If he looked back, Solomon would never come to a good reason for why he did it. Maybe because so many times before now the thought had crossed his mind, or maybe because if he kissed her, she might forget the wound upon her cheek, or the fear it likely put in her. He knew if only through inkling that there was much about him, that the poor florist and gardener feared. Knew that beneath that beautifully shy, and tender exterior was something more fragile and in need of care and protection. Either way he also know " No matter what I tell you, you will fret and worry..." he whispered not as an accusation but a realization " and the last thing I want is to be the reason your brow furrows. " He cleared his throat some " I " He paused " would you tend to it for me? " Solomon disliked healers, to a point that many of his wounds were self dressed, cleaned and sutured. haphazardly, and oft very poorly but he'd survived this long without the assistance of another. But in truth, He had not been a romantic, nor had he been one to seek comfort in another. Yet he had, and continued to do so. It was trust however  that he had learned was not something to be given to those beyond yourself. A Healer, could poison, a Warrior could become a coward, a Lover could betray you. Yet such burdens could not be placed upon the shoulders of this demure woman whom had done nothing but continue to prove Solomon's fears were baseless conjecture from previous experience. Not every creature sought to own, or be owned.

Isolde
|| Fully distracted by the cut at his cheek, Isolde’s hand in his was gentle in its returned squeeze. He meant to reassure her, she knew, but she was far from ever getting used to the kind of life he led. The concern on her brow was heavy, eyes squinting in the dark as she tried to see it clearly. As if he’d read her thoughts, his face drew nearer, but refused the coaxing of her fingertips to turn to one side, and instead urged forward intentionally. Her lips had been gently parted in her distraction with the minor scrape, and they formed in a lovely way against his. Without thinking, her eyes closed, and the momentary stiffening of surprise melted into something else. Her muscles relaxed and she sighed beneath him when he withdrew. Her eyes opened, briefly fluttering from their heavy, half-lidded repose and she inhaled cautiously, weight shifting back down to the flats of her feet. The hand that had grazed his wound fell to her lips and the pads of her fingertips felt the warmth that burned after his vacated. Stormy hues met his silvery gaze, expression softened with the realization that she was at peace. As he spoke, his voice rumbled in the small space between them. Isolde could feel the cloying warmth of his skin beneath the stained tunic, and while the scars at his neckline grazed the surface of many terrible stories, she couldn’t fathom what she might find beneath. Though, she did catch herself allowing her mind to wander. His conversation was gentle, despite navigation into unsure waters, and served to draw her in further. Eager for the excuse to lay hands to his skin in a fashion which wouldn’t be questioned, she nodded. “I will.” she offered without hesitation. The thought of going to camp with a man she’d met but 4 or 5 times might have sent her reeling previously, as would the notion of dressing a wound ( a thought which presently seemed positively romantic.) The hand that remained in his stretched out slowly, fingers sliding along his until they reached their full length. And then they gingerly slipped between his. She paused, not sure if she had any right to be so free with her affections, stepping back to give them both a bit of air. “We should get in before the storm…” she offered as a discerning segue, lest she let herself slip. And it would have been terribly easy to slip up and let the burn at her lips spread. ||

Solomon
There between them was a spark of something entirely more then either had bargained for. Solomon's eventual realization that he had quite literally stolen a kiss from a woman he'd only just really come to know, should have been rather confounding and entirely nerve wracking. But then it had been right, there was something very natural about the moment. As if he'd done this before with her, as if his heart instinctively knew just what they needed in that moment. The contact had been brief and chaste, but left him with a desire for something entirely more. Fingers tangled together and his hand came upward tenderly letting the pads of his fingers draw across her jaw. She was retreating, be it because of fear, or something else he never would have known. But Solomon was a Warlord, and even in this untred territory of the heart, he knew only one way to handle this moment, and that was to advance. As if he'd some tactic set up specifically for this moment, he made just a simple step toward his voice as soft as a man with the gruff tenor of a voice used to savagely screaming in the face of your enemy could garner. " Isolde" he whispered as he drew toward her letting his fingertips coax her to look upward at him. Then nature whispered softly around them, the sound of leaves as droplets of rain began their assault upon the earth, the scent of wood, and earth becoming stronger with every passing moment. As those first droplets touched upon the back of his neck he simply looked into the depths of her eyes. Whatever words he spoke, that she found so charming, he would never know. Because he was not a man who lived using a tongue of silver. " I won't hurt you...." he said finally, and in such a sweet tone that it may have betrayed the signatures of a thousand battles that left his body neigh bereft of smooth skin. More rain soon trickled its way across his back and neck, his hair fell from its natural place to his cheeks and his hand moved sweetly into her untamed hair. Sol then decided that he liked her just as she was, her hair untamed, wearing his Jerkin, barefoot and unafraid of the earth she worked upon. He related suddenly to her gasp of awe when she saw the Night Queen open, " too late " he said finally as the storm no longer held back its fury from the world surrounding them. The cold water admittedly feeling good upon his cheek, however Solomon unconcerned for his wound, the world around him, and anything else in this moment. It wasn't enough, and he couldn't resist another, soft more intentional press of his lips to her own, which he lingered for a few moments longer then before. Whispering against her lips softly " But the fire will still be just as warm. " So with that, he lead her back to the camp, and just as he said he found her a dress, and created a space of privacy for her within his tent where they could change their drenched clothing. (Solomon of course keeping guard, and fighting his base instincts to sneak a peek.) When she called him back in, It would be a night of conversation, though this time Isolde's head found it's way to his shoulder, and their hands seemed destined to entwine.