'I know,' the young knight replied, gaze taking in the room as he closed the door behind him. 'But I was always taught you should never walk into a lady's room uninvited, and, well,' he shrugged. 'Didn't fancy earnin' myself another slap,' he grinned, making light of a moment in his life that had been anything but.

Crossing to the hearth, Willard took a squat, hands rummaging for logs to feed the flames with. Once I get the damned thing going, that is, he thought, flicking some of the moisture from his fingers.

A sound from behind made him turn his head. What he saw made his eyes go wide. Managed to keep his jaw from dropping, though. 'Need help?' He offered, surprised at his own boldness. Smiling, he turned back to the fireplace, struck a spark that birthed a flame. Pleased with his work, Willard placed the flint aside, pressing to his feet as Venla approached wearing a blanket and little else.

'Got anything that matches my eyes?' He quipped, peeling off his sodden tunic and boots, before accepting the towel. 'I jest. They probably wouldn't fit me anyhow. 'Sides, not really my style,' he smiled, ruffling his hair, and mopping his face and brow as the fire brightened. Meeting Venla's gaze briefly, the dawnling let his focus wander, the light from the hearth casting long shadows.

'I'll see about fixin' us some tea,' he struggled to tear his gaze away. 'There're blankets in the bottom of the dresser. Spread one 'fore the fire, throw a few pillows down and you've got yourself a cosy little setup.' Willard smiled, head canted to the side. 'Sound good?'
 
The room was small, but Venla had made it feel like hers. She hadn't brought much, mostly clothes and practical things. A black polished stone from the river sat on the sill beside a half-melted candle. The rug was forgotten by someone before her, and the tiny bundle of lavender over the bed came from the herb garden behind the kitchens.

Venla let out a soft, snorting laugh, and shook her head at his cheeky words. She held the blanket snug at her chest, hiding enough to keep modesty intact. Yet the firelight teased soft glimpses of pale, unspoiled skin where the wool had slipped, a hint of the curve of her shoulder and a whisper of thigh just peeking from beneath the draped folds.

“I do happen to have this blue dress,” she said, a sly curve to her lips. “Would look simply smashing on you, brown eyes and all…"

"Sounds good" Venla watched him slip out of the room, the soft creak of the door marking his departure as he went to hunt tea. She lingered a moment after the door clicked softly behind him, letting the quiet settle over her.

Slipping into something dry and soft, comfortable enough to sink into, she began arranging the little nest she could make before the fire, blankets from the bottom of the dresser and a few pillows she’d found. Then carefully wrung out their spaked clothea and draped them over a hook next to the fireplace to dry. She placed both their boots close to the hearth as well.

Venla sank into the nest of blankets she had arranged. She hoped that she wouldn’t come to regret giving him another chance. That the soft, hesitant trust she had placed in him tonight wouldn’t be wasted.
 
The door whispered shut behind him as Willard made his way off down the hall, half-dressed and all the lighter on his feet for it. Stopping by his room, the dawnling let himself in, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the gloom within. 'Right.' Stripping out of his wet hose, the knight hung them on a line by the cold hearth before crossing to his chest in search of clothes to don.

A red tunic the colour of dried blood over black hose; a pair of boots that had seen better days. Simple garb for a quiet occasion.

It took him a quarter hour to find his way to the kitchens and back again. Enough time to brew a pot and rustle up some snacks. He just hoped Venla hadn't fallen asleep in his absence. 'Housekeeping!' Knocking with his heel, Willard undid the latch and slipped inside, the tray balanced on his arm laden with pots and plates and saucers. A veritable feast for two. Something to see them through the rest of the evening in peace.

Upon spotting Venla nestled by the fire, the knight smiled, one hand bidding she stay put as he made his way over.

'Don't get up,' he said, setting the tray down between them, careful not to upset the porcelain cups that seemed to always want to slide about, as if alive and wilfully pursuing their own destruction. 'See you've made yourself comfortable,' he nodded, pleased by the mere sight of her. What a fool I was, to wound her so! Shaking his head, he laid the thought aside for later consideration.

'Got room for one more?' He asked as she sat up straight. 'Promise, I won't hog all the pillows.'
 
Venla perked up the moment the door opened, her head lifting from where it had been resting against the edge of a pillow. The tunic hung soft around her knees, sleeves pushed up, collar loose. “Well, look at you, what a handsome tea servant.” she murmured, blinking sleepily at the tray.

Her eyes soft with the kind of tiredness that came after a long day of tangled hearts. It was not an unpleasant tiredness, just heavy, like twilight settling over fields. That ache she’d carried all evening, the worry, the weight of too many things left unsaid, softened at the sight of him standing there with the tray.

The fire cast a warm glow across the room. Blankets tucked and smoothed, pillows arranged just so, the flickering light kissing the curve of her cheek and the bare stretch of her knee beneath the loose hem of her tunic. She gave him a quiet smile, lifted the corner of the blanket, and reached over to pat the space beside her. “Come here.” she murmured, voice gentle as candlelight.

At the scent that followed him in, fresh tea, sweet bread, and something toasted, her eyes brightened a touch, like the last embers in a hearth. “If that isn’t honey roasted walnuts, I’ll eat my own boot.”she murmured. They tasted best after a good cry or a hard rain. Her voice was thick with drowsy delight. “You remembered.” The room smelled of chamomile and toasted walnuts now, of firewood and the faint crispness of pondwater clinging to their damp clothes. She scooted a bit to the side.

Venla settled back again, her shoulder bumping his as he joined her. The fire crackled, the tea steamed, and the world, for a small while, felt small enough to fit into this room.
 
“If that isn’t honey roasted walnuts, I’ll eat my own boot.”

Laughing, Willard shook his head, hands set to the task of serving as he eyed Venla from across the expanse of blankets and pillows. 'A tough meal, that. I don't think they're done cooking yet,' he said, turning away briefly, as if to check the validity of his words. Another nod as he turned back.

'Of course I remembered. Her Ladyship's favourite, yes?'

Tea poured, plates distributed, Willard placed the tray aside as he settled in next to Venla, so close as to be touching. 'There's sugar, if you want it, though I dare say you're sweet enough already.' Blowing on his cup, the young dawnling grinned, took a sip. Damn near burnt his palate. Might give it a few minutes, he cussed inwardly, the fire crackling, porcelain clinking softly as he placed his saucer off to the side.

Slowly, his arm went around Venla's shoulders, and he watched as she sipped and supped, the rosy skin peeking from beneath the hem of her tunic as inviting as the spread he'd put together. 'Happy?' Willard asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
 
“Oh, so you’ve been paying attention,” she said, smirking. “Careful, Syr. Keep that up, and I might start expecting you to remember all sorts of things.” Her eyes stayed on him, bright with mischief. “Like what colour dress I wore the day we met."

A curl of steam lifted from the mug, catching the firelight like ribbons of silver, tickling her nose as she breathed it in. She blew across the top before taking a careful sip.

Venla let out a long, quiet sigh as she leaned into Willard’s side. She gave a soft hum as she snuggled closer to his side, tea cupped snug in both hands, legs stretched out toward the fire. Bare toes wiggling slightly as they soaked up the heat. Her skin was pinked from the cold pond water and the drying, but she no longer felt the chill in her bones. The warmth, the tea, and the closeness... they were doing wonders.

“Happy?” she echoed, “Mm. I think I might be." She gave Willard a sideways look, fond and teasing, as she popped a honey-roasted walnut into her mouth.

“You still cold?” she asked softly.
 
“Like what colour dress I wore the day we met."

'Green?' Willard hazarded a guess. 'Or was it blue? I can't recall. Was too busy staring at your face to notice.' Even dishevelled, she had been beautiful. Still was. Didn't matter that the question had been a trap. He was just glad to see her smiling again.

Staring into the fire, the dawnling allowed his spirit to settle, the warmth tickling his soles slowly creeping its way up to his knees. A low hum followed, cosy and contented. 'A little,' he replied, glancing sidelong at Venla, quietly curious. 'Though, I get the feeling things're about to heat up,' he smiled, amused by his own wishful thinking, and the not-so-innocent look in Venla's eye.

'And you?' He asked, just as softly. 'How's the tea?'
 
When Willard murmured something about still being cold, she didn't tease him. The porcelain clicked gently against the plate as she put it to the side. Venla reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it over his legs. Tucked it under his legs with a careful hand. “There,” she said softly, smoothing it down over his knees.

One brow arched. She shifted slightly, reaching for her teacup again. “Things heating up, is it?” she murmured, cradling her cup between both hands, her fingers flushed from the warmth. Venla turned her head toward him. “Well, suppose you mean the tea, or the fire, or the walnuts. The fire’s crackling and my toes are practically baked.” she said, stretching her legs further toward the hearth, her bare skin catching the glow.

“Or do you mean something else entirely, Willard?"

Then, breezy and bright: “Tea’s lovely, by the by.”
 
'It is,' he agreed, risking a sip of his brew. Cooler now. 'So is  this.' He did not elaborate; there was no need to. 'Lovely, and much needed, I think.' Better than what had come before, anyhow.

'You're right, of course, on all accounts.'

Smiling, Willard turned to regard Venla, heat seeping through the thin shell of his cup, steam wafting to fill the air with the sweet scent of chamomile. 'The walnuts in particular are to my liking,' he said, plucking one from the bowl before Venla could stop him with a swift slap to the wrist.

'Why, what did you think I was implying?'
 
Her eyes went round, lashes fluttering like she was genuinely perplexed, though the faint quirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

"Nothing." Her voice was not curt or cold, just… airy, like the thought truly hadn’t crossed her mind.

She took another sip, then glanced at him sidelong, a little smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Unless you were implying something, of course. In which case…” Her voice trailed off as she reached for another walnut. “You'll have to speak plainer, Syr. I wouldn’t want to go imagining things.”

Venla tilted her head, eyes innocent, like a sparrow peeking from the hedgerow.
 
The moment her eyes found his, Willard knew he was in trouble. 'Damn!' He grinned. 'Beaten at my own game.' The cup in his hands felt hotter than it had any right to be. Placing the vessel aside, he cleared his throat, managing to buy himself a few valuable seconds in which he could regain his composure.

Or else lose grip on it entirely.

'S'pose you're not imagining things,' he said, unable to keep his eyes off her for long. 'What then?' Maybe she had him like a fish on a hook. Who was to say? The desire burning in his chest was real enough, though. The want, the need. To touch, yes, and be touched.

To love and cherish someone precious. Someone he'd very nearly let slip through his grasp, fool that he was.

Unravelling from his blankety cocoon, the knight decided he would do as bid. 'Allow me to speak plainly,' he said, his voice soft in the space betwixt as, gently, he prised the cup from Venla's hands, placed it off to the side.
 
Venla glanced down at her teacup just as he took it from her, her fingers loosening without protest. Her eyes followed his hands, the light of the fire catching in the low gold of her lashes. Then green eyes lifted slowly to his face, searching. She was wary, yes. Still sore from the quiet he’d left between them for too long. And some part of her, beneath all the softness, still wondered: Will he vanish again when this night is done? Will he be gone by first light?

She drew in a breath and shifted slightly, pushing the tray of tea and nuts gently aside with the heel of her hand, clearing the space between them. The soft clatter of porcelain filled the space between them as she pushed it gently out of the way. There was something heady in the way he spoke now, soft but certain. Not fumbling, not uncertain. Just... clear. Present. She liked that.

Her breath slowed. Her heart didn’t. She leaned in slowly, deliberately, her hands stirring the edge of his hair. Her fingers threaded into his damp hair. “Please,” she murmured, her voice barely above the crackle of the fire, “do speak plainly.” But before he could, her thumb grazed behind his ear. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, slow and sure, guiding him down into a kiss that was deep and unhurried. It was the kiss of someone who had missed him. Who had felt the hollow space he left behind in her chest and tried not to name it loneliness.

Pillows gave beneath her as she eased back, fingers still tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, guiding him down with her. Pulling him down like the tide draws the moon.

And somewhere behind that kiss, beneath the heat of it, was the hope. Please stay. Stay this time.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom