Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Cecilia on 03-09-2008, 23:12:20</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cecilia</strong> on <strong>03-09-2008, 23:12:20</strong>
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				A flash of lightening lit up the darkened sky followed shortly by a boom of thunder as workers scrambled to bring in the last bit of fresh hay.&nbsp; Their scythes swung in long flowing arches across their bodies and into the grain.&nbsp; They worked with a feverish intent, for the clouds had formed and gathered with an intense swiftness none of them had foreseen.&nbsp; There were weeks left before Samhain, and the rains shouldn’t be here yet.<br><br>Shouts of encouragement rang out across the fields as everyone picked up their pace to save the crops.&nbsp; Heads swiveled between the work at hand and the sky above.&nbsp; &nbsp;Large warning drops spattered very slowly, not quite ready to cause ruin.&nbsp; They seemed to hover in the very air, threatening and taunting them all at once.<br><br>Airmid focused on her own tiny crop.&nbsp; She cut feverishly at the plants that would surely be ruined should the rain come now.&nbsp; They were a couple of weeks shy of perfection, but their current state was better than nothing.&nbsp; She gathered the lemon balm into a large bouquet and tethered it together with a leather thong.&nbsp; She worked quickly, binding&nbsp; bunches of rosemary, lavender, sage and mint.&nbsp; By the time she has cut the garden, she feels large drops of water landing heavily against her outstretched arms.<br><br>She looked to the fields each time she rushed between her garden and her hut, her arms filled with the fragrant and sweet herbs of her work.&nbsp; As she finished her last trip,&nbsp; she saw the workers making their own last maddening dashes to the storehouses.&nbsp; As the rain began in earnest everyone scattered&nbsp; to their homes or the storehouses to wait out the barrage of water.&nbsp; Airmid recognized one figure running furtively in her direction as her sister Maeve.<br><br>Airmid sighed and held the door open as her sister rushed inShe’d hoped to sit in the darkening hut and enjoy the booming thunder, but , instead, she’d be filled with her sister’s incessant chattering.<br><br>Maeve kissed her as she crossed the threshold and smiled amicably enough.&nbsp; “Greetings, sister.&nbsp; I barely made it before the worst of it, eh?” she asked.<br><br>“Greetings to you, Maeve.&nbsp; I’m surprised you came here rather than heading home to your own hearth,” Airmid said, not hiding her annoyance with her sister.<br><br>“Peace, Airmid.&nbsp; I’ve not come to try to talk you into joining the dancing on Samhain. I know you are resigned against it one more year.&nbsp; Still, I do think it’s a waste,” she said, nodding.&nbsp; “No, I’ve just come to tell you I’m with child again.&nbsp; I felt the quicken yesterday.”&nbsp; <br><br>Airmid felt her throat tighten and her heart pounded painfully against her chest.&nbsp; She swallowed the pain and hugged her sister.&nbsp; “You have the right name, Maeve.&nbsp; Gods be blessed.&nbsp; Another winter birth, though.&nbsp; I’ll set to preparing you the whole store of herbs right away.” <br><br>Airmid waved her sister to the bench as she sorted through the large pile of herbs she had just gathered and began to hang them along the many hooks that lined the walls of her hut.&nbsp; <br><br>She worked quickly and efficiently while her sister chattered on about her mate and their other two bairns.&nbsp; Airmid saw them weekly, but her sister acted as if she only saw them once every few moons.&nbsp; Eventually, her sister switched topics to one that did interest her—that of the new “others”&nbsp; that had not far from their village.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“I was out walkin’ the fields, you know to smell the good scents in the sunshine…they seem to calm my tummy,” Maeve flapped her hands to chase away her excess words, ”And, what do you know? I saw these men walkin’ over from the West.&nbsp; They must have come in from the Western shores and walked? Can you imagine? They looked road weary, that’s for certain.”<br><br>Maeve stretched her neck and reached out for a fresh sprig of mint.&nbsp; She munched it thoughtfully between her teeth and went on.&nbsp; “They wore drab brown robes and didn’t seem very happy.&nbsp; They marched up into that…what’s it called?&nbsp; Oh yes, that ‘monastery’ and went straight in.&nbsp; To think, they sent more of them folk here? You’d think they’d have given up on us here.“ Maeve snorted in delight. <br><br>“No, Maeve, they are not the type to give up easily,” Airmid said.<br>&nbsp; <br>“That’s what I mean, don’t you know?&nbsp; It wasn’t like we left them in any doubt how we felt about their single boring old man god, now is it?” Maeve asked.<br><br>“Aye.&nbsp; I’m afraid that they may redouble their efforts.&nbsp; That new religion seems to be taking hold everywhere around us.&nbsp; And, no doubt, there are plenty of our own folk who are powerfully attracted to it,” Airmid said.<br><br>“Ach.&nbsp; Sister, you speak nonsense.&nbsp; It’s just a cult fad, it will go away soon enough.&nbsp; Just you wait,”&nbsp; Maeve spoke with confidence.<br><br>“It’s just that last time, we had Taog to lead us against their heresies,” Airmid said, wishing fervently for her man, dead now these two years.&nbsp; “I will miss his reason and judgment.&nbsp; Who is left who can speak so eloquently of our ways?”&nbsp; <br><br>“You for one, Airmid.&nbsp; You are our healer, you know the world of the goddesses and gods as well as anyone alive.”<br><br><br>“Yes, but can I speak of them and defend them&nbsp; so well as Taog?” Airmid asked.&nbsp; <br><br>"Taog?&nbsp; Sister, please, I loved Taog as well.&nbsp; It is time for you to let him be reborn this Samhain," Maeve said.&nbsp; "Oh.&nbsp; I am sorry.&nbsp; I promised not to cajole.&nbsp; Still, sister, Taog is of another world now, you need to let him move back into this one."<br><br>"Maeve, that is precisely why I refuse to jump the fire with any man this Samhain.&nbsp; I don't wish to find myself impregnated with his soul.&nbsp; I am resigned to his death. I have mourned for him and am moving on...truly I am.&nbsp; It is just that&nbsp; I am waiting to feel his soul in the form of another woman's bairn," Airmid assured her sister.<br><br>Maeve rolled her eyes,"I don't think you can tell one way or another.&nbsp; But, little sister, I will humor you this one more time.&nbsp; However, I hope that by Beltane you will be ready to cavort freely again."<br><br>"Yes, Maeve.&nbsp; I have.&nbsp; Cyfan has been courting me quite openly.&nbsp; I suppose I shall eventually give in to him."&nbsp; Airmid was not thrilled with the choice, but he was the best of the few men available to her now.&nbsp; His first mate had died in childbirth, leaving the healthy boy child behind.&nbsp; <br><br>Airmid moved to the open window frame of her hut. The rain had relented and the warmth from the fields had collided with the cool water to form a mist that was slowly rising.&nbsp; The smell of the wet soil was calming.&nbsp; She looked for answers in the world around her, but seeing none at the moment she turned her thoughts toward her sister and her new babe.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>12-09-2008, 22:48:34</strong>
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				A flash of lightning in the night startled Etienne from his slumber. Even through the high, narrow window the silver glow bathed his cell. He laid still, waiting for the rumble of thunder that never came. Truly that was a strange thing.<br><br>Closing his eyes, the flood of memories from the past few weeks poured into his mind. The abbot had chosen him to accompany the foreign monk back to the monastery in southwestern Britain. Far away from the hills of Burgundy, over the Frankish lands and narrow strait of the Brittanic Ocean to this rough, pagan island. There was an air of revival in this land, supported by the Saxon King, and men of God were needed to rebuild the orders of St. Benedict. It was truly an honor for a lay monk such as himself to be selected for this important work. An honor; and a terror.<br><br>Most of his youth had been spent within the abbey, performing the simple tasks that allowed the choir brothers to maintain their Divine Office. His life revolved around growing their food, preparing their meals, maintaining the monastery and its grounds. The very idea of leaving the familiar fields and walls chilled him to the bone and he had prayed long and hard for the strength to meet this call.<br><br>And here he was. Weeks away from his homeland in this strange new place where even the rocks themselves felt like strangers. The air hung with a strange, thick mist that glowed in another flash of thunderless lightning. He wondered if this phenomena had a name. What would the local people call it, in their heavy English tongue?<br><br>He sighed, rolling over beneath his thin blanket. So much to learn, so much to share, <em>ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus</em>. Perhaps soon his Latin would be good enough to take the Holy Orders. To spend days in peace, reading the word of God and the Saints, copying over the Scripture instead of hoeing squash and emptying chamber pots... Oh, forgive me Father. He flushed in the dark, ashamed of his pride. Every act, no matter how lowly, was part of the greater glory. Another sin to add to his confession.<br><br>Etienne screwed his eyes tight shut, willing himself back to sleep. Yesterday's journey had been so long, he needed rest before - the ringing of a copper handbell announced the call to the morning office of Lauds. Pulling himself upright with a whispered prayer, he groped for his worn robe in the darkness.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cecilia</strong> on <strong>13-09-2008, 01:24:00</strong>
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				Airmid awoke to the usual cry of her favorite rooster.&nbsp; He had a throaty sound that seemed to alert the whole world to the presence of the sun.&nbsp; She sat up and stretched.&nbsp; She touched the empty spot next to her and sighed.&nbsp; She had realized a few moons before that she could not recall Taog's visage or the sound of his voice.&nbsp; He had slipped away from her entirely over the last year.&nbsp; She had let him go, knowing there was need for her to move on.&nbsp; Still, she hated the coldness and emptiness of sleeping alone, waking up alone.&nbsp; Being alone.&nbsp; Even being with Cyfan would be better than <em>this</em>.<br><br>The weather had shifted suddenly after the storm, back to the warm air expected during this season--'twas just before the harvest and coming of the dark.&nbsp; Having the harvest in early had freed her up from some of the out door chores she would normally have tended to this day.&nbsp; The warm grass and freshly cut hay smell in the fields beckoned her and she walked in the warmth of the sun.&nbsp; After a time, she found a large smooth rock, large enough for her to stretch out on it.&nbsp; She laid back, letting the heat of the rock warm her from below and the sun from above.&nbsp; She ran her hands through her long hair and laid back on the rock, her hair fanning out along the sides of the rock framing her face in a radiant burst of auburn.&nbsp; Her mind wandered to the stories of her mother and grandmother and she began to hum an ancient melody.&nbsp; Anyone who heard it could not mistake it for anything but of one of longing and loneliness.&nbsp; &nbsp;
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>13-09-2008, 23:47:24</strong>
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				The young monk lifted his face to the sunshine gladly, the wind riffling through his short, honey-colored hair. It was as if God Himself smiled on this day. The fears of many nights past melted away in the golden light, replaced by a sense of awe as he stood just outside the abbey gate and looked across the rolling green hills and forested lands that spread to the horizon. The monastery itself perched on a rocky outcrop - the highest point for leagues around. Not far below the monastery to the west lay the village, bordered all around by planted fields and garden plots. The monks' fields and groves occupied the eastern slopes. To the northwest, several miles distant, he could glimpse the dark blue of the sea where it met the sky.<br><br>Etienne's reverie was interrupted by a stout monk bearing a tightly-woven basket and a wineskin who bustled up to him. "Good morrow, brother, and God bless ye. I am Brother Finan," he grinned as he handed his burden over and ran a hand over his bald head. "Here's your task for the morning..."<br><br>A few minutes later Etienne was picking his way down the steep path towards the village, the basket slung over his back. He wondered if he looked as uncertain as he felt. He had not met all the monks in the abbey yet and they were already sending him down to meet the local farmers. Under his breath be began mumbling the English words and phrases Dunstan had taught him during their long journey, praying that he wouldn't say anything too foolish. Or insulting. Or dangerous.<br><br>He neared a recently cut field, accompanied only by the crunch of his sandals on the path and the calls of birds. Another field away, beyond a broad, flat stone that jutted up from the landscape like a table, he spied a group of men wrestling their harvest towards the threshing barns. The monk turned in their direction.<br><br>Suddenly the wind carried a strange sound to his ears. A song, but not from any bird; its tune filled with melancholy, longing, desire. Utterly foreign and yet as familiar as if it had come from his own heart. Etienne shook his head. How could a simple melody bear all these emotions with it? Was it the work of a devil? It was surely bewitching. He slowed his pace and moved with caution towards the stone that seemed to be the source of the humming.&nbsp; His hand drifted toward the plain wooden crucifix that hung from a cord around his neck. Etienne reached the edge of the rock and peered over, unsure of what he expected to find.<br><br>And even when he saw her, he remained unsure of what his eyes were telling him. The fall of her auburn hair was like a halo, crowning her head with flame. Her flawless features, the rose of her cheeks, the curve of her lips - he had surely seen them all before in the illuminations. He stared at her face, neglecting to breathe for several moments before his lungs finally gasped for air.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cecilia</strong> on <strong>15-09-2008, 21:05:25</strong>
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				Airmid was almost completely lost in her song, and, if it weren't for the sharp intake of air, she would not have known anyone had approached her.&nbsp; She almost pretended to not hear,&nbsp; but her curiosity got hold of her and she opened her eyes, certain the gasping creature would still be nearby.&nbsp; Se sat up on her elbows and was surprised to see&nbsp; a stranger, one of those brown clothed men from the buildings up the hill.&nbsp; It was clear that he had not expected to see her, he was firmly rooted in place all agape.&nbsp; She could see by his empty basket and wineskin he must be on an errand to the village.&nbsp; <br><br>Airmid sat all the way up, and pulled her legs in under her skirt.&nbsp; She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it all to one side of her face, mindlessly twisting and braiding it down the length as she looked at the stranger.&nbsp; She took her time all the while wondering if he would speak, or merely stand there staring at her as if she were some apparition. His hand grasped the piece of wood dangling from a thong about his neck.&nbsp; She'd seen that symbol enough times to know it was a comfort to them for some reason she still did not understand.&nbsp; He was certainly a decent looking man, and did not scare her.<br><br>Finally, though, she took pity on him, and said, in a soft voice reserved for the slower children in the village,"Greetings, stranger.&nbsp; If you are bound for the village, you seem to have taken the wrong path."<br><br>A smile curved her lips upward and her eyes twinkled in the greeting.&nbsp; The pause in his demeanor made her wonder whether he was mute or merely did not understand her.&nbsp; "Greetings," she said again, deliberately and slowly, "Do you understand me? "<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>20-09-2008, 15:55:56</strong>
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				Etienne started when she spoke and cast his eyes to the ground. Whatever madness he'd felt from her song faded like morning dew. She was merely a woman of the village enjoying the morning. And here he was, a man of God, staring at her in a most offensive way. Heat flushed over his cheeks and he looked up at her face with a sheen of distress in his hazel eyes. "Pardon, madame! Je ne voulais-" he bit his tongue and started over.<br><br>"I am sorry, madam. I did not intend to look at you so... deeply." That wasn't the right word, he was sure of it, but he forged onward. "My name is Brother Etienne," and he added in greeting, "God's blessing to you. I am from the abbey, and I look for the farmer of these fields." He smiled then, in response to her smile, and it helped to reassure him. <br><br>"Yes, thank you, I understand some words, not all," he responded to her question. "I need much learning. Teaching." He looked down at his feet self-consciously and took a deep breath. "The brothers said your people reaped quickly, before the storm last night. They send me to ask may I gather what is left on the ground. They will return half in bread from the abbey ovens." Although he knew his accent was thick, the young monk was pleased to have gotten the words out, by the grace of God. <br><br>He smiled at her again, shifting the basket on his back and glancing around the field, suddenly curious as to why a woman would be out here alone with no work and no children nearby. "These are the fields of your husband?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cecilia</strong> on <strong>20-09-2008, 23:55:44</strong>
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				Airmid did not answer him right away.&nbsp; Why was she so sensitive on the subject of husbands?&nbsp; She turned her head to one side and shook her head slowly.&nbsp; She had forgotten the men in brown robes cut their hair and shaved their faces.&nbsp; It was such an interesting contrast to the long hair and full beards she was used to.&nbsp; She held back the urge to touch his face and feel it, to see if it was as soft as her own or rough to the touch.&nbsp; He was so foreign looking to her.&nbsp; <br><br>She dropped her eyes as she realized she was looking at him too...deeply.&nbsp; The choice of word made her smile, though.&nbsp; It had an interesting charm to its misuse.<br><br>"No...but they are those of my brother. I can guide you to his cottage so that you might ask his permission directly," she said, finally.&nbsp; She jumped up lightly from the stone and stood next to the stranger.&nbsp; "Etienne...an unusual name.&nbsp; I am Airmid."&nbsp; She bowed her head to him in greeting as she said her name.<br><br>"My brother is likely to grant you permission, but I dare not answer for him.&nbsp; He is...often generous..." she said, waving her hand in the general direction of his cottage.&nbsp; "This way..it is but a half mile."&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>25-09-2008, 05:06:12</strong>
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				The young monk returned her bow. "Airmid," he repeated slowly and not quite correctly. "It is a nice sound." His eyes suddenly widened as he wondered at the impropriety of calling a woman by her given name, especially when they stood so close together. Alone in a field. This was not a seemly thing to do anywhere - least of all in a strange land.&nbsp; Etienne pulled himself up stiffly. "Ah, I mean to say, thank you, madame. I will seek your brother. God be with you."<br><br>As he turned towards the cottages, a lock of her auburn hair was caught by the wind. Like a lick of flame it brushed his cheek and brought her song back to him; a heart's cry of loneliness and loss that stole the breath from his body. His eyes fell shut and he took a step back, leaning against the rock to steady himself. His fingers groped for the crucifix. <em>"Crux sacra sit mihi lux..."</em> As quickly as they had come, the impressions faded once more.<br><br>His face was pale when he looked up. The birdsong, the wind, the scent of hay was all just as it had been a moment before, as was the lovely woman standing so near and studying him so closely. "I- I am sorry, madame," he said carefully. "I am perhaps still worn from our journey." He straightened up once more, wishing for a dose of valerian tea to calm himself... and that reminded him of his second task.<br><br>Etienne truly didn't want to open his mouth again, certain that he'd been awkward, strange, and impolite enough for one visit. But in spite of it all he found himself blurting, "I also seek herbs for the abbey. Where does your herbalist live?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Oak, Ash and Thorn   (Cecilia and Madmartigan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Cecilia</strong> on <strong>28-09-2008, 20:14:35</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Airmid was concerned by the man's stumbling.&nbsp; She stood by him as he grasped at his chest and fingered the wood pendant there, mumbling strange words.&nbsp; He looked up, finally, with a pallor that made her quite concerned for him.&nbsp; She instinctively put her hand on his forehead to check for fever.&nbsp; It was warmer than usual, but not dangerously so.&nbsp; <br><br>She nodded in agreement, "Your journey must have been quite far, to be so tiring..."&nbsp; Though she really couldn't quite picture how far he might have traveled.&nbsp; She'd been only so far as the great circle, and even that was only a few days journey by foot. <br><br>Airmid glanced toward her brother's cottage and back to her own.&nbsp; Hers was certainly closer and he did need herbs, so he'd have to go there anyway.&nbsp; She could give him something to refresh and revive him, let him do his business with her and then send him to her brother's.&nbsp; The order did not probably make much difference.&nbsp; It was a little awkward to invite this lone stranger into her small cottage, but he looked harmless enough.<br><br>She clucked her tongue a couple of times as she thought and put her arm out to support him and said, "'You are in luck, Etienne.&nbsp; I will provide you herbs, and my cottage is a great deal closer than my brother's."&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>She guided him through the field to her cottage.&nbsp; As they approached she was oddly relieved that she kept things orderly and neat. At the same time she wondered why she thought of such a thing in this man's presence.&nbsp; Her unharvested herbs, those that could do well through the winter and all sorts of storms, were neatly staked and weeded.&nbsp; The short pathway leading to her door was made of stepping stones, with a low-growing thyme filling the spaces in between--their leaves releasing a sweet scent into the air and onto her feet as they were gently crushed underfoot.<br><br>Her door was propped open to let in the fresh air of the day, she invited Etienne to enter with a wave of her hand and somewhat awkward smile.&nbsp; She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else was around, feeling a bit conspicuous all of a sudden.&nbsp; Surely it was odd to have a stranger alone in her cottage.<br><br><br>
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