~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Now I saw a face on the water
It looked humble but willing to fight
I saw the will of a warrior
His yoke is easy and His burden is light
He looked me right in the eyes
Direct and concise to remind me
To always do what's right*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ah, Logan, glad to see you decided to stay! Dinner will be served momentarily."
Nichole looked up at her brother's voice. *He came,* a warm voice cooed in her mind. But there was something wrong...He was paler, and looked as if he had just seen a ghost. He was still dressed in the armor he had worn earlier, though he had had plenty of time to change. He ran his hands nervously down the front of his chest plate, a gesture that seemed out of place on him. *Perhaps he is just unsure of how to act in noble company. A common soldier such as himself would hardly have gotten the opportunity to do so, especially during this ill-gotten war.*
She rose from the table and offered him the seat next to her, much to the chagrin of the man opposite her, Sir Orin Gregory. He had already been invited as the winner of the joust, and decorum strictly stated not to go back on such things, so a conflict between the two was inevitable. The man was shooting daggers at Logan, anger practically *oozing* from him. "So, the monster returns, eh? You best be careful round this one Lord Blackwell, least he connives and steals something from *your* household as well."
Nichole gasped, knowing full well that the last comment was about *her*, and that Orin saw her as having little more value than a lounge or a candlestick. Momentarily forgetting all of the manners her governess had taught her, she began devising a rather dirty retort only to be spared by a chuckle to her left.
"Spoils of war, boy, spoils of war." Logan settled down into the velvet cushion, an aroma of sweat, horse, and leather staining the perfume-sweetened air. "Oh, by the by, Brutus sends his regards. He turned out to be quite a horse, once I took all that garbage off his saddle. Tell me - do you enjoy having your horse wear a skirt? 'Cuz all it's doin' is making it ten times easier for 'im to trip."
Nichole suppressed a grin, and conversation around her slowed to a halt as the food was brought in. She sneeked a glance at Orin, noting the high color on his cheekbones, and the odd way he focused solely on his plate. Amazing. Logan had somehow managed to belittle the best soldier in town, and improve his own standing in the bargain. Who would have ever thought to insult his *horsemanship*?
Dinner continued on, and when Jonathon, the Bishop, and a begrudging Orin began discussing politics, Nichole turned her attention to the man sitting next to her. "Sir Logan -"
He set down his fork with a small clack. "Why do you keep calling me that? I told you that I don't have a title."
"Well, you certainly must deserve one, being such a magnificent soldier, as well as a gentleman."
He choked on his food for a moment before he was capable of an answer. "Gentleman? Hah! Oh, darlin' you certainly *have* lived a sheltered life if you consider *me* a gentleman."
"Oh, but I do. You treat all men as if they are equals, and remain civil to them... as much as you can. You upheld dignity in combat, and spared Orin his life, instead of unjustly taking it." She smiled. "And despite your atrocious table manners, I'd say all of that, plus a few other minor attributes, are the qualities of a very fine person, and one I would not mind getting to know better."
The grin slid off his face, and he looked down at his plate, moving a piece of lamb aimlessly with his fork. "You don't know me very well." A slight smile curved his lip. "And besides, I'm not all *that* good."
Nichole played along, assuming a fluttery voice and the slightly winded expression of a dim-witted courtesan. "Oh I beg to differ sire, as I have seen many men paraded before me in hopes of marriage. All have strutted like roosters, fighting and biting at each other in the dust of the yards." She leaned forward slightly, so that her forehead was a mere breath from his, her eyes nearly cross-eyed as she looked at him. "And you, my dear sir, are undoubtedly the best at it."
He was really grinning know, an eyebrow quirked in her direction. "What about Sir Buckethead over there?"
"Merely a peacock to your hawk my lord."
"Well, that puts me at ease, dear Lady. Tell me, how would a hawk go about courting a dove in this yard of yours?"
"Why by being the best of course."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Their private conversation did not stay that way for long. Alicia couldn't *help* but to overhear some of it -- it wasn't right for a lady to eavesdrop and gossip after all, but what else was there to listen to? -- and couldn't be more pleased. Logan was relaxing, however marginally, and the question of him staying appeared to be a moot point. The Lady of the house was also pleased to note that for once Nichole had refrained from bringing any books or papers to the table. *This is a sign,* she thought, *and I intend to see what becomes of it.*
To her left, another pair of eyes were taking an interest in the couple, these a furious shade of brown. Orin was madder than ever. How could Nichole do that?! She was being *flirtatious* with the fiend. Was she unaware of what sort of creature she parlayed with? Logan *was* trying to steal her away from him, and she was being made all the blinder to what sort of vile thing cowered behind those demon blue eyes. *Oh, he will pay for this...he will pay!*
And, unbeknownst to all, someone else was listening in, carefully analyzing each word uttered between the two, all while feigning interest in what the foolishly naive Lord had to say. The color of *those* eyes had been compared to a bloody battlefield, and the mind that resided behind them would have agreed with the comparison.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The meal was turning out to be the best Logan had ever eaten, and not just because of the food. Nichole was a treasure, and a wonderful dinner companion. It was as if they were alone at the table, and the world ended beyond the fine china and the deep tablecloth. Which he did *not* stick any undesirable contaminants on, regardless of what he told Reggie. His table manners weren't *that* bad.
Despite the almost euphoric feeling, Logan was growing tired of being stared at by the little knight across from him. Not to mention the fact that the presence of a Bishop in such close quarters was making him rather nervous. He was about to suggest that he and Nichole take a walk in the gardens and away from prying eyes when the doors flung open, and two men entered the dining hall.
The smell that assaulted Logan was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was horrid, a putrid mixture of scents beyond his ability to describe, yet resounded with an overwhelming implication: *abandon all hope, for within lies death and decay.* It filled his senses to the brim, and overflowed, carrying the churning mass of revulsion throughout his entire body.
"Logan? Logan, are you all right?" A familiar voice intruded into his thoughts, and he slowly became aware that he was standing, his chair toppled to the floor, fist clenched so tightly that blood was pooling in his hands from the tiny crescents his fingernails left behind. His breath came in ragged jerks, and his dinner companions were all staying at him.
The newcomer was standing in the doorway with Reginald, looking lost and startled at the violent display upon his entrance. He was of an average height, and was dressed in the robes of the church, enough by itself to start Logan's heart to jumping. The smell hung like a shroud around him, but was drastically decreased in strength. The longer Logan was in the man's presence, the less powerful the stench, until it was gone, and he was left wondering if the scent had been there at all, or if his senses were playing tricks on him again. Logan was soon able to take in a breath not tainted by it, and his body began shaking in reaction.
*God...* he thought, *what *was* that?*
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice a harsh gasp.
"Logan, this is the Bishop's secondary, Father Desmond," said a stupefied Jonathon. "I told you we were waiting for his arrival."
"Logan," a quiet voice whispered to his right. He felt a hand rest on his arm, and turned to see Nichole standing at his side. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, just...I suppose I had some bad lamb or something." His attempt at humor was pathetic, and he knew it. Regardless, it was enough to cut the tension in the room, and the aide relaxed, walking over to his master to offer a report of his travels. Jonathon and Alicia returned to their meal, though it was clear they were still concerned. Nichole stared at him for a long while, her hand still resting on his. She saw past his attempt to deflect her scrutiny, and could still clearly see the remnants of terror in his eyes.
Her grip tightened slightly but her voice remained steady, and carried to the others in the room. "Sir Logan, would you care to escort me through the gardens? I'm in need of some air."
Logan smiled at her excuse. He knew that once they were outside she'd drill him for answers about his reaction...as well as give him time to calm down himself. A small smile curved his lips, silently thanking her for her consideration. "I'd like that very much, my Lady. In fact, I was going to ask you that myself."
The two exited the dining hall, Nichole's hand now held rather than holding, the stares of all in the room following them on their way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(To Be Continued...if you want it to be. Feedback is your friend!)
*Now I saw a face on the water
It looked humble but willing to fight
I saw the will of a warrior
His yoke is easy and His burden is light
He looked me right in the eyes
Direct and concise to remind me
To always do what's right*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ah, Logan, glad to see you decided to stay! Dinner will be served momentarily."
Nichole looked up at her brother's voice. *He came,* a warm voice cooed in her mind. But there was something wrong...He was paler, and looked as if he had just seen a ghost. He was still dressed in the armor he had worn earlier, though he had had plenty of time to change. He ran his hands nervously down the front of his chest plate, a gesture that seemed out of place on him. *Perhaps he is just unsure of how to act in noble company. A common soldier such as himself would hardly have gotten the opportunity to do so, especially during this ill-gotten war.*
She rose from the table and offered him the seat next to her, much to the chagrin of the man opposite her, Sir Orin Gregory. He had already been invited as the winner of the joust, and decorum strictly stated not to go back on such things, so a conflict between the two was inevitable. The man was shooting daggers at Logan, anger practically *oozing* from him. "So, the monster returns, eh? You best be careful round this one Lord Blackwell, least he connives and steals something from *your* household as well."
Nichole gasped, knowing full well that the last comment was about *her*, and that Orin saw her as having little more value than a lounge or a candlestick. Momentarily forgetting all of the manners her governess had taught her, she began devising a rather dirty retort only to be spared by a chuckle to her left.
"Spoils of war, boy, spoils of war." Logan settled down into the velvet cushion, an aroma of sweat, horse, and leather staining the perfume-sweetened air. "Oh, by the by, Brutus sends his regards. He turned out to be quite a horse, once I took all that garbage off his saddle. Tell me - do you enjoy having your horse wear a skirt? 'Cuz all it's doin' is making it ten times easier for 'im to trip."
Nichole suppressed a grin, and conversation around her slowed to a halt as the food was brought in. She sneeked a glance at Orin, noting the high color on his cheekbones, and the odd way he focused solely on his plate. Amazing. Logan had somehow managed to belittle the best soldier in town, and improve his own standing in the bargain. Who would have ever thought to insult his *horsemanship*?
Dinner continued on, and when Jonathon, the Bishop, and a begrudging Orin began discussing politics, Nichole turned her attention to the man sitting next to her. "Sir Logan -"
He set down his fork with a small clack. "Why do you keep calling me that? I told you that I don't have a title."
"Well, you certainly must deserve one, being such a magnificent soldier, as well as a gentleman."
He choked on his food for a moment before he was capable of an answer. "Gentleman? Hah! Oh, darlin' you certainly *have* lived a sheltered life if you consider *me* a gentleman."
"Oh, but I do. You treat all men as if they are equals, and remain civil to them... as much as you can. You upheld dignity in combat, and spared Orin his life, instead of unjustly taking it." She smiled. "And despite your atrocious table manners, I'd say all of that, plus a few other minor attributes, are the qualities of a very fine person, and one I would not mind getting to know better."
The grin slid off his face, and he looked down at his plate, moving a piece of lamb aimlessly with his fork. "You don't know me very well." A slight smile curved his lip. "And besides, I'm not all *that* good."
Nichole played along, assuming a fluttery voice and the slightly winded expression of a dim-witted courtesan. "Oh I beg to differ sire, as I have seen many men paraded before me in hopes of marriage. All have strutted like roosters, fighting and biting at each other in the dust of the yards." She leaned forward slightly, so that her forehead was a mere breath from his, her eyes nearly cross-eyed as she looked at him. "And you, my dear sir, are undoubtedly the best at it."
He was really grinning know, an eyebrow quirked in her direction. "What about Sir Buckethead over there?"
"Merely a peacock to your hawk my lord."
"Well, that puts me at ease, dear Lady. Tell me, how would a hawk go about courting a dove in this yard of yours?"
"Why by being the best of course."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Their private conversation did not stay that way for long. Alicia couldn't *help* but to overhear some of it -- it wasn't right for a lady to eavesdrop and gossip after all, but what else was there to listen to? -- and couldn't be more pleased. Logan was relaxing, however marginally, and the question of him staying appeared to be a moot point. The Lady of the house was also pleased to note that for once Nichole had refrained from bringing any books or papers to the table. *This is a sign,* she thought, *and I intend to see what becomes of it.*
To her left, another pair of eyes were taking an interest in the couple, these a furious shade of brown. Orin was madder than ever. How could Nichole do that?! She was being *flirtatious* with the fiend. Was she unaware of what sort of creature she parlayed with? Logan *was* trying to steal her away from him, and she was being made all the blinder to what sort of vile thing cowered behind those demon blue eyes. *Oh, he will pay for this...he will pay!*
And, unbeknownst to all, someone else was listening in, carefully analyzing each word uttered between the two, all while feigning interest in what the foolishly naive Lord had to say. The color of *those* eyes had been compared to a bloody battlefield, and the mind that resided behind them would have agreed with the comparison.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The meal was turning out to be the best Logan had ever eaten, and not just because of the food. Nichole was a treasure, and a wonderful dinner companion. It was as if they were alone at the table, and the world ended beyond the fine china and the deep tablecloth. Which he did *not* stick any undesirable contaminants on, regardless of what he told Reggie. His table manners weren't *that* bad.
Despite the almost euphoric feeling, Logan was growing tired of being stared at by the little knight across from him. Not to mention the fact that the presence of a Bishop in such close quarters was making him rather nervous. He was about to suggest that he and Nichole take a walk in the gardens and away from prying eyes when the doors flung open, and two men entered the dining hall.
The smell that assaulted Logan was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was horrid, a putrid mixture of scents beyond his ability to describe, yet resounded with an overwhelming implication: *abandon all hope, for within lies death and decay.* It filled his senses to the brim, and overflowed, carrying the churning mass of revulsion throughout his entire body.
"Logan? Logan, are you all right?" A familiar voice intruded into his thoughts, and he slowly became aware that he was standing, his chair toppled to the floor, fist clenched so tightly that blood was pooling in his hands from the tiny crescents his fingernails left behind. His breath came in ragged jerks, and his dinner companions were all staying at him.
The newcomer was standing in the doorway with Reginald, looking lost and startled at the violent display upon his entrance. He was of an average height, and was dressed in the robes of the church, enough by itself to start Logan's heart to jumping. The smell hung like a shroud around him, but was drastically decreased in strength. The longer Logan was in the man's presence, the less powerful the stench, until it was gone, and he was left wondering if the scent had been there at all, or if his senses were playing tricks on him again. Logan was soon able to take in a breath not tainted by it, and his body began shaking in reaction.
*God...* he thought, *what *was* that?*
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice a harsh gasp.
"Logan, this is the Bishop's secondary, Father Desmond," said a stupefied Jonathon. "I told you we were waiting for his arrival."
"Logan," a quiet voice whispered to his right. He felt a hand rest on his arm, and turned to see Nichole standing at his side. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, just...I suppose I had some bad lamb or something." His attempt at humor was pathetic, and he knew it. Regardless, it was enough to cut the tension in the room, and the aide relaxed, walking over to his master to offer a report of his travels. Jonathon and Alicia returned to their meal, though it was clear they were still concerned. Nichole stared at him for a long while, her hand still resting on his. She saw past his attempt to deflect her scrutiny, and could still clearly see the remnants of terror in his eyes.
Her grip tightened slightly but her voice remained steady, and carried to the others in the room. "Sir Logan, would you care to escort me through the gardens? I'm in need of some air."
Logan smiled at her excuse. He knew that once they were outside she'd drill him for answers about his reaction...as well as give him time to calm down himself. A small smile curved his lips, silently thanking her for her consideration. "I'd like that very much, my Lady. In fact, I was going to ask you that myself."
The two exited the dining hall, Nichole's hand now held rather than holding, the stares of all in the room following them on their way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(To Be Continued...if you want it to be. Feedback is your friend!)