Hey guys! Updating again! This time I think I should probably give a little history lesson (since Sinmurgh really gave it to me about my poor studies).
Firstly, I'm Canadian. I know what it is to be ignored by the world (I mean every one assumes we're the 51st state of America anyway) and I, by the way, do not know Joe who works at the office, and drives that dog sled team. Anyway, off of my own rant, I admit I know next to nothing about Sarmatia, Europe, or history in general. For the following…I am sorry.
Okay, Sarmatia encompasses what is now Russia, Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, and the Ukraine. Sarmatia was on the coast of the Baltic Sea, the Black Sea (thnx Sinmurgh) and the Sea of Azov. Now, in my story, I'm going to assume that Lancelot is from the part of Sarmatia that is now Poland. The Sarmatian people are documented as being nomadic…which will be part of my story eventually.
So, I wasn't really running along these lines before, but now I'm on track. And I am sorry if I accidentally raped anyone's culture. I'm new to this sort of thing.
As for Finn being called Finnabhair…I like the name so suck it up. No, just joking! Remember that they are not entirely sure of where she comes from. We'll assume that they gave her the name because they figured she was Celtic. Good? Okay then! BACK TO THE STORY!!!
Hats Off, Micks x0x0
(Ps. Hope you're still reading Sinmurgh, despite my crappy knowledge of Europe.)
Finn watched lazily as the lantern swung from the ceiling, casting light in one direction and darkness in the other, before it swung like a pendulum back to the other side. The boat rocked against the crashing waves as they made their way toward Sarmatia on a large fishing boat they'd bartered from a kindly fisherman on the coast. He'd even offered to have a few of his men tend to the boat and deliver them to where they were going. Which left the knights with nothing to do but sit. That left nothing to distract them from the rolling waves. She felt sick as the sea dipped and pulled the boat every which way, and the only thing keeping her from retching was the fact that she hadn't eaten in three days.
Unfortunately Gawain had not been so lucky and was currently emptying the contents of his stomach over the side of the boat. Galahad sat in the corner looking as queasy as she supposed she did, and Arthur had retired to his bed after becoming quite ill with sea sickness. The Woad warriors and Bors sat and played a game with pieces of coral and a board with carvings on it, all of them trying to ignore their growling stomachs. The only ones who seemed to be unaffected were Guinevere and Lancelot who sat out on the deck all day, conversing happily about nothing in particular.
Finn sighed, and continued to sit and watch the lantern above. Her side had become slightly infected and it had been Lancelot's mission to not allow her from her bed until she'd fully recovered.
She was becoming tired of staring at the wooden walls of the below deck, tired of trying to pretend that she didn't mind that he spent almost all his time with Guinevere top side. But each time she moved to get up, telling herself she would be fine, she'd topple back down, her side burning fiercely.
She hated the sea. She remembered when she'd first ventured to Britain, she'd tried to avoid it with everything inside her. She'd braved passing Saxon country, just skirting their borders, braved every cutting wind and storming weather that the land threw down on her. When she'd come to the coast, and water blocked her path, she'd stowed away on a merchant vessel. But then she had had a full stomach and the vomit that spattered on the floor she'd sat on had set her mind against ever setting sail again.
At least she was sitting in vomit this time.
This time, they'd decided to sail straight for the coast of Sarmatia, which meant slipping under the noses of the Saxons, who owned the strait that they would use. Finn prayed to any god that would listen that they would pass undetected. Unharmed.
Weeks and weeks passed aboard the ship. It was obvious that Arthur was not getting any better, and Guinevere had stopped spending all her time top side, flirting with Lancelot. That had been what they were doing. Though the touches were innocent, and the double entendres not intentional, they had fallen back into their old ways. Finn recounted that after the third week aboard the vessel, she'd crawled up the steps, past the knights who slept soundly as they were lulled by the rocking vessel, and glimpsed the two.
She felt her side's pain slip away as her ribs began to close in around her heart. Lancelot's arm was around Guinevere, his cloak thrown around her. Finn wanted to hide away and close her eyes, pretend it was a dream, but her eyes were rooted to where they gazed.
Later that night, when he came to hold her to him, she'd turned away. She pretended to be sleeping of course, but she offered her back to him none the less. He frowned a moment, before settling down next to her. This time he did not attempt to touch her.
Another week passed and they'd not landed yet. They were passing through the end of the Saxon straits and Finn was overjoyed that there had been no need for a sea battle. She'd been eating little lately; Lancelot had been forcing her to. She'd only thrown up once, and to her surprise, and delight, Lancelot had held onto her as she retched over the side, not once flinching in disgust.
Finally, the fifth week of their travels on board, they reached Sarmatian soil before the sun had even dawned. Finn didn't think that Gawain could have looked any happier; he began to kiss the ground and dance a jig. Arthur had smiled weakly as Galahad and Lancelot helped him to the shore, where they let him sit on the soil, let him relish the feel of ground beneath him. The sailors and Woads began to help Bors and Gawain assemble the wagon again, and the horses were led ashore, though they had been spooked badly by their weeks at sea.
After the wagon was reassembled, half the day was gone, so Lancelot carried Finn off the ship, bundled in blankets and cloak, and placed her carefully inside the wagon.
"We had best be heading off at a quick pace." Bors had belched out, his queasy feeling not yet gone.
"It's good to be home." Finn had heard Galahad breathe, as he inhaled the salt air as if it was all he needed to identify home. Gawain clapped him on the back.
"My home's a good piece from here, past those mountains and to the South-East." He said as he began to mount up. Galahad nodded.
"I too belong further south of this place." He had agreed, and Finn abandoned listening to their conversation, which brought on feelings of nostalgia and home sickness. Bors and Guinevere managed to help Arthur into the wagon, and Guinevere whispered sweet words to him as he slept, before she moved to the front to drive the wagon.
Lancelot returned with the sack of weapons they always kept in the wagon. He set them down then moved to her.
"I will be just outside, riding with the others." He said soothingly. She looked away but his hand led her face back to his. She stared up at him and when he smiled, she found herself smiling back. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and she felt that sleep beckoned her. One last thought chased her to her dreams of Lancelot and happiness. They were almost home.
Firstly, I'm Canadian. I know what it is to be ignored by the world (I mean every one assumes we're the 51st state of America anyway) and I, by the way, do not know Joe who works at the office, and drives that dog sled team. Anyway, off of my own rant, I admit I know next to nothing about Sarmatia, Europe, or history in general. For the following…I am sorry.
Okay, Sarmatia encompasses what is now Russia, Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, and the Ukraine. Sarmatia was on the coast of the Baltic Sea, the Black Sea (thnx Sinmurgh) and the Sea of Azov. Now, in my story, I'm going to assume that Lancelot is from the part of Sarmatia that is now Poland. The Sarmatian people are documented as being nomadic…which will be part of my story eventually.
So, I wasn't really running along these lines before, but now I'm on track. And I am sorry if I accidentally raped anyone's culture. I'm new to this sort of thing.
As for Finn being called Finnabhair…I like the name so suck it up. No, just joking! Remember that they are not entirely sure of where she comes from. We'll assume that they gave her the name because they figured she was Celtic. Good? Okay then! BACK TO THE STORY!!!
Hats Off, Micks x0x0
(Ps. Hope you're still reading Sinmurgh, despite my crappy knowledge of Europe.)
Finn watched lazily as the lantern swung from the ceiling, casting light in one direction and darkness in the other, before it swung like a pendulum back to the other side. The boat rocked against the crashing waves as they made their way toward Sarmatia on a large fishing boat they'd bartered from a kindly fisherman on the coast. He'd even offered to have a few of his men tend to the boat and deliver them to where they were going. Which left the knights with nothing to do but sit. That left nothing to distract them from the rolling waves. She felt sick as the sea dipped and pulled the boat every which way, and the only thing keeping her from retching was the fact that she hadn't eaten in three days.
Unfortunately Gawain had not been so lucky and was currently emptying the contents of his stomach over the side of the boat. Galahad sat in the corner looking as queasy as she supposed she did, and Arthur had retired to his bed after becoming quite ill with sea sickness. The Woad warriors and Bors sat and played a game with pieces of coral and a board with carvings on it, all of them trying to ignore their growling stomachs. The only ones who seemed to be unaffected were Guinevere and Lancelot who sat out on the deck all day, conversing happily about nothing in particular.
Finn sighed, and continued to sit and watch the lantern above. Her side had become slightly infected and it had been Lancelot's mission to not allow her from her bed until she'd fully recovered.
She was becoming tired of staring at the wooden walls of the below deck, tired of trying to pretend that she didn't mind that he spent almost all his time with Guinevere top side. But each time she moved to get up, telling herself she would be fine, she'd topple back down, her side burning fiercely.
She hated the sea. She remembered when she'd first ventured to Britain, she'd tried to avoid it with everything inside her. She'd braved passing Saxon country, just skirting their borders, braved every cutting wind and storming weather that the land threw down on her. When she'd come to the coast, and water blocked her path, she'd stowed away on a merchant vessel. But then she had had a full stomach and the vomit that spattered on the floor she'd sat on had set her mind against ever setting sail again.
At least she was sitting in vomit this time.
This time, they'd decided to sail straight for the coast of Sarmatia, which meant slipping under the noses of the Saxons, who owned the strait that they would use. Finn prayed to any god that would listen that they would pass undetected. Unharmed.
Weeks and weeks passed aboard the ship. It was obvious that Arthur was not getting any better, and Guinevere had stopped spending all her time top side, flirting with Lancelot. That had been what they were doing. Though the touches were innocent, and the double entendres not intentional, they had fallen back into their old ways. Finn recounted that after the third week aboard the vessel, she'd crawled up the steps, past the knights who slept soundly as they were lulled by the rocking vessel, and glimpsed the two.
She felt her side's pain slip away as her ribs began to close in around her heart. Lancelot's arm was around Guinevere, his cloak thrown around her. Finn wanted to hide away and close her eyes, pretend it was a dream, but her eyes were rooted to where they gazed.
Later that night, when he came to hold her to him, she'd turned away. She pretended to be sleeping of course, but she offered her back to him none the less. He frowned a moment, before settling down next to her. This time he did not attempt to touch her.
Another week passed and they'd not landed yet. They were passing through the end of the Saxon straits and Finn was overjoyed that there had been no need for a sea battle. She'd been eating little lately; Lancelot had been forcing her to. She'd only thrown up once, and to her surprise, and delight, Lancelot had held onto her as she retched over the side, not once flinching in disgust.
Finally, the fifth week of their travels on board, they reached Sarmatian soil before the sun had even dawned. Finn didn't think that Gawain could have looked any happier; he began to kiss the ground and dance a jig. Arthur had smiled weakly as Galahad and Lancelot helped him to the shore, where they let him sit on the soil, let him relish the feel of ground beneath him. The sailors and Woads began to help Bors and Gawain assemble the wagon again, and the horses were led ashore, though they had been spooked badly by their weeks at sea.
After the wagon was reassembled, half the day was gone, so Lancelot carried Finn off the ship, bundled in blankets and cloak, and placed her carefully inside the wagon.
"We had best be heading off at a quick pace." Bors had belched out, his queasy feeling not yet gone.
"It's good to be home." Finn had heard Galahad breathe, as he inhaled the salt air as if it was all he needed to identify home. Gawain clapped him on the back.
"My home's a good piece from here, past those mountains and to the South-East." He said as he began to mount up. Galahad nodded.
"I too belong further south of this place." He had agreed, and Finn abandoned listening to their conversation, which brought on feelings of nostalgia and home sickness. Bors and Guinevere managed to help Arthur into the wagon, and Guinevere whispered sweet words to him as he slept, before she moved to the front to drive the wagon.
Lancelot returned with the sack of weapons they always kept in the wagon. He set them down then moved to her.
"I will be just outside, riding with the others." He said soothingly. She looked away but his hand led her face back to his. She stared up at him and when he smiled, she found herself smiling back. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and she felt that sleep beckoned her. One last thought chased her to her dreams of Lancelot and happiness. They were almost home.