Time had passed, some six years since she had first been brought by the word to her mother's home. Indeed now she was as tall as her mother, perhaps a bit more, and the cakes had put meat on her bones and filled out parts of her that made a woman so different from a man.

She did not speak more of Eoghan, for fear she might use her Power to call him and for the worry it set her mind about. She spent her time on the estate, learning of the lands her house held, the stories of Alfar (with the occasional question regarding the Word) and how to ride. Riding she loves. It distracted her from other things that would take her mind to perplexing places.

But as winter came restlessness took her...

Blythe: Blythe looks out at the snow. It was a rare thing in Alfar and so much more pleasant than back at the village. It dusts the land and limbs of every tree with its white crystal powder. The moon is full and its beams dance on the snow. There is a quietness that seems almost tangible and peaceful.

With the house asleep, she slides into her soft fur boots, wrapping in her rabbit trimmed cloak. She wears a dress now, dark blue with a red underskirt. It seems right she should wear such a thing now.

Her boots crunch on the snow as she walks, taking care, pausing to look at how beautiful winter is, blues, whites, and grays. She brings no food this time, for it is winter and she is not about picnics. No, she wants answers and understanding and she wants to tell him the words of her heart. They have spoken loudly to her, demanding to be heard.

And so it is that she comes this spot. Blythe looks around, the place seems different now, smaller even, but yet the stillness brings comfort.

She drops her hands to her side, pushing her hood back and looking up into the starry night, her breath visible. She pushes out hot air and pulls in the chilly cold. then she closes her eyes and _thinks_ of him, let his imagined form fill out in her mind, conjuring him to life, and willing him to come to her. And she says his name. "Eoghan."

gm: His breath comes first, not stinking of the Ride this time, but a little of wine and good food.

Blythe: Blythe hides her hands in the folds of her cape, least he sees them shaking. She turns full round slowly, looking for him and realizes she is breathing hard as burst of air fill the space about her.

gm: When she turns he is ten paces from her, wearing a loose shirt perhaps too cool for this winter night and dark woolen trousers. He looks at her from under lowered brows, almost as if shy or embarrassed.

Blythe: Blythe's face betrays her surprise to see him so informally garbed, but still she sweeps her gaze over him, finally to rest on his face. For a moment she forgets why she has called him, the importance of her summons and simply smiles. "Hello Eoghan."

gm: He raises his eyebrows, taking a moment over what she has said as he always does, as though language is not easy for him. "It has been some time."

Blythe: Blythe's head nods in agreement, "Indeed." She pulls in a breath, "I hope I find you well."
She frowns, realizing she is stalling and that is not her way. But she waits to hear his reply.

gm: "We are... between things. The tide turns; we bide to see where it takes us."

Blythe: Blythe smiles at that, gesturing at him by a rise of her hand, "So it would appear. One might think you and armor never part company." She had learned something of teasing from her uncles.

gm: "There is only one who need think that."

Blythe: Blythe cocks her head to the side, "And who is that?"

gm: "The keeper of my Oath."

Blythe: Her skills at teasing were not so good, despite being improved. "Ah." She says, nodding.
She looks back at him, frowns, her mouth working to say something and now finding she does not how to say these words.

gm: He makes an odd gesture, tilting his head from side to side and shrugging as though loosening his neck after a blow. "This night carries your scent close, my Lady. You sleep with lavender in your sheets."

Blythe: Blythe pauses and nods. "It does. I like the scent and it's a pretty flower," she remarks. "Yours is different tonight too," she adds, a bit softer.

gm: That odd stillness crosses his face. In her maturity, it seems more understandable to her. It is as though he is not sure if he is being toyed with. "Each thing serves a purpose. It is not used when it does not serve."

Blythe: Blythe resolves herself, nodding again, "Yes, purpose. I've purpose in calling you... purpose for waiting to call you, too."

With a rush she speaks, "I would know what it is… this thing between us. What you would call it... and then share what I think of it... if in thinking of it... I am of the mind you are." Her jaw tightens for she is not the most eloquent; she knows that was barely understandable.

gm: He does not speak. Many seconds pass. She might realize he is waiting for her to say more.

Blythe: Blythe worries at her lower lip for a moment and then continues, "Alright, your counsel you may keep. This is what I say. I will wait for you. If waiting is what I must do." The words are soft, but laced withdetermination and conviction.

gm: Finally he replies. "Wait for me to do what?"

Blythe: It has never occurred to her that he would ask such a thing. She frowns at him, "Return to me... to stay."

gm: He leans back a little, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lafnir is fairer, Lady. Bronn more gentle. If you wish to dally with murderers, or play with the Word, there are others said more likely to leave you whole."

She thinks she senses a forced coldness in his words, a challenge.

Blythe: "I do not dally or play," she replies. "I care not for fair, and gentle seems perspective-based." She says, not dropping her gaze.

gm: "Are you certain? You seem a child to me, who does not know what she wants except that it fill her nose with excitement."

Blythe: "What excitement could come of waiting and pining for someone for years unknown?" she asks back.

gm: "You had the power to stop waiting at any time."

Blythe: Blythe looks down for a moment, "I wanted to know my heart."

gm: "You thought of me many times in dreams. Had you but called out on awakening I could have ended your wait."

Blythe: "I was not ready," she replies simply.

gm: "Was not." He repeats it.

Blythe: "Are you so impatient? Are you cross that I have made you wait for four years, Eoghan?" She cocks her head, trying to see if that was the case.

gm: He throws back his head and laughs at her.

Blythe: "It does not seem like such a long time, considering how old you are and how young I am." she retorts.

gm: "I hoped you would make some mistake. You lift your chin and it stirs my loins. I sate myself in whores thinking of you. When I kill a man, and am risen for hours, your tiny waist between my hands those yearsago..." He holds his arms out to either side. You see that though he is not full erect, there is heat to his groin. "This is the man you have waited for? What joke is this?"

He has pushed power into his words, and ugly as they are, he has forced further awfulness into them.

Blythe: Blythe cannot help but wince a bit, but she does not lower her gaze, "You are you," she says simply. "I would have you be who you are and accept you as such.

"But I do not joke. It is not my way. I don't not make light of this..." she waves her hand between the two of them. "This bind between us."

gm: "It is a bind I laid upon you, seeing this day ahead of us. No one such as I believes in fate without taking it in his hands."

Blythe: "And why did you make this bind between us, Eoghan?" she asks, taking a deliberate step towards him.

gm: He half-steps back, seemingly unwittingly. "To prove the day my bonds are gone. I saw you, grown, beneath me. And if that was not rape, then I will be free." This last all quiet, in a voice you have not heard from him before.

Blythe: She tries to make sense of his words, "That if you do not take me in violence you will be free?" she repeats, uncertain if that was his meaning.

gm: "It is not allowed." He nods. Small.

Blythe: She is perplexed, "Please I do not think I understand. What would break you from your oath, make you cease to be a member of the King's word, would be to lie with me, with my consent?"

gm: He sighs. "If that were the case, I would have tricked you into it long ago. No. It is that if I lie with you, as I saw in my skein, it is a sign that the Word is no longer sworn."

Blythe: She makes a small o shape with her mouth. "Is it your want and that of your fellows that the Word should continue to be sworn?"

gm: "It is my want to fulfill my Word until it is done, but that does not mean I do not long for the day. Before you, I was certain the Word would finish us all. Because of what I saw, I carry a hope that it is not the case.

"Perhaps Cian grows gentle in his dotage, or his grasp on life slips by."

Blythe: Blythe closes her eyes at his words, swallows and nods. She feels the sting of tears and blinks hard and fast. "Yes, perhaps." She has no idea of Cian nor any understanding of all this.

gm: He waits.

Blythe: "Then I will wait and hope that the Word does not finish you." She says softly.

gm: "Why wait, Lady? You have called. After these years, is it once again to send me away?"

Blythe: "Is it for me to end this Oath?" she asks, helpless. "Or break it? I do not understand.

"I understand only that I love you. And if you tell me I must love you from afar then I will love you from afar." She blurts out, her voice louder, fills with something, some part of her. "And if you tell me I can love you with touch, action, flesh and words, then I will love you as such and you will show me the way of it."

gm: "You ask that of me? Knowing not what comes? Tell me yes that I might test these bonds. Tell me yes and we will see how long Cian's arm is now." He has taken no step towards her. He almost quakes, waiting for her word.

Blythe: Her look is pleading, "I would." She whispers, "With only hesitation in worry of what will happen to you. Will I have you only to lose you completely?"

gm: "I cannot guess. If my own end is at the end of my Oath, what is between your legs will not finish me any sooner." The words are a little crude, even in Alfari, but there is huge meaning in them that carries more sound almost than you can hear even now.

Blythe: Blythe is quiet for a long time. Certainly she could wait, years and years. Her people, they lived a long time. But in that time, he could die, in that time, she could die... that was the unknown future and this was now.

She holds up her hand to him. "Such things do not happen when a man and a woman are so far apart." She says softly.

gm: "Then come to me."

Blythe: "Join me in the middle." She parleys.

gm: "Ah." He steps forward. His half-masted erection under his trouser cloth is already startlingly large by comparison to those few she's seen in off-guard moments around the house, or by accident in ... sophisticated homes around the city.

Blythe: She's nervous, fascinated, enthralled and in loved… all the makings of idiotic mistakes.

gm: He does nothing with his hands except lightly clench and unclench them at his sides. He seems... is that fear on his face? His eyes are wide, the pupils open almost completely. Your reflection and that of the snow is in them as he looks down at your face. You are two feet away. A foot away. Near enough that him standing there sends some heat against you.

Blythe: Blythe chuckles softly in her throat, unclasping her cloak, "I should be the nervous one, you at least know what you're doing."

gm: "If this is the time, then it will not be as I have done in more than a thousand years."

Blythe: Blythe smiles gently at him. She spreads the cloak out with a turn and twirl of her wrist and then looks up at him once more. Then she takes a step closer and another step closer until the space between them is razor thin. Her eyes half close as she inhales him, her hands coming up, resting on his hard chest.

gm: Roughly, a little awkwardly, he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her against him. The arms are impossibly strong. She must wonder a moment if she were to change her mind, there would be no leaving without his agreement.

Blythe: Blythe's eyes fill with wonder, seeking out his gaze.
She is afraid, not of him, but of this act that she knows so little of and more the consequence that would result of it. Her hands, nails trimmed short, reach up and cup his face. She rubs her thumbs against his beard and then the skin above it.

gm: The strange feeling of heat, of urgency, conveyed by that line of pressure against her belly... One of his hands goes up to the back of her neck as she touches his face, and he leans over, breathing her breath, then suddenly kisses her.

Blythe: The kiss leaves her breathless, her mind spins. Her hands stiff against his face as though she might try to push him away.

gm: The kiss goes quickly from tentative to wolfish, just a little ahead of the speed at which she finds her way.

Blythe: But the sound she makes, a low burn in her throat as her arms push forward, wrapping about his neck.

Some part of her mind recalls the feeling she gets when she is starved for cakes, willing to eat them piping hot from the fries.

Starving, she kisses him, her inexperience evident as is her enthusiasm. Something wild uncurls in her loins, spreading through her belly, heating her limbs.

gm: Eoghan's other hand reaches below her rump to lift her by the thigh as though she weighs nothing, wrapping her leg around him. He moves forward, carrying her until he has her back to a broad tree, and he leans into her there, as though he could pass into her right through trousers, skirts, and flesh directly into the empty part of her belly. He has not stopped kissing her, and he pulls back a moment as a low whimper, almost the beginning of a cry, escapes him.

Blythe: She gasps for air, her fingers lacing in his hair, an eagerness in her eyes. Her eyes wash over his face, memorizing the details.

gm: He closes his eyes. "May you find rest, my Liege, my friend," he whispers, the entire meaning escaping him in a single, quiet, powerful word.

Blythe: Blythe leans her body forward against his, her hips moving, wanting contact she can not name but only imagine.

She whispers his name, nuzzling his lips with hers. "I love you, Eoghan." She says, saying the words, making them real.

gm: Eoghan pulls back and pins Blythe against the tree with a hand at the join between her throat and collarbone as he steps out of the circle of her legs long enough to pull open the ties of his trousers. He falls free, not pretty to look at but large and somehow primal. He lets her slide down just enough that her toes touch earth to keep from putting too much pressure on her throat.

Blythe: Her eyes sweep between them, a shiver passes through her as her hands slide down, hiking up her skirts as she looks at him once more.

gm: He picks her up again, smoothly, with one hand helping move the skirts out of the way. For a moment there is silky heat against her thigh, skin to skin, and then something, she thinks his fingers, are touching her, opening a way, and with a small hurt and surprising pressure he is suddenly inside her, trapping her between himself and the tree.... It is difficult to know quite what she is feeling, but when he tilts his hips away from her she can feel him leaving her, and when he suddenly fills her again she knows what this is, what is happening, what to do and what he will do.

Blythe: Blythe gasps, bites her lower lip, the feeling unmistakable, unavoidable. She leans her head back against the tree, arching, moving, her body finding its way, moving in the manner it was made to for such things. Her hands clutch at his arms hard, using him as leverage. Blythe moves, racing, climbing. Her brow glistening with sweat. She leans into him, searching for his mouth, her kiss rough as control spins away form her.

gm: Again, as with the kiss, he gives her not quite enough time to keep up. Two more long, slow strokes. He pulls his mouth away from her kiss, and when she opens her eyes he is staring at her face, devouring her face with his eyes. He takes her again, hard enough to slam her head back a little painfully. He spins away, clutching her to him as he kneels in the snow and lays her down beneath him, never coming out of her. When he thrusts this time, it is almost a pain, how much deeper he goes with his full weight against her.
He is perhaps too rough but not brutal with her, and sometimes she catches him pausing with that amazed and devouring look on his face.

Blythe: Blythe groans, clinging to him, trying to find a matched beat. Her limbs wrap around his as her hands bunch about the fabric of his shirt.

Her own eyes hold wonder and want, passion tipping them to a dark blue where the iris seems to meld with the pupil. His name is some sort of oath on her lips as her loins rock and meet his thrusts. She wishes it was warm out; too much clothing separates them.

gm: After a time he slips his hand between them, and while there is perhaps too much to feel and to think for her to release completely, his touch is enough to give her a sense, in an unsophisticated way, that there is even more possible. It is that way, many minutes later, kneeling above her, that he suddenly opens his mouth. His eyes blank and he shudders, and she can feel him thrum inside her.

Blythe: Blythe shivers, her body throbbing and humming, parts burning and sore, languid and alive. She watches him as he fills her belly, his form outlined by stars and black night, the moon light on his face and hair and the scent of their coupling in contrast to the crisp winter around them.

gm: A full minute passes in stillness before he eases back onto his heels, not quite slipping out of her. He clears his throat as though to speak, but it seems he cannot. He watches her for a time, then, just watching.

Blythe: Blythe smiles up at him, timidly. She reaches up, touching some sweat along his cheek. Then she lifts her head, licking the saltiness with her tongue.

gm: There are tracks in the sweat, runnels of tears continuing now, even though he shows no sign of weeping.

Blythe: Blythe feels a sadness, for him, for herself and wraps her arms about his neck, holding him tightly to her.

gm: Into her ear he says, "I saw your face laid back against the snow, and your eyes closed in passion. One thread in a thousand others, where the snow was full of blood, and you spit your last breath with my..." he adjust his voice down, low, low, speaking only because it seems he must, "with my knife and my cock in you.

"That was the Word, and I have lived to bury it."

Blythe: Her eyes snap open, turning her head to look at him. At first she is tense, but then she relaxes, touching his forehead with her own. "And what comes now, Eoghan?"

gm: "Now I speak of freedom to my men, and ride to the city to see what washes up in this turned tide."

Blythe: "Ah..." She whispers, pulling away, and liking her head on the snow, looking up at him.
She feels used and more wanting to be away from him. With a swallow she clears her throat, "I need to go."

gm: Speaking as though he did not hear her, he says, "We are a six-day away, and I would have you again before we return, if your words of love still have meaning then."

Blythe: Her jaws tightens. He speaks as though her a horse to be ridden. "Get off me." She pushes and pushes hard.

If her words had meaning. They were more than he had spoken. And some part of her now wonders if this was all the point.

gm: He blinks, but nods in obedience and slowly leans back until he is out of her.

Blythe: She scrambles to her feet, pushing her dress down, her face red, "If my love still has meaning!" She says back, her words hard.

gm: He rises with her, tucking himself into his pants, but reaches out with one hand and catches her wrist so she can't go further.

Blythe: "You speak of taking my maidenhead and killing me in the same breath and then how you would leave... but dally long enough to lie with me again." She says with amazement. "And you question my love?" She pulls on her captured wrist.

gm: He is slow again, as he was when she spoke to him before. "I have not used your name, my Lady, to give you yet the chance to be shod of me. I would say my words less carelessly than you, and be sure you know what there is to know of me before the bindings of your love blind you.

"So, it is I, Eoghan of the Keep. Eoghan of the Word. I would have you and be had by you. I am in joy that you live, but am one who might have killed you. I have hollowed out my heart for love of my King and my People, and would put you there now he is gone. But I would not do that to you with you unknowing.
"Knowing, now, would you have me speak your name?" Speak" seems to have some importance, something more about it the way he says it.

Blythe: Blythe catches her lower lip with her teeth 'til she tastes copper. So much had happened, and now his words make half sense. "I would have you say my name and love me," she breathes back in reply.

gm: Letting go her wrist, he kneels before her in the snow. "Blythe. You are the sign of my freedom. You are the tool of my Song. But you are also the love of my heart."

Blythe: Blythe's reddened lip quivers, and though she is not one for theatrics or weeping, tears trail down her red cheeks. "Oh Eoghan...my Eoghan," she breaths, reaching out and touching his hair. "I bid you always to return to me, my love, my heart, the home I find in your arms."

gm: "If it is in my power. And you, I bid to call to me, so that I might find my way."

Blythe: "I will be your guide in the darkness." She promises, kneeling now before him. "Your song and mine, entwined," she says, leaving leaning in, kissing him.

gm: At first he lets her kiss him, and then he returns it, until he pulls back. "You must let me leave, Blythe, or I will stay, and others will suffer for it."

Blythe: She nods slowly, reluctantly and rises. "Yes, I should go back." She looks over her shoulder and then at him. "When shall I call you again?" She asks, holding his hand.

gm: "I will be in the City in six days, where we might see one another. Or you might call me any night after midnight, when we will be taking our rest."

Blythe: Blythe blushes, "I shall call you after midnight. I do not think I can wait six days on the chance I might see you in that huge place."

gm: "There will be a great Tournament. You shall not miss me there."

Blythe: "Then I shall see you there as well," she notes, uncertain about such a large gathering but determined to see him at it.

gm: He stands, finally. "Your lady mother will have the scent of me upon you. Tell her that what she feared did not come to pass."

Blythe: "And what did she fear?" she asks, cocking her head.

gm: "She feared you dead or worse under me. So the Seers told her."

Blythe: Blythe frowns, "I did not know they told her so. I will tell it was not as they prognosticated."

gm: "One note of hope in a chorus of fear. They made no mistake in so informing her. Her trust in you is very great."

Blythe: Blythe nods and smiles, "It is. We discussed this... you and me." She says, spreading her hands in gesture, "She understood it was my decision."

gm: "Blythe." He says simply. What is most of a smile is on his face as he steps backward through the cold black into nothing and is gone.