[Rimbaud]

The half-Elven Lord Halfullion Gormlessar strode manfully from his chambers, scattering staff and other Elves as he passed. He buckled his belt around his waist as he went, one hand laid, apparently carelessly, upon the hilt of the great blade attached.

"Whither dost thou quest?" asked Scully, the scullery girl, appearing before him. He had always suspected her of secrets, and indeed this morning she appeared more furtive than ever, yet this was not the time. He wrinkled his brow at her puny form, shrinking before him, in some annoyance.

Knowing the Lord's character well, Scully merely curtsied at his abruptness and rephrased, "Where does the morning lead you, good sir?"

"I leave mourning to the women, Scully," he barked, and continued onwards, down the bright passageway and into the garden beyond the simple doors. Behind him, a fox-like gleam mouldered in Scully's eyes, but she turned wordlessly and made her way to the kitchens.

Indoors and out blended seamlessly, the natural lights and colours flawless in either. The garden was surrounded by a tall privet wall, positioned, as it was, on one of the higher outcrops within the valley. From here, through the topiaried gaps in the hedge, one could view all of the Elven community of the Last Grown Home Cows. This splendid vista attracted not Lord Gormlessar, however. He continued his brisk pace to the very centre of the oval space, where sat a marble fountain. The centrepiece was a large, beautifully detailed sculpture, bovine in form, with water flowing copiously from several places. The cool ripples and the gentle splashing soothed his troubled mind somewhat. He adjusted his codpiece and awaited the coming of fair Merisuwyniel.

* * * * * * *

Presently, she came, crying out in delight at the sight of him. She descended down the steps from the dwelling that they were installed in her hair flowing out behind her, as if it were a cloak in a breeze. Behind her the finely fluted columns of the House supported an ornate arch, bearing exquisite carvings of the Lords and Ladies of the Elven enclave. He smiled as he appreciated the contours of the architecture before him.

He noticed that she again held her great bow, from which she appeared inseparable, and again wondered at her love for it. A smile touched his lips as he noticed that, as she did on momentous occasions or when a quest was nigh, she bore a double number of arrows. Her two fine Elven quivers bore fifteen smooth shafts each, and he had no doubt that she was the deadliest aim he had ever encountered.

"Meri!" he exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you! You are as fair as summer itself."

"Why, thank you, oh my Lord Gormlessar," she replied coyly, approaching him and laying a hand on his broad shoulder. "To what do we owe the great pleasure of so early an awakening for thee?"

"Beg pardon, Meri?" he asked, running a hand through his superbly tended coiffure.

"Never mind, my love!" She laughed gaily. "Perhaps we can have some sport, this morn?"

"Aye, that sounds great," he said, a little uncertainly. The last time she had suggested sport he had ended up with an apple balanced on his head. Five times. The fourth time, he remembered, the bow had twitched in her hand, he could swear it seemed alive at times, and he had ended up with a scratch on his head. He was not fond of the sight of blood and didn't remember very much after that. Still he had ended up in bed at the nurse's quarters so all is well that ends well, he mused.

"Perhaps you could teach me how to wield a blade," she said lightly. He felt her eye roaming over the hilt and scabbard of his weapon and he knew she desired to hold it. A stab of jealousy flowed through him. "Such as yours," she finished.

"None but my hand can grip this sword," he said slowly. 'Or else the hand of a great warrior. Yet I will practise some swordplay with you here if you can find two wooden foils."

[ January 09, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]