Birthday Gathering

[Dream Loxley]

*Invitations had been sent out discreetly...and now they gathered in the Hall...waiting...anticipating...excited. Gifts at the ready....the cake in the wings and enough food and drink to feed an Army. Murmers were spreading now about him... would he suspect.. perhaps nae come down after all. Edfeil seemed resolved.....she stood fast and knew her Father better than most....she beamed when he arrived via the bannister...those assembled cheered and greeted him with glee.

In an instant....their cheering turned to laughter mixed with suprise as Edfeil's suprise caught the King unaware.....he flew quite regally out into the moat with a look of disbelief!!

His age must have settled his mood....because he arrived back, although dripping wet....with a smile and a warm greeting for all present. Warm towels and some hot tea soon had him settled and ready to receive his gifts.

The Birthday celebrations for the King of Windstorm were happy and relaxed.....all who attended felt comfortable and enjoyed their time together. Lady Dream had presented the King with a gift sent from far off lands....a place called Canada, where the people were somewhat strange and cut down many a tree ((*LOL*)).....Halethala, Sinold.....Lady Teresa and Lady Andrea all gave gifts...as did Lady Edfeil and others who arrived later in the evening.

Her time was short...but she retired to her chambers with a contented heart, having enjoyed the merry gathering and hoping the King had done the same.*

[Admin]

To all whom attended me birthday surprise party.



It's treason I tell ya...treason and ye all will spend a month doing the worst jobs I can imagine...



putting up with this old man for another year. *chuckles*

I wouldlike to thank each and everyone who attended or passed along tidings. thank ye for making this day special . As for This canada place... I have heard it is where men are men...and moose are nervous....*winks*

[Lady Edfeil]

*She had wanted the eve to go well. She had so wanted the eve to go well. She had tried all to make sure her father would show. He had been... suspicious, she knew that. Still... she hoped the surprises she had in store would nae be what he expected.

And surprised he had been, when... for the first time of her life, she HAD used the handle of the catapult and had him sailing into the moat. And with such, the tone had been set for an eve of merryment and laughter.

Gifts had been there, given with the warmest sympathy and friendship. A cushion for the royal throne, a leather pouch, a kneeler for the chapel: those were the gifts by goodman Sinold and Lady Halethala.
There had been a magnificent broach with a coloured stone that changed hues in the light as gifted by the Lady Andrea.
Lady Dream had given a basket of all sort of strange assorted goods to eat.
Lady Jasmine Dupree had provided barrels of ale and meade for the festivities.
From Carthal, a jewelled dagger had been brought by the Lady Theresa.
And Lady Siya had, in name of herself and Lord Hawkmoon given a claddagh pendant that once had belonged to her birthfather.

Then.. 't had been time for her own gift. Or rather... gifts. She had hesitated a long time. Oh, the first gift was but a wee jest. A simple sculpted wooden toy horsey for a king who had managed to stay child at heart. The second more serious.
A twin set of thrones, that she had ordered at the craftsmen of summersville. She nae had wanted to go to guildmasters abroad for this. But to have the quality and workmanship of the land they represented. They had done her proud. The gift was nae just a piece of furniture, nae matter how impressive, but more then that 't had signified the acceptance of her position as his heir. Nae just the love of a father... but the responsabilities that went along with such.
She could nae help herself but hope that he would marry again, and sire twelve children, preferably all boys, so she would nae ever carry the full burden of the crown, but iffen 't were to be so... she would nae shame him.

A somewhat strange moment afore the unveiling of her gift had broken the train of her thoughts when she asked Lord Sighehelm of Kent to aide her with the hook of the draperie that hid the thrones. The heavy iron was too high for her to reach, and she had requested his help in casting back the curtain. Instead he had lifted her by the waist and allowed her to do such herself. His voice deep and rumbling with mirth when he said: 'Yer gift, yer unveiling, m'lady"

The reaction of her father however brought her back to the present when she saw the pride in his eyes. Oh aye... she had chosen well.. when she saw how much 't ment to him. She could bear this. Of course she could. She had all those around her who loved her father so! What better a moment could there have been?

[SighehelmofKent]

At that very moment, the sheer almost divine pleasure of his hands spanning the width of her waist, the slight sloping curve of her hips, fingers of his opposite hands touching each other with ease as they lifted her high, at that precise moment all in his world was well. And the moments of solitude, far away from all that he thought important, the many hours of doubt, where he stayed his hands not to turn Petite, and ride back to Blair Atholl, all those moments suddenly fit together.

If all that he was, all that he learned, all that he would ever mean to his kin, had lead to this one moment, he would be a contented man. At that precise moment he reached out and stole a few seconds from the lady and her devoted father. At that moment the expression on her face for one instant was his, and only his. His heart raced, and it was as if his mind expanded and compassed all that she was, all that she would be to him. He did not desire more than that moment, her presence, his touch.

He could feel the minute reaction from her, muscles tightening, breath stilled within her lungs, as did his. He did not pride himself to believe the reaction was conscious, yet he measured the grip of his hands with infinite care, tight enough to hold her, relaxed enough to allow her to move, and ward him off if she desired. Yet, she did not, and her subtle scent of her presence, the smooth texture of her surcote, the wooden buttons pressing into the palm of his hand, the way her hair moved, her arm as she reached to free the tapestry, all this etched the moment in his mind. And the moment lasted and lasted, seconds spanning to hours, days, weeks and decades, a lifetime, when suddenly all to sudden it was over, ended afore it begun.

The ensueing reproach from the one man most important man in her life, the king of Windstorm, impacted on a strong heart, a proud heart, a heart bound by codes of chivalry, with resounding force. Yet the king's displeasure was a mere trifle compared to the moment, that singular brilliant shard of forever that he would carry with him to the day the Lord summoned him to Him................ his one stolen moment.

He had left, silent, pensive, the smile on his lips a mere fraction of how he felt and he walked the forestpaths of the realm that night, his mind on the lady, his family, and his destiny. The night seemed to move with him, as did the moon, the stars and the wind around him. He felt strong, his heart beating like just as strong. Yet, regardless of that moment, his voyage home had never been an issue to discuss, and still was not. However his voyage back to Windstorm was, it had been but a mere possibility, until that one moment.

He longed to embrace his daughter and his mother. To see the boy that would carry his blood, his possessions and title or to cradle the girl that would be the light of his eyes, the pride of his heart. He would feel the grip of his brother's hand in his, and see the face that was his, like a beloved reflection, except for the darker shade of gray in his eyes. He would walk the cliffs of Kent, see the fields of yellow, ride like the wind with the horses of his farther, the Kent Strong they were called, taste the wholesome cooking of Kent kitchens. He would visit the stewards of his father, now the stewards of his brother and explain his actions to them, but foremost express his loyalty to Righarde, Souvereign of Kent to each and everyone of them.

And then, when his tongue had tasted the "Atholl Brown", his eyes had beheld the "Kent Blue Belle", his ears had laughed aloud at the jokes the "Fox of Kent", his nose savoured the salty air of Blair Cove, but foremost his lips had touched the cheek of the loved ones of the Rock of Kent, only then would he allow his feet to quench the thirst in his heart, and return here, to Windstorm. Aye, he would return, he could do nothing else.

It was the morn after that brought courage, nourished by the one moment, the stolen moment, to present her the gift he had shaped with his own hands. The small white pebble, the simple ribbon laced through the hard core of the small stone, the small tunnel drilled with infinite care, a slow, patient task. The craftsman had nodded while he stated his wishes, a silver filigree mount to the gem that would maybe, one day, fill the void within. The small token reflected his honour, his admiration, and his loyalty to the one he called...the Pebble of Windstorm.


But the tall man knew, that never......not unless The Lord God robbed him of his memories...would he forget that one moment, that stolen moment.

[Celia]

Never had she remembered laughing so much in the Great Hall. Never! The surprise had been well kept, even the servants were warmly invited to make sure they came, cake enough to go around for even them. There had been a growing worry as the night grew longer whether he would not come, and yet at last, he did! What a coming it was! The stern ruler of Windstorm . . sliding down that banister like a small boy again! Widened eyes gave way to merry laughter, yet there were many more lovely surprises in store that evening. An evening laden with not only laughter and warmth and love . . one startling surprise after the other. A joyous evening.

He’d barely landed at the bottom of his grand entrance when lo and behold! The kindly Lady Edfeil had tricksily launched her father off in that catapult like a mere commoner! Taught since she could remember to hold the King and all the Lords and Ladies in nothing but the highest of respect, she’d froze for a moment in horror, knowing if it had been anyone else, they would have HANGED for such a thing! Yet only a moment. Then she’d doubled over in gales of helpless laughter! Perfect! The Lady could not have set the tone for the night more perfectly! Celia clapped her hands and jumped up and down in delight to see the playfulness of the sweet Lady, until the gentling hand of the Cook’s helper behind her laid upon her shoulder quieted her. She turned to look into her face, finding her reddened cheeks puffed out in an effort not to give way to the same laughter, and they BOTH burst out in giggles despite their best intentions!

And then, wonder of wonders, the impossible happened! Out of the blue, the big man had wrapped his huge paws about the tiny waist of the King’s daughter, lifting her up with an effortless grace, like a shapely candlestick held high to ward off the darkness. A collective gasp rang round Celia, rippling through the servants like a wind through tall meadow grass. Cook’s helper hissed her disapproval, and Celia’s heart constricted in fear for him. Did he not know his place, not know HER place? He’d been so quiet, so stately and seemed so honorable. Had been so very mysterious. So complimentary to the ladies, yet with restraint and a genteel grace she’d not seen often in visitors. Yet he did this! While the murmuring arose, not only amongst the servants, she glanced at the noble ones and saw the same amazemnent, heard the King’s words . .

Yet Celia was in a good position to watch the faces of the two. Not twelve summers had yet dawned on her short life, yet she sometimes seemed far older than her years. She watched and listened, and learned much. She saw their faces in profile, saw his look. She’d seen the look of sheer joy of the King as he opened his gifts, the soft tenderness as he nearly allowed the tears to come, the gratitude swelling his big heart. Saw the gentle love he held for only his beloved daughter, the look he gave only her. Saw the love returned in her eyes. And yet, this man from Kent, the look on his face! She would dream of such a look. Wondered if ever any man would look to her with such a look.

She had begun to dream as of late, like many young girls often did, that she were a princess, that someone wonderful would come one day and claim her heart. She looked at this man called Sighehelm. Was he right for the Lady? Many seemed to doubt it, expressing worry in their whisperings. Yet that look. How could anyone argue with whatever fertile ground a look like that had sprung from.

Celia tucked the moment in her soul to cherish for a long, long time and wondered what would become of them both.