Honey Drunk (March 3010) {Adelais}
Mar 19, 2018 10:46:52 GMT -5
Post by Swithin on Mar 19, 2018 10:46:52 GMT -5
“I pity poor Bjarr,” were the first words Swithin spoke as he pulled Adelais from the warmth of the house into the cool air. Winter was still clinging on the gusts of wind that tunneled through the streets beneath the moonless sky. The clatter of the gathering; clicking mugs and clapping hands, laughter and voices. Everything was left behind them to stillness and wind and dark night.
Wynfled and Bjarr had gone out ahead of them, and by the time he had plucked Adelais off of the floor and they had made their own departure, the other two were long gone. Bjarr had been wed two years, and he spoke on his wife on occasion, usually in regards to the things which she neglected to do, or the things he wished she would do, but this had been the first time any of the men in the household had chanced to meet her.
To think of such a beast as a wife. Swithin shuddered both inward and outward. Such a thing would keep him from marrying entirely, or perhaps cause him to run himself through with a Dunlending's spear on the plain.
“I've never seen such a sorry wife… Wyn trying to make a fool of him in front of his friends like that,” he shook his head. “And poor Runa. Cap'll take care of Runa. Don't you fret on it. From the sound of things, he knows what he's doing with her,” he laughed. It had taken the Captain a few days around the campfire to completely open up about the things the men had prodded him at, but once he had… well, it seemed there was not much he had left out.
Swithin paused in the middle of the street, marking the candle glowing in the window across the way, the stout form of Cynburga in her rocking chair silhouetted in the window as always. He wondered for a moment, if the dog had done… well, whatever it was she had wanted the dog to do. He did not see it milling about, but the thought of her entry almost set him to laughter. He looked to Adelais, bringing a hand up to stroke his beard.
“Now, where am I to take you?” he wondered, then grinned. Oswin had seemed none too thrilled for Swithin to have the chance alone with the woman, and Swithin was, for the first time, pleased with his brother's indulgence in the drink to keep him from walking on her other side. “You'll have to lead me by direction, and I will get you home none safer. I don't want you falling again.”
Swithin's arm was locked around the woman's back, wound under her arm, clasping her against him. He would not be letting her off to the healing hall tonight. That was for certain. He eyed the loathsome building down the hill, then smiled back to her. She was lively, with a sparkle to her eye. Too fair for the clutches of that building.
Yes, she was honey drunk, though it had been a thing worth celebrating this night. Swithin was not in the least unsteady, for the two mugs of mead he had taken, yet he felt lighter than usual, and even happier, if it were possible. The hum of the mead would not last too long with him though, and he was still quite himself.
Wynfled and Bjarr had gone out ahead of them, and by the time he had plucked Adelais off of the floor and they had made their own departure, the other two were long gone. Bjarr had been wed two years, and he spoke on his wife on occasion, usually in regards to the things which she neglected to do, or the things he wished she would do, but this had been the first time any of the men in the household had chanced to meet her.
To think of such a beast as a wife. Swithin shuddered both inward and outward. Such a thing would keep him from marrying entirely, or perhaps cause him to run himself through with a Dunlending's spear on the plain.
“I've never seen such a sorry wife… Wyn trying to make a fool of him in front of his friends like that,” he shook his head. “And poor Runa. Cap'll take care of Runa. Don't you fret on it. From the sound of things, he knows what he's doing with her,” he laughed. It had taken the Captain a few days around the campfire to completely open up about the things the men had prodded him at, but once he had… well, it seemed there was not much he had left out.
Swithin paused in the middle of the street, marking the candle glowing in the window across the way, the stout form of Cynburga in her rocking chair silhouetted in the window as always. He wondered for a moment, if the dog had done… well, whatever it was she had wanted the dog to do. He did not see it milling about, but the thought of her entry almost set him to laughter. He looked to Adelais, bringing a hand up to stroke his beard.
“Now, where am I to take you?” he wondered, then grinned. Oswin had seemed none too thrilled for Swithin to have the chance alone with the woman, and Swithin was, for the first time, pleased with his brother's indulgence in the drink to keep him from walking on her other side. “You'll have to lead me by direction, and I will get you home none safer. I don't want you falling again.”
Swithin's arm was locked around the woman's back, wound under her arm, clasping her against him. He would not be letting her off to the healing hall tonight. That was for certain. He eyed the loathsome building down the hill, then smiled back to her. She was lively, with a sparkle to her eye. Too fair for the clutches of that building.
Yes, she was honey drunk, though it had been a thing worth celebrating this night. Swithin was not in the least unsteady, for the two mugs of mead he had taken, yet he felt lighter than usual, and even happier, if it were possible. The hum of the mead would not last too long with him though, and he was still quite himself.