|Summary:||After Nayland has claim to Isolde, she takes desperate measures.|
|Rockcliff Inn - Amelia's Room|
|Room desc goes here!|
|Fri July 15, 288|
The early evening falls over Terrick's Roost and the clientel of Rockcliff is booming, leaving no rooms available, save for Amelia's private chambers no one is allowed to visit. That summons had been sent out several days before for when the Lord Heir was to meet her, with a missive of great import it had said. SHe had need to speak with him.
The ruckus downstairs blooms outward into the night and then as people grow more settled, things quiet to the sound of a flute and lyre playing in the common room. Staring at herself in the mirror, Isolde lifts a hand to brush at the paint on her lips, having arrived not an hour before from Stonebridge. Wine had been left for her and she sets the glasses out, continually checking on them to make sure everything is perfect. It is a nervous action that continues to grow as time passes. Would he come?
She stares back at the mirror, dark hair half pinned back and her face livened by the paint that Amelia had applied before she left. It is only then that she realizes she is wearing the corset yet with her bossom exposed on top. She blushes instantly and moves for the worn set of drawers where the clothing is kept. She starts to dig through Amelia's assortment and comes up with a soft blue dress, this she pulls on and smooths into place in a hurry overtop the corset.
Cutting through the silence of the evening is the sound of spurs stepping down the hallway. Carefully, the steps slow as they near the door, and a long pause fills the slowly passing seconds. From the light beneath the door, the shadow of two feet turn as if hesitating to knock on the door. The feet turn back, and the sound of a knuckles rapping against the wooden door cuts through the silence.
Waiting a moment, at least until he's given permission to enter, Lord Jaremy Terrick steps through, eyes to the floor. "Amelia…I will apologize ahead of time…"
The spurs she hears are key enough and she backs from the door, having paused in reassembling the clothing. As the rap on the door sounds, Isolde is hasilty closing the drawers and raking fingers through her hair. The neck of the dress rests just off her shoulders and stills more skin than she is used to, though it is a much needed improvement.
Swallowing, she is about to step forward to enter when the door opens. Isolde stares, eyes wide as she backs up a half a step, hands clutched before her as she can not find her tongue. Barefeet peak out from beneath the dress, a sudden mind reeling flutter driving up from her stomach to her chest and nearly stealing her breath. Part of her never thought this would come to pass..yet here he is. And here she is. Color rushes to her cheeks in a bid to heat her face.
Already mid-apology to what appears to be some sort of declining for a private meeting, Jaremy holds up one hand in a surrenduring gesture. "…but I don't think that." He pauses, blinking his eyes twice at the sight before him. It's like drinking a mug, expecting it to be tea and finding it to be wine. Something is wrong for the moment. The light from the candles in the room allows him to focus his vision as the wrong gets calculated inside of his mind. His eyes unfocus, only to sharpen a second later as his eyebrows lift.
"Good Gods…" His lips part in a broad grin as he steps over to Isolde, placing his hands on each of her arms. "…I was…I don't…" He blinks. "How?!?"
She waits, her chin lifting and trying to gather her diginity when she knows beneath she is painted and rouged, dressed in clothes she otherise would not be. It is then she realizes she has adjusts to breathing in that constricting harness that is the corset. Isolde means to take a large breath in relief as he moves to touch her with that grin. She can't and falters a moment, trying to take small swift breaths. Those green eyes alight with pleasure and she smiles, her cheeks blossoming with further color. "It is ..a long story.." She is short of breath and holding it while wearing the corset is making it hard for her to catch up in the need.
She doesn't draw from him, but the open door is enough of a worry and her hand lifts to linger on his arm before she moves to close it, turning to press her back to it, meeting his gaze once more. "I arranged it. Miss Amelia facilitated it for me. I dressed as her and she as me." She says, though there is more to this story, that is the basic understanding.
"Wait…so Amelia is in Stonebridge acting as yourself?" Jaremy asks with a tilt of his head, eyes alight with incredulity. His hand moves to his forehead, brushing over the near topknot of bangs that he's pulled back, away from his face. "That woman is going to be downright dangerous should she ever be called upon in service to the crown itself. Still…"
He steps back across the floor to her, glancing over her dress with curiosity before he comes to a stop. His hand rests at her side, eyes on hers. He can feel the boning of her corset beneath her outer dress, and the curiosity of the means for her visit begins. "I am very, very happy to see you, Isolde. I will admit, I was confused to receive a request for meeting with Amelia, but this is…astounding. How long will you be in Terrick's Roost? Did you just arrive this evening?"
His wealth of questions steals her breath. Head spinning, Isolde stares up at him, feeling her conviction wane. That is till she can sense his touch on her and then her cheeks flush with new life. Where once she was uncertain, she had learned to share small moments with him. Confidence brews and as her hands move to rest on his forearms, she moves inward towards him, tilting her head up to capture his lips with a soft tremble echoing through her body.
Her means to quiet him is done and she draws back back only a little to whisper. "I have tonight and just the morning…that is all." There is an implication in those words as she keeps hold of his arms, not pulling away.
His words are cut off by her lips, and silence fills the warmed chambers. Jaremy's strong arms wrap around her slender hips, keeping her near. As the kiss is broken, he cracks his eyes open to watch her face as she speaks. The words are a blessing and a curse, but by the look in his eyes, he understands well. His throat rises and falls as he swallows, disconnecting an arm from her hip to brush his hand through her dark hair.
"You would sleep within my arms?" His question isn't so simple, but it's a clarification. At least with asking…she has a chance to say no.
His touch is foreign, the Lady as proper as once can be until now. Isolde opens her eyes to look at him and is flushed entirely with color. A soft glimmer enters her green gaze and she gives a nod at first before she can find her words. "It is why I am here..for whatever happens. It is you I wish for." She says. Her hands lift from his arms and she draws them up slowly to his face. It is an exploration of boundaries that she wants broken down, but still remain due to propriety. "I ask only that you be gentle…" She whispers, some fear showing in her eyes.
Her thumb brushing his jaw before she brushes hair from his face. "Let me take you cloak.." She says. Small simple things that help ease her mind. She lowers her hands do undo it.
Silenced by the proclamation of her intentions, Jaremy nods solemnly. Understanding what this night shall be, he slides his last arm from her hip, freeing his chest to her so that she may take his cloak. Lowering his gaze to her fingertips as she undoes the laces, he lowers a shoulder, allowing the cloak to slip from his shoulders and into her hands. He leans forward, his temple brushing against hers.
"I will be." He finally speaks, his words a whisper to match hers, as if speaking too loud will cause the night to end. He plants a soft kiss to the corner of her brow, leaning back to take her hand. Casting a glance behind him, he takes inventory of the furniture of the room and leads her near the corner of the bed, turning to cup her face in his hands. Softly, as gently as she requests, he brings his lips to hers.
Barely having a hold of his cloak, his closeness causes her to falter and the cloth to pool to the floor. Isolde catches her breath and his whispered words send a shiver down her spine. She finds comfort in his words and closes her eyes. Letting out a long breath, she allows herself to be guided, the actions seeming surreal and unreal at the same time. His hand in her's and then both of them on her face. Her process of everything seems hazy and she blinks, trying to focus.
His lips. It is that which draws her in and completes her understanding. Her kiss his chaste at first, then she presses against his lips a little more. Her hands tremble, not by the kiss but by where it will leans and they finally rest against his chest, the dress just a little bigger than her small form begins to slip from her shoulder.
Not too hungry and not too hasty, Jaremy returns her kiss with the very same fire, matching the pace she warms to. Before long, he loses track of the passing of time, no longer able to count the times their lips lap against each other. Her face in his hands, he feels the oversized dress start to shift, and his hand slides to its neckline to take notice. Finding it hastily tied, his fingers slip into the laces, tugging softly. It's a blind effort, his lips never once leaving hers…even as her dress falls to the floor and his hand reaches for his swordbelt, pulling it from his waist.
Whispered words of love are offered throught he night, the two the only thing to each other for that one night.
Long before the first hours of dawn, Jaremy's body turns to wrap his arms around her waist, barely covered by the blankets in the warmed room. Clinging to her body in the darkness, his chest pressed to her back, his steady breathing is a constant reminder of his presence beside her, just as it would be in their bed in Four Eagles Tower.
What had been unfamiliar was taught to her in such a way that there was no shame or pain in such acts. Rather her union for the first time with a man was made sweeter so by the name given to her counterpart. A light sleeper, she feels his movements and then grasp around her waist. To the darkness she smiles, the curve of which could only be called happy to any who could see. But there are none, only the darkness of their chosen night. She curls her legs back, seeking to press her skin to his in every fashion and along every length. Damn the morning that was sure to come, for now, she would rather stay awake to take in his presence, his touch.
While he sleeps, her mind is rushing, lingering on their actions but wondering also of their future. Silent secrets she holds yet and as her hand laces with one of his, she lifts it to tilt her head down and place a kiss over his knuckles.
At her kiss, the young knight curls against her. His muscular arms clench around her, burying his face into her shoulder. As he pulls her back against him, mindless in his sleep, their entwined hands come to reast against her breast. Their naked legs tangle beneath the blanket, kept warm by their collective body heat. The night has settled in, and her night vision allows her to make the outline of shapes in the room, including the outer edge of his arm. It is the perfect moment, one in which she can imagine this being their every night. For the moment…they are wed.
Again, Jeremy stirs, perhaps sensing that she is still awake. The butterfly flapping of his eyelids against her bare shoulder gives evidence to his waking. At first, he mumbles something unintelligible, but then squeezes her against his body once more, planting a pair of soft lips to the center of her back. The seconds pass without words until he breaks the silence with a whisper.
"Mother above, protect her. Bring her back to my arms to bear my children as my bride. Wizened Crone, I was a fool to not see your light until late, but see it clearly now. Father above…my vow as a knight and lord is to protect, please grant us the strength to protect our lands and bear lords in your name." His prayers, barely audible, are a sign that he is unaware that she is not asleep.
Her eyes close in that darkness to his words and Isolde can feel her throat tighten as his request is given to the seven. Swallowing hard against the lump that forms, she does everything in her power to keep the tears from falling. Sweet loving Jaremy had given her everything. She does not give herself away right off, wishing to collect herself a few hot tears rush down from her eyes to the pillow. Then she starts to move, leg wrapping with his before she squeezes his hand and presses it to her chest. "My sweet knight.." She whispers.
Her head turns, shoulder moving back some so that she can kiss his forehead. She lingers, drawing in his scent, remembering well the feel of his body around her. She shivers.
His arm turns with her, barring across her chest as she slides to her back. His knee passes over hers, draping himself over her body and resting his chin on her shoulder. His fingers clamp to her shoulder, squeezing softly. "I…am not ashamed if you heard it." He admits, lazily kissing her shoulder. "If you did not hear it all, I would repeat it if you asked." He breathes slowly, his stomach rising and falling against her side. "What we have at this very moment…" He shakes his head. "…is about perfect."
"I heard.." Comes her soft whisper as she feels his breath. Isolde smiles, his outline almost visible in the light. "When I said for you to find another than me….I didn't truly mean it." Confessions of the heart pour free and no better time to do it. "I dare not spoil this…but I worry all is becoming more dire than I had thought.." Nayland creeps into the bedroom, the presence making her sick so that she turns to to him, curling against him and caring not even if she still has a shred of modesty left. She hugs herself beneath his chin, seeking comfort and warmth against him. "Let us keep it perfect, call the septon. Please." She says softly.