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iamthefirechild:

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

“What lead?” Summer asked. “What /lead/, my lord? Am I not already there? What then will you have me do? I cannot leave your city, my lord, for that there is no one to escort me. I cannot stay, seeing you every day.” She pulled away, rising and taking a few strides along the shore. “If there is no hope — and you say there can be none, which I must believe — then I would you did not know. ‘Twould be simpler.”

Whirling, she looked at Henry. “Am I to have no choice at all?”

He looked at her.

“I mean that I would lead you to something that I know not what it is.” he said to her, “To have you grow such emotions for me, when I… I do not know my own yet, I do not recognise them. Perhaps it is best that we leave such things alone, for I do not seek to break your heart…”

And he sighed.

“Though I fear I already have.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you treated me with such kindness. Certainly before you kissed me. Why, then? I will know why.” In her anger and frustration, tears spilled down her cheeks. “My lord, I asked not even a chance, and yet you offered one, and now take it away.”

He looked at her and put his hand on her face, concerned and upset at how she was reacting to his words, “This is why I wished to say nothing, and my mind did tell me to not kiss you… to not touch you… and to not wish you within my arms, but… I could not listen to it, I could not hear upon those words.”

“Your every action belies your speech.” Despite her tears, anger emboldened Summer; she clasped his hand with one of her own, and reached up to brush his face with her fingertips. “Henry. Answer me. Why, last night? I thought it a dream. But you tell me ‘twas reality. /Why/?”

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

“What lead?” Summer asked. “What /lead/, my lord? Am I not already there? What then will you have me do? I cannot leave your city, my lord, for that there is no one to escort me. I cannot stay, seeing you every day.” She pulled away, rising and taking a few strides along the shore. “If there is no hope — and you say there can be none, which I must believe — then I would you did not know. ‘Twould be simpler.”

Whirling, she looked at Henry. “Am I to have no choice at all?”

He looked at her.

“I mean that I would lead you to something that I know not what it is.” he said to her, “To have you grow such emotions for me, when I… I do not know my own yet, I do not recognise them. Perhaps it is best that we leave such things alone, for I do not seek to break your heart…”

And he sighed.

“Though I fear I already have.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you treated me with such kindness. Certainly before you kissed me. Why, then? I will know why.” In her anger and frustration, tears spilled down her cheeks. “My lord, I asked not even a chance, and yet you offered one, and now take it away.”

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iamthefirechild:

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Summer said, softly, “I could never think such. You are not such a man. Have I not said so before? I wish I could say, I will cease to love you, but I cannot. God has shaped me so, to love you, for your kindness and your wisdom.” Kneeling again, she seized his hand and kissed it. “You cannot take advantage of the willing heart. And I give you all mine.”

He knelt down beside her and he took her hand, “Please, do not do such things, I do not like to consider myself as a King when I am with you – but you know of such things, you know how the weight of the crown would ruin such things.”

Henry looked down at their hands.

“I do,” Summer sighed. “But surely God does not mean us to — to,” she broke off, unable to find the right words. “My lord, may I … I wish that you would kiss me again … “

He looked at her as she said those words, in slight apprehension and in slight confusion, she knew now that he did not know how to feel about her, and he would not know – but he knew he wished to kiss her again.

Henry touched her face softly, his eyes glancing to her lip but he shook his head.

“I cannot,” he said, “I will not lead you into something that I know not where it shall go.”

“What lead?” Summer asked. “What /lead/, my lord? Am I not already there? What then will you have me do? I cannot leave your city, my lord, for that there is no one to escort me. I cannot stay, seeing you every day.” She pulled away, rising and taking a few strides along the shore. “If there is no hope — and you say there can be none, which I must believe — then I would you did not know. ‘Twould be simpler.”

Whirling, she looked at Henry. “Am I to have no choice at all?”

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iamthefirechild:

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iamthefirechild:

“No, no please — don’t — Henry — ” As his name fell from her mouth Summer froze, certain that now, now his kindness would vanish like snow in summer, now she would be justly punished. Tears overflowed down her face, pulled to the surface by conflicting emotions.

Henry looked at her, worried that she no longer wanted him and he let go of her as they balanced from where they were standing, and his eyes fell to hers and he saw the tears on her face.

He should turn to leave, as he had that night, but once again his mind did not respond, and he moved and pressed his lips against hers again, pulling her closer to him.

His kiss was so familiar, Summer responded without thinking, swaying in to his body. For a long moment there was nothing but his mouth against hers and his arms holding her, and then memory stomped a hoof and she broke the kiss. “M-my lord?” It was hard to find the words, to shape them into her sudden apprehension. “My lord, were you in my rooms last night?”

Henry pulled away from her lips as she spoke and he sighed, closing his eyes he nodded in affirmation of her thoughts.

“Yes, I was upon your rooms last night.” he said, as he looked at her, seeing the memory – or perhaps she thought it a dream- in her eyes and he blinked at her, “Forgive me… I had acted too boldly.”

“My lord, you are the King. It cannot be so.” Summer made herself meet his eyes. “I would entrust myself to your hands at any time. But,” she hesitated, searching his face turned down to hers, “why? You must have overheard me.” She coloured, but pressed on. “I meant to keep my feelings locked in my heart.”

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iamthefirechild:

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iamthefirechild:

Involuntarily she looked up, hearing the movement of the other, and actually looked for the first time.

Poiters. The King’s favourite mount. And Henry the King.

A choked cry emerged from her mouth. Summer dropped to her knees, utterly heedless of anything else, and ducked her head. “Your Grace, I — ” Her throat closed up and words failed her. All she could do was wait for his wrath to descend on her, for her temerity in not recognising him immediately and in confessing such an unseemly emotion.

He stopped as he recognised her and he took a deep breath, as he stopped to look over at her.

“Lady Summer,” he said to her, and he saw her kneeling, and thought that she had fallen once again of her ankle, and he rushed to her, carefully picking her up. “You should not be riding with your ankle still unwell.”

“No, no please — don’t — Henry — ” As his name fell from her mouth Summer froze, certain that now, now his kindness would vanish like snow in summer, now she would be justly punished. Tears overflowed down her face, pulled to the surface by conflicting emotions.

Henry looked at her, worried that she no longer wanted him and he let go of her as they balanced from where they were standing, and his eyes fell to hers and he saw the tears on her face.

He should turn to leave, as he had that night, but once again his mind did not respond, and he moved and pressed his lips against hers again, pulling her closer to him.

His kiss was so familiar, Summer responded without thinking, swaying in to his body. For a long moment there was nothing but his mouth against hers and his arms holding her, and then memory stomped a hoof and she broke the kiss. “M-my lord?” It was hard to find the words, to shape them into her sudden apprehension. “My lord, were you in my rooms last night?”

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She kissed him back, a low chuckle escaping her throat, then sighed happily and cuddled into her pillow, dropping into true sleep.

Summer woke the next morning still thinking the evening had been a dream. The weight of it lay heavily on her shoulders. She snapped at Bertha, shouted at the chambermaid until the girl cried, and finally stalked off in bristling anger and despair toward the stables. She flung herself ahorse as soon as she decently could, goading the animal into a gallop the moment they emerged from the castle gates. Surely no one would bother her out here.

She’d neglected to take into account Henry’s morning ride, though.

Henry was riding through the glens, thinking about how she had kissed him previously, he stopped by the lake and looked across the ocean deep in thought of it. He had felt so strange when she had kissed him back, not a strangeness that was unwelcoming – in fact, he enjoyed her lips against his.

He had not expected it, for he thought she was asleep and would not feel it. And that made him worry now, for what if she woke and wondered and knew if she had kissed him – though she had already betrayed her thoughts and he knew of them he did not know of his own thoughts.

Stepping off Poiters he made his way to the side of the lake and knelt down to take a drink, running some water through his hair as well.

Summer felt guilty when she came in sight of the lake. Petal wasn’t used to wild and fast rambles through the countryside the way Fireheart was. There was someone else there, she noticed, but if she didn’t speak to them, maybe they’d just dismiss her as a traveller and let her alone.

Dismounting, with care to her ankle, she led Petal to the verge to drink, pressing her face into the mare’s mane while she waited. “What am I going to do, my girl?” she murmured. “I can’t go back to Kent alone. Father’s determined to stay the season, so long as the King is here.”

Summer stepped away, keeping the reins looped in one hand, arms wrapped tight about herself. “I can’t bear to see him every day, feeling like this. Surely God is punishing me somehow,” she told the sky. “Sweet Henry, kind Henry, wise Henry, why must you hurt my heart so? To see you every day, and yet keep my heart a secret …”

Henry heard another come upon the lakeside, and he turned to look at Summer, he looked back down to the water and thought of how to leave without allowing her to see that it was him – and then she began to speak.

Once more she betrayed herself with her words, and he cursed the heavens to wonder how she could say such things so easily, when he could not even admit a simple thought to himself.

He stood up and went to Poiters, hopeful that she had not seen his face, but Poiters would be easy to recognise if she saw him in the stables.

Involuntarily she looked up, hearing the movement of the other, and actually looked for the first time.

Poiters. The King’s favourite mount. And Henry the King.

A choked cry emerged from her mouth. Summer dropped to her knees, utterly heedless of anything else, and ducked her head. “Your Grace, I — ” Her throat closed up and words failed her. All she could do was wait for his wrath to descend on her, for her temerity in not recognising him immediately and in confessing such an unseemly emotion.

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Summer shifted around until there was space for him to sit on the edge of the narrow bed. One hand crept out to loop over his arm. ”Thank you,” she whispered. She watched Henry pick up the book, watched his mouth shape the words, drowned in his voice until her eyes slipped closed again. “Love you,” she sighed, almost inaudible in the edges of sleep.

Henry could see that she was falling asleep, so his voice lowered as he read the book in his hand, when her eyes closed he heard it, that which he had thought he would not hear so soon from her – though he had already known of it.

He turned to her, her eyes closed, and seemingly asleep.

All conscious thought told him that he should leave, that he should leave the room and let her rest, but his body told him otherwise and he leaned over and gently kissed her on the lips.

She kissed him back, a low chuckle escaping her throat, then sighed happily and cuddled into her pillow, dropping into true sleep.

Summer woke the next morning still thinking the evening had been a dream. The weight of it lay heavily on her shoulders. She snapped at Bertha, shouted at the chambermaid until the girl cried, and finally stalked off in bristling anger and despair toward the stables. She flung herself ahorse as soon as she decently could, goading the animal into a gallop the moment they emerged from the castle gates. Surely no one would bother her out here.

She’d neglected to take into account Henry’s morning ride, though.

Henry was riding through the glens, thinking about how she had kissed him previously, he stopped by the lake and looked across the ocean deep in thought of it. He had felt so strange when she had kissed him back, not a strangeness that was unwelcoming – in fact, he enjoyed her lips against his.

He had not expected it, for he thought she was asleep and would not feel it. And that made him worry now, for what if she woke and wondered and knew if she had kissed him – though she had already betrayed her thoughts and he knew of them he did not know of his own thoughts.

Stepping off Poiters he made his way to the side of the lake and knelt down to take a drink, running some water through his hair as well.

Summer felt guilty when she came in sight of the lake. Petal wasn’t used to wild and fast rambles through the countryside the way Fireheart was. There was someone else there, she noticed, but if she didn’t speak to them, maybe they’d just dismiss her as a traveller and let her alone.

Dismounting, with care to her ankle, she led Petal to the verge to drink, pressing her face into the mare’s mane while she waited. “What am I going to do, my girl?” she murmured. “I can’t go back to Kent alone. Father’s determined to stay the season, so long as the King is here.”

Summer stepped away, keeping the reins looped in one hand, arms wrapped tight about herself. “I can’t bear to see him every day, feeling like this. Surely God is punishing me somehow,” she told the sky. “Sweet Henry, kind Henry, wise Henry, why must you hurt my heart so? To see you every day, and yet keep my heart a secret … “