Ah, Ulster!

[Cephrian]

"Neither am I!" These words echoed through the hall as Cephrian entered in, the doors swinging wide as onlooking guards from outside looked at him in amazement. His face was legend. Books of Military History had been written on his battles in defense of Ulster - mighty Ulster, whom he defended with sword and blood, whos Shield held fast the gates of the kingdom themselves from foes far and wide. Mighty tragedies had been written of his quest, of his falling at its mighty length and prestige, of him falling from the grandest mountains. These things he had learned in his short return to Ulster. These things amused him so, and so he had come to the Queen once again - over three milennia later from his exile - to set the records of history straight. And so he would.

His footsteps trodded hard on the ground, the distinct thunk of boot leather hitting hard on its surface, his reflection in it a mere shadow, dripping with black smoke that faded into nothingness. His armor stayed in perfect unison with itself, not a sound made from the movement of their plates, stained with blood on the edges so deep that it looked as if it had been tinted in the oily black ichor of slain enemies. On his shoulders lie a deep black overcoat of scaled armor, each scale a shining reminder of the great Obsidian Dragon he defeated over 1800 years ago. His arms lay through the obsidian chainmail sleeves, held in dark brown studded leather gloves, oiled and worn well as his hands opened and clenched again. Each piece of armor was nothing in comparison to the crown he wore. Its soft goldenrod color blazed with a light that changed as the clouds move in the sky, bursting with the power of a thousand suns, echoing the light on the columns and walls, the light wailing softly, a bleeding undertone in the back of the mind of the universe - the souls of his conquered.

His image, however commanding as it was, did not reveal his truest nature as a weapon of destruction. He looked as a conquering hero, returning home. And so he was. He smirked, his face clean-shaven face once again removed of all of the blood stains. His hair was once again cut in his perfect Cesarian style, combed foreward in his eyes, his forehead shadowed by short ebony tresses. His green eyes formed a perfect harmony with his features, glowing like finely polished jade. And so, he moved within view of the queen.

His body moved in a low, sweeping bow, removing the crown from his head at which time all emanations from it dissipated into the death of his un-needed flamboyance. The dark raven's feathers on the edges of his scale mail coat shifted slightly as he moved on one knee, his visage widening with the smile it struggled to contain. Remarkably still, his armor and coat made naught a sound. Long had he awaited this moment.

"My Queen, your devoted and long since forgotten servant, Cephrian Ephicles Illucial, the Infernal Knight of Ulster and realms beyond, has returned. And so have I returned at an hour of most great interest to your truest council."

He arose once again, his full figure displayed as he held his crown under arm, as one would hold a helmet. His sword shimmered softly from behind his coat, which he would have wished to keep hidden, but could not help its sentient wish to be seen, albeit slightly.

"If you would permit me, I wish to discuss with you the events of my quest that has taken me these many long years to complete. And at which time I have been deemed worthy of completion by your eyes alone, I will remain steadfast in service of this mighty court, at which I remain eternally humbled."

Smiles seemed to be a primary mannerism since his return. And he did not keep his smile locked away, as he looked up towards her, and the rest of the court.

[Sir Walter Godfrey]

"Perhaps, Ma Dame," he began steadily, rising from his kneeling position to stand as tall, perhaps as tall as the queen herself, "You and your army do not need to look to the borders for an enemy. Sometimes it is wise to hear what it said in the dark of the night, between your soldiers, for it is plain to us what is veiled to you. A rumor of war from a knight is sometimes more precious than a promise from a noble. As to whether I fear God: I can say that I have a healthy respect for God, both in the spiritual and physical sense. They say that God works through men, yet I fear no man whilst I walk with God." Godfrey's eyes burned with almost a fanatical pride, and though he was surrounded by men who likely knew magic, had been trained perhaps by the best of men, and knew this land better then he, Godfrey feared none of them.

He looked around the court, taking in casually the looks from the men and women upon the sidelines who would likely disagree with him - they were, after all, saxons and pagans by their talk of Gods and Men long dead. Though Sir Walter did not believe that the Lady was decended from a God, he did not believe that his own Lord was decended from a god either. Just a petty argument to lay claim to a throne of men. He himself believed the 'Gods' of whom they spoke to have been mere men: Galliant, brave, and strong perhaps - but men all the same.

"I fear I must stay no longer," he said with a short inclination of his head, as his armor and breastplate prevented him from bowing properly, "For as I have said I have business to attend to elsewhere. Before the wheat is in from the field I will return - either at the head of an Army or of a Bodyguard with the Lord Riggs' mood."

With that he turned and, giving no other sign that he knew or cared for the men around him, exited through the same doors he had come in from.

Once outside, he called for his horse and it was brought to him.

"Throw the letter I gave you in the nearest blacksmith's fire," he told Jules as he swung himself up onto his horse, "We have no need for war just yet." The young squire obeyed, and - pulling the mule - followed after Sir Godfrey, who was wondering how he would pull this off exactly. Riggs would need a bit of tutoring, but it might just work...

With that, the small procession set off back the way they had come.

[CrimsonWinds]

~ His left eyebrow raised greatly as he looked at the newly form knight who entered. The knight seemed to be of a very old age and his form waas that of a young boy. He tilted his head, glaring however at Sir Walter, watching the man leave. He looked over at Selena and nodded his head, dismissing her. He did not know how she was feeling, but all she knew was that the demand of Kahlan being wedded off was not something anyone wanted to do. He lifted his head as he then answered the queen.

" Forgive me my Queen, for i was just observing from the back and speaking with that girl you spoke of. She had to leave, but her name is Selena. She is the head of her Family, in lands that are beyond Ayenee. You would know her by the name of Tara, one of NimRuin's Children of course. I found her in the forest, and decided to put her to use. She is no trouble, and quite a worthy "Scout." He then bowed as he turned his head not sure where Selena had gone. " Forgive her manners for i do not see her here. Its hard to keep her in one place for too long. " He said softly as he looked at the new man who entered. " I sense however an old kinship here between you and this knight. I don't know of him, though i have read through history. Maybe i did not read that far behind." He said rather quickly as he walked forward, staring at the queen, wondering what she was deciding to do.

~ He had a look of worry as he then smiled at Willow. " Brave girl as well my princess. To speak without fear is that of a beauty, but then again, i must constrict the rashness of your tongue, young lady. Sometimes being too blunt will cause wars to rise, and men to move, in which case you will be no part of. I think we should all heed this warning, with these newcomers. They as we know now, are willing to set war against us to meet their ends. Can we win?" He asked both Kahlan and Willow as he kept his head straight, his crimson eyes piercing. Staring upon both of these ladies he then looked at the knight and said no more....

[Willow]

She ignored his banter of righteousness and went on to the point. “We will win, sir, because we do not have spoiled fools like Godfrey leading us!” Willow’s face screwed itself into a self-centered pout. Most children carried this feature at her age, so it was really no surprise that she was contrary towards every issue brought to surface. She spoke once more, her voice acting as though it were enlightened by his presence. It wasn't often that someone held the confidance to reprove the child's mannerism.

“Sir, my mother is the only one in control of how my tongue behaves. You are not my father…thank the Gods for that.”

Willow then curtsied before the new arrival of an estranged Knight making his presence known to the queen. The tongue lashing then went back to the man speaking of her taxing behavior.

“We have wars because of men alone. Would it not do good to have a lady such as myself involved? I should like to fashion armor such as that Knight’s one day...”

Her eyes cast a far-a-way look towards the man declaring himself a lost confidant to her mother. She was not admiring his build, character, or the way he admonished his long-lost ties to the queen, but rather, his sturdy armor. How she marveled at the time that must have been spent creating such a deviant work of art! Moving cautiously, fluidly, she approached him without a word shared. Her hands traced the chainmail sleeves, admiring the craftsmanship involved. Frail tapered finger’s, trailed arrogantly across his waste and down to the leather hide boots. Normally, any noble would be insulted at such obtrusive behavior, but Willow was merely a curious child. She wanted to admire this creation he so skillfully adorned.

“Mother! I will have his armor one day. Will you see to it that it is made for me on my coronation?”

[CrimsonWinds]

~ He watched over the little girl as she spoke to him with a Venomous tongue. His crimson eyes lightened to a rather light shade of red as he was taken back. His heart seemed to burn with a feeling. It seemed to strike his nerve as he stared at her eyes. He took a step back as the shadows of his hood masked his shock. He could not speak for a bit as he shook his head, trying to comtemplate what was going on. He felt something, a stinging pain within his chest. It seemed to make his eyes water but of course he would not shed a tear. He felt...hurt...

~ He then realized what had shock his heart for the moment and stopped it. Like a dagger sliding through flesh and killing away the feeling, his crimson eyes grew darker as he leveled his gaze upon her face. His voice seemed to crackle with a sharp whip as he looked at her. Anger then lifted from his breath as he was about to scold her again, but then held his tongue. Darkness seemed to roll around his form, as the shadows spoke of death. They talked with very little humor and the whisperings came again. His eyes then grew sharply and slowly did he let down his hood, his mane of black hair falling gracefully into place, as he showed his face. Sleek was his skin and rather handsomely was his features arranged. A calmness then struck out from his gaze as he bent down and kissed Willow upon the forehead.

~ He then looked into her eyes as he spoke calmly. " My princess, You speak well. I am not your father, nor am I anything to you. I can see that i am not NimRuin, and You won't respect me for I am similar, but Still i am not him. I was not there when you were born and my eyes do not bear the images of your birth. But that does not mean, I do not swear my life to you Willow...." He then kept his mouth shut as he raised his form, his soft features then stared ahead at Queen Kahlan. Lowering his head he bowed to her slowly. " Forgive me My queen. I had no right correcting your Daughter. It won't happen again. " He said softly as his tone held but a touch of saddness. With that he drew up his dark robes and stepped back, out of the throne room to the shadows where he belonged...

[Cephrian]

His body moved slowly, turning around so that his full figure could be displayed for her viewing pleasure, at which time his lips parted and poured a honeyed verse upon the slightly chilled air, brightening spirits all around.

"Men have fought wars because the women have provided us with the comforts allowing us to do as we are bid to do."

His hands drew across his armor, tracing the intricate lines of arcane speech inlaid into each piece, each scrap of leather, into each link of chainmail, grafted into each scale. He smiled at realizing that his armor was a definitive contrast to the armor of the day, and it made him smile. For as he admired his armor, he knew her eyes followed.

"My dear lady, this armor would not suit someone of your caliber, more suited for an knight, as I am. I pray that someday I may be allowed to do you the same service as this country and matron of it have done for me, and fashion you such armor as would be befitting of someone of your grand and illustrious station. For I shall be the blade at your right hand, as you lead your kingdom's armies with word and sword. All other men turned aside, a blind cheek to their inadiquacy, all rights and powers afforded them a shadow of what I carry in truest comfort to you. This is the purest call that I would humbly serve. For you, and your Mother, the Queen - and the country in which I call home!"

Each word dripped with ultimate loyalty, coated with a finish of purest gold, unshakeable even into the endless black oblivion of death. As soon as he finished the last sentence, he drew his sword out from its sheath, the brilliant weapon glowing with a icy cold clasp that reached out to the ground, leaving a soft layer of frost upon the surface he walked on. His head tilted downard as he smiled with eyes closed, allowing it touch the ground, the frost spreading out slowly, seeping into cracks and then abating back to the tip, which glowed with an ethereal touch nearly to the middle of the blade. The handle and guard, by no means less ornate, flashed with the colors of the rising dawn, his hand curling about the etched ivory handle. The Battle Rapier echoed a dragon's growl, low and menacing.

(To battle, my brother.) It whispered into his ear, and he nodded, affirming the belief of the weapon - for it lived for battle, as did he. Millenia of doing nothing but has done little to sate his wish to live in the moments of steel upon steel.

(Yes, my brother. To battle.) He mirrored, seemingly pelased with the turn of events.

"With this sword, I will strike down those who will throw their pathetic threats into the ears of those whom I serve. In short, to answer all questions - I am willing and able to win this war, if it comes. With my life, and the lives of those whom I may call my brothers."

[Kahlan Lothair]

Nothing was lost on the fire haired Queen as she sat, quietly, contemplating the turn of events. Slender fingers glide over the taut flesh of her neck as she observes first Rilith's actions and then Cephrian's. Indeed, the return of the legendary Knight had been a surprise, but indeed an inevitable return. Slowly, deliberately so, Kahlan wanders back to her throne and settles back into it.

"Your loyalty is becoming of the Throne of Ulster, Cephrian. I greet your Warrior's heart and sword. May your feet never deviate from the path to greatness." Nodding her head after the rote list of compliments and greetings to the newly returned Knight, Kahlan watched as Rilith merged with the darkness before answering her daughter's queries.

"Sir Cephrian won himself the armor that now protects his body, Aria. In two years time, when you come of age, you will wear the armor that suits you if you so wish." Amusedly Kahlan ponders what Willow would look like in armor on her tenth birthday and coronation. Fighting to keep the smile out of her eyes and off her lips, Kahlan looks down to Willow. "Aria, do not mistake what Rilith says for harsh words against you. He speaks some truth. You must learn to navigate a conversation such as the one we shared with Sir Walter." Smiling to her daughter once more Kahlan glances down to where the tip of Cephrian's sword grazes the stone floor. The frost plays out an age old dance of dipping into the cracks and clutching at the worn body of the stone. A lover's embrace indeed.

Rising from her seat just as the frost begins to abate, Kahlan steps into a patch of it, watching with great interest, as it pools lightly about her feet before evaporating. With serpentine grace, Kahlan walks toward Cephrian and looks into his eyes. For brief moments there is an unmistakable glint in her eyes and the fire a short distance away seems to glow brighter for its efforts of consuming. "Welcome home, Cephrian."

The welcome was from the woman Kahlan and not the Queen of Ulster. Holding Cephrian's gaze moments longer, Kahlan's pupil's elongate for a heartbeat in time, revealing to Cephrian part of her nature. The corner of Kahlan's mouth lifts in some representation of a smile before she breaks her hold on Cephrian's eyes. The servants, that had begun to accumulate to clean up after the meetings, scatter as Kahlan strides quietly toward the fire. Squatting before the rampant flames roaring in the large fireplace, the Queen allows herself to close everything else out behind her and remember.

[Willow]

“I will send an apology personally to Rilith, mother. He always was the entertainer…” Her voice trailed, lost in thought. The wanton insult never reached the queen’s ears.

For a moment, her slender fingers disengaged from their curious exploration. Why did others insist on making simple moments difficult and tiresome for her? Had she not been a virtuous princess thus far? Her lips spoke of sharp words and a determination that a child her age should not possess.

“No mother. I do not want some cheap pattern made for me. I will have his armor someday. I will earn it and I will be called a knight as any man.”

Her eyes searched her mother for a challenge. If there were to be any, from any being, it would only come from the queen herself. The mouth on hers suddenly became more demanding. She had always spoken to her mother with incredible gentleness, yet she felt a fierceness lurking beneath the calm.

“I will assume that you will put me on the battlefield at age fifteen. That is the prime age when other men are being called to arms.”

The princess gazed lovingly at her, and suddenly she was shy, as if she had just realized the knight’s presence amongst them. This was a first for the young girl. Never had she had such close encounters with the opposite sex before. (Save for her uncle, or some other confidant entrusted by the queen.) Her face turned expectantly to him. The first reaction was to struggle and oppose any speech he had rehearsed to impress the court. However, she only cooperated and reacted in genuine surprise. His words spoke of a purity and tenderness. In his eyes, they were alit with a passionate fire that shown truer, than the queen's own spirited gaze.

“Perhaps you are the one from my dreams. You have the mind and heart of my Uncle Theoren. He was a great man. I hope that you will remain entrusted to us throughout the rest of your years, knight.”

[CrimsonWinds]

~ " So this is where I shall lay....This is where you put me. Before the Royalty of Ulster and before this kingdom....Morrigan..It is not my nature to be kind.... or to feel emotions.. or to be startled from my sleep. I am a Drow Morrigan, Not a Celtic follower. I am made for blood shed, Made for war... for Fighting! Not for playing games...!"....

All was silent in his mind now, for no thought came before him. He really could not think straight, but one emotion took over his body. It was anger....

Darkness seemed to shift as he raised his Crimson eyes, a nieve was he to stare at the three. however he stood so far back from them, he knew they couldn't see his exact expression. He was angry for feeling emotion, angry for not being heard or seen. To be a part of a kingdom in which he felt he did not belong. His mind fought viciously with Morrigan as she tried to calm him. His faith did not change from the celtic views. however he assumed more mind control of his own fate, then he had before. He neither spoke to any of the three before he left.

~ Shades of darkness loomed around him as his right hand reached backwards, gripping his spear and unlocking it from his back. The blade upon the very tip of the spear was covered by a rather thick leather pouch, one that could keep the blade from harm and one that was easily able to remove if he needed his blade. He drew up his spear and merely walked down the steps, muttering dark words to himself. Incantations that would alter his present mind, removing Morrigan from penetrating his thoughts. He was ruled far too much by this goddess and he would not have it anymore.

~ Long black robes followed behind his form as his legs, sleek and ebony drew a very quick pace down the steps. The wind picked up as he reached outside, rain taking over the sky as he looked towards his left, towards the open lands of Ulster. A vision came to him as he could see fire. Smoldering ashes and rising of arms. Screaming and yelling, blood being spat along the evergreen grass. He growled as he was not heard. Tired of all those visions he turned his head, and looked to the right, seeing the forest's of Ulster. " his true home," Being burnt to the ground. It triggered a deeper feeling inside of him as he could not keep himself from breathing faster with angry. He listened now to the sweeping winds as he decided it was time to move, however he needed to meet one more person before he left the city.

~ The shadows quelled away from his steps as he appraoched the allies figuring who he was lookign for would be around the area. Withdrawing his spear. he merely drew his form faster into the shadows as a growl met his throat, leaving his vocal cords as he watched the shadows turn and twist around his form, his head still seeming to be set on fire with emotions....." I hate pleasantries." He said in a very deep voice as he stared off into the darkness, vanishing into the alleys...

[Cephrian]

His eyes shifted slowly, gliding through the air to lazily drift in the area of the princess. The Queen, for all of her charms, was the figure that he offered his fealty to, not someone who he would engage in a social manner. He felt the same way about the princess. Eventually, he would find her on the battlefield as an ally and confidant, but never in a social manner. But he wasn't without his graces, of course - nor was he without a small amount of tact.

"I have lain in many dreams, princess. It is my sincere hope that I find myself in yours once again."

He laughed internally at his comment, enjoying the conversation thoroughly. He quickly added, without pause, "And my years are long and many, and I would not give up my sword or my life to find a moment within them without Honor or Emotion."

He bowed. A low, solemn bow towards her, and quickly moved towards a chair off to the left of the court. The look of the onlookers spoke tomes of him, and he enjoyed the mock publicity - no doubt brought on by jealousy of the attention.

[Kahlan Lothair]

Balancing her weight with a hand planted firmly on the warm stone hearth and a shoulder pressed against her knee, Kahlan stares into the fire roaring inches before her face. The flickering warmth lulls the pale Queen into a sense of serenity. Dreaming behind heavily hooded eyes, Kahlan begins to drift. Drift.

Until the name "Theoren" was breathed into the brackish air between her and those gathered. Gingerly, if a little stiffly, Kahlan lifts her head from its pose of contemplation. The fire flares to life as it ravenously consumes the battered logs, a glance aside shows there were more awaiting their simular fate. "Theoren", the name itself was a taboo in Kahlan's presence. Theo had been a man Kahlan had loved for whom he was, not what he could give her.

A lazy ember snaps free of the fire and skips across the hearth to rest with a hiss by Kahlan's black boot. The gesture seemed one of solace. Reaching down to the hot ember, Kahlan plucks it from the warm hearth and holds the fiery remanents of wood ash in her palm. The ember felt warm in Kahlan's hand when it should scorch and maim. With a placid expression the quiet Queen plucks the glowing red ember from her palm with two fingers, examines it, and then crushes it and rubs the residue on her pants before rising.

"Theoren is not to be spoken of." The words were spoken quietly but no one could misunderstand her. Kahlan, the dove and the wolf, was not one to be misunderstood and not one to be neglected. The woman commanded attention. Standing as she was with her back to the fire and facing those gathered, Kahlan might look surreal, or not quite real at all. Slowly and with definitive grace, Kahlan returns to her crouched position before the fire. Letting the rippling warmth and soothing light wash over her and smooth out the care worn wrinkles of her memories.

[Willow]

“Why is he not to be spoken of?! You speak of him as if he had done wrong! His name speaks of honor!” Her eyes dared to challenge Kahlan once more. The piercing gaze shot through her mother’s flesh like hot daggers. They possessed a flame ignited through the pride that she felt for her late uncle. Willow did not understand her mother’s stress, nor did she care to. The queen was being ridiculous and childish. Willow hadn’t expected this behavior from her own mother. She was throwing a silent temper tantrum only seen in youngsters of the court. With a pained glare, it was apparent that Willow demanded the question to be answered promptly and honestly. “Did you not love him, mother?” Tears formed at the edge of her once clear and calm eyes. They flooded and streamed down her cheeks bitterly. She would not forgive her mother at the moment. The queen’s daughter looked toward her, as though they were the only two beings in the room. Now her uncle’s tribute and honor may be in perile by the one person she loved the most.

[Kahlan Lothair]

Visibly, crouched though she is before the fire, Kahlan tenses. Her back was presented to her daughter through the girl's entire tirade. When the tears surfaced in Willow's eyes they were also presented in her words. Kahlan understood Willow's deep rooted love for 'Uncle' Theo, more than anyone present at court.

Stiffly Kahlan rises from her crouch, the very gesture one of lupine grace and not a little threat. Somehow, in the last moments of Willow's speech, the room felt as if a great weight had been set upon it. The air itself felt thick with the tension between the Royalty present. Kahlan's shoulders rise and fall with the effort of taking a deep breath. Turning to face her daughter, Kahlan eyes the girl with brilliant blue eyes.

"Do you think to defy me?" If her voiced opinion of the dead Theoren had been gentle, this was menacing in its lack of emotion. "Remember your Uncle as you wish, but do it not before me." In those few words Kahlan had crossed the room to stand before her daughter like a darkened shadow of doubt. "I do not discredit him for his honor." The hiss in 'discredit' was not one to be missed as she bites back at her daughter's unthoughtful accusations. "You know nothing of my feelings for him."

There it was, deep rooted in Kahlan's eyes, an immense hurt to Willow's words. Even just a little disappointment for her saying them. Kahlan allowed her gaze to linger on Willow, allowed it to convey the hurt it caused her heart, and then she turned on her heels and headed for the door. With little effort Kahlan shoves the door open and allows the ricochet to fill the hall and Throne Room before disappearing up the stairs.

The quiet Queen seethes up the stairs to her quarters and hurriedly changes into suitable clothing for a ride outside the gates of the city. Her movements are jerky, causing the serving women to give her wide berth while she is in the room. Once through dressing and with her hair tied up firmly in a bun, Kahlan snatches a cloak from the hooks near her door. As she makes for the front doors of the Castle, the woman pale and decidedly quiet glances for the Throne Room where the door hangs open even now.

With a push Kahlan exits the Castle and heads for the stables. Taking the horse without bridle and without saddle, Kahlan vaults onto Lleu's back and heads for the castle gates at a gallop. She'd had enough and her heart couldn't possibly take more.

[Willow]

The child’s shrill voice chimed through the hallway at a dangerous level that surpassed her normal capacity. It shocked her, that she could have possessed such a wretched voice. For a moment she felt humiliated over the act. “Theoren Roullier! Theoren Roullier! Theoren Roullier!”[/i] She repeated his name until her voice started to feel dry and raw. Silently, she hoped that the words would catch her mother’s ears before she had sprinted off. The words Kahlan spoke to her bit through and through. The child’s mind was now on overdrive, working to reason the situation to her liking. What did mother know? She is being unreasonable! Her mother wasn’t sane! Has she gone mad? Maybe she needs a man in her bed and that explains her outbursts! (Of course, a child of eight does not know the true function between a man and woman. She has only heard the gossip of lonely nursemaids.) As if to target the poor man with her perverse thought, Willow sharply turned towards Cephrian with a look that only said: “I dare you to speak to me now!” Pushing her way past him, she called for the guards and ordered that her room be watched for the remainder of the evening. The guards knew that they couldn’t keep the queen out, but it would please the princess to think that she had won her way. “Do not let my mother near. I will not listen to her woeful cries.” The young princess continued to voice her temper tantrum, “She is lonely for a man to warm her bed. She hasn’t had one since daddy died….That’s all. Her mood will be better in the morning!” Willow talked to the guards as if they were truly listening and curious of her distress. Moving through the hallway, her steps quickened with her heated temper. She threw herself into the chamber, which was her own, and eventually let her own anger tire her completely.