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DQ Genevieve
Lower Classman
Lower Classman
DQ Genevieve

Posts : 335
Join date : 2009-11-04
Location : Shadow

Personal Archive
Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Erinnerungen   Sat Dec 05, 2009 4:22 am

~23 years into King Wodon and Queen Genevieve's marriage~
(Warning... there is violence in the following post...)

The sun had set but an hour before and Wodon found himself pacing in impatient strides through his chambers. His wife, who sat on the low couch reading several scrolls, occasionally glanced up at him, her face a neutral sheet of glass.

"I tell you the world is dull and all in it!" Wodon thundered, his voice easily shaking the two ladies maids who were seated behind Genevieve. She casually turned the scroll over to examine the other side. "Shall we not die of the inability to lift the unbearable burden of boredom!"

"Alas, no my love." Genevieve murmured, her soft voice a stark comparison to his own deep shouts. "What troubles my lord?" she asked, eyes never leaving the page. Wodon crossed the distance between them in rapid pace. Sitting beside her, he laid his arm over the scroll.

"No doubt the coldness of my house." he replied, eyes twinkling with mirth, despite the truth he felt in the words. Genevieve continued to read, simply skipping the sections covered by his arm.
"Coldness perhaps confused with foolish desires for attention." came his wife's reply. As usual, she was correct and he motioned for the ladies maids to leave them alone.

"Come, let us have no more of this..." Wodon pleaded, gathering up Genevieve's papers and setting them out of her reach. To his delight she merely leaned back against the couch and allowed him to do as he would. Carefully lifting her delicate hand into his, he stroked a calloused thumb across her skin.

"Tell me you love me." Genevieve's eyebrow raised at his statement.
"Shall I tell you I love you? Or shall that be taken as me obeying my lord and master?" she whispered, a rarely seen mischievous glint entering her eyes.
"Anyway you desire for me to take it, guardian of my heart." Wodon returned, kissing her hand.

"Indeed, for I do love you deeply and though you may ask of me to speak my heart and soul, I would do so even without your bidding, lest you beg of me not to say such things." Wodon chuckled.
"Forever your wit, Genevieve, inspires me to greater heights." Genevieve laughed softly.
Wodon leaned down to kiss her forehead, propping himself up on his elbow.

"But truly, if all was taken and I was before you nothing save a man, would your love for me be true as it is today?" He asked, partly curious. She sat up, taking his larger hands in hers.
"In my eyes, you are not but a man. To my king I bow and utter blessings. But to my husband, who is my deepest love, do I share both soul and bed. The king does not enter my heart... only the crown-less Wodon."

A brief kiss followed her words as did guilt, rising in Wodon's heart like water in a raining well. Such true love he did not deserve and he knew it well. For many times, be had broken such trust with others of the female race. His lips were stained with the kisses of other women, his hands with others flesh and his mind with their pleading words and passions arch.

"Wodon?" Genevieve asked softly. He looked down into worried blue eyes. He knew she felt; knew emotions in his wife were in some ways deeper than even his own. But his were shown even in times that restraint would have served him better.
"I was mesmerized..." he murmured, hot pain flooding his senses by the bitter lie. "Fathomless are your eyes and yet to think I exist happily within their depths."

He rose from the couch rather abruptly, needing to clear his mind before returning to his wife. The clean goblet of wine resting where he had left it moments before caught his eyes and he went to it. The comforting embrace of numbing alcohol lifted his seeded guilt and he sighed in peace. The cup was soon emptied and refilled numerous times, each time emptied to fill a man's hollow conscience.

In silent fear, Genevieve watched her husband. It both worried and astonished her that he was acting so strangely. No doubt he was keeping something from her. Health ailment, or worse. But she did not pry and did not ask. She was his to weep with should he come to her and allow her to comfort him. If he preferred the goblet's hand to hers, he was as king, allowed his desires.

The last drop slid down his chin and the goblet dropped to his feet, forgotten as his worries. Genevieve carefully knelt to pick up the cup, the silence in the room so different to the love she had seen and heard only moments before. Wodon took the cup from her rather roughly, setting it clumsily on the table. Not fully drunk, but close to intoxication, the king staggered and she reached out to help him.

He felt his wife's gentle hand rest against his arm, to support him and in a single motion gathered her tightly against him. It was soothing, even more so than the wine to feel her calm heartbeat against his hand. She was forever calm, as an anchored island within his raging sea. His fingers lifted her chin and she kissed him with greater passion than he had expected. The sensations were numbed by the wine, but the reactions to the feelings were in a way heightened by his lack of control.

It was not until she sighed softly, that he looked and noticed the damage he had done. Already dark black bruises were forming on her porcelain neck where his hand had curled to pull her even closer to him. Still no reproach exited her parted lips and there was no action to push him away, no scream to call assistance to her side.

Had he been less inebriated, Wodon would have been horrified for his action of harming Genevieve, but the thought that entered his mind was only of how innocent her wide blue eyes appeared and how easily he could snap her snowy neck with his hands. His desire to ravish her; break her, force her to not appear so noble and pure was put to rest only by her faint admonish.

"Stay, my love..." she murmured weakly, his fingers still constricting her throat. Wodon released her and she caught herself against him as her feet touched the floor again. Tears filled her eyes as she buried her face against his robes. He slowly broke from the wine and emotion, crumbling outwardly as she shattered inwardly. It was Genevieve who held the great king as he wept bitter guilty tears, the world too heavy on his shoulders for him to bear at that moment.

While Wodon's tears soaked his wife's heavy gown, her own tears fell unseen into the carpeting. There was no comfort for the comforter... only pain.
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DQ Genevieve
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DQ Genevieve

Posts : 335
Join date : 2009-11-04
Location : Shadow

Personal Archive
Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Re: Erinnerungen   Sun Dec 06, 2009 10:42 pm

part 2

Genevieve slowly helped Wodon to his feet, staggering under his weight but remaining standing. She did not call out for the guards or ladies maids due to her husband's condition. It was not how the king was meant to be seen. Despite the physical burden, she refused to allow him to be scorned even in thought. Love pure kept her from hurting him.

It was with many near falls and a significant amount of passing time before the king finally leaned down against the cushioned bed.
"Dearest heart." he murmured, attempting to catch his wife's hand. Due to his nearly drunken state and weary fatigue, she easily moved from his reach. The blanket was pulled back and she helped him to remove his thick outer robe before he fell onto the cushions.

"Angel from the depths of my soul..." Wodon exclaimed, catching Genevieve's arm by its upper part and pulling her against him. "Truly kind." he smiled. She couldn't help but return the smile. He appeared to be lost in a blissful fatigue forgetting whatever trouble had brought the wine to his lips in the first place.

"Indeed, my lord." she murmured. "For kindness befits those whom I truly love." she lightly kissed his forehead and moved to climb off of him. To her relief his arm went slack and he allowed her to descend back to the floor. The cover was pulled forth to cover Wodon's body after his shoes had been removed and Genevieve moved back from the bed, sighing as heavy snores escaped the sovereign's open mouth.

"Sleep well, my love and trust not that you shall wake unharmed. The wine shall no doubt slay thy mind and bruise thy feelings." she whispered, pulling the curtains around the bed.

Feeling slightly faint herself, Genevieve crossed to the mirror. Her mouth tightened into a firm line as her eyes fell on the bruises on both her neck and chin. The injury on the neck she could hide with her shawl, but the chin was a harder place to cover. Either a fall would be needed, for she would not admit her beloved harmed her nor would she allow him to ever remember. A smile would greet him the next morning and all would continue as if forever did.

She moved to the chair, gingerly touching the dark black marks. The chin was from the forceful hand and did not show the marks as the throat did. Fingers were obviously harmed against the neck's skin.

Picking up the thin goblet from the mirror's table, Genevieve broke it against the rim and held it up in the mirror's reflection. It was sharp enough to cause a cut should it have shattered against her face. Setting herself for the pain with ease due to her young painful youth, Genevieve slashed open the flesh under her mouth and above her throat. The blood slowly oozed forth and she allowed it to drip down to cover the bruise... that would explain the chin's injury and the throat would never be seen.

Turning back to glance at the bed, she called for her ladies maids to clean up the glass. Before they entered, she swiftly sipped from the last drops of the wine. Should they notice it was empty, they would assume she and not the king was drunk.

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DQ Genevieve
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DQ Genevieve

Posts : 335
Join date : 2009-11-04
Location : Shadow

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Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Re: Erinnerungen   Tue Dec 08, 2009 12:45 am

~Pre-quietus Gareth~

Genevieve had watched her son and grandson's horses vanish from sight from her balcony. A soft smile curved her lips as she thought of how proud Oberon was that Gareth was becoming a fine horseman. Wodon himself had hardly been more proud with his own sons.

She glanced back to the needle and cloth before her in its frame. Needlework was proving to be a pleasing pass time. The weather was too warm in her opinion for outdoor activities, though it pleased her that the rest of her family did not agree.

Wodon was happily mock-jousting with a noble or two in the gardens and she could hear the clank of metal and wood even from the high balcony. She had asked him that morning what he planned to do that day and upon reply he had begged her for her favour and pledged her his lady, much to her amusement. Later, after the horses returned, Wodon had promised to show Gareth the finer points of jousting... such as they were.

Genevieve rose from her chair, leaving the dancing children and wood of thread to look out over the sprawling lands of the palace yards. The banners fluttered in the breeze from the towers of the lower pinnacles on the roofs below, testimony of a strong wind approaching, perhaps even a storm. She allowed her shawl to drop behind her, closing her eyes to enjoy the brief period of chilling pleasure. Alrania was often to warm for her. Mystenia had always been bitterly cold, its stark mountains dressed in never melting snow and its short summers freezing the land with icy rain. Alrania had a more lush and warm beauty.

Seeing little that delighted her eyes besides the green countryside, Genevieve returned to her needlework. Lady Peno entered the balcony and sat beside her in another seat, bowing carefully before doing so.

It was customary for a ladies maid to not speak to her mistress unless spoken to, and thus silence was an usual custom. But the cold wind and the joy from her happy family had lifted her spirits to the point that the queen did not mind a conversation, even if it would be amount meaningless gowns, men and the trivials of the court.

"Tell me, Lady Peno, how is your brother, Sir Richard?" she asked, politely remembering the young man had been wooing a young lady of the court recently and it was rumoured, as her ladies maids had whispered, that they were to marry.
Lady Peno smiled.
"Oh he is very well, your Highness. He is to be wed next summer and my parents are indeed joyful." Genevieve nodded, having doing her duty by starting the conversation, with little desire to continue it. Lady Peno would do that with little prodding.
"He is quite taken with Dame Maria, though I have seen women far prettier. My brother is bewitched I think. Surely she is tiny and petite as Richard would desire in a doting wife, but so sullen. A smile barely ever touches her lips and when it does it never reached to reflect in her sad eyes. They say she has a tragic history, lost loves and no family save her uncle, Lord Burnah, who views her as one would a lost sheep." Genevieve stopped paying attention.

The poor girl to be marrying into Lady Peno's exuberant family. Sullen... but perhaps only to some.
Hours passed as Lady Peno covered the entire court gossip starting with the lowest jester to the King's brother himself, Lord Elchanan... and then the princes. Theseus always had interesting rumours about him, to the point that Genevieve could hardly believe any of it, due to having been twisted out of all truth. Whatever the rumour had begun as, by the time it reached Lady Peno it had turned from a duck into a dragon.

There was chorus of gasps from the other side of the balcony curtains and doors, causing Genevieve to look up from her sewing and Lady Peno to take a breath, which she had scarcely done in the last three hours.
"My lady." Lady Condenia whispered, entering the balcony and kneeling in front of Genevieve. Tears were filling her eyes and her hands shook as she gently took Geneieve's hands in them.
"What has happened, Condenia?" Genevieve asked, her tone and face calm despite her rapidly beating heart.
"The prince, my lady. There was an accident among the horses." Genevieve's heart ceased beating at the next words. "Prince Gareth is dead." The words echoed through her mind, heart and soul, tearing at her thick emotional defenses.

Finally after a long moment of silence, Genevieve shook her head. "No... it cannot be." she murmured. Her ladies maids all appeared waiting for her to faint or sob into hysteria. It was a lie... it was not truth, she decided, turning back to the frame.
"Leave me." she whispered. "And say not that he is dead else you shall be."

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DQ Genevieve
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DQ Genevieve

Posts : 335
Join date : 2009-11-04
Location : Shadow

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Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Re: Erinnerungen   Wed Jan 20, 2010 4:02 am

~Post-quietus Gareth~

Wodon leaned heavily against the wall, his deep sobs having finally passed after long hours of giving into his grief. His young grandson... dead, the agony was almost more than he could bear. At first he had not believed the young guard, but having hurried to see for himself... now there were only tears and pain left for Gareth. The young life extinguished long before its time. A flower crushed before its blooming. The great poets themselves could write no piece that would amply draw the tragic loss.

He would go to his son, Oberon, and attempt to comfort him as best he could as he had with his son's wife's passing, but first he had to comfort his queen. Entering their chambers, he noticed the silently weeping forms of the ladies maids as ghosts before a thirsty man. He passed them, almost unaware of their presence.

His wife sat before her needlework, carefully and gently moving the needle up through the stretched cloth and then back into it. He sat down beside her, doing his best to remain strong. This was his time to comfort, not be comforted.
Genevieve's icy blue eyes turned to meet his and he swallowed. There was no grief reflected in them; just a indifferent calm expression. It both angered and confused him.

"Genevieve..." he murmured, taking her small hand in his. "We have lost Gareth, our blessed child's son." The indifferent morphed into molten anger in her eyes and he was slightly taken aback. The only other time he had seen her show such displeasure was when she had killed her brother. Now to have the liquid fire directed at him in her ice like eyes, froze his blood.
"He is not dead." she stated clearly, the glare fading back into indifference. "He is not." Wodon nodded, looking away.

"To say a hurt is not bleeding when it pools is not strength." He whispered. Genevieve said nothing, her gaze already back to her needlework. Rage rose within him to boil his very blood as he was ignored. King as he was, he was willing to pass his queen's refusal to speak to him. But as her husband and Gareth's grandfather, he would not allow it.
"He is dead and we shall mourn him fitly." His deep voice echoed despite the setting of their seat. The ladies maids whimpers and whispers like soft flowers wings beat against the hollow silence that answered him.

He rose from the seat. Women were in all ways simple to understand, they merely required love, time and small amounts of patience. But he felt damned to fail in all areas with the only woman whose heart he had every truly loved. When Wodon ever did understand her, what he saw frustrated him to no end and while he simply needed her words to say she was comforted in silence she refused to admit their very blood was slain by a horse's anger.

Should he raise his hand, he knew the gods themselves would not hold it against him that his wrath was kindled.
"Your grandson is dead." He spoke truth to her ears, not lies that the very wind could blow away.
"He is playing." Genevieve whispered, gesturing to the ground beneath as if she knew the young child would appear at any moment to laugh and run upon the grass and flowers.
"Your deceiving yourself shall lessen the grief. Pain is best shown, Genevieve." he took her hand, every thread of his patience, such as it was keeping him from throwing the wooden frame down from the balcony. He needed to convince her; needed to shatter the wall she built to hide behind.

"There is no pain, nor deceit." she replied, another stitch added in delicate woven time. "That what you say if empty. I pray you leave me in peace." Genevieve smiled at him, gently patting his hand as though he were amusing her and was in vain need to use his energies else where.

From the balcony he thundered, his companions Vexation and Dismay, for they accompany their dread lord, Grief.

Alone again, Genevieve sat not a word of Gareth's death grieving her. He was not dead, only harmed by some small action. Tomorrow or the next day, time would pass and all would be well.

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Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Re: Erinnerungen   Wed Jan 20, 2010 7:12 am

~Oberon's Birth~
Note: There are post-violence and childbirth references included in the following post...

The soft wind caused the banners above the Alranian Royal tents to flap and snap. Soldiers sat and stood scattered among said tents as they awaited an order or call. Bloodied and beaten, many stood in lines to await a healer's care, while others, less fortunate laid on crude stretchers fashioned for their weary bodies by only slightly less beaten comrades. The smell of blood, excretion and smoke lingered in the air as the stench from the dead.

From the open tent, many a fallen soldier was carried forth, crest bloodied, eyes closed, hands folded. In prayer never again would many a young man kneel. Tears would be shed in time by their now blissfully ignorant kin, but for now only silence grieved their loss... the silence of a life cut short.

Watching the soldiers from her tent, Queen Genevieve sat, the heat of the day forcing her to remain under the flapping drapes of the tent's arms. Her gaze was keenly set on the setting sun, awaiting her lord and king's return from the battle even then raging beyond the hills that hid their camp. Perspiration beaded on her pale forehead, her body unaccustomed to the heat in the lower regions of Mystenia. She had been raised within the mountains of the centre and the north. The slight wind Nature allowed forth was not enough to lift the heavy warm air, nor the smell of those dying or dead around her.

"You should come within, my lady." one of her ladies maids murmured, worry for her young queen plaguing her. It was not healthy for her to be so intent on the return of King Wodon. "He shall come after the setting."
Genevieve sighed, rising to her feet.
"Yes, I know." she sighed. It had nearly been a full Mystenian year since her marriage, and she was fully accustomed to the servants and helpers that for the beginning portion of her life she had gone without... But such was the way of survival.

Despite being heavily pregnant with her first child, Genevieve strode quickly from the tent, allowing the silently protesting maid to follow after her. She longed to be free from the smell of blood, the sight of the wounded and their agonized screams for mercy from either the blade or needle.

Her hand went often to her rounded stomach as she climbed the steep incline of the hill, but she made the top with far less effort than her panting follower. But that could be expected, after all, ladies maids were usually born into noble families and were spoiled within their luxury.

The wind was cooler on the hill's top and she stretched her arms out allowing the wind goddess, Yapena, to wash over her. Her light gown moved with the wind, though her hair was forced to remain tied in its queenly restraints. Had she a more openly independent streak within her, Genevieve would have longed to run down the softer slope, delighting in her freedom and happiness.

"Look, my lady." Genevieve opened her eyes and gazed into the setting sun's amber face. Against the failing day and rising night, she could see the banners of Alrania proudly swaying as the horses galloped toward the cut pass below them. Alas however, the King's crest was not flying among them.
"He has yet to return." she murmured, worried at her lord's failure to return for the dressing of his wounds and for food to bolster his strength.
"But he shall, my lady." The maid assured. Genevieve nodded, remaining on the hill despite the undaunted night.

The sun fell into his cradle behind the mountains and sea, passing his glowing torch to the rising victorious moon, who lovingly smiled at her vast court of stars as she prepared to govern the night. With the night's blanket of shadow, came the tendrils of cold that even the warmest Mystenian night possessed.

Genevieve turned to make her way back to the camp, for pity on her maid, who trembled from the cold. They descended the hill's rocky slope slowly, as Genevieve did not wish the lady to fall behind and be lost in the night. In the shadow, the queen saw shapes moving forth in the plain to the west and in the forest just to the north. On four legs and two they crept and crawled, beasts of the night. Gladdened that her maid was not a shadow mage and thus could not see in the darkness about them, she continued on.

"Two young women for my eyes to see... alone and helpless they should now flee..." Genevieve looked behind her to see a large Mystenian scout perched on the rocks above their heads. Her maid went to scream, but a dart to her throat silenced her. Genevieve backed up against the rough wall, her heart racing with the speed it took the man to heartlessly slay an innocent and fear for her child gnawing at her mind.
"But this one..." he hissed, crawling down from the rocks more as a beast and less as a man. "Queenly in attire and standing..."

Genevieve began to gather her shadow magic about her, knowing should she scream for help her life would end as the maid who lay at her feet. The scout reached forth to either strike or kill her, but her shield held him back. Dark curses streamed from his mouth in rapid succession as his hauberk began to slowly split. She increased the force of the shield, unwrapping it from herself and tossing it as a net around the now unfortunate man. His screams were silenced in the shroud of shadow; vanishing as his body faded into the darkness about the hilly stones.

Shaken, but not to the point that she could not continue on, Genevieve lost no time with the dead maid and carefully kept climbing down the hill. Pain shot through her abdomen and she paused, thinking a dart had perhaps pierced her flesh. Instead she felt liquid hot against her legs as it soaked her gown.
"You are to be an impatient child..." she whispered, continuing down the hill. She could see the lights from the campfires now. It was only moments before she could call for help. Another wave of pain and she fell backward, dizzy from the intensity of it.
"Impatient indeed..." she whispered, finding strength in speaking to her unborn son. She rose to her feet once again and stumbled on, not ignoring the pain, despite her ability to. It was best to know what her body was feeling, to make it safe for her child, she reasoned.

At the foot of the hill, she could go no further, human strength failing her.
"Help me!" she called, her breathing laboured as the pain doubled. The child would at least be born quickly, she thought slightly amused.
Several sentinels hurried to her side, each of them grave as they softly debating their course of action. Finally, one took initiative and gently picked Genevieve from the ground, carrying her to the her tent, where her ladies maids accepted her with exclamations of worry and shock.

As she was made comfortable, Genevieve softly whispered of the scout and the maid's deaths, which was quickly passed forth to the sentinels in order to seek out others within the hill's shadows should their camp be attacked.

The pain became less spaced and though her ladies maids encouraged her to scream, Genevieve bore the pain in silent agony. It was not Mystenian tradition to scream during childbirth, as it was believed to call the gods of misfortune and infirmity to descend on either the child or mother. In extreme cases, should the mother disturb the very heavens, the god of death himself was sent to silence her or her squalling infant.

A soft wet towel touched her forehead as she hovered between anguished consciousness and blissful oblivion. Finally the pain lessened and she heard a strong wail as the maid patted the infant's bottom to encourage such sounds. Drenched in sweat and exhausted almost beyond caring, Genevieve smiled as the baby was pronounced male and healthy.

She had given Wodon an heir, a son to proudly raise as the follower of his steps. The maids cleaned the babe and wrapped him tightly to keep him both warm and secure. Genevieve sat up, helped by a ladies maid, as she took the child.
He was perfect, with a red wrinkled face winking in the flickering light of the fire. His hair, which he had an abundance of already, was dark and thick, both signs of health.

Stroking his delicate cheek with her finger, she sighed softly. Impatient but perfect despite his rush. Such a child would surely grow to be a mighty ruler and a strong sovereign.

The tent's flap was roughly pulled aside and Wodon entered, the wild look of war's deeds still upon his face and blood's stain still coating his armour, face and hands. But it faded quickly as he smiled kneeling beside Genevieve to gaze down into his cooing son's face.
"A son..." he murmured, having been told as he had run for the tent. "We have a son." Kissing Genevieve carefully, Wodon washed his hands in the water basin brought by a page.

Giving her son to Wodon, Genevieve watched happily as the king held the infant within his two large hands.
"He is so small." Wodon whispered, to Genevieve's amusement.
"He will grow." she assured him, although she knew he was simply overwhelmed with joy. Rising to his feet, he gently carried his son, as though he were a glass teacup, breakable by the wind itself, out of the tent.

Wodon held up the babe, proclaiming loudly he had a son. The rising roar of the troops echoed through the entire plain, forest and the hills as Alrania rejoiced in its heir and prince.

"Prince Oberon!" He repeated, going from 'my son' to his name. Genevieve and he had already long before given the son she would bear a name. They had hardly even considered it may have been a daughter... Oberon, after the brother Wodon had always thought lived too short a life.
"With this token of faith from the gods, let us ravage the very house of Mystenia! With the birth of Alrania's future breaths Mystenia's death!" A thunderous roar of approval answered Wodon and he silently reentered the tent, not yet giving his son to the maids, but sitting beside his pale wife.

"Our love is complete." he murmured, holding Oberon so that they could both smile at his flawless features.
"Yes and delivered well into the hearts of our people." Genevieve whispered.
"Our child shall never know loneliness or abandonment." Wodon swore, already seeing a strong man that his son would doubtless become. "Our love shall always be his mantle against the dark."

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Name: Genevieve, Alida, Bavona, Hilda, Jahan V, Arnulf, Vémundr, Aemilia, Ashza, Weilew, Panthea, Otto, Chloris, Amsel, Ramerna and Sister Eenra
Rank: Queen
Love?: In love

PostSubject: Re: Erinnerungen   Wed Apr 07, 2010 11:30 pm

~ Theseus' Birth ~

Note: brief mentions of childbirth

The day was one that could easily have been listed among the most perfect in Alranian history. The gentle breeze melded nicely with the gentle dew upon the grassy yawn and the sun winked high behind its bed of cloud.

An archery contest was taking place within the arranged yawn's square and the cheers and whoops of delight echoed far into the air. Normally, the queen would have been seated beside her lord, the king to clap politely for each archer. But today, despite the natural perfection, she sat overlooking the spectacle from her balcony.

Chuckling softly, she noticed that Wodon had three year old Oberon perched on his knee, bouncing him as they both joyously applauded the latest feat of feathered aim. Her husband's love for the fruit of their love warmed her heart and her hand drifted from her sewing to her stomach, which was swollen with their second child. The physicians had claimed it would be a girl; a perfect princess to follow a perfect prince, but she knew it was a boy as well.

Wodon had made it quite clear that as long as it was a human infant he would be pleased. She had jested with him, saying that no doubt the child would turn into a wood sprite, rushing away before they could catch him, but secretly she was pleased with his statement. Most kings within the world cared little for their children and more for their continuing line. Daughters were dainty creatures to be married off to other kings and princes. Sons were prizes that held promise of a future.

She had already picked a name; knowing it was to be a boy and that, despite Wodon's many suggestions, if a name was to be decided on she would have to do it herself. Prince Theseus would be a fine addition to the royal line.

Smiling softly, she rose to her feet, balancing herself gracefully with a hand against the couch. Cool weather in Alrania was still rather warm in her opinion. Picking up an abandoned fan, she gently fanned herself, wondering briefly how those around her could be so comfortable in such warm weather.

"The bassinet is finished, my lady." Lady Relona stated, excited about the entire thing. "Shall I have the carpenter place it in the nursery?"
Genevieve nodded, hardly paying attention to the older woman.

Since there was no one else in the room, save two gossiping sewing ladies-maids, she unhooked her thick over-gown and allowed it to pool at her feet. It was collected by a maid and she settled herself on a couch.

Falling asleep, she dreamed of the wonderful future that possibly laid in store for her unborn son. A laughter filled childhood, an education that would far surpass excellent, and the forever love that would protect him.
"It would appear the queen has vanished and in her place left a sleeping nymph..." Wodon's deep rough voice washed over her and she smiled, keeping her eyes closed.

"How are you, my love?" he asked, gently lifting her head and shoulders so as to settle her in his lap.
"Well..." she murmured, a hand reaching to touch his bearded cheek. His eyes sparkled above hers as she met them. "Am I not the most fortunate of all beings."
"Perhaps so, though I place myself far above you in fortune. For you deserved far better than a humble soldier such as I." he teased, kissing her warm forehead.

She smiled softly, enjoying the cool touch of his tunic against her neck.
"Oberon grows stronger each day." Wodon murmured, playing with his wife's pale hair.
"Indeed, he is your son." she replied, only a hint of the great pride she felt showing.
"And our daughter?" Wodon's free hand moved to settle carefully over her taunt gown.
"I know not what you mean..."
Wodon sighed.
"The stars claim it is a daughter, Genevieve. This we must accept with joy." He could not understand why she was so adamantly against the doctors.

"The stars are not birthing your children, my king. And your second son shall you accept with joy." Wodon sighed, feeling strangely defeated.
"Whatever you wish, love." he murmured. "I shall be pleased with either your wish or the physicians."

Unable to resist, Genevieve smiled. "I would think my lord would be more pleased with his queen than with the services of the doctors."
Wodon chuckled heartily.
"Indeed, how foolish of me to suggest otherwise."

He looked down at his wife's flushed face, noting that despite the cool air, she seemed warm. Pregnancy often interfered with bodily temperature he had heard. Barely 18, she was beautiful, he mused. Delicately built but yet with a strength of character and will that many men would not be able to compare to.

"Will this son of yours be as impatient as the last?" he asked, memories of the birth he had missed coming to mind.
"With your blood within him how else could he be?" Genevieve murmured, her eyes closed once again.
"Perhaps this one shall be more like his mother."
She sighed.
"Do not say such things. It would be most unfortunate for fate to curse the poor child."

Taken aback by this, Wodon went silent, continuing to stroke her damp hair.
"I promised Oberon a horse ride." he murmured after a moment.
"Oh wonderful. Do be careful." she yawned, covering her mouth as he slipped from under her.
"Rest well." he kissed her lips gently and made his exit.

The afternoon came and passed, with the cool air declining and a heat, bearable to most, but agonizing for Genevieve swept over the castle. In a near feverish state, she lay upon her bed, a ladies' maid fanning her and yet another wiping her brow with a cool cloth. The physician had been called for and his prompt observation was that the queen was merely experiencing false labour, as there was no signs of impeding birth.

Each hour that passed seemed an eternity, although Genevieve lapsed in and out of a silent slumber. Her breath came in shallow pants as she felt as though a fire had been built around her. In the fourth hour of the afternoon, she sat up suddenly, startling both ladies' maids as she tore the sheet with sharp clutching nails.

Pain similar to when Oberon had been born flared within her abdomen and she bit her lip.
"The king..." she whispered as both women helped her lay back down. "It is time."

The news was quickly delivered to the returning king that his second child was arriving and he hurried to be at his queen's side.

In the same insisted silence she had had with Oberon's birthing, Genevieve refused to make a sound, pushing and straining in an almost dream-like state. Finally she heard the faint mew of her newborn son and his following cry as his mouth was cleaned.

"It is a boy..." she heard someone say. "Just as the queen said."
Victory was a taste sweet as honey as she smiled. Theseus was soon washed and wrapped, his little baby cocooned gently in her arms as Wodon sat beside her.
"My little star-child." she whispered, kissing his soft forehead. "May you always prove those about you wrong."

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