Wenn & Wolf Tales

wwe0130 (Sat May 24 1997 - Post Quest)
~~~ Wenn & Poet ~~~

Since nearly her first days in Camelot, Wenndolyne had taken notice of Sir Poet. But then, who hadn't? The bard's name was actually Arin, although most knew him as The Poet, Sir Poet or simply, Poet. He was very sociable, friendly, and well-liked. His lyrical verse often entertained those gathered. Of course, he was not the only bard to grace Camelot, but Sir Poet was arguably the most frequent and popular among them. He was rather tall with a graceful carriage about him in his flowing shirt, vest, trousers and boots. He was always very neatly appointed and perpetually carrying his satchel of writings, which he added to quite often in the firehall. Many of the ladies of the court found Poet attractive and more than that, possessed of a gifted tongue and friendly manner. His words and wit gained him favor among most of the citizens.

So, Wenn had noticed him and liked him as well, even if she considered him a bit flirtatious. She'd shared idle conversation with him and admired his style and grace when he would present readings or song. She had giggled often at the harmless little jibes and verbal pranks he'd carried off. No one was ever upset with him over them, for it was obvious he bore malice toward none.

In the days following the victorious return of the Admiral's questing party, Wenn's exhilaration left her perhaps more relaxed and open than she had been before. The camaraderie had bound her more closely to Camelot with a sense of community. She found herself more comfortable in the firehall than she had ever been. Wenn also began to find herself more at ease with Sir Poet than perhaps was wise.

Sitting on the hearthstone bench near the fire, Wenn lay her journal in her lap and sipped at a glass of wine. Only then did she look up to see Sir Poet had slipped in quietly and was sitting near her. As seemed her habit, Princess Aratisha's fondness for him was quite evident. She was on the other side of Sir Poet, nearly sitting in his lap, even there in the public hall. What was not evident, was Poet's opinion of this arrangement. To Wenn's eye, he didn't seem to mind it terribly.

As the Princess turned her attention away from Sir Poet to speak with someone else, Wenn bravely leaned closer to him and whispered, "I see you have Princess Aratisha's eye quite a bit."

Sir Poet chuckled, "So I noticed."

Wenn knew she really should not drink wine as it makes her entirely too bold. She dared ask, "Aren't you pleased? With the Princess and her affection, I mean."

Sir Poet simply smiled as he looked off to wave at someone just entering the hall, but he responded to Wenn's inquiry. "Just a bit of flirting, nothing more."

Wenn nodded then sat back and turned a page in her journal, preparing to write more about the quest on a crisp new page. Idly and almost to herself she commented toward Poet, "Truly I have difficulty knowing who is with whom here in Camelot."

He nodded agreement, "Well, actually, so do I." He then leaned toward Wenn to share with her what seemed a secret, "Sir Poet is with no one."

Wenndolyne grinned, then for some reason she could not explain, scribbled this phrase in her journal… Sir Poet is with no one. He promptly peeked over to see what she was writing. Wenn, having been caught, blushed profusely and covered the page with her hand.

"What have you there?", Poet persisted.

Wenn blurted out "Oh, just notes, to myself."

Poet grinned as innocently as he could manage, for he'd seen his words written there. After a shrug he sat back again "I just wanted to see who else might be available."

Wenn's brow went up "Oh? Anyone in particular?" She immediately wondered why she was digging this hole for herself and hoping she'd stop it and soon. Snapping her journal shut, Wenn sipped her wine and realized that this sweet liquid was likely not helping her keep her wits about her. She was sure that Poet noticed her brazen and ridiculous manner as well.

"Good wine, m'lady?" Poet asked, avoiding her question this time.

She mumbled a response without taking her mouth from her glass then nervously downed the rest of the wine. "Oh, yes, fine. Thank you." Again the color and heat rose in her cheeks. She started to fan herself with her hand.

Sir Poet smiled softly, watching her. "Are you well, m'lady? You seem a bit… flushed."

She was surprised to find her voice, "Yes, I... um... Must be the fire, I suppose."

"The fire? Well then, why don't you move away from it and sit over here?" He patted the space on the other side of him, one that had now been vacated by the Princess. He was surely just making a gentlemanly offer but also quickening Wenn's pulse.

"I'm not entirely sure that would help." Was her response, as she continued to fan while Poet smiled back sweetly.

"What would, then, m'lady?"

Wenndolyne had concluded what the problem was, but was not about to say it aloud, so she just said, "Ummm, a walk. Perhaps I need some air. Yes." She nodded to affirm her own statement. "I should take a walk out in the gardens."

Poet's eyes were still on her and every moment beneath his gaze made her more uncomfortable, even worse when he continued to speak, "Hmm, the gardens? Would you like some company?"

Now Wenn felt sure her face must be as red as her hair but she managed to reply. "If you like. You are free to choose, certainly, but I do need fresh air." Before she could fully rise from her seat, Poet rose too and offered his arm. "OH" she said with a start "Why thank you... Sir Poet." He bowed at the waist then smiled as her arm slipped around his, allowing him to lead her out toward the Gardens of Camelot.

Poet gently pressed one hand over hers upon his arm. "It was a bit warm in there. Was it not, m'lady?"

They continued into the gardens while she tried so very hard not to let her hand tremble upon him. "Yes, indeed, much too."

Poet smiled as the rich garden scents greeted them. "Tis beautiful out here. Is it not, m'lady?"

Wenndolyne stepped away from him and stood looking about the garden with her hands clasped together around her wine glass. Why had she carried it out here? It was empty! And why did he insist on conversation? She truly hoped her voice did not sound as shaky as she felt just at that moment. "Yes, beautiful. Not much cooler, but beautiful."

Poet looked about, but always his gaze drew back to her. This fact did not escape Wenn's notice. She had her fingers gripped so tightly around the wine glass that she feared the stem might break. Finally, she could no longer look in his direction, only down at the soft grass.

Once more Poet offered his arm, "Perhaps a walk to the fountain, m'lady?" As his eye had been on Wenn since his first encounter of her, he did not want to leave her too much opportunity to slip away. He didn't know if she cared for him, as he had come to care for her, even just watching her in the firehall. He didn't want to frighten her away, but neither did he want to let her go, if there was remotest chance of winning her attention.

Wenn bit her lip and shakily handed him her wine glass as if that made sense. "Fountain? Oh, yes, the fountain."

Poet simply took the glass and set it aside on the edge of a planter. "Are you certain you feel well? You still appear quite flushed."

While fanning herself again, Wenn wondered silently if Poet could tell, if he had any notion that it was he that put the blush in her face. "Is there some place to sit at the fountain?"

"Aye, as I recall, there are benches, though if you like, I could get thee a blanket to sit upon in the grass there?"

This suggestion sent Wenn's thoughts toward places she'd best not roam. She cut off the thoughts with her reply. "Nae, a bench will do. Perhaps we should hasten there." She dared one brief look at his face, which was ever smiling softly to her, then concentrated on not losing her footing as they proceeded toward the fountain. Walking beside her, Poet watched her out of the corner of his eye and spoke idly, more or less giving her a tour. Wenn fiddled nervously with her sleeve, especially when his conversation turned to her.

"I do not recall seeing you in Camelot til just recently. Are you new to our realm?"

"Yes, m'lord, fairly. Only a few weeks past did I arrive."

"I am fairly new as well, having only been here a few months."

Wenndolyne took a deep breath to steel herself so she could look into his face for a noticeable moment. "Truly? There are many faces to learn in Camelot. You seem to have made friends very quickly."

Sir Poet smiled softly as his emerald eyes met her deep sapphire blue ones. This prompted Wenn to swallow hard and she nearly tripped over her skirts. She looked back down to her watch steps again and giggled with embarrassment. In truth, she hoped they would happen upon a bench soon before her nervousness caused her knees to buckle. Poet slipped his hand firmly beneath her elbow to steady her. Even through the fabric of her sleeve, Wenn felt nearly burned from the warmth of his touch.

Finally a bench appeared, as they rounded a low hedge near the cheerfully bubbling fountain. A cool light spray, caught in the gentle breeze, misted the air around them. Poet gestured grandly to the bench "Shall we sit, m'lady?" Her nod was too quick and she sat rather heavily, nearly slumping onto the bench, relieved not to have to trust her shaking legs anymore.

Before Poet could sit down, Wenn slipped her hand into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a small soft cloth. Her eyes lifted to ask, "Would you mind soaking this in the cool water for me? I think I need to freshen my warm face."

Without pause, Poet took the cloth and did her bidding. Wenn watched him, daring to look while unseen. She took note of every detail, his smooth stride, graceful bending to the fountain's pool, the sun reflected up onto his face and shining onto his dark loosely curled hair. They had spent hours sitting together in the firehall and yet she'd only just realized--- Wenn barely drew her gaze away from a stare when Poet turned to walk back to her.

When he returned, he first sat quite close to her, one arm gliding across the back of the bench, behind her, and the other offering the cool damp cloth. The moisture from the cloth began to cool Wenndolyne's face as she pressed it to her skin, but she was very aware of Poet's arm, draped over the bench, and has hand, so close to her shoulder.

He asked if she was feeling better and she indicated that she was, then braved another look up into his face. His eyes were there waiting for hers, staring, and his voice breathed one word, "Beautiful." Twas his turn to blush now. He had not intended to speak the word aloud. Wenndolyne swallowed hard but could not look away and this spurred Poet to speak the complete thought. "You are truly beautiful, m'lady."

Wenn finally blinked her deep blue eyes and looked quickly down at her hands holding the cloth in her lap. Her voice was quiet, a hoarse whisper, but sincere. "And you are quite handsome, m'lord." While watching her own hands twist the damp cloth in her lap, she felt his fingertips gently brush against her shoulder. Wenn shivered at the touch but did not flinch from it. Poet curled his hand and brushed her soft shoulder again with the back of his fingers then quickly, suddenly, moved his hand up to his ear and leaned his head against it. In truth, he had not realized he was touching her, having only noticed from her reaction.

Something in this made Wenn brave again or perhaps it was the wine, she could not be sure. She did not look up to him yet but let her hand slip over toward his knee, her fingertip idly drawing a featherlight circle on the fabric. She even found her voice again "I thought perhaps... I thought you and the Princess were… close friends."

Poet felt the warmth of her touch upon his knee spread through him. "The Princess? Friends?" He was confused for a moment and was most decidedly distracted by her touch. "Oh! No, m'lady. We are just that. Friends and nothing more."

All Wenn could think to reply was, "Oh." She started to draw her hand back to her lap, "Well, that's good. I mean, good to have friends." Poet reached out and gently took her hand in his before she could draw it back. He squeezed it softly and Wenn felt the warmth of this rush up through her, prompting her to take in a sharp breath.

Poet's voice began, unsure, quite soft, "M'lady... I..." then it faltered.

"Yes?" Wenn was looking at their hands entwined, enjoying the feel of his smooth strong fingers wrapped around hers.

He found his voice again and continued "I... Surely you have many friends. You're so amiable, open... so beautiful."

Wenndolyne pressed the damp cloth up to her throat with her free hand and let her gaze drift up to his face again. "Nae, m'lord. You are too free with your compliments. I am just a plain girl."

He slowly shook his head and smiled then his eyes caught hers and locked with them. His expression was open, revealing of himself, his sincerity. "Nae, m'lady, I but say that which my eyes and heart do see in thee."

Bashful but trapped within his gaze, Wenn looked to see his truth in this. "I almost believe you, sir."

Poet looked upon her face, surprised at her modesty. "Can it be? Can you not see the beauty that is you?"

Wenn shook her head, "I see only the face I have always seen. It does not seem special to me, compared with others."

With a sigh, Sir Poet whispered, "Dear lady..." He smiled to her then his hand slipped behind her again, to a rose bush from which he snapped a stem to release a beautiful red full rose. When he drew his hand back with it, Wenn could see the satin petals of the flower shaking a bit. She watched him break off the few thorns then almost ere she knew it, Poet had taken both her hands in his, wrapping their hands around the rose's stem.

Sir Poet turned to slip from sitting on the bench, to kneeling before Wenndolyne, facing her full on. She watched this with wonder and nervousness and took in a long deep breath. She finally released it slowly, trying to will herself not to faint. Now the rose petals were jittery in her own hands too.

"Lady, dear sweet lady... Within you, I see all that is beauty."

Released somehow from her breathless frozen state, Wenn slipped one hand up to brush the back of it against his cheek, something she had truly wanted to do from the start, something she had wanted to do for some time. Her eyes took in his face, lifted to her as he continued.

"The sun shines within your smile as your eyes reflect the beauty of the sky. Your laughter is like a gentle breeze as it caresses my ear."

She began to see it, to feel it. She began to trust, just a little, that he spoke the truth of his heart to her. But still there was her fear that she was hearing only what she wanted to hear; was seeing sincerity in his face, only because she wanted it to be there. Her eyes searched the depth of his, trying to be sure. And still his words came to her.

"Your touch is like the softest rain as it bathes me in joy."

At last her doubts formed words and spilled out of her. "Oh, but how can I trust the words of a poet? Your work is words. You wield them well, but I feel your praise is too high and professions may be false."

Poet seemed stunned. He looked down to their hands, to the rose that he felt could not approach her beauty, and slowly shook his head. He in fact seemed hurt by her judgment. "I am but a lowly poet, m'lady. Yet I am nothing else if not truthful. I speak my heart and my love within my words. I dream of stars and reach for the moon, just a poet, but an honest one, and I have naught to offer... but my love for you."

This struck her with his truth, most assuredly, and her quiet voice replied "I have little more than that myself." Had he understood her meaning? He looked up with hope and she was smiling back at him. She had thought of him much and hoped much but never had she considered he would ever... yet here he was and possibly hers. "You need not dream of stars. You yourself shine brightly as the stars."

Poet's mouth drew into a slight grin. "If I am the stars, then you are the heavens, for gladly would I shine my brightest for thee."

Wenn's smile broadened, her eyes sparkled for him again. "How can I stand against these words? You charm me to my soul."

Poet's expression softened to a more solemn smile. "Dear lady, you are wondrous beauty, elegance and grace. I say nothing more than what is in my heart. The very mountains would proclaim such if they had voices with which to speak!" He was excited now, letting the muse chose his words in his exuberance. He smiled brightly to Wenn, seeing that she seemed to believe him at last.

She began her own praise. "I do not have a poet's tongue, but be assured, I find you most irresistible." She grinned. "Your wit, your words, your pranks... they all are dear."

Poet squeezed her hand and looked deeply within her eyes. "You may not have a poet's tongue, but you do have a poet's heart... mine." He lifted her hand to his lips and softly kissed her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

Abruptly Wenn pulled her hand away and stood up, as though she'd just thought of something. She stepped aside even as he surged to his feet.

His confidence and voice were shaken "I am sorry. I have offended thee." He turned to leave but her voice stopped him.

"Wait."

He paused but did not turn back to her, so he could not see the slightly sneaky grin on her face as she let her eyes take him in.

"How do I know you aren't just wooing me to put the Princess off your scent?" She added a light giggle and watched to see his response. Poet however had a quite serious look on his face when he turned back to her. Wenn's wide grin faded quickly.

"Love is not a game to be taken lightly, m'lady." He bowed stiffly, "If you'll excuse me now..." then turned again to go.

Again her voice stopped him, "Wait... Please, Poet..." She stepped after him and he turned "M'lady?" just in time to catch her, for she nearly ran into his arms. She did in fact drop the rose to the soft grass.

"Oh! Beg pardon, m'lord!"

Poet released his hands from her and Wenn stepped back a pace. Poet lowered his eyes and saw the rose lying upon the ground.

Wenn followed his gaze and whispered. "Arin, it was not my intent to make light of your heart's confession."

Poet reached down to pluck the rose out of the grass, then straightened again. He held it gently in his hand, looking back to Wenndolyne while she continued.

"I can see from your reaction," As she watched his face, she saw a single tear slip from his eye and slide slowly down his cheek. "that you must indeed speak truth." Her own eyes welled up with tears. The playful teasing was gone now, something much different in its place.

"Wenndolyne, I would speak nothing but the truth to you." He pulled the rose to him, against his heart.

She saw some of the glitter return to his emerald eyes, more than the moisture there. Her hand floated up to gently brush the tear from his cheek. "And so I shall believe from this moment on. But mind you.," Sir Poet smiled slightly and listened as Wenn continued. "... once my heart is laid bare to you, you have the power to rend it." She lowered her gaze as a twinge of the fear of this returned to her but Poet stepped forward and gently tucked the stem of the rose behind her ear, brushing her cheek in the process. He slipped his hands to her shoulders then pulled her close and wrapped her within his warm embrace. His voice was soft against her ear.

"Dear lady, I would sooner lay my own heart before the wolves than harm a single strand of your hair."

Wenndolyne leaned into the embrace and wrapped her own arms around him. She whispered against his chest. "Poet..."

A soft "Yes, Love?" drifted to her, before she continued.

"I hand my heart to you. I beg you not to abuse your power."

He rested his cheek softly against the top of her head. "I will not, m'lady, and of course you have my heart in return." There was a pause, a soft silence between them that made a warm assurance.

After a few moments though, Wenndolyne giggled, "You know this means we both are cupid's fools." She leaned back to see Poet smiling down to her.

"Aye, I would be a fool for you any time, m'lady Wenndolyne."

Wenn grinned, "Oh and I for you as well, as it turns out, Sir Poet."

Poet chuckled "But ye need not do that. Just be thyself and I will love thee til time's end."

Wenn's hand lifted and she pressed her fingertips gently to his lips. Her voice grew more quiet. "Have poets no other use for these than words?" His reply was a soft blush as he leaned down slowly to press his lips to hers. Immediately Wenn began to feel rather flushed again and Poet too noticed the air had grown suddenly warm.

As they parted from the kiss, Wenn whispered hoarsely, "I see that weaving words is not your only talent." which prompted a scarlet blush from the poet.

"Now it is thy words that are too kind, m'lady."

Eventually, the two of them returned to the firehall and continued their habit of sitting together near the hearth, though much closer and much to the initial chagrin of the Princess. But, in time, the Princess found other places to spend her attention. At the end of this day in the garden, when it came time for Wenndolyne to write again in her journal, the first thing she did was pluck Poet's rose from behind her ear and press it between the leaves of parchment, so she might have the memory near at hand always.

(dp/dj - log conversion)