Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eachdraidh2014-07-23 07:52 pm
reticence) wrote in eachdraidh2014-07-23 07:52 pm
VIDEO | MEMORY | DATED TO JULY 22ND | OPEN TO BOTH COURTS
[The video comes into focus and it shows Faolan, sitting mounted on a horse, with a woman perched sideways in front of him. He has her balanced against his chest with one arm, holding the reigns with the other. Her hair is a waterfall of silvery moonlight, partially fallen out of the careful plait she has done it up in, and it spills across his chest and over his knees. Though she has obviously been on the road for a while, she is quite obviously a lady. She looks wretched, however, her face pale, and the way she is leaning against his chest, something is obviously wrong. She does not appear to be conscious.]
Go! [Faolan calls out, sharply, to the men who have obviously just helped lift her up in front of him.] Wrad, lead the lady's pony. Creisa, follow him closely and keep your mouth shut. I'll need to take it slowly. Don't want for me, go on up to the others. I want us out of this valley.
[The others mount their hourses, moving steadily across the river channels and gravelly shores in front of them. Faolan guides his own horse forward with his knees. Once they reache the edge of the water, the woman stirs in his arms, reaching out a hand.] What- How- [she murmurs, her eyes still closed. Faolan tightens his grip on her.]
It's all right. We're nearly there. [Faolan reassures her. Her hand comes up and fastens itself in his cloak, her head turning into his shoulder, and she sighs softly. Faolan sits stiff on his horse, although it's clear that something is at war within him as he holds her safe to his chest and guides the horse on in the half-dark. Almost as if he is unaware of it, he starts to sing. Although his voice is soft and rough, although only because he is out of practice - it is clear that with a little warmup, it would be beautiful, the the voice of a man who could make hardened warriors weep.]
...Like summertime her flowing locks, like spring's first blush her skin... Away from Fionnbharr's dazzled mind fied home and craft and kin...
[The song is a tale of a fairy woman of the daoine sidhe, ironic of course, for the emotional turmoil going on inside of him. She stirs in his arms once more and he shushes her.] Keep still. We are nearly safe.
What-
You fainted. I didn't know you were ill. [He says, gently - an odd tone, for Faolan.]
Oh- Oh, gods, oh, I'm sorry- [She protests, but he shushes her again and shifts his position, balancing her slight weight as the horse scrambles out of the last stretch of water and began the ascent of the steep path on the other side. There is by now barely enough light to show the way.] You were singing...
Me? [Faolan retorts, looking down at her as she sits in his arms.] Hardly. You're the one who does that. [Her eyes seem to lock on hers for a long moment, and the vision fades out.]
((ooc: green is faolan, blue is "the lady"))
Go! [Faolan calls out, sharply, to the men who have obviously just helped lift her up in front of him.] Wrad, lead the lady's pony. Creisa, follow him closely and keep your mouth shut. I'll need to take it slowly. Don't want for me, go on up to the others. I want us out of this valley.
[The others mount their hourses, moving steadily across the river channels and gravelly shores in front of them. Faolan guides his own horse forward with his knees. Once they reache the edge of the water, the woman stirs in his arms, reaching out a hand.] What- How- [she murmurs, her eyes still closed. Faolan tightens his grip on her.]
It's all right. We're nearly there. [Faolan reassures her. Her hand comes up and fastens itself in his cloak, her head turning into his shoulder, and she sighs softly. Faolan sits stiff on his horse, although it's clear that something is at war within him as he holds her safe to his chest and guides the horse on in the half-dark. Almost as if he is unaware of it, he starts to sing. Although his voice is soft and rough, although only because he is out of practice - it is clear that with a little warmup, it would be beautiful, the the voice of a man who could make hardened warriors weep.]
...Like summertime her flowing locks, like spring's first blush her skin... Away from Fionnbharr's dazzled mind fied home and craft and kin...
[The song is a tale of a fairy woman of the daoine sidhe, ironic of course, for the emotional turmoil going on inside of him. She stirs in his arms once more and he shushes her.] Keep still. We are nearly safe.
What-
You fainted. I didn't know you were ill. [He says, gently - an odd tone, for Faolan.]
Oh- Oh, gods, oh, I'm sorry- [She protests, but he shushes her again and shifts his position, balancing her slight weight as the horse scrambles out of the last stretch of water and began the ascent of the steep path on the other side. There is by now barely enough light to show the way.] You were singing...
Me? [Faolan retorts, looking down at her as she sits in his arms.] Hardly. You're the one who does that. [Her eyes seem to lock on hers for a long moment, and the vision fades out.]
((ooc: green is faolan, blue is "the lady"))
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