Winter Solace [Diana Lovell]

[Joscelin Trevalion]

There is a dead spot within the night, that coldest, blackest time when the world has forgotten evening and dawn is not yet a promise. A time when it is far too early to arise, but so late that going to bed makes small sense. It answered for why Joscelin William Trevalion lingered with the royal gardens then and there. That, and such reminded him of home.

Who was he more like? He silently mused over whether or not he was his mother's son; a woman he never truly knew, but he could still smell her. He could taste the sustenance upon his lips still and her tears upon his cheek. He could still hear the lilt within her voice; the pride and pleasure she had from him. Yet, mayhap he was more his father's son.

Joscelin's far from his stoic demeanor, yes, but he had his father's sharp intellect. He had lord Barquiel Trevalion's wit and clever way of reading the lay of the land. He likewise had a semblance of the man's austere beauty or so his foster mother had once uttered reluctantly to him. It was something she was loathe to confess, though, and for good reason.

Mayhap he was more his foster-mother's son than any other? She had been the first to teach him. She had been the first to hone him toward the arts; music, singing and dabbling with sketching. She taught him to dance and she loved him as her own when she needed not to. She loved him more than he had himself and the truth was, was that she still did.

He stills then and there, and his hand lifts a small bit of coal from a scrap of vellum. His sketch came to a halt then and there and his eyes lift from the scrap only to survey the empty garden as a whole. He was alone and the chill of the night was subtle at best, and a reminder that Spring was to eventually come. Nonetheless, though, the night was a pretty thing and the royal gardens was illuminated by the moon that lingered so close that one might think they can touch it.

How long had he been here now?

He had come recently but had been here long enough to know the number of cobbles that made up the narrow walkways within the gardens. He had been here long enough to know when even the most oft straggling servant went to seek their bedding. He knew the names of the lowliest guardsmen and those of the highest rank. He knew the blacksmiths and the stablemaster and beastmaster both. He knew the names of those upon the wall and had begun to learn the names of the noblemen and women that now filled the walls of the castle proper.

He also knew when he could be alone.

Even a man such as him needed a semblance of time to himself beyond the closed doors of his bedchambers. 'Tis why he lingered now within the snow-ridden gardens. As for now? He set down that scrap of vellum that was stretched out upon a smooth board of hard wood, and soonafter, he sets down that bit of coal. It left his fingers smudged but he did not seem to mind as he had discarded both unto the stone bench he was sitting upon and came to his feet.

All along he stood amidst the snow-covered statuary depicting men and women of both tale and legend. They stood at intervals and facing the even grid of walkways. All led to a certain and empty fountain of a woman holding a basin to her breast that no longer spouted a stream of water for the chill of winter had taken over. This fountain, though, was encircled by benches, and one of which Joscelin had once occupied. Joscelin was stepping forth then and there, though, but not away from the fountain; instead, he stepped over the edge of the fountain and within.

One could nearly call Joscelin eccentric, and the truth was, was that he wouldn't take any sort of offense from that. It was somewhat true of him and he knew that. He had a passion for more than what most would and that's part of the reason why he was clambering onto the statuary that lingered within the fountain proper. He was mindful, though, and assured not to damage a thing but that did not deter him. Within moments he was lounging upon the back of that stone woman as his eyes flit toward the high wall that granted privacy to the gardens, and over the wall, he could see the expanse of the city as a whole and the world beyond.

Camelot...and somewhere beyond the lay of the land lay Trevalion Manor.

Oh, little did he know someone would come...

[Diana Lovell]

The moon was perhaps fading a little, or maybe Diana's eyes were starting to feel the sleep that should had taken her hours ago. A man slumbered in a bed that was most definitely not her own. Tonight after the feast, Diana had accompanied a very fine man to his rooms to continue the conversation and party. She had played chess and sang and played some music for him, yet she knew what he really wanted. That was only saved for repeat customers or men she took a particular liking to. Though he was handsome enough, tonight he reeked of ale and horse sweat. So Diana sang him a sweet lullaby that she knew would lull him to sleep. Once she succeeded, Diana then took one last swig from the wine cup on the table before she left him. She was still wearing her dark, sanguine dress. Her dark hair started to tumble from the silver hair ornaments pinned in her dark curls.

Diana grabbed the pouch of coins that the man had laid out for her and he stopped in her rooms to hide it in her little chest and to grab her white fur cloak. Diana then preceded to walk outside to the gardens. Truthfully she could sleep in late the next morning. No one would blame her. Men in court knew that she kept different hours than the rest of the world. Her business occurred during the night. But for some reason Diana felt the urge to walk outside. It had only been a few days after her idiotic dip into the river, but this time Diana had no intention of freezing to death. She snuggled into the warmth of her cloak as she stepped out into the silver winter. Her pale skin nearly glowed under the pale moonlight as she continued to walk slowly. Her steps made little to no sound, though in the still of the night her footsteps sounded like plates crashing in the kitchen.

A dark figure stood in the garden, though it did not frighten Diana. Instead she approached it, curious to see who else would be awake at this hour. Her thin dagger was hidden in her curls, disguised as a pretty hair ornament. Her dark brown eyes looked almost black as she observed the figure, making it out as a man. He was sketching something, or so she thought. At that moment a fluttering occurred in her stomach and she did not know why. She could smell his scent, musky and masculine and from that she assumed that he was a young man, younger than most of her customers here in Camelot.

"It would appear, sir, that we are the only two beings awake in Camelot at this moment," Diana said, her voice low and lyrical as she stepped around to face him and see who it was.

[Joscelin Trevalion]

He hadn't expected company and Joscelin would have to confess that he was somewhat surprised. He didn't submit completely though. Any semblance of surprise was mastered with an easy smile that showed the white of his teeth. All the while those brilliant eyes of his fall upon the form of a rather lovely woman. Truthfully, though, Camelot wasn't lacking of pretty women.

She stood out though.

He stood there comfortably enough with his form lounging like some hunting cat upon the back of that stone-woman. He, though, was smiling whereas the statue wasn't and mirth was alighting his features. Those warm eyes of his were something else though and even within the pale light of the moon they seemed to shine with heat and amusement. Those eyes were unmistakably blue though; his mother's eyes, or so he was once told.

"Ah, so it would seem, my lady," Joscelin answers and leans away from the statue then. His hand settles upon the stone-woman's shoulder and his feet very gracefully settle around the base as he manages to swing about and drop to the center of the fountain. There was no doubt that he was noble, and yes, younger than most of the other men within the castle proper.

She would be able to look upon him more properly then and there; from the signet upon his finger to the faint flush of the chill on his cheeks. Joscelin was dressed warmly though within colors of his House Trevalion. It's a blue that nigh rivals the shade of the deepest seas; the cuffs of his trousers nudged within his blackened winter boots and his doublet of an equal shade. The sleeves of his white shirt are bare upon his arms and the lace of his cuffs dance about his wrists. That's hardly making a mention of the cloak half-drawn about his form though.

"What brings you here then, Lady...ah, I do not believe I've been blessed with your name," he confesses and bows his head to her to accentuate his apology. All the while he's drawing closer and stepping over the edge of that fountain and onto the walkway. Then...

"I'm Joscelin," he breathes outward and offers his hand to her.

[Diana Lovell]

Diana watched as the man moved from where he was perched so that she could better see him. His face was handsome enough, perhaps a face that could rival Prince Arthur's, though he was darker. His clothes and ring revealed that he was nobility. A gleam reached Diana's eyes. A customer, she though instinctively, though she quickly replaced that thought with another: a pawn. Some of Diana's customers were her benefactors and protectors. As long as she was loved, lusted after, and admired, Diana felt safer in the castle. Of course she never truly felt safe anywhere, especially when she went to meet the Brotherhood. Sure they shared the same immediate goals, but that did not mean that she was not afraid of them hurting her or betraying her.

Then the man introduced himself. She noticed how he did not use any titles. She smiled and took his hand. "Diana," she replied, her smile reaching her eyes. She appeared very catlike at that moment, more like a wild cat than one that caught rats in the kitchens. His hand was large and comfortable and her own hand was small in comparison. She wondered what his hands would feel like on her back, or what they would look like tied up. Diana may have been small, but she knew how to defend herself, even if her skill was more in the art of subtlety and discreetness.

"And what brings you out so late?" she asked, moving closer to him.

(((sorry for the shortness)))

[Joscelin Trevalion]

She's an attractive woman; magnificent and beautiful, even. What more could a young man have wanted? Joscelin could count such things upon his very own fingers. He had wants that most men did not find attractive or long for. That, though, was something he wouldn't confess to any other then and there. It was something one would find out all in due time.

"Diana," he breathes out her name with pleasure clear within his eyes. Such a fitting name and a touch to her hand that held true to her look. She felt soft underneath his own calloused grasp; an expected touch, truly. Most noble men were soft and oft afraid of labor. As for Joscelin? He was anything but that with the faint traces of scars and childhood markings upon his palms and the backs of his hands. He held her one hand though and strokes his thumb over the ridge of her knuckles. It's within a moment that he's lifting her hand to that soft mouth of his.

Then her oh, so sweet query.

She'd feel the passing of his breath over her knuckles as his eyes flit up to her features from his bent-at-the-waist motion. Within a moment he was righting himself and smoothing his thumb over her knuckles once more. If there was anything Joscelin could be accused of such would certainly be the fact that he touched. He loved to touch; found pleasure with such things.

"The city," he breathes out suddenly and smiles wide before watching her move closer. He took the moment to lead her then to the fountain, and within moments, was stepping over the edge once more and within it. "May I?" He asks of her with one brow lifting. With her consent - trusting that she offered such - he helped her over the edge.

"There's something about a city asleep, Diana. There's something about knowing others are slumbering safely away within their own bedding whilst you're awake, and the beauty of such bathed within the light of the moon," he says and all the while leads her to the base of that towering statue; that austere statue with her bent face and basin held tight to her breast.

"Do you wish to see Camelot, Diana?"

All the while he wondered idly of her. What sort of woman she was? What sort of connections did she have? She could be a pawn; somewhat of use within the keep. Perhaps he'd make note of her handmaids and note of where her chambers lingered. Perhaps, though, Joscelin would dare to disarm himself and talk to her simply as a man more than the diplomatic weapon he truly was. Ah, but then that within itself was a dangerous thought.

[Diana Lovell]

A shiver ran through her spine as he spoke her name, though she did not show it. Her eyes widened a bit as she kept her grin. Perhaps he was more knowledgeable about the things that she knew than she had originally thought. He was rather knew to court, so Diana did not know much, or more like she knew nothing about him. She hoped that that would change very quickly. It was dangerous not to have information on everyone living in the castle. He could very well be an assassin bent on protecting the King, waiting for someone like her to make a move.

His calloused hands added to the mystery. The signet ring looked right on his finger, but his rough hands felt as if they've known things and done things. Diana did not know if she truly wanted to know, but it was in her line of interest to do so. And then he kissed her hand and her red lips formed a small, coy smile as she tilted her head flirtatiously. She did not know if he was aware of who she was, or what she was more precisely, but she was not going to play the game of an innocent young woman. She knew if she tried hard enough, she could trick someone, but little things always slipped these days. She was sure that the young man Veryan had figured out that she was not as honorable as he first thought. She hoped, though, that that would not change things.

Diana enjoyed his touch and hoped that it would not stop, though she knew that it would be inappropriate if he did. On occasion, when Diana allowed herself to enjoy, she would relish in being touched. But generally she shut off her feelings when a man kissed her or stroked her long neck. But in the moment, this was enjoyable.

Diana nodded her head, giving her consent as she allowed him to help her over the edge. She wanted to melt into him right now and had to stop herself from continuing her thought. This man would be dangerous, she knew. She would have to keep all her wits about her every moment she was around him.

As she listened, Diana watched his eyes and his mouth, trying to make out his character, though she could not quite do so. "The night is generally my time," Diana blatantly admitted. No respectable lady would be up at these hours almost every night like she was, but she was not embarrassed. As a courtesan, she had connections and powerful men under her power. There was a lot of blackmail material that she acquired in such short time. And then he asked her a question that she did not know how to answer.

"I have seen Camelot, sir and all it has to offer. Quite frankly, I am still unimpressed," she responded bluntly. But then she smiled sweetly. "But I am sure that is not what you meant by your question. Come, show me what you mean." Diana leaned in a little closer, though she was still out of reach. She wondered if she could seduce him, or if in the end he would seduce her.

[Joscelin Trevalion]

What sort of woman was she?

He was unsure. The truth was, was that she could be any sort. What he did find pleasurable though was the fact that she did not shy away from him whatsoever. That she did not sidle away from his touch. Mayhap his ego may speak for him then and there; after all, what was winning her over? It could be his smile or the look within his eyes. It could be his charm and the way his tongue uttered each word. Mayhap not though. Mayhap she was hiding something from him and simply longed to use him for her own gains; after all, women could be snakes.

Then again he, too, was a snake, no?

"Ah, sweet Diana," he murmurs her name huskily and smiles all the wider for such. Perhaps she was much like him? How many cities had she held within her hands? He couldn't say for her but Joscelin himself had known the world as a whole nigh threefold. He savors culture and the milk tongues of others with pleasure; savors all that each walk of life can offer. Either way, he's smiling and not at all looking displeased with her whatsoever.

"I shall show you then, Diana."

So, he did.

One may find their closeness improper and the truth was, was that their closeness truly was. If anyone were to see them they would think only the worse, and perhaps for good reason. Would Diana pull away if she were to know what sort of man Joscelin was? Perhaps. Perhaps not, though. He used his tongue well enough, and truly, he did have a charm about him.

"Careful, now," he utters suddenly as he leads her to the base of that statue, and toward the rear of such. It was where he had been standing only moments before. He grasps her hand all the tighter, and gently all the while, mind you. "I assure you I will catch you," he says suddenly as he gestures with his freehand to the statue then and there. "Go," he adds.

What happened then was something else.

He was utterly gentle with her and mindful. His hand released her own only to settle upon her side without warning as he assisted her onto the platform where she may stand behind the nameless woman. It's slick with snow, though, and could undoubtedly be a dangerous feat. Afterward, as she found purchase upon that statuary, Joscelin followed thereafter.

She wouldn't have expected such of course, and for good reason, there was already so little room there and Joscelin's warm body was drawn close to her own. He held no shame and perhaps that's a dangerous thing for any young noble lad. Did she mind though? Ah, who knew. He didn't seem to and didn't ask. He pressed against her from behind and nigh pinned her against the flat and rigid surface of that stone-statuary. His hands slipped beneath her arms and to the statue then; assuring she'd not slip from his grasp and she'd be safe between his heat and the chill stone both. His face tips close and he breathes her deep.

It's not her scented oil that leaves him nigh groaning but the scent of her flesh. Ah, God! She smells magnificent and he could taste her upon his tongue then and there. How he would have bestowed a kiss upon her neck then and touched her. How he wanted to feel her hair within his fingers; hand fisted and her face upturned his own. How he would have loved to pull upon her hairpins and watch the cascade of her tresses. Ah, women...!

"The city," he breathes outward suddenly as his chin lowers onto her shoulder and his gaze flits past the shoulder of that silent stone-woman and past the high wall. "It's asleep," he murmurs, "and we are here awake to watch such and be witness to her slumber," he adds and she'd feel the faint stubble upon his cheek when his face brushes closer and his body nearly smothers hers.

"...And somewhere beyond those walls and the land of Camelot...Beyond those mountains and the endless rolling hills lay a valley far below, a green swathe carpeted with blazing scarlet poppies and riven by a swift river. Ah, you'd catch your breath to see the manor lying below, and on the far side of the valley, winding trails stitch the mountains; leading to meadow plateaus and the peaks beyond," he breathes out heavily against her ear and that warm, lilting tongue of his grates against her sense. She'd feel him smile.

"How much of the world have you seen, Diana...?"

It's what he asks of her, and all at once, what he tells her. What tales did he have?

[Diana Lovell]

Diana knew that her conduct right now would not have been acceptable for her father's daughter, but since her father was dead and she was as good as a whore, she would never have been reprimanded for standing too close or allowing this man to touch her. Though his interactions with her would have cost money for any other man, but tonight this was for her. She needed a little but of enjoyment and harmless flirtation, as long as it was harmless her rational brain added. A kiss alone cost so much for a man, not just a pretty penny. She was worth quite a lot as she liked to remind her customers and those who wished to be her costumers.

But the way that he spoke and touched her, she could easily forget that she had been entertaining another man earlier. She knew that standing where she did was somewhat dangerous, though not as dangerous as her bathing in the almost frozen river earlier that week. She was a risk taker, and perhaps at times a little unbalanced, but would not a person who had lost everything and had nothing to live for be so? She leaned into his hand as he touched her side. It was instinct from her training, though she enjoyed his touch as well.

Then he stood behind her, his weight pressing into her so she could feel his heat contrasted by the coolness of the statue. A modest woman would protest by now, but Diana did not. Instead she leaned back, pressing against him as she felt his breath on her neck. She had to prevent her heart from beating faster and she did. She kept herself cool and reserved, calling upon her acting skills instead of her own emotions. So many men at court did not know how to touch a woman that she did not expect to find that skill in him. His stubble tickled her as he spoke and she smiled.

Yes, sometimes Diana did look at her window as the city stood still in slumber. She loved the feeling of being awake while all the world found bliss in dreams and darkness. She closed her eyes briefly as he continued to speak, bringing up memories of France and her travels while learning the art of courtliness and pleasure. Then her eyes opened as he asked her a question.

"Not as much as I wish to see, though I have lived outside these walls," she replied, not turning her head to look at him, but instead kept her eyes trained forward.

[Joscelin Trevalion]

He knew what he could afford and what he could not.

The downfall of man, and oft times civilization, were women; wars were fought over them. They were held highly regarded and for good reason. As he had been taught as a child, they gave life and could take life from man both. At least that's what he had been taught.

Perhaps that's where his love for women stemmed from. The knowledge of them having such power and hold over man. It made his flesh shiver and warm at the thought. It made him shudder to know he could find release within the flesh of another. That their uttered word could move mountains; could move a king. That their word could move him.

Oh, he certainly knew what he could afford and could not.

His eyes flit from the sight of the city and down upon her. She looks lovely there and then; the flesh of her slender throat coaxing him. How he wanted to scent her and taste her. How he wanted to clutch her within his embrace. Yet, he didn't. At least not then. He did touch her though and held her beneath the warmth of his body. He was practically smothering her there; pressing her between his body and that statue. Ah, sweet bliss, truly!

What could he tell her? He didn't tell her what he had seen. He didn't dare utter a word of such a thing lest he look like he may be wearing all of himself upon his sleeve. He certainly didn't brag of his accomplishments to say the very least. Yet, he did have a question of her that would undoubtedly come back to him. What brought her here of all places?

Why wasn't she afraid of him?

Any other woman would have shied off and known the repurcussions of what may come of all of this. Yet, she didn't worry. She did pull away from him or swat at his hands. She didn't curse him or utter foul oaths to him. She didn't damn him whatsoever but seemed to lean toward him.

"What brings you to Camelot then, Diana? Certainly there must be more for you within your land," he murmurs nearest her ear. That tongue of his uttering each word clearly and with a husky note; breath grating against her sense. He smiles and listens; waits, even.