Britwitch
Classically curvy
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2004
- Posts
- 23,086
There was no hiding Althea’s displeasure as she stomped around their cottage helping her mother prepare it for their dinner guest. She’d done all she could to try and get out of the meal with Jameth. She had practically begged Dagda to find something, anything, for her to do on the night of the meal but he had refused.
“This matter has nothing to do with me,” He had replied flatly, never taking his eyes from the book in front of him.
“I know, I know it doesn’t but you…you don’t understand what she’s trying to do…” Althea had groaned, collapsing into a chair and letting her head fall onto the table top, ebony tresses spilling across the polished wood.
“I understand that she’s trying to do what she thinks is best for her daughter.” Dagda continued.
“But what she thinks is best and what actually is best are two very different things!” came her muffled reply. “Oh, he’s not the one for me…he’s just not…”
“And in that case what, or should I say who is best…?”
At that Althea had sat up, mouth working but no sound coming out.
She’d walked away from Dagda’s that evening with a swirling mass of confusion buffeting the inside of her brain. Who was the one for her, if she was so certain it was not Jameth. Soren’s face popped unbidden into her mind’s eye and try as she might to banish it, it had lingered for the rest of the day. Whenever she found herself with nothing to do, that face would swim into her thoughts. And whenever it did, it worried her. It worried her so much. She couldn’t understand it.
“Careful, dear, if you break those what on earth will we eat off of…?” Her mother’s voice cut through her musings and returned her to the present, where she had put the pile of plates down on the table less than delicately.
“Sorry, Mother,” Althea apologised, pausing to take a calming breath before laying out the plates in the places set for herself, her mother and their guest.
Her mother appeared at her side, wrapping an arm a little too tightly around her shoulders.
“I know, you’re just excited, and who wouldn’t be…why don’t you go and get yourself ready, I can finish things here,” Her mother’s face was positively beaming. Althea forced a weak smile onto her own lips before leaving her mother and heading to her room.
She sat on her bed, eyes fixed on the dress that her mother had carefully washed, letting it dry out in the fresh air and sunshine, ensuring it didn’t become too stiff and then taking even greater care to iron the few small pleats that adorned the neckline. It was a lovely dress, one of her favourites if she was truthful which is probably why it irked her so that she was to wear it for the enjoyment of one she had such little regard for. With a barely contained curse, Althea forced herself up from the bed and started brushing her hair. If it were up to her she wouldn’t bother at all, but her mother had put so much effort into preparing and planning this awful meal that Althea couldn’t let herself let her mother down. Soon, too soon for Althea’s liking, she was ready. The dress followed the natural curves of her figure, her hair was now partially pinned back from her face save for one or two gently curling tendrils around her cheeks. The soft blue of the dress augmented the green of her eyes. She looked every part the young woman trying to secure the eye of her heart’s desire. Shame she didn’t feel like it.
“You look lovely, so lovely, your father would have been proud,” Her mother gushed enthusiastically when she came back into the kitchen. Althea just smiled back, not trusting her voice not to betray her own feelings on the matter.
They were just lighting the candles on the table when there was a sharp rapping at the door. Smoothing her own dress, her mother crossed the room and after taking an unexpected pause, opened the door to reveal Jameth. An overly large bunch of flowers in one hand. Althea managed to somehow refrain from rolling her eyes when they spotted the blooms although she was pleasantly surprised when he presented the flowers to her mother.
“This, I brought for you,” Jameth moved closer as her mother left them muttering something about a vase and water. In his outstretched hand was a small bundle of dark blue silk.
“You didn’t have to get anything for me,” Althea insisted, refusing for the time being to take the proffered gift.
“Nonsense, I got it because I wanted to…” His fingers moved the silk and nestled inside was a fine silver chain upon which dangled a small silver filigree leaf. It was tiny and delicate, beautiful and no doubt expensive. Althea was unable to respond for a few moments. No one had ever bought anything like it for her in her entire life. Before she realised it she felt fingers moving her hair from the back of her neck, they grazed her skin and made her gasp. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty, I couldn’t resist.” His voice was quiet and closer to her ear than she expected. Althea wanted to tell him to move away, to say she could do it herself. But to her total bewilderment she heard the words.
“No, not at all…” Leaving her lips. The necklace was so fine she could barely feel it against her skin, were it not for the relatively weightier addition of the leaf, she doubter she’d know there was anything there at all. “It’s beautiful, thank you…” She murmured, giving in to the sudden urge to finger the jewellery before looking back over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Thank you very much.”
The meal passed with surprising ease. Jameth was witty and confident, charming her mother and amusing Althea with tales of merchants and vendors he had encountered on his travels with his father. Althea had to admit, as she sipped her wine, that she might have judged him too quickly. This was not the same young man she had watched parade down the main road with his nose in the air, or arguing beyond the point of reason with sellers on the feast days that their wares were nowhere near worth the prices they were asking for them.
Her mother excused herself after the meal and left the two of them alone. Jameth asked about her interests and dreams, enquiring with what appeared to be genuine concern in his eyes whether she was truly recovered from what had to have been an awful ordeal in the woods. And when she walked him down the path to their gate and he drew her closer, a hand lightly resting on her waist, the other on her face, to press a chaste kiss to her cheek she felt an extremely unexpected pang of disappointment in her stomach that his lips had not made contact just a little lower.
After the meal, life returned almost to normal. Althea spent her days visiting Dagda, her mother’s excited comments about Jameth seeming to start at day break and continuing until night fall, her visits allowed her a brief respite. They also helped her force all thoughts of Soren from her mind. While their paths hadn’t crossed since their heated exchange in the forest, he kept creeping into her thoughts. More than once now, when the time to sleep had come, she had just been losing herself in silly, girlish, dreams about Jameth and the life she might lead as a merchant’s wife when Soren had somehow morphed into the scene. And what worried her the most was that when he did, when it was his face she could see, his arms, his hands she could feel near her…upon her, her mind made no attempt to replace him once more with Jameth.
Life in the village, though, seemed to be changing. Tension started to creep into the air. Neighbours seemed to be arguing over the smallest of things and the rumours started. Rumours that the river was going to run dry, that the fish had gone. Accusations of over fishing or of dirtying the waters hung in the air like clouds, darkening the moods and the minds of the villagers.
Dagda too, for the first since she had met him, seemed more strained than usual. His instructions were brief and his mind seemed occupied elsewhere. He left her lists of chores to be undertaken, herbs to be collected, oils to be made. She barely saw him at all during her visits. Until the day she arrived, a few weeks later, to find him surrounded by scrolls and an extremely serious expression.
“There are things we need to discuss,” He said enigmatically, gesturing for her to take a seat. “Tell me, Althea, what do you know of the River Spirit?”
“This matter has nothing to do with me,” He had replied flatly, never taking his eyes from the book in front of him.
“I know, I know it doesn’t but you…you don’t understand what she’s trying to do…” Althea had groaned, collapsing into a chair and letting her head fall onto the table top, ebony tresses spilling across the polished wood.
“I understand that she’s trying to do what she thinks is best for her daughter.” Dagda continued.
“But what she thinks is best and what actually is best are two very different things!” came her muffled reply. “Oh, he’s not the one for me…he’s just not…”
“And in that case what, or should I say who is best…?”
At that Althea had sat up, mouth working but no sound coming out.
She’d walked away from Dagda’s that evening with a swirling mass of confusion buffeting the inside of her brain. Who was the one for her, if she was so certain it was not Jameth. Soren’s face popped unbidden into her mind’s eye and try as she might to banish it, it had lingered for the rest of the day. Whenever she found herself with nothing to do, that face would swim into her thoughts. And whenever it did, it worried her. It worried her so much. She couldn’t understand it.
“Careful, dear, if you break those what on earth will we eat off of…?” Her mother’s voice cut through her musings and returned her to the present, where she had put the pile of plates down on the table less than delicately.
“Sorry, Mother,” Althea apologised, pausing to take a calming breath before laying out the plates in the places set for herself, her mother and their guest.
Her mother appeared at her side, wrapping an arm a little too tightly around her shoulders.
“I know, you’re just excited, and who wouldn’t be…why don’t you go and get yourself ready, I can finish things here,” Her mother’s face was positively beaming. Althea forced a weak smile onto her own lips before leaving her mother and heading to her room.
She sat on her bed, eyes fixed on the dress that her mother had carefully washed, letting it dry out in the fresh air and sunshine, ensuring it didn’t become too stiff and then taking even greater care to iron the few small pleats that adorned the neckline. It was a lovely dress, one of her favourites if she was truthful which is probably why it irked her so that she was to wear it for the enjoyment of one she had such little regard for. With a barely contained curse, Althea forced herself up from the bed and started brushing her hair. If it were up to her she wouldn’t bother at all, but her mother had put so much effort into preparing and planning this awful meal that Althea couldn’t let herself let her mother down. Soon, too soon for Althea’s liking, she was ready. The dress followed the natural curves of her figure, her hair was now partially pinned back from her face save for one or two gently curling tendrils around her cheeks. The soft blue of the dress augmented the green of her eyes. She looked every part the young woman trying to secure the eye of her heart’s desire. Shame she didn’t feel like it.
“You look lovely, so lovely, your father would have been proud,” Her mother gushed enthusiastically when she came back into the kitchen. Althea just smiled back, not trusting her voice not to betray her own feelings on the matter.
They were just lighting the candles on the table when there was a sharp rapping at the door. Smoothing her own dress, her mother crossed the room and after taking an unexpected pause, opened the door to reveal Jameth. An overly large bunch of flowers in one hand. Althea managed to somehow refrain from rolling her eyes when they spotted the blooms although she was pleasantly surprised when he presented the flowers to her mother.
“This, I brought for you,” Jameth moved closer as her mother left them muttering something about a vase and water. In his outstretched hand was a small bundle of dark blue silk.
“You didn’t have to get anything for me,” Althea insisted, refusing for the time being to take the proffered gift.
“Nonsense, I got it because I wanted to…” His fingers moved the silk and nestled inside was a fine silver chain upon which dangled a small silver filigree leaf. It was tiny and delicate, beautiful and no doubt expensive. Althea was unable to respond for a few moments. No one had ever bought anything like it for her in her entire life. Before she realised it she felt fingers moving her hair from the back of her neck, they grazed her skin and made her gasp. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty, I couldn’t resist.” His voice was quiet and closer to her ear than she expected. Althea wanted to tell him to move away, to say she could do it herself. But to her total bewilderment she heard the words.
“No, not at all…” Leaving her lips. The necklace was so fine she could barely feel it against her skin, were it not for the relatively weightier addition of the leaf, she doubter she’d know there was anything there at all. “It’s beautiful, thank you…” She murmured, giving in to the sudden urge to finger the jewellery before looking back over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Thank you very much.”
The meal passed with surprising ease. Jameth was witty and confident, charming her mother and amusing Althea with tales of merchants and vendors he had encountered on his travels with his father. Althea had to admit, as she sipped her wine, that she might have judged him too quickly. This was not the same young man she had watched parade down the main road with his nose in the air, or arguing beyond the point of reason with sellers on the feast days that their wares were nowhere near worth the prices they were asking for them.
Her mother excused herself after the meal and left the two of them alone. Jameth asked about her interests and dreams, enquiring with what appeared to be genuine concern in his eyes whether she was truly recovered from what had to have been an awful ordeal in the woods. And when she walked him down the path to their gate and he drew her closer, a hand lightly resting on her waist, the other on her face, to press a chaste kiss to her cheek she felt an extremely unexpected pang of disappointment in her stomach that his lips had not made contact just a little lower.
After the meal, life returned almost to normal. Althea spent her days visiting Dagda, her mother’s excited comments about Jameth seeming to start at day break and continuing until night fall, her visits allowed her a brief respite. They also helped her force all thoughts of Soren from her mind. While their paths hadn’t crossed since their heated exchange in the forest, he kept creeping into her thoughts. More than once now, when the time to sleep had come, she had just been losing herself in silly, girlish, dreams about Jameth and the life she might lead as a merchant’s wife when Soren had somehow morphed into the scene. And what worried her the most was that when he did, when it was his face she could see, his arms, his hands she could feel near her…upon her, her mind made no attempt to replace him once more with Jameth.
Life in the village, though, seemed to be changing. Tension started to creep into the air. Neighbours seemed to be arguing over the smallest of things and the rumours started. Rumours that the river was going to run dry, that the fish had gone. Accusations of over fishing or of dirtying the waters hung in the air like clouds, darkening the moods and the minds of the villagers.
Dagda too, for the first since she had met him, seemed more strained than usual. His instructions were brief and his mind seemed occupied elsewhere. He left her lists of chores to be undertaken, herbs to be collected, oils to be made. She barely saw him at all during her visits. Until the day she arrived, a few weeks later, to find him surrounded by scrolls and an extremely serious expression.
“There are things we need to discuss,” He said enigmatically, gesturing for her to take a seat. “Tell me, Althea, what do you know of the River Spirit?”