Morning came late for Ulric. Not enough sleep, he laughed to himself. And he was by himself, Hal'et had already risen to find her duty. He could still smell her on the bed. What a gal. She'd made good on every look, hint, and tease; laughing and giggling the entire time, when she wasn't making an altogether different type of sound.
What a gal, Ulric thought again as he pulled himself out of bed. A blanketless bed. The comforter and over sheet had been discarded early on. Taking a minute to collect these items and make the bed Ulric basked in the glow of the night. He hoped the elf lass would take care of herself, he found her good humor infectious, to say nothing of the rest of her.
With the mess corrected, Ulric strode naked to the pitcher and poured a half glass of the last of the juice. He felt like he'd need about two gallons of water to set himself to rights. It was a wonder his blood pressure hadn't dropped. Bemused contemplation of carnal carnival was his excuse for why he didn't hear the door to the study open.
"Do you intend to spend all of the day in your skin Glade Chief?" He heard in the unmistakable cutting lilt of his Shadow.
She was not going to have his joy though, not today. And if she was going to barge into his room without knocking, she was going to get to enjoy the sight of his bare ass for as long as he chose to share it.
"If you'd seen how this skin got used in the last few hours you'd stay in it too. I might not bathe today just to keep the feel of her fresh." Ulric retorted, looking over his shoulder.
Wonder of wonders that might have bought him a blush. Could it be? Was this fierce woman, this centurion, this dealer of death for her peoples, possibly shy? Amongst these folk? A hard life that would have to be, they were pretty off the cuff about the nightly distractions. She hadn't shown a lick of shame about being nude in the baths though, had apparently taken in stride his view of her. Maybe there was a kind of social conditioning that made those kinds of situations more comfortable? This needed testing.
Ulric turned to face her, glass in hand, one hand on his hip. He drank away the last of the juice and carefully put it down on the table, making sure to keep Geyrt in his sight. Every motion was completely deliberate and without a single hint of difference from what he’d do fully armored. It was time to determine how his Shadow handled his presence, which would inform him about how he should handle hers, and by association, others. He caught her inspection though he pretended no notice of it, which seemed to be the correct way to respond amongst the Elves.
Hmm…so his Shadow is at least somewhat aware of him as a male or as a person. Good. Not that he ever planned on working in that direction, he was not ashamed to admit that the thought of her father descending on him for some break of traditions he was unaware of took the starch right out of him. Her mother was only slightly less terrifying. No sir, Geyrt Iriel was firmly living in Look but don’t Touch Land.
Leaning back against the table he made himself comfortable. He was prepared to waste a great deal of time, if necessary. This was science, no rushing.
"What duty has brought you to my rooms with such quiet my Shadow?" He asked casually.
She stirred slightly and held his gaze. He couldn’t read her expression, she was using her Hunter’s poker face.
"I had come to see if there was enough of you left to bother attending the Midsunsrise lessons my father had arranged today. It seems my fears were unfounded, Hal'et left you whole and uneaten." Geyrt replied evenly.
Oho, so not completely a prude. And yet. Perhaps this was a pretense? A bold ploy to cover her discomfort?
"I am afraid you may have the reverse of things in your mind. It was not fair Hal'et doing the eating." Ulric said without particular emphasis, a grin finding its way to his face at the memory.
And there! She was blushing! Her gaze twitched again to take him in before returning to his own. If he hadn't been studying her keeping her under a microscope, as if he was examining a grain pattern in a sample to be tested, he wouldn't have caught it. Now the game was afoot, she was off balance and that meant a little shove might just do the trick.
Ulric continued, maintaining his overly matter of fact tone, "And yet, I am afraid she did carry off the better part of me. What you see before you is a hollow shell of a man, absent vital essence. Why, if I had a scale to measure I--"
"Enough! Enough! I have heard enough, the pair of you all night like animals and now this." She shouted.
Waving her hands, the woman's courage failed and she turned around quickly.
Ulric was positive she did not mean him to hear her mutter "I should have known better, he's bad as father." which comparison made him proud. Who could ask more than to be cut from the same cloth as that great man? It was good to be king and this victory was all the sweeter for his finally having learned a vulnerability in the woman.
The results of his experiment? Geyrt probably was not a prude, she'd had the ability to jest, however sarcastic she'd been, about sex. And she handled his exposure with a fair degree of composure, minus a few cracks for the observant eye. But there was definitely something there, a vulnerability, born of discomfort around him or with her own position with regards to her status, he wasn’t sure, and he could exploit it through overtly brazen immaturity.
Satisfied with this short study in Iriel’en Taipans and Their Habits, he filed his observations away and considered the day to come. He would be magnanimous about her defeat, no sense driving her to frothy rage before the dew burned off. He was sure there would be time enough later, even without his actively trying.
"I have been meaning to ask you, how is it that this structure is heated and free of wind?" Ulric asked, genuinely curious but also allowing his Shadow a reprieve.
This had been bothering him ever since they'd arrived. So many windows, so many natural components to the rooms, so much space. Entire walls of woven limb and vine and clearly visible daylight pouring through them. But no wind entered the building, not until he'd opened the doors to the balcony the night before. No drafts either. The space was almost totally comfortable as if it had a marvelously tuned HVAC system.
She turned to see him still standing there and quickly turned back around. Gods, who knew having no shame was so fun? He would consider this harassment if it hadn't been she who had barged into his rooms without warning. She would learn. He’d been nearly a month living in the buff after his unceremonious arrival to Varda.
"Will you clothe yourself already? I will announce myself next time, and will not enter until given leave. You’ve had your fun, but there is such thing as running a joke too far. This walks the line between confidence and gratuity." She scolded, clearly exasperated.
He supposed he really did have things to do and she had been punished enough. Ulric found his clothes, pants and armored skirt next to the bed, with his belt across the room. Lorica, undercoat, and pauldrons were still under the table. Dressing, he asked his question again.
This time she turned to find him clothed and he could see relief on her face as she started to explain.
"There is a magical weave placed on the bones of Irielhos, it acts to bar the wind from entering the walls of the citadel. The same weave keeps the air a constant temperature. It is one of the great achievements of the Aktinia, the coastal Elves who contend with powerful ocean storms and greater heat during the summer. Here, even in the coming Winter cold, it will keep the fortress city warm. Only the pavilions will feel the bite of the season."
Now that was certainly a hell of a thing. They had magical central heat and air. And airproofing. Truly magic was an incredible thing. He wanted to know more.
"That is fascinating. Do they achieve the thermal stability by trapping the heat or generating it? Does the material of the structure itself store the energy it removes from the air or simply cycle it out into the exterior? Also, how do the air barriers work? Is the air stilled at the surface or directed around it? That would produce a fairly large impulse under strong gusts. Like the ones I'm seeing outside now." Ulric questioned.
Now that he was paying attention there were some evil looking clouds outside and the wind appeared to be howling judging by the motion of the tree tops below. But of that wind, neither a sound or feel of it could be detected inside the fortress. Amazing. He didn't even know where to start making such a thing with magic. Doing it with engineering involved all kinds of shock absorption, soundproofing, and ways to eliminate vortex shedding vibrations. Technologies that, so far as he could tell, were quite far beyond the Elven civilization around him. They appeared to learn a thing and then to master it to completion rather than make the herky jerky jumps that characterized his own people's history of eclectic genius.
His Shadow merely shrugged at the questions murming "The workings of mages should be asked of mages." A fine way to say "I have no clue".
"There appears to be a massive storm on the horizon. Is this your much vaunted Winter Herald?" Ulric inquired, changing track.
Geyrt nodded, glancing out the window to witness the flights of leaves pulled from tenuous grasp on branches.
"It is. The wind will blow fiercely for two days or so. It will rain a downpour fit to drown fish. And when it passes the air will go frigid and stay that way for the five months until spring. The weather watchers say this year will be a heavy snowing winter. They are rarely wrong. It is good that you have chosen to accept my father's hospitality." She said, absent irritation.
Good indeed. He would not like to imagine what kind of gale would be sweeping across the heights of the Plateau. If he hadn't built his home into the side of one of those fallen Elder trees he had no doubt a wind like that would have proven destructive. His stomach grumbled, interrupting his consideration of the weather.
"Ah. Seems I'm a little famished. What is the usual means for breakfast around here?" He asked.
Whatever the first reply she was going to make died on her lips. A prod? Sarcasm? A joke? He would be left to wonder; her second attempt was a simple: We will away to the mess hall.
Cafeteria food it was. Ulric was honestly not worried. He hadn't eaten anything yet that wasn't a fine example of culinary mastery. It was worth noting that his comparison before his time with the Elves was glade root and herb soups, roasted game, and the odd berries, when they could be determined not to make his bowls run or his lips go numb. As delicious as the [Forest Lord] meat was, it could have used a little salt.
They left the apartments in relatively good cheer. Ulric certainly was floating and his Shadow, if not as outwardly self-satisfied, wasn't in a temper, at least. Solid start to the morning.
As they walked, Geyrt in the lead, Ulric examined the coming storm. Clouds black on grey on white rolled. Tufts of cirrus were blown free ahead of the front. It promised to be every bit the humdinger that his Shadow had said it would be. They passed through several of the open pavilions, which were bare of warriors. There was remarkably little traffic, now that Ulric turned his attention to where they were going. The bustle of yestermorning was gone, the flow of craftsmen and goods now a trickle, and, overall, the place had the feel of a held breath.
As they strode into the cafeteria, consisting of five kettles, each being tended by a staffer who was assisted by a baker, flowered to the elbows, in various states of breadmaking with a set of large brick ovens behind them. Ulric was nearly as surprised by the brick as anything else. It showed that they knew how to make and use the material, was it merely an aesthetic choice then that dictated the lack of stonework elsewhere? Onto the pile of unknowns it goes Ulric boy, the pile that never shrinks but grows.
His Shadow led them to a kettle where they were offered a large bowl of stew and a plate holding a slab of bread, a thick slice of cheese, and a single soft skinned rosy red fruit, which Ulric nearly spat upon hearing the name of: the jamfruit. So named because it was so prevalent and tasty that it was stored en masse as a jam, jelly, or preserve.
Thus loaded down, Geyrt strode to one of the long empty tables, numbering near to fifty in this great hall alone. Circular in shape, they sat eight chairs each. Many tables were vacant, but just as many others held a tightly clustered group of five or six. Only rarely were tables occupied in couples or triplets and rarer still a full table. Seems these were the rings or Elven social circles Brighteyes had mentioned. Thinking about the kid Ulric wondered how he was doing. He sort of missed the little guy. Probably being pampered by his mom and smothered in affection by his kin. Good for him, he deserved it.
Geyrt unceremoniously tucked into breakfast so Ulric did the same. He'd noticed that the only tables at which there was talking were the ones with stacked empty bowls. They really did eat in silence as a rule. Keeping his people watching on the down low he couldn't help but appreciate the ordered chaos of Elven society. Just when he was sure he was in a savage tribal warrior cult they went all silent dignity of Lothlorien on him. He didn't realize quite how hungry he'd been as he absolutely cleared his plate and swabbed the bowl clean with the last of his bread. Meal completed he sat back and stared at the ceiling, letting the food warmth settle into his bones.
Morning came late for Ulric. Not enough sleep, he laughed to himself. And he was by himself, Hal'et had already risen to find her duty. He could still smell her on the bed. What a gal. She'd made good on every look, hint, and tease; laughing and giggling the entire time, when she wasn't making an altogether different type of sound.
What a gal, Ulric thought again as he pulled himself out of bed. A blanketless bed. The comforter and over sheet had been discarded early on. Taking a minute to collect these items and make the bed Ulric basked in the glow of the night. He hoped the elf lass would take care of herself, he found her good humor infectious, to say nothing of the rest of her.
With the mess corrected, Ulric strode naked to the pitcher and poured a half glass of the last of the juice. He felt like he'd need about two gallons of water to set himself to rights. It was a wonder his blood pressure hadn't dropped. Bemused contemplation of carnal carnival was his excuse for why he didn't hear the door to the study open.
"Do you intend to spend all of the day in your skin Glade Chief?" He heard in the unmistakable cutting lilt of his Shadow.
She was not going to have his joy though, not today. And if she was going to barge into his room without knocking, she was going to get to enjoy the sight of his bare ass for as long as he chose to share it.
"If you'd seen how this skin got used in the last few hours you'd stay in it too. I might not bathe today just to keep the feel of her fresh." Ulric retorted, looking over his shoulder.
Wonder of wonders that might have bought him a blush. Could it be? Was this fierce woman, this centurion, this dealer of death for her peoples, possibly shy? Amongst these folk? A hard life that would have to be, they were pretty off the cuff about the nightly distractions. She hadn't shown a lick of shame about being nude in the baths though, had apparently taken in stride his view of her. Maybe there was a kind of social conditioning that made those kinds of situations more comfortable? This needed testing.
Ulric turned to face her, glass in hand, one hand on his hip. He drank away the last of the juice and carefully put it down on the table, making sure to keep Geyrt in his sight. Every motion was completely deliberate and without a single hint of difference from what he’d do fully armored. It was time to determine how his Shadow handled his presence, which would inform him about how he should handle hers, and by association, others. He caught her inspection though he pretended no notice of it, which seemed to be the correct way to respond amongst the Elves.
Hmm…so his Shadow is at least somewhat aware of him as a male or as a person. Good. Not that he ever planned on working in that direction, he was not ashamed to admit that the thought of her father descending on him for some break of traditions he was unaware of took the starch right out of him. Her mother was only slightly less terrifying. No sir, Geyrt Iriel was firmly living in Look but don’t Touch Land.
Leaning back against the table he made himself comfortable. He was prepared to waste a great deal of time, if necessary. This was science, no rushing.
"What duty has brought you to my rooms with such quiet my Shadow?" He asked casually.
She stirred slightly and held his gaze. He couldn’t read her expression, she was using her Hunter’s poker face.
"I had come to see if there was enough of you left to bother attending the Midsunsrise lessons my father had arranged today. It seems my fears were unfounded, Hal'et left you whole and uneaten." Geyrt replied evenly.
Oho, so not completely a prude. And yet. Perhaps this was a pretense? A bold ploy to cover her discomfort?
"I am afraid you may have the reverse of things in your mind. It was not fair Hal'et doing the eating." Ulric said without particular emphasis, a grin finding its way to his face at the memory.
And there! She was blushing! Her gaze twitched again to take him in before returning to his own. If he hadn't been studying her keeping her under a microscope, as if he was examining a grain pattern in a sample to be tested, he wouldn't have caught it. Now the game was afoot, she was off balance and that meant a little shove might just do the trick.
Ulric continued, maintaining his overly matter of fact tone, "And yet, I am afraid she did carry off the better part of me. What you see before you is a hollow shell of a man, absent vital essence. Why, if I had a scale to measure I--"
"Enough! Enough! I have heard enough, the pair of you all night like animals and now this." She shouted.
Waving her hands, the woman's courage failed and she turned around quickly.
Ulric was positive she did not mean him to hear her mutter "I should have known better, he's bad as father." which comparison made him proud. Who could ask more than to be cut from the same cloth as that great man? It was good to be king and this victory was all the sweeter for his finally having learned a vulnerability in the woman.
The results of his experiment? Geyrt probably was not a prude, she'd had the ability to jest, however sarcastic she'd been, about sex. And she handled his exposure with a fair degree of composure, minus a few cracks for the observant eye. But there was definitely something there, a vulnerability, born of discomfort around him or with her own position with regards to her status, he wasn’t sure, and he could exploit it through overtly brazen immaturity.
Satisfied with this short study in Iriel’en Taipans and Their Habits, he filed his observations away and considered the day to come. He would be magnanimous about her defeat, no sense driving her to frothy rage before the dew burned off. He was sure there would be time enough later, even without his actively trying.
"I have been meaning to ask you, how is it that this structure is heated and free of wind?" Ulric asked, genuinely curious but also allowing his Shadow a reprieve.
This had been bothering him ever since they'd arrived. So many windows, so many natural components to the rooms, so much space. Entire walls of woven limb and vine and clearly visible daylight pouring through them. But no wind entered the building, not until he'd opened the doors to the balcony the night before. No drafts either. The space was almost totally comfortable as if it had a marvelously tuned HVAC system.
She turned to see him still standing there and quickly turned back around. Gods, who knew having no shame was so fun? He would consider this harassment if it hadn't been she who had barged into his rooms without warning. She would learn. He’d been nearly a month living in the buff after his unceremonious arrival to Varda.
"Will you clothe yourself already? I will announce myself next time, and will not enter until given leave. You’ve had your fun, but there is such thing as running a joke too far. This walks the line between confidence and gratuity." She scolded, clearly exasperated.
He supposed he really did have things to do and she had been punished enough. Ulric found his clothes, pants and armored skirt next to the bed, with his belt across the room. Lorica, undercoat, and pauldrons were still under the table. Dressing, he asked his question again.
This time she turned to find him clothed and he could see relief on her face as she started to explain.
"There is a magical weave placed on the bones of Irielhos, it acts to bar the wind from entering the walls of the citadel. The same weave keeps the air a constant temperature. It is one of the great achievements of the Aktinia, the coastal Elves who contend with powerful ocean storms and greater heat during the summer. Here, even in the coming Winter cold, it will keep the fortress city warm. Only the pavilions will feel the bite of the season."
Now that was certainly a hell of a thing. They had magical central heat and air. And airproofing. Truly magic was an incredible thing. He wanted to know more.
"That is fascinating. Do they achieve the thermal stability by trapping the heat or generating it? Does the material of the structure itself store the energy it removes from the air or simply cycle it out into the exterior? Also, how do the air barriers work? Is the air stilled at the surface or directed around it? That would produce a fairly large impulse under strong gusts. Like the ones I'm seeing outside now." Ulric questioned.
Now that he was paying attention there were some evil looking clouds outside and the wind appeared to be howling judging by the motion of the tree tops below. But of that wind, neither a sound or feel of it could be detected inside the fortress. Amazing. He didn't even know where to start making such a thing with magic. Doing it with engineering involved all kinds of shock absorption, soundproofing, and ways to eliminate vortex shedding vibrations. Technologies that, so far as he could tell, were quite far beyond the Elven civilization around him. They appeared to learn a thing and then to master it to completion rather than make the herky jerky jumps that characterized his own people's history of eclectic genius.
His Shadow merely shrugged at the questions murming "The workings of mages should be asked of mages." A fine way to say "I have no clue".
"There appears to be a massive storm on the horizon. Is this your much vaunted Winter Herald?" Ulric inquired, changing track.
Geyrt nodded, glancing out the window to witness the flights of leaves pulled from tenuous grasp on branches.
"It is. The wind will blow fiercely for two days or so. It will rain a downpour fit to drown fish. And when it passes the air will go frigid and stay that way for the five months until spring. The weather watchers say this year will be a heavy snowing winter. They are rarely wrong. It is good that you have chosen to accept my father's hospitality." She said, absent irritation.
Good indeed. He would not like to imagine what kind of gale would be sweeping across the heights of the Plateau. If he hadn't built his home into the side of one of those fallen Elder trees he had no doubt a wind like that would have proven destructive. His stomach grumbled, interrupting his consideration of the weather.
"Ah. Seems I'm a little famished. What is the usual means for breakfast around here?" He asked.
Whatever the first reply she was going to make died on her lips. A prod? Sarcasm? A joke? He would be left to wonder; her second attempt was a simple: We will away to the mess hall.
Cafeteria food it was. Ulric was honestly not worried. He hadn't eaten anything yet that wasn't a fine example of culinary mastery. It was worth noting that his comparison before his time with the Elves was glade root and herb soups, roasted game, and the odd berries, when they could be determined not to make his bowls run or his lips go numb. As delicious as the [Forest Lord] meat was, it could have used a little salt.
They left the apartments in relatively good cheer. Ulric certainly was floating and his Shadow, if not as outwardly self-satisfied, wasn't in a temper, at least. Solid start to the morning.
As they walked, Geyrt in the lead, Ulric examined the coming storm. Clouds black on grey on white rolled. Tufts of cirrus were blown free ahead of the front. It promised to be every bit the humdinger that his Shadow had said it would be. They passed through several of the open pavilions, which were bare of warriors. There was remarkably little traffic, now that Ulric turned his attention to where they were going. The bustle of yestermorning was gone, the flow of craftsmen and goods now a trickle, and, overall, the place had the feel of a held breath.
As they strode into the cafeteria, consisting of five kettles, each being tended by a staffer who was assisted by a baker, flowered to the elbows, in various states of breadmaking with a set of large brick ovens behind them. Ulric was nearly as surprised by the brick as anything else. It showed that they knew how to make and use the material, was it merely an aesthetic choice then that dictated the lack of stonework elsewhere? Onto the pile of unknowns it goes Ulric boy, the pile that never shrinks but grows.
His Shadow led them to a kettle where they were offered a large bowl of stew and a plate holding a slab of bread, a thick slice of cheese, and a single soft skinned rosy red fruit, which Ulric nearly spat upon hearing the name of: the jamfruit. So named because it was so prevalent and tasty that it was stored en masse as a jam, jelly, or preserve.
Thus loaded down, Geyrt strode to one of the long empty tables, numbering near to fifty in this great hall alone. Circular in shape, they sat eight chairs each. Many tables were vacant, but just as many others held a tightly clustered group of five or six. Only rarely were tables occupied in couples or triplets and rarer still a full table. Seems these were the rings or Elven social circles Brighteyes had mentioned. Thinking about the kid Ulric wondered how he was doing. He sort of missed the little guy. Probably being pampered by his mom and smothered in affection by his kin. Good for him, he deserved it.
Geyrt unceremoniously tucked into breakfast so Ulric did the same. He'd noticed that the only tables at which there was talking were the ones with stacked empty bowls. They really did eat in silence as a rule. Keeping his people watching on the down low he couldn't help but appreciate the ordered chaos of Elven society. Just when he was sure he was in a savage tribal warrior cult they went all silent dignity of Lothlorien on him. He didn't realize quite how hungry he'd been as he absolutely cleared his plate and swabbed the bowl clean with the last of his bread. Meal completed he sat back and stared at the ceiling, letting the food warmth settle into his bones.
