Posted in Arthurian on Aug 17th, 2010 No Comments »
Lancelot, when he was a boy, had no closer friend than Bors, who shared his belief that heroes could not fall like overripe pears from the trees of nobility, men of only clean royal blood and in numbers as strong as a family had sons.
Posted in Arthurian on Aug 17th, 2010 No Comments »
Anne knows the moment he enters her father’s house.
Posted in Arthurian, Crossovers, Fan Fiction, Firefly on Aug 3rd, 2010 No Comments »
“I have to go. It doesn’t matter where any more. I just need to go off-planet.”
Posted in Arthurian, Crossovers, Fan Fiction, Firefly on Aug 3rd, 2010 No Comments »
“Sagramore!”
Mal’s head jerks up like a cocked gun to see who’s got Inara calling out like that, her voice hitting that sweet place it does when she’s pleased. Across the room he half catches sight of a tall man waving back at them.
Posted in Arthurian on Aug 3rd, 2010 No Comments »
Gareth was optimistic.
Posted in Arthurian on Aug 3rd, 2010 No Comments »
In the Old Testament stories, God never sends word to His prophets before He makes them prophets. They’re ordinary men, shepherds and tenders of trees, quiet men, unimportant men. Until He calls them, they go about their lives unaware that there is anything remarkably holy about them.
Posted in Arthurian on Mar 11th, 2010 No Comments »
By the time her fourth son is born into the world, silent as a stillbirth, Anna is past caring. All she’s wanted these years past is a little girl to teach, a girl who will grow up lithe and dark with magic; a place for her power to go when it’s no longer hers. She [...]
Posted in Arthurian on Jan 17th, 2010 No Comments »
God, it’s cold. He wakes up cold.
Posted in Arthurian on Jan 17th, 2010 No Comments »
Guinever knows better now. She wasn’t old enough to when she first met him, or at least she can say that with a semblance of truth, because she might have been old enough to know but she was young enough to think it was so romantic, and young enough to think romanticism justified it.
Posted in Arthurian on Sep 13th, 2009 No Comments »
“You are a child,” she tells him, cupping his dark cheek in her darker hand. Sagramore sighs and clutches a handful of her dress, smooth green silk in at least three shades, jewels woven into her girdle and hem.