#cavallon

[archivednimueries]

‘What Arthur did,’ she said after a while, ‘is marry a rival instead of a companion.’

‘A rival?’

‘Guinevere could rule as well as any man,’ Nimue said, ‘and better than most. She’s cleverer than he is, and every bit as determined. // @cavallon

[xenawarricrprincess]

{ @cavallon​ || sc }

  This wasn’t the first time Xena   was brought before royalty for   one reason or another. However,   the way she was being escorted   into the main hall, she knew this   was one of the cases in which   she was in TROUBLE. 

  At least she figured as much.

  Once she was before their leader --   their king she presumed -- she was   forced onto her knees, resulting in   a deep GROWL from her throat. She   did not speak, simply glared at the   man before her.

[belcvednanna]

@cavallon liked for a starter

“I gave and gave until love ran out, and perhaps even after. It’s the price of representing joy, you see.”

[bhimenua-blog]

@cavallon | i of the storm by of monsters and men

       Molly Grue wondered what the high king must think of her. Haggard hadn’t thought very kindly of her; he’d set her to work nonstop, always washing and cooking and essentially being the one the entire castle balanced upon. He was her only experience with kings, really, and so she was unsure what Arthur saw when she stood before the throne in an awkward curtsy. Perhaps just the body of an uneducated peasant woman, filthy even in her nicest clothing, too tough around the edges, barefoot and thinner than a twig. All empty vessel and crooked teeth. 

        It wasn’t wildly unusual that Schmendrick would be summoned by important people. They had the gold to demand the services of an extremely powerful sorcerer like he was, though he preferred to quietly aid the poor with nothing in return. The good sort of magician, Molly’d found, for she’d met magicians that weren’t quite as kind. But sometimes he were summoned by equally important people who really just were curious if the rumors were true about the Irishman’s vast magic, and that was the case today. 

       Molly Grue had not expected to be summoned to the throne room. Schmendrick wasn’t there at the minute, and there was no need for her, the magician’s wife, to see the king. But a servant had come with the message that the king wished to meet her. 

       The woman wasn’t afraid often, but she was scared now, standing alone before the king on his throne. Perhaps he had heard of her as Molly Grue of the outlaws, part of a long-time gang in the forests. She tried to hide her quivering, but she kept shaking like a leaf. Molly was an alien in this place, this grand structure filled with rich art and architecture-- she was not of this place; she had been raised in the cold earthy forests and the hard land of the serfs. Molly felt like she might wither under the king’s eyes if he knew who she was, knew her past. Being a criminal for that many years was probably punishable by death, wasn’t it? 

        “Your Highness,” She barely managed to speak, curtsying again just in case her first one hadn’t been quite proper enough. “I’m... I’m Molly Grue, wife of Schmendrick. You have summoned me?”

[ofxavalon-archive]

@cavallon

           “Did you know that it is nearly impossible to find anything to get the two of you for Christmas?” Though he did enjoy the tradition, attempting to find gifts for his wife and their lover became more difficult each year. Especially since the three of them hardly needed an excuse to present a gift. 

[sumphcra-blog]

cavallon replied to your post: yeah, hoth leia was my gay awakening thats her...

I think Carrie Fisher in general was just a gay awakening

honestly?? youre not wrong skldgdf

[xmousepotato]

@cavallon

“It’s not like that, Lance.” Her tone is exasperated, like she’s had this same exact conversation with him a hundred times. In reality it had only been twice, but she felt like she didn’t have to explain it even that many times.

“Then what’s it like, Bobbi?”

She presses a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes in frustration, as if the pressure there would somehow relieve the pressure building behind her eyes, a sigh on her lips. She’s not actively listening to him, and if she’s being honest has no idea what he was saying, other than ‘whatever problem he had could wait until she was done with what she was doing’.

“Look, Lance,” She uses his name, because she wants him to know that she knows who she’s dealing with, it’s a manipulation tactic, “I understand this is important to you, but I am kind of dealing with a lot right now, so I need some space.”

“Bobbi,” he says because he’s familiar with her manipulation tactics, he’s dumb, but he knows her too. “If you wanted space you wouldn’t be sitting in my living room, listening to my police radio scanner, in your outfit. So who” She thinks he sounds a bit like an owl, or more like a Mockingbird....wait a second that’s her shtick, Lance!

“You figured it out, I’m proud of you, now if you shut up I can listen.”

“Bo--”

“Shhh.”

It’s not long until she hears what she’s looking for and she’s climbing out the window and not long after that before she’s climbing back in the window to ask for directions (which he knew was going to happen, seeing as he’s standing there, tapping his foot in frustration).

“Look, I’ll explain when I get back.”

“That’s an actual when and not an if you come back.”

“Sure, if that helps.”

“Bobbi”

“Fine, when I get back. Don’t wait up for me, can I go now, honey?” Her tone is sarcastic as she climbs back out the window, not waiting for his response (which is to close it a little too hard and lock it, she had a key she could use it).

She knows that she doesn’t have long to get to that location and then her whole plan is out the door and things get a lot messier, she just has to beat the police to her target, and well...she’s on foot, and there’s no SHIELD and no SHIELD tech and Tony wouldn’t give her the Quinjet and it’s not like she could just leave like that and then borrow Lance’s car.

So it’s over the buildings she goes, running as fast as she can, scarcely breathing until she swoops down, arms stretched out, wings of her suit catching the air, a bought of nervous laughter ripping through her. This is the part that she loves the most.

It takes her five minutes before she’s back on solid ground, landing softly down the street from him, keeping a lookout for police, tailing the man before approaching him, fingers grabbing him gently (mind your strength Bobbi) but firmly by the elbow of his bomber jacket, forcing him to pause a moment to look at her, so she could verify him, making note of the name on his jacket, she’d compare it to pictures later, but for now.

Her voice is quiet, unalarming, but urgent.

“Sir, you’re in danger, I need you to come with me.”

[colourphone-blog]

@cavallon 

      The old gods were probably supposed to be dead. 

      It seemed that many were Christian these days, with their hands clasped together tightly in prayer towards the one that decorated their stained-glass windows and church relics. In many lands, one could easily be burned or otherwise killed for believing in old gods. 

      But they did not so easily die, not the ancients. Loki still crept from shadows, scarred lips grinning like a bat, and it was still Zeus who shook his lightning bolts in the sky. The old pantheons simply weren’t worshipped or honored for it. But Iris, who had never been quite worshipped in the first place-- no temples, scarce art, no epic poems-- continued on her steady message-sending. But her interaction with mortals slowed to near stop, especially interaction where she displayed her ichor-veined self. 

       She arrived at the castle, wrapped in a cloak of bright blue. Wherever she went, it seemed that birds followed, their high chirps and chatters echoing after her. She nodded, as if understanding. A roll of parchment hung from one hand and an ancient messenger’s staff, a pole with two circles atop, was held upright from the other. 

     The goddess appeared to be nothing more than an bizarre child. Her face was not usual for this region, her hair was cut short in a strange fashion, and she wore a hunting tunic beneath the cloak. Her usual cheerful humor was masked beneath a serious expression.

       “I have a message for King Arthur. It’s important, see.”