Milk and Cocoa | Andros and Lorna | Completed
The moment she had arrived at Hogwarts, the first thing Lorna had been dying to do was see the grand lake by the castle. It was morning and the halls were empty as everyone seemed to be sleeping off the festivities of the Yule Ball. Lady Yaxley had not attended, for having just arrived yesterday, she was far too tired. It was a shame, really. Lorna loved dancing. This morning, the sun was bright and lent some warmth, though it was still rather chilly out. Draped in a simple, white dress with a sheer shawl and an elaborate pearl design atop her fire-red hair, she was well aware that she was both under dressed and a peculiar sight.
She made her way towards the lake, her walking pattern was smooth and graceful, almost a dance in itself. She spotted a figure close to the lake…a man. Upon closer inspection, Lorna also discovered he was shirtless and sweaty, as if he had just taken a run around Scotland. He was certainly a fine sight, that much was sure. Long, dark tangled hair, tanned skin, a few visible scars…and those muscles! Lorna grinned to herself, standing a few feet away from the man and looking out at the lake.
“‘Tis a lovely morning. Shame no one else seems to be awake to witness it.” She was standing with her arms by her side, chin up, as if she were waiting to take flight. She closed her blue eyes, letting her other senses enjoy the feel of the sun as it enveloped her. “Are you out here every morning, dear sir?” Lorna asked, her voice sing-song and sweet. Her eyes were still closed.
Andros’ people valued nature above anything else, the Mountain was their God, the Dragon his wife and the magical creatures that lived in the sacred green lands were their revered children. His grandfather had always told him that he meditated every morning, reflected upon the world and praying to the mountain and his dragon queen. Andros, however, had been extremely rash in his youth, and thought that it was a pointless waste of time that could better be spent slaying men of rival tribes. He had taken up the practice a few years after he had left home, however, and while the English countryside paled in comparison to his mountains, it felt good to have some connection to his God.
Upon his arrival to Hogwarts he had decided a small hill, overlooking the lake, was the best place to perform his morning meditation. He would settle down an hour or two before sun rise and leave to break his fast, then return once more for training. The party last night, however, seemed to have thrown everyone off balance and he himself had only acquired three hours of sleep, but sleep was not terribly important, especially when there were much more important things to do. He had cut short the time he spent and skipped breakfast in favor of starting his training early.
He saw a figure dressed in white approaching him and sheathed his sword, the blue flames it had been bathed in crawling back up his arm and dying down. He regarded her curiously, she had arrived recently, he guessed, as he had not seen her face before. He did not answer her first comment, because frankly he was quite glad no one else was awake. Training without the boisterous, and annoying, knights around him was a refreshing change. She seemed to be speaking to him now, but not looking at him, “Yes,” he answered cautiously before approaching her, “You …are not here before?” he questioned, once he had reached her side.
Lorna took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air and letting it fill up her lungs. After a long moment, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly in the man’s direction. English was not his first language, that much was certain. Not that she minded…he must have many great stories to tell. She nodded her head, before adding, “I arrived last night.” She finally turned her whole body towards him.
“Where are you from?” Lorna asked, letting the shawl fall down onto the grass. He had a very intense face…no doubt he had seen some terrible things in his lifetime, which couldn’t be much longer or shorter than her own nineteen years. She tilted her head, studying a particularly long, faded scar on his bronze chest. Lorna reached out, very slowly, and traced the scar with one delicate white finger. “Battle?” She asked, simply.
This was a very strange girl, she did not act as he had seen the others with similar faces act, but he seemed to be seeing more and more oddities the longer he spent at Hogwarts. He did not know whether this comforted him or made him feel even more out of place. It was one thing to be a foreigner among one kind, but being a foreigner among more foreigners, or at least among people who did not represent the norms of their society, was an entirely different thing. He nodded, indicating he understood. That would explain why he had not seen her last night.
“Your tongue knows not my home,” on occasion he would pour over the maps in the library, the ones she called Ravenclaw had brought, but he could not find any mention of his home, nor some of the other places he had visited. He glanced at her shawl as it fell, wondering whether or not he should pick it up. She didn’t appear to have dropped it, however, so he let it lie in the grass. He stayed still as she traced the scar, a faded memory of a battle he had fought many many moons ago. “Yes,” he said, taking her hand in his and guiding it over the other scars on his chest, “Battle.”
So, he was from a place she would never have even read about. Curious. Lorna watched as he took her hand and let her fingers trace over the other scars on his chest. He did not seem proud of them, yet he wasn’t quite sad either. A true warrior. The battles he had fought were simply part of his life…Lorna wondered if that was common among his people, or if he was an exception. She looked up, into his intense, dark eyes. “What name do you go by?”
She stopped touching him, but still stayed close. “I am Lorna.” She said, placing her hand on her chest. No need to complicate things by telling him she was actually ‘Lady Lorna Yaxley of Greenforest’. “Names are pretty, but meaningless.” She said aloud, more to herself than to him. Taking a few steps back, she lowered herself to the ground, sitting in the grass. It was still laced with dew, untouched and pure. Lorna lay back, looking up at the sky.
Scars meant nothing to his people, they were ambiguous. Bad and good warriors alike received scars, and many scars could mean many battles fought or few lost battles. His grandfather had once told him that scars served to remind you that you were only human. No matter how many battles you have one, or how many enemies you have slain, the day you forget that you are also made of flesh and blood and can be slain as well is the day you die, “Andros.”
“Lorna,” he repeated, testing the sound, comparing it to how he had heard her speak it. He gave her a confused look, not understanding what she meant. He watched her sit, but did not join her, standing beside her instead and looking up at the sky as well. He thought about her words and thought about the names he knew, his name, the names of his god and his children, the names of his swords which were never spoken, and decided that she was wrong, “I know not your tongue, but you wrong mine names.”
Lorna continued watching the sky, admiring the way the sun reflected upon the clouds. “There are many things out in this great big world that do not have a name, yet they are still important.” She said, not sure how much of this he was actually comprehending. Not that it mattered much, since she was just echoing her own thoughts. “If your name was not Andros, would you be a different person?”
Lorna sighed again. There were a few names she wished she could forget, names she never wanted to hear again. Her heart ached at the thought…don’t think about him, Lorna. Of course, the nameless person had an impact on her life, whether he was in the forefront of her mind or not. For eight years, she had become someone else entirely, a hollow version of herself. She felt her heart pound, her stomach becoming knotted. Still, tears would not come to her eyes. She had none left to cry.
Andros tired of looking at the sky and turned to the lake instead. His people regarded the moon and the stars highly, there was nothing to look at during the day but the sun and the clouds, which would still be seen at night. Perhaps it was because night brought a reprieve from the scorching day, cold could be cured with fire, but there was nothing that could ward off the desert sun. He tried to think of something important which had no name, but could not come up with anything, he thought that maybe this was because their language was flawed, “All is important is named,” he insisted.
He thought about her question, he was named after one of his great ancestors. He did not know what his name meant in the foreign tongue, nor how to explain it, but it was an important part of who he was, he knew that much. “Yes,” he answered, turning to look at her. But she was not looking back at him, instead she was looking up at the sky with an incredibly sad look on her face. He was not quite certain what to do, so he sat down beside her, placing his sword on the grass carefully.
Lorna turned her head, watching him sit down. “Your sword.” She said, looking over at it as it lay in the grass the same way she was. “Does it have a name?” She was sure it did, as most people named their treasured possessions. Her sister, Nora, would be delighted to see such a grand sword. Lorna was not as material, though she could admire a great piece of work, as well as a fine body, when she saw one.
“Women must enjoy your company.” She observed. Unless he was interested in men, which of course, would also most likely enjoy someone like Andros. Tall, dark, and handsome, as well as being a man of few words. She turned her head again, back up to the sky. There were a thousand questions she could ask this man…one at a time, Lorna, one at a time.
“Yes,” he answered, that sword was the one that was passed down in their family, handed to him by his grandfather. It was ancient and made with magic, it could withstand the elements and great force, and always remained sharp. The handle was another matter, he had to change the leather of the handle almost every other day, as it became too scorched to use. “But is not spoken,” he answered her. The sword’s name was known, it was written on the sword itself, but it was said that speaking it’s name would null it’s power. No one knew whether or not this was merely superstition, but he would not risk it. “This,” he began, drawing his other blade, the one he had crafted and named himself on his 16th birthday, “is Tanis.”
“I observed, this is true,” he said, and it was. Although most women enjoyed a specific part of his company more than anything else. Nor was he particularly opposed to men, not that he’d been with very many. Things were not the same here as they were in other places of the world that he had been, and he either did not give off a very welcoming impression, or these Englishmen were simply not interested. “You enjoy this company?” he asked, as he sheathed both his blades.
“Tanis.” Lorna repeated, looking back over at the blade Andros had drawn. She wondered what the name meant. It was a beautiful piece. Did Nora name her blades? She must have. It was a bit depressing how little Lorna knew about her little sister. Then again, Nora hardly knew anything about her either. Maybe if she did, she wouldn’t be so quick to judge…“They are both very beautiful.” She said, gesturing towards the blades.
Sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest, Lorna regarded Andros. “Sometimes, yes.” She replied. It was true. Sex was like art and music…it was beautiful and natural, though Lorna was not willing to just fall into bed with whoever asked. She was more brazen than most, especially now that she had stopped letting sex and love become combined. That had been a mistake…one she was determined not to make again. “Do you?” Lorna rested her chin on her knees. Did he enjoy the attention he got?
“Blade of mine fathers,” he said, gesturing to the sword lying in the grass, “and mine,” he said, holding up his own work. He was proud of his sword. It was custom that at 16, if a boy has already slain his first man, then he may craft his own sword. This was the sword he wielded with his left hand, the weaker side of his body, for it was the right that he used to channel his magic and cast his spells. The craft of infusing swords with magic had been lost to his people, or perhaps it was hidden and only revealed to the worthy, he did not know.
He knew enough about English customs to know that sex was something of a taboo subject, and that people were not as bold when it came to those sorts of interactions. Besides, they wore far too many layers of clothing and complicated even the simplest, most natural interactions. Everything from who you shake hands with to who you chose to sup with had some kind of hidden meaning that he would never understand. He shrugged in response to her question, “I not differ than other man in this.” For all their customs and subtleties and context he was certain that these men were not any different than himself. If they were given the chance they would seize it just as surely as he would. Andros just seemed to be given more opportunities than most.
She raised an eyebrow, thinking about how skilled Andros probably was, wondering if he had ever been in love, how many lovers he had…Lorna was enjoying the boldness of their conversation, for she knew better than to speak like this to an Englishman. Besides the fact that Lorna was more open-minded than most, she was also Scottish, and her people were known for being more brazen than most English. Still, it was best to move on to a different subject before she started to get hot and bothered.
“Are all men from your home warriors? What age do you start your training?” Lorna asked, truly curious. As a noble woman, her life had been considerably dull up until very recently. She grew up learning proper etiquette, reading, writing, music, dancing, how to ride a horse like a lady…no different than any other noble woman. She yearned for stories, substance to turn into a song, or something to simply think over.
Andros had not noticed much difference between the Scottish and the English, perhaps because he had only met with peasants and farmers on his travels, and peasants and farmers were all the same, albeit the Scottish ones were a little rowdier. But here at Hogwarts everyone seemed to be nobility, or spent time around nobility, or were a higher class of farmer. Perhaps it was the magic, he knew that it had given him and his fathers before him an advantage in battle, and their people believed that their magic was also linked to their wisdom and ability to lead. But these wand wavers did not use their magic for battle, nor did they value battle the way his people did.
“Yes,” he answered, slightly confused by the sudden change in topic, “Training is from birth, to be warrior is not only to hold sword.” It had taken many moons after he had left home for him to figure this out, “Training is for life,” he continued. Every man of his people knew how to wield a sword, even if they decided to become smiths or craftsman or healers. “Women are warriors, if it please them,” unlike men, women were free to choose whether or not they wished to learn how to use a sword, or a bow as most chose. They accompanied the hunters or used their skill to protect themselves while they foraged or while the men were away, but whether or not a woman knew how to fight did not differentiate her from the other women.
Lorna liked that his tribe did not feel women were as useless at fighting as Englishmen did. Though she was not a warrior herself, she knew a woman could pack as mean a punch as any man, and could be ten times more cruel. “I do not know much of fighting,” She admitted, with a coy smile. “But I have been told my tongue is sharper than any sword.” Lorna figured that saying might go over Andros’s head. Hopefully he didn’t take it to literally. Just in case, she stuck out her tongue to show him that it was not actually sharp.
“Do you ever spar without a sword?” Lorna lifted herself up so that she now sat on her knees. “If I were to strike at you with my bare hands, could you stop me?” She knew the answer to that, of course, but she was curious about his reflexes. Quickly, she lifted a hand, as if to hit him, but he had caught her before she could even show that she did not actually intend to smack him.
He shrugged, indicating that it did not matter to him, the only woman from these lands whom he had met and could fight was here at Hogwarts, it was obviously not common practice to teach women anything besides how to farm and cook and look pretty, but he knew that there were other tribes who had similar practices. He gave her an odd look as she stuck out her tongue, he had heard the expression before and even though he did not know it’s exact meaning, in context he understood. He threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head and looking back at the lake.
“Yes,” he said, and turned to her as she sat up, on her knees she was almost at eye level. Not often, for he rarely ever fought an unarmed man, or engaged in combat, that wasn’t a mock fight, off an actual battlefield. He gave her a queer look in response to her question, was this a jest or a serious question. Before he could decide she had already raised her hand. He caught her wrist and held it gently, an amused look coming on to his face. “Unwise,” he began as he loosened his hold on her wrist, “if not me, this would be broken,” he placed a kiss to the inside of her wrist before dropping it in her lap. He glanced at the sky and frowned at how much progress the sun had already made across the sky. The rest of the castle must have already woken up and sat down to break fast.
Lorna had been quite surprised to hear him laugh, and it actually managed to make her grin. She had figured him for a very serious type of person, however, that didn’t seem to be the case entirely. Never judge a book by it’s cover, right? She was even more surprised when he didn’t actually hurt her (she had figured he might on accident), but had kissed her wrist instead. “I do not suppose most men would be as gentle as you, had I slapped them.”
He seemed distracted by the sky now, but Lorna was not done talking. She was dreading the idea of having to go back inside, surrounded by stuffy walls and peculiar looks from other students. It was such a lovely morning. “Tell me, do you always kiss those who try to fight you?” She tried not to laugh, keeping her face as serious as she possibly could. The thought of big, muscular men kissing after each fight was absolutely hysterical to her.
Andros had always taken life lightly, enjoying everything he could get, taking everything that was offered, fighting every battle that presented itself and killing everything that stood in his way. There had been a time where he couldn’t control himself or his strength, or his magic, and those days were not ones he cared to remember. But that had been many many years ago, in his early youth, and he had learned discipline since then. Or at least, discipline outside of battle, when he fought it was pure bloodlust, tapping into his anger and strength. “You did not,” he answered her. He highly doubted that she could have ever struck him, even if she hadn’t told him beforehand.
“I do not kiss dead men,” he said, amusement gone from his face now. Death was not something he enjoyed, but he did not fear it, for he knew his time would come same as any other man. What he feared was dying away from home, his body lost in a foreign land. “You are not hungry?” he asked her inquisitively, a smile on his face, scratching the corner of his jaw. He did not feel particularly so, but he knew he had to eat after training. Even if he had eaten much at the feast in the Hall last night.
Lorna stopped smiling, worried she might have upset Andros. Most people were rather touchy on the subject of death, and no doubt he had seen more of it than anyone else she had met. She was about to apologize, but he smiled again, and she figured it would be best not to bring it up. “I do not eat much.” She said, simply. It was the truth. Lorna was hungry for something, but it was not food. There was a void in her which she did not know how to fill…
She grabbed her shawl from behind her and draped it over Andros’s head. “I like your skin.” Lorna said, adjusting the white cloth experimentally as if there were a certain way the man should wear a shawl on his head. She put one of her delicate hands on his arm, fascinated with the difference of tone. “Your’s is like warm cocoa. Mine is cold milk.” She grinned. “I like it.”
He nodded, eyes glancing over her body in one quick motion. She was thin, he could see, but not too thin, and she looked so fragile. Like he could snap her in half as easily as he would a tree branch. He probably could, he’d never done it before, not that he could remember anyway. But he did generally fight more formidable foes than young women who didn’t eat very much. It was not unattractive, there was little that Andros did find unattractive. Women were beautiful things, men too. It was a shame more of these English men were not open to such ideas.
Andros gave her a questioning look as she began to wrap her shawl around his head. But he sat patiently, more amused by this turn of events than anything. Even the women of his own tribe were not so bold, but she had not seen him in battle, though he doubted it would have made much difference. “Cocoa is sweet powder?” he asked, slightly confused by this. He regarded her with a bemused expression and took hold of her hands, drawing them away from his head. He took the shawl off and draped it around her shoulders. “Yours.” he said, leaning back and nodding, “Radiant,” he said, using the word he had learned last night from the man in women’s clothing, the amused expression still on his face.
“Very sweet. My favorite drink, cocoa and milk.” Lorna replied, allowing him to replace the shawl. She tossed her red hair over her shoulder and knotted the shawl loosely so that it would stay in place. ‘Radiant’. So he did know a few interesting words, perhaps mostly compliments. Lorna wondered if he meant she was radiant, or just her skin. Either way, she was flattered, though her face stayed neutral. She didn’t blush easily, as many things did not have that affect on her like it did most ladies. That was only because Lorna’s mind was more…open.
“That is a fine word, radiant.” She said, approving. Andros didn’t need to say much to make any woman or man melt. If he became a poet, no doubt that would only increase his popularity. The English did so love a pretty word. Lorna became serious, quite suddenly, a though having just crossed her mind. “Are you terribly lonely here?” She was unsure of how comfortable he was around a bunch of strange people in a foreign land. Apparently, no one else around here spoke his language, nor did anyone look similar to him. She wondered if he had family back home…she had her sisters here, and her home only a few hours away. Not even Lorna was brave enough to face the world completely on her own. Not yet.
“I have yet to taste it,” Andros was not overly fond of strange foods and drinks. Meat, wine and the occasional piece of bread were more than enough for him. And perhaps a little part of him was acting the suspicious foreigner, wary of everything. They did not have chocolate where he came from and even their wines and spirits were different, better, but he did not complain. It was simply more reason to return. “Is new,” he said simply, this was the third time he had ever used it, and to be honest he was quite surprised he actually still remembered it. He was not usually quick to learn words.
He regarded her curiously, he was not used to people changing subjects on him so quickly, nor people being so bold with their questions. He remained silent for a while, mulling over how to answer it. Was he lonely? Yes, he felt out of place here, he missed being among his own people, and perhaps if he had spent the last six years of his people he would not have become so reserved, or maybe that was just the language barrier. “Is different among your kind,” he started carefully, “but I enjoy company of many.” Mostly the company of women, but she would probably figure that out herself. It did not accommodate for the lack of human interaction, lack of friends (aside from Gryffindor) but it was interaction nonetheless, and one that requires very few words.
Oh yes, Andros was quite the charmer regardless of how many words he knew. Lorna wondered how much of what he said was meant in a ‘certain fashion’, or if it was all just innocent. There was hardly anything innocent about this man, that much was sure. “You’re the sort of man our poets write about, you know.” She said, though he probably did not know. What woman did not dream of a tall, dark, and handsome warrior who did not know many words and was skilled in bed sport? Lorna might be more unusual that most women, but she was not a fool.
“If this had been a year earlier, I would now invite you to my bed chambers and let you do what you will.” She said, nonchalantly. It was quite true. But now that she was at the new school, Lorna figured her second night there should not be spent in such a way, no matter how exciting the idea was. No…she was on a new path in life, one that required her to grow up a bit. Sexual flings without any meaning were against that. She needed purpose, substance, reasons. Lorna wasn’t sure how long this new resolution would last, and Andros was already testing her willpower, even though he had hardly said a word.
Andros did not know enough of the English language to make subtle implications, that seemed to matter little though, as nearly everything he said to a woman seemed to end in the same result anyway. He was not stupid, he knew it was how he looked, these women would never have seen anyone like him before. He wondered briefly whether the women (or men) of his tribe would act the same way if he ever brought Gryffindor along. The thought amused him very much, especially since he knew a few women that were taller than Godric himself. “I know not the writings of your tongue,” and no one had ever bothered reading any poetry to him.
He regarded her with an amused expression, a slow grin making it’s way onto his face. “But not this year?” he asked her, his tone suggestive. Even from what little he understood he could tell that Lorna was not an average woman. She was not held back by the same things other women were, she was bold and honest, perhaps too honest but it was a refreshing change nonetheless. He normally did not actively going seeking to get himself into …sticky situations, they just seemed to find him. He could just never say no to a beautiful woman inviting him to her bed, and if he got some enjoyment out of it, so be it.
Oh, life was simply not fair! Lorna smiled coyly back at Andros. He would hardly spend many nights alone, that much was certain. Be strong, Lorna…“I cannot seem to think of many things I’d enjoy more than sleeping with you at this moment, Andros.” She answered, honestly. Letting a charming stranger ravish her body was exactly what she needed right now, but she had made promises to herself before she came to Hogwarts. She had to change. “But, I think that we should be friends first.”
He might have, and would in the future attain many lovers, but how many friends did he have? That little thought made Lorna feel slightly better about her decision. Only slightly. “I am afraid of becoming intimate and…falling in love, you see. So in the end, I am doing you a favor.” At least, that was how she explained it to herself. This poor man did not need to be subjected to that side of her. Love was the only thing Lorna was ever logical about. Starting now. “You must be starving. Come, let’s go to breakfast, friend.” As long as she didn’t look at him, she’d be fine! Standing up and stretching her arms, she gestured for him to follow as she began walking back to the castle.
Andros gave her a curious look as she began to speak. He had not been entirely serious of course, it had been as close to playful banter as any barbarian could get, however he knew she would take it seriously, nearly everything he said was taken seriously. In all honesty it would not differ to him very much whether or not she invited him to her bed, yes it was something he enjoyed, greatly in fact, but it was not the focus of all his actions, nor his end goal in every encounter. It just ended up that way. This encounter, in particular, had begun to amuse him very much and he was certain that it showed on his face, alongside his curiosity. He knew that there was more to her speech so he waited patiently for her to finish, as was custom among his own people. Although, his own people tended to use much fewer words than these strangers.
Friends? It was not a concept he understood exactly, relative to his own culture he assumed it meant your companion, a warrior you have deemed worthy enough, and have chosen, to fight with. This was why he referred to the founder as friend Godric. A female companion, however, did in fact mean lying together, usually more than once. However he had noticed that the word was not used exactly such, more to describe the relationship he had with the men and women he drank and feasted with, the people of his tribe. Perhaps there was no word for it in his language, because everyone in a single tribe were friends. “Lorna,” he said, in agreement to her proposal to become friends. He did not feel comfortable referring to her the same way he referred to Gryffindor, for he did not hold her in that regard, but he it was obvious he had misunderstood the concept and would allow her to call him such.
“Love is this,” he said, uncertainty in his voice. Love was not a concept he understood very well either. A man’s wife, or a man’s companion warrior, were chosen based on ability, respect, physical appearance perhaps. And it was not strange for one to have multiple partners. He stood, acknowledging how long ago it had been since he had eaten and realizing that he would need sustenance to compensate for his early hours of training. “Yes, training requires food,” he stood in one graceful movement, adjusting the scabbards on either side of his thick waist and walked behind Lorna, his long strides allowing him to reach her side quickly and he made an effort to keep up her pace.
She continued walking, feeling his tall shadow cast over her as he walked beside her. Lorna knew he was probably thinking about food now, as he should, but she simply could not stop thinking about what he had said…did he truly not know what love was? Food would have to wait for a moment while she straightened him out. Stopping suddenly and whirling around, she placed both her hands on his chest to signal him to stop walking, for he could easily have continued and plowed right over her.
“Andros, have you ever been in love? When you’re in love, you cannot stop thinking about that person…you write songs and poems and smile whenever you hear their name. You dream about them, day and night, long to be close to them! And when you kiss, it’s as if the world has melted away and nothing else matters.” She was more animated as she talked about love than she ever was. Lorna paused to take a deep breath, looking into his dark eyes. “And when they leave you, they take a piece of you with them. A piece you can never recover. And you are lost. You may never heal…” She stopped, finally, not even sure how much of that Andros understood. Her arms dropped back down to her sides.
“Love is sharper than any blade and more cruel than any curse. But you cannot live without it.” Lorna stepped aside, looking towards the castle. “Go. Eat. I am not hungry.”
He was stopped mid-stride all of a sudden when Lorna whirled in front of him and placed her hands on his chest, He looked down at her, wondering whether or not she realized that he could very easily have walked right through her, carrying her along with him until she broke some part of her body, just as he could have easily harmed her earlier when she had attempted to slap him. Glancing at her form in full as she stood in front of him, he realized how thin and porcelain like she actually was.
He gave her an amused look as she posed her question. He was quite certain that he had never actually been in love, although it was hard to tell when he was not certain what the word meant anyway. One was meant to love their wife, he knew, but among his people one only took a partner if there was respect, great accomplishments, worthiness. According to his own people’s logic, he did love someone, he loved Godric, his father, the men of his tribe, those whom he had deigned worthy to fight alongside. But it became clear, rather quickly, that it was not this sort of love she was speaking of. Andros watched with amusement as she continued her animated speech and when she finished he threw his head back and laughed. It was not meant to be rude, or belittling, but everything she had described sounded like the actions of a man who had completely lost his sanity, or at least his manhood. He did not write poems or songs, his music was that of war and he would not allow such an intrusion into his mind, muddling his concentration.
He ignored the last bits of her speech and took a step forward, cupping her delicate head between his large, war making hands and bent down to press his lips against hers. He kissed her gently, for only a brief moment, before pulling away and gesturing around them, “World has not melted, we remain here, and this is love,” he placed two hands on her waist and carried her out of his path, setting her down gently. “World is simple, barbaric, you say. Is your people which complicate all simple things.”
He was laughing! Lorna was sure there was not one thing she had said that should induce laughter. She finally blushed, quite embarrassed that he was laughing. Laughing at her. Quite ready to argue, she clenched her hands into fists at her side and- he kissed her. It was rather quick, though it lasted long enough for Lorna to be pleasantly surprised by how soft his lips were and how gently he held her.
When he pulled away, she could only stand there and and look up at him with wide eyes, trying desperately to remember what she was so angry about only moments before. He lifted her up and out of the way, as if she were a misplaced doll. That action seemed to snap her back into the moment. “You are not looking close enough, Andros, for you would see that the world is not simple at all. Everything is complex. Even you.”
Lorna walked behind him, fluttering around him like a hummingbird. “I hope that one day you shall fall in love, and then you will come running to me.” She then said in a ridiculously deep voice that was meant to imitate him, “Lorna, teach me your ways! I have been a fool.” She coughed and continued on in her normal voice. “And I shall say, ‘Andros…I told you so.’” Lorna stopped, her hands on her hips.
“Go. Eat. And when you fall in love, come and find me.” She grinned wryly, and turned away from him, walking back towards the lake in normal Lorna fashion with a dance in her step.
