(514-05-19) By the Wylye
Summary: Amalthea and Rowan meet after they interrupt each other's relaxation by the river (which may be the Usk River in actuality, but who cares?)
Date: 1/19/514
Related: None
amalthea rowan 

It was a nice spring afternoon, and after being unhorsed in his joust, the lord of Wylye manor has retreated from the noisy confines of the city and ventured into the verdant countryside to relax and muse over the day. He stands by the river while his black stallion takes a drink, palming a smooth stone in his hand with the intent to absently skip it across the river's surface while he waits for his equine friend to finish. He is in no hurry, and not expecting to be interrupted.

One never expects the unexpected.

"On, Celeritate! On, I say, or I shall have your hide for a new bedspread!" The thundering of hooves churning countryside and the raucous cry break the silence of what might otherwise have been a pristine pastoral scene. The lady Amalthea, riding hell for leather crouched low over a dappled mare, approaches at a speed that could only be called break-neck and reckless, her chestnut braid a bouncy cable down her back, her cloak long since lost to the thickets. Lady and horse charge as one towards the river, both loosing an exultant cry at the sight of the calm water, not seeing the knight or his horse in their mad, exuberant dash.

This certainly was not on his list of 'things likely to interrupt my brooding'. He looks up, alarmed, when he hears the familiar sound of hooves rapidly beating against the ground and even more worryingly, in his direction! "What in the—!?"

Rowan quickly dashes out of the mad horsewoman's trajectory, not wanting to be anywhere near it. The black stallion also gets spooked and frantically gallops away, leaving his owner even more flustered than he was previously. "H-hey! Get back here!"

He doesn't chase after his steed just yet, however, instead turning to witness whatever fate ultimately befell Amalthea and her joust with the river.

Amalthea checked her horsemanship of 15, she rolled 2.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOSH! That's the sound Amalthea and Celeritate make as they fly by Rowan, followed by the bright, exultant laughter of the former to ring in his ears when they make the river. In a move that could only be done by someone who is in complete concert with her mount, Thea exerts just the slightest of pressure with her thighs and clings to the beast as it wheels tightly, spraying water up at his rider, leaving her tunic and tights dappled with wetness, her braid slightly sodden, as they head back to the shore, slower now, cooling off.

"Ah! Ahhhh! What a day! What a marvelous, brilliant, /perfect/ day!" the lady cries, still holding low over the horse, clinging to it in the remnants of her joy.

Yet another surprise: he doesn't find Amalthea flailing about in the river! He shields his eyes with his hand as water is kicked up, but none of it reaches him. The hand slowly lowers as the young man regards the laughing woman warily, still not quite sure what to make of all this yet. "You should… be more careful," he replies with a squint. "Not just for my sake, but yours. The river is shallow but…" His brown eyes glance further down the trek of the Wylye, where his own horse seems to have finally settled.

Amalthea, still hunched over her saddle, finally looks up. Her mouth drops open as her tarnished gold eyes fall upon Rowan. "Oh." Understatement of the year. "I thought I was alone." No apology is forthcoming, though her look of shock at finding a spectator to her madness certainly transforms the Dinton's plain features into abject surprise. "Erm." She bites her lower lip, trying to contain the humour that bubbles up and through her at the knowledge. "I… do appreciate… your advice, sir…?" she scrambles for a name, and comes up short.

His words seem to reach her, and Rowan studies her intently now that the immediate danger has passed. His eyes soon shift to meet hers when she addresses him, expression unreadably neutral. "You did seem quite focused. My apologies for being… well, present." The knight doesn't seem offended, apology or no. "Sir Rowan de Wylye," Rowan answers her with a short nod. "And you are, if I may be so bold…?"

Amalthea's eyes meet his and the young lady seems a little awestruck for a moment, perhaps taken aback by his gaze. Her mouth forms an 'O', and her jaw works, but nothing comes out save air. The moment passes soon enough, perhaps soothed by the restless shift of horseflesh beneath her. "Wylye." Her own gaze travels to the river she just paraded through, and there is a struggle not to laugh. "It is a beautiful river," she observes instead, holding onto a solemn air like one might cling to sanity. "Lady Amalthea de Dinton. I believe you are acquainted with my cousin, Sir Cyndeyrn?" she offers, friendly despite her current state of unladylike behaviour.

Rowan inclines his head in the direction of the river behind them. "It is. Befitting you should meet me here, I suppose." Recognition lights up in his eyes briefly - at the last name she claims, something seeming to 'click' in his head. "Ah yes, Sir Cyndeyrn squired with my father. We have known each other since our youth, though admittedly there's been some… distance between us since then." His curiosity seems piqued, regardless of whether or not that was her intention. "It is a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance, Lady Amalthea. Are you here for the tournament?"

"In a way," Amalthea replies, an enigmatic smile tugging at her lips. She reaches out a calming hand to lay upon her mount. "I am stablemaster at Dinton, since my father Sir Cedric died. I am here to care for the horses, Sir Rowan." Which might explain a great deal, and why her eyes now trail to his horse, some distance off. "Would you like my help in gathering your beautiful creature, Sir, or does she come at a call?" Here, she has the grace to look abashed. "I apologize for spooking… the both of you." Apologetic or not, Thea still obviously finds humor in the matter, and tries to stifle it with that telltale bite of her lower lip.

The knight turns back towards the Wylye and finally lets loose the stone in his hand, which skips merrily across the calm waters and stops with a loud *plunk* against a rock. "That explains your confidence, though apparently it is very well-founded," he replies, acknowledging her evident skill. He grunts when she offers to fetch his horse and shrugs his shoulders. "Lleu will do what he wants when he wants to, I've quickly come to realize. Apples do seem to help persuade him to change his mind, however." Apparently it was a boy horse! "He will hopefully be in a better mood for the Grand Melee. He wasn't very fond of the joust…"

"No?" Amalthea asks, keeping her eyes trained on his mount, roving over the beast with a practiced eye while a blush creeps over her cheeks at his compliment. "Do you have a trainer for him, Sir? It would be a shame to let a beautiful creature like that go unpolished," she adds, squinting, "though, 'twould also be a shame to break him." There's a thoughtful moment, and then it's shattered by the soft whicker of her own mount. "I wish you luck in the Grand Melee, Sir Rowan. I should go…" But she lingers for a moment longer, unbidden, her eyes sliding back to the knight, drawn.

Rowan shakes his head, looking over his shoulder at his stallion, who was once again merrily helping himself to the watery bounty of the river. "He has none other than me, for now. I do not think I'm a terrible master, but if you have any advice, I would gladly accept it," he notes as his gaze travels to meet hers again, with a subdued hopefulness. When she announces her intent to leave his lip quirks downward ever-so-slightly, but he nods, loosely folding his arms over his chest and gazing at the river once more. "I understand. Thank you, Lady Amalthea. May our paths cross again soon."

Amalthea nudges her mount with a practiced thigh, wheeling the dappled creature. Something holds her back though, and she glances to Rowan thoughtfully. "If you bring him to the stables in town where we are keeping the Dinton mounts, then I will gladly do what I can to help you with him, if you desire it. In apology," her grin spreads slow and cheshire for him, "for almost running you down and then cavorting in your river like a Nymph. I hope," Thea's earnest shows through, "you will accept. Good day, Sir Rowan!" And then she's off the way she came, spurring her mount like the devil himself chases them.

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