Osanna Idril Sáralondë,
The soon to be, esteemed, Mistress VanGatt, had never, in her fourty-some-odd years, been put into any posision which required her to write anything longer than a market list or 'I will not disobey', nine hundred and twelve times on Loroth's bloody sand table while those two idiots Gabriel and Weldfarn sniggerd over their books. It was not, a pleasent memory.
Needless to say, the whole thing cast a shadow on the task she hunched over in the back of the kitchen with stolen quill, ink and paper.
"My deerest VanGatt, I promace to luv yew and kare fer yew even win yew leev yer big, stupit, muddie boots in the midle of the floor and I hav to kleen it up,"
No, that wasn't it. No need to nag him infront of the priest. Besides. Nobody was allowed to wear boots into the church, so nobody would get it anyways.
"VanGatt, I take yew as my husband, to luv and honur above all uthers until yew die,"
She was pleased with that one, chewing on the end of one of the Steward's better quills, shredding the graceful plume with sharpend steel teeth. It was a little....oviace though wasn't it? After all, she was allready nearly twice his age and she'd no doubt live for a few centuries. Of course he was going to die before she did and that just....made it kind of oviace and...well...sad realy. She'd love him longer then his natural lifespan. Maybe even his great, great grandchildren's lifespans, but by then, she had no doubt she'd be mad as her own Grandmam and planting onions in winter, so realy, it didn't make sence at all.
"I, Osanna, take yew, VanGatt, as mine. Ferever. No matter whut yew do or where yew go. I wil allus kno where yew are. Yew kant hide frum me, bekaus I luv yew and I'll keel yew before I giv yew up,"
No, no, no! It just wasn't right! She spat the wet, feathery end aside and scratched the whole thing out with a flourish of blots and a cloud of snot in her mighty sneeze. Yes, that was why she hated quills. Always made her sneeze!
"Morcant, yew are mine and I am yers. I promace to luv yew and cook few yew and warm yer bed for as long as you liv, so help me god,"
Too plain.
"My deerest VanGatt, yew smell good."
Strike, strike, strike.
"I take yew, Morcant VanGatt as my husband, I promice to luv yew for the rest of my ferever. Yew are the best thing that evur hapund to me and I promace to stay by yer side no mattur whut comes to pass. Evin if Uhtred bekomes King and we all die,"
Well...the first part looked pretty good and she ment the second part, but the priest might have a problem with treasonous talk...
"I take yew, Morcant as my husnabd, I promace to luv yew fer the rest of my ferever. Yew are the best thing that evur hapund to me. I promace to stay by yer side no mattur whut happens. I promace nevur to make yew sleep on the floor, evun if yew snor and are hot. I promace to make yew dinner evruy night until yew are fat. Yew are my home, wherevur yew are I am safe. Yew make me smile when I am sad and yew rub my feet when I am tired. I promace to giv you everythung I kan, forever,"
Well....it needed work, but it was a start.
Tue Apr 28, 2009 9:19 am