Kenn did not particularly enjoy the summertime.

It was often nearly unbearably hot and muggy inside the palace, differing little from the equally warm outdoors. Not matter where you went, your cheeks were flushed with the heat and you felt sticky and dirty in the confines of your clothes, no matter how nice and clean you looked, and all you wished was that you could go without them. While indoors, you longed for nothing more than to take a nice dip in the lake or to walk through the lawns with a cool breeze against your face and neck. But, upon one’s entrance to the grounds, they were almost immediately surrounded by hungry mosquitoes and flies, and through your clothes and boots they still managed to nip and irritate your skin. Yes, Kenn much preferred the colder seasons, like winter and fall, when you could feel cozy and comforted by a fire rather than shying away from them at all costs, when you could go outside without worrying about being eaten alive, when you could feel comfortable wearing clothes.

And it reminded him of Miriam; she had loved the summertime.

She had loved the warmth and the new and the green and the color and the activities and the gayness and the birds and their chirping and the sunshine. It was hard for him to face that without her there to tell him while it was all so great. It was easier through the fall and winter, which she had not appreciated because of the harsh cold. Through these seasons Kenn had gotten up after the sun arose, but still a time before breakfast was to be served. He would curl up in an armchair by the fire, which a servant had long since learned to light, and read until it was time to eat. A small time before summer had started, Kenn had started a new routine in the mornings, and since then he had kept it up without trouble.

The knight awoke while it was still dark, and washed his face and hands with cold water, deciding on the spot to skip his shave that day and instead combed his hair. After scrubbing at his teeth with his fingertips, he dressed. This particular morning he had opted to dress in a thin tunic, crème in color, chocolate colored breeches, and his softest, lightest pair of boots. He was always silent in the mornings; he had no one to talk to. His feet hardly made any sound either; the otherwise hard floors were blanketed in a layer of thick, plush carpets. The only sound, besides Kenn’s breathing, was a soft whine as he opened the door into the hallways. Silence was a virtue that Kenn wished more people had.

The walk to the outside was as uneventful as ever, a fact that did not bother Kenn at all. People needed time to just be alone and think, or not think, and just be. So many people seemed to not understand that. Thinking of this, Kenn let out a soft, nearly inaudible sigh, filled with hopeless wishes. Once outside, the knight felt momentarily blind. It was darker than he had anticipated, and it took his eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness that engulfed him. Soon enough, however, he was able to pick out shapes from the blanket of black in front of him. He knew where he wanted to go; he had no trouble finding his way, even in the dark. The expansive gardens, even if they were a large waste of space, were quite charming to Kenn in the morning. It was there that he went, and walked among the trees and flowers.

In the early mornings, just before the sun rose, was almost a perfect time, when it was still and dark. It was before the sun had had a chance to heat the earth after it had cooled during her slumber, a time when the animals had not yet awoken, and the pestilence that haunted the daytime had not yet congregated. In short, it was a time that Kenn thoroughly enjoyed; the only part of summer that he ever looked forward to. In the still of the early morning, it was easy to get lost in the beauty of dawn and your wandering thoughts. There was no pain, in this sort of thinking; no remembering. Miriam had hated the dark and cold.

As he walked, he brushed his long fingers over various flowers and leaves, loving the feel of their smooth, cool surfaces. The dew of the morning clung to his fingertips, and he did not bother to dry them. The cold water felt nice against his skin, even if it was still cool outside. He left the flowers, moving on towards a small pavilion of sorts, in the middle of which stood a fountain filled with cool, clear water. The knight stopped in front of it, staring down at his reflection in the water. Even in the dark he could clearly see his face, which was in its usual somber expression. But his eyes startled him, the emptiness that was there was disconcerting; his eyes looked haunted. Without thinking, he reached out his hand and splashed the water, his face dissolving into innumerable ripples. Turing sharply on his heel, he walked stiffly away, facing the east.

It was amazing the timing of the sun, its first rays breaking over the horizon and illuminating the world. Its magnificence was slightly hindered by the fact that Kenn’s view was obscured by a thicket of trees, but even through those Kenn was awed by its beauty. The trees looked especially magnificent, their leaves as green as ever, their trunks a rich brown. The flowers also seemed to glow in the light, the dewdrops catching the light and shining like miniature diamonds. Birds began to chirp in the nests and rustle the leaves of the trees, which caused dewdrops to shower down lightly onto the already damp ground. As the birds begun their songs, Kenn couldn’t help but feel lighthearted at their lovely voices, so gay and carefree.

Through the chirping of the birds, Kenn could hear the soft rustle of feet against the cobblestone ground, much to his surprise. Who else besides him was up at this early hour? He had never encountered anyone else before; but that was not to say that there had not bee other people wandering the gardens’ vast expanses. He decided not to turn and see who the newcomer was; if they wanted to talk, they could address him, if they wanted to just move on and admire the gardens as he was, then he did not want to be the one to distract them from the thoughts. Upon deciding this he smoothly shifted his attention back to the rising sun and glistening plants.

It took more than a tip of the hat, but Regan was able to persuade the Gamekeeper of the Royal Forest to understand how starved for entertainment and excitement the young people of the palace were and that the only solution to this problem was a true to honest hunt. She brought reports from the Master of the Hounds that his dog were in sore need of some exercise or soon all they would be good for would be warming a gentle woman's lap. The Gamekeeper relented and said he would start his boys tracking some of the largest stags so that Regan would have her hunt.

The whole scheme however meant that Regan had been up before dawn to wash and dress and had concluded her business with both men as the dawn inched over the horizon. They had early mornings and long days and to catch them without trekking through the Royal Forest meant one had to catch them before they left. She had been just in time to catch the Gamekeeper before he left and had been asked to ride along with him so he wasn't late on his rounds. Regan was grateful she had insisted on wearing her split skirts underneath her more feminine dress.

It had been different and exhilarating for the young woman who rarely was up before the sun to awake with the thunderous beats of horses and the happy baying of breakfast with the hounds. The morning had reminded her of her carefree childhood and the simple pleasures of life. Regan was even more determined then for the hunting party to continue without a hitch. Even if she had to torture the Master of Ceremonies to allow it.

Thoughts of her childhood, brought with it a scary truth, Regan had not written to her mother in weeks, though her mother had written to her, delighted with the change of season. She knew she would have to write her back, perhaps with a gift. To Regan's mother, the best gift was the gift of words so after she finished with her planning, Regan set out to the gardens to inspire herself for a poem to her mother.

It had taking some wandering and pulling a branch of hawthorn out of her skirts when Regan finally had something to work with in her mind.

"Branches of hawthorn and willow do combine/ mixing pain with pleasure, a pair divine," she mumbled to herself, grasping the hawthorn branch carefully in her fist. Turning on the path, she headed west toward the palace proper to find some paper to write upon.

"Spring does weep for her salvation/ Yet her memories are a soothing aberration," She paused mid-step.

"A soothing aberration?" she puzzled out loud, "Soothing aberration. Yes, much better."

Glancing around Regan spotted a tract of flowers, shimmering in the morning dew, golden with the sun's reflection. She grinned and gave a yelp of excitement.

"Golden dreams of daffs and mallow!" She shouted joyously, gathering up said flowers, "Hide in Summer's flames that hallow. Our minds to forget our pain sustained. Yet a year's life is preordained," Regan smiled at the lines, it was a simple poem in structure, but she knew, considering the hour, it was of mentionable quality.

"One movement in the celestial dance. A partner's turn around the floor. And here we are at Spring once more." She concluded and then paused with a frown, realizing she had missed pairing 'dance' with its rhyme. Regan frowned and then spotted someone on the path in front of her.

"It's quite early to be up picking posies, my lord," she greeted them with a playful curtsy, "Tell me Sir Lark, did you hear my verse? Lend me your ears for I need another's opinion on it."

Regan studied him, and recognized him, despite the early light. Kenn of Linden was two years younger than her brother and had married and widowed young. From what she knew, if she was able to coax a lively conversation out of him, she should be made the King's Champion for achieving the impossible.

Rather quickly the chirps of the birds became quite repetitive and their songs lost their novelty, despite their beauty. Hearing words behind him, he switched his attention back to the person who was slowly approaching him. At first the words were incomprehensible; most likely being mumbled softly, but all of a sudden they were being shouted with joy and amusement. “. . .of daffs and mallow! Hide in Summer's flames that hallow. Our minds to forget our pain sustained. Yet a year's life is preordained. One movement in the celestial dance. A partner's turn around the floor. And here we are at Spring once more.” By the end of her verse, he had figured out that the voice belonged to a woman, not too young but not filled with age either. He noticed that one line of her verse did not have a counterpart, and wondered if the lady had noticed as well, and whether or not it was on purpose. Deciding that he wanted to know who the woman was, for he had yet to place her familiar voice to a face, Kenn turned to face her. It all worked out quite well, in the end, as he turned when she addressed him.

Upon seeing her face, he nearly immediately recognized her as Regan of Wellam, a well-known lady at court, whose brother, Duke Carlisle of Wellam, had been the spymaster about a year. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much about the lady, just her name and her brother’s status, both not entirely useful in any particular way. But, at least he could address her by her actual name, and that usually made people feel more warmly towards him. Wanting to be at least somewhat hospitable, he racked his brains for something to give her. "Good lady,” he started, bowing curtly, much less playfully than his companion, “I heard the latter end.” He paused, casting his eyes downward to the cobblestoned ground. “While you may have full service of my ears I fear you shall find little use in them,” he replied softly, clasping his hands behind his back and looking over at the woman to whom he was speaking.

But, immediately after he said that, a thought came to his mind. Against his better wishes, he decided that she needed some help, and, as no one else was close, he was as good as any other. “However, Lady Regan, I do have a slight suggestion that may be of some use. One of your phrases, ‘One movement in the celestial dance,’ seems to be missing its partner. Perhaps if you paired it with,” he stopped, thinking, continuing a few moments later with, “Much more than a childish romance?” The end came out as a question, which Kenn deemed appropriate at first but then thought it rather silly; he had ended up asking her opinion on his opinion.

Regan smiled inwardly, 'so he does remember how his tongue works,' she thought as he offered a line for her poem. It wasn't as horrid as the suggestion she would get from most men at court this early in the morning so she was happy to accept it. She clapped her hands together once and placed the tips of her longest fingers on her lips in thought. They tented slowly as Regan smiled again softly.

"I would be honoured if you let me keep your line in my poem. I am sure my mother will enjoy it," she said, mouthing his line silently once to remember it so she didn't draw another blank when she went to write the poem down.

"My mother considers a letter not to be finished until there is a poem attached to it," Regan explained, "There is not a moment in time in which words will fail according to her. There is a chorus for every season, a lament for every loss and a verse for every triumph. I am inclined to agree with her."

"What about you, Sir Lark?" Regan asked playfully, "Does beauty make your tongue go numb or do you secretly write epic romances to your Princesse Lointaine?" She asked, using the fashionable word for a distant princess, a symbol of unattainable beauty that the poets wrote about and boys dreamt of. Every romantic and fashionable girl hoped to wake up and find a letter addressed to them, naming them a Princesse Lointaine of some young (and hopefully handsome) man.

"Are you glad that Mithros is gracing us with summer finally? After all that terrible spring rain!" Regan said, hoping to continue the conversation with Kenn. If she did, she knew it would be the talk of the ladies for the whole day, imagine! Kenn of Linden holding up his end of a conversation!

Kenn was slightly surprised that the lady wanted to use his line in her poem, though her motives were unseen by him. For all he knew she really wouldn’t use his verse, but instead cast it away and act like she loved it to be polite. But, then again, she might actually enjoy it, and use it. Either way it didn’t matter much to Kenn, and so he nodded to her, signifying that he would let her use his words. He thought it slightly odd that she started talking to herself, muttering words unheard by his ears, oblivious to the fact that the Lady Regan was just committing his verse to memory.

Kenn’s mother hadn’t ever expressed a particular interest in poetry or anything of the like, and was horrid at reply to Kenn’s letters. And so, if she had ever wanted to a poem from him, he had never been informed. He would have gladly written for her, but as fate would have it, she never even mentioned it. He did write a few phrases to Miriam, however, conveying his undying love for her, and she seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was another case of a lady being polite as to not hurt the man’s feelings, but Miriam had expressed an interest in him writing her more. He had never gotten around to writing her more. He felt a stab of pain as he thought this over and quickly concentrated on whatever Lady Regan had been talking about, arranging his face into a somewhat pleasant expression.

At her words, he smiled, knowing that most people took that simple movement to heart, thinking that they had accomplished something great. She was obviously trying to be teasing and have some fun, but (surprise, surprise) Kenn wasn’t particularly in the mood. He did not think that her teasing words were humorous or fun, but rather they caused him to think that he once had a Princess Lointaine, and but she was now gone. Not quite the most joyful of memories. However, he did not wish to dampen the woman’s playful, no doubt happy, mood, and so he offered her a small smile, that she might see as reluctant, as if he really did have someone that he was writing to but didn’t want anyone to know.

Because he had not said anything to any of her previous comments, instead just making different facial expressions, he felt that he should respond sooner or later, and why not sooner? Unfortunately, she had turned their one sided conversation towards the summertime, which Kenn had plenty of complaints about. After a slight pause in which he though about how to phrase his answer as to not lie, but also as to please the lady, he replied, "I enjoyed the spring rains. If the not the rains themselves, then the world after they had passed, when everything had become so green and refreshed. I miss that in the summertime.”