WHO IS THE LAMB?

                    𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫...but here we are.  You’ve stumbled across an independent and selective roleplay account for the character that is Nimue du Lac, priestess of Avalon and Lady of the Lake. You may have seen her floating around in one form or another over the years. Inspiration is largely drawn from various literature ( read: burning hatred of Mists of Avalon ), varied lore, and a whole lotta personal headcanons.

This blog is likely going to be semi-active. I have a full-time job and many responsibilities outside of the internet. Due to the nature of the source material and the occasional presence of adult themes/content, I ask that no one under the age of 18 follow this blog or attempt to interact. My name is Michelle, I’m too old for most shit (25+), and I’ve been around for too damn long. That being said, I took a bit of a hiatus and am still sweeping up the cobwebs from the floors of the creativity department, so please have patience while I try to figure out this whole thing all over again. 

I don’t care how you format, I don’t care if you use icons or gifs, I just care that we’re both enjoying ourselves and having a good time. Time zone EST. Original blog created in April of 2016, revamped March 2022. I look forward to writing with you!

                oh to be the cause of her laughter! he would make a fool of himself every day for the rest of his life if it meant he could bring her any joy or amusement. of course, there were those that believed he truly was a fool. in fact, most days he was sure she believed him to be a true fool, but he didn’t care. a fool he would be as long as he could be her fool. and so it was no trouble to kneel before her, to look unflinchingly up at her as she presented the blade. 

               she paused, and oh so gently he took her wrist, brought the dagger closer and kissed the blade before brushing his lips against her knuckles. a more intimate show of fealty than he’d ever given arthur. ‘ i swear myself to your service, to obey your every command and defend the honor of the goddess through you and of this sacred isle. ‘ he’d never been a religious man, had no clung to church as he’d seen so many in camelot do. but looking up at nimue, it was hard to imagine how anyone could be blind to it, the divinity that touched her. ‘ as your champion, none will harm you while i still draw breath. ‘

● ● ●                                   Nimue still wasn’t used to being touched, let alone with such reverence. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, the featherlight caress of his mouth along her skin like a gentle wave lapping against the shore. The sight of him like this brought about a feeling she had no name for — tenderness, perhaps. An admiration that seemed to grow with each new thing that this reckless creature did to remind her of just what an anomaly he was. It was such a strange thing to have someone that wanted to protect her from the harms of the world where no one had before. When, now, most considered her the harm to others. 

there’s  nothing  dignified  in  the  way  he  snorts,   the  sharpness  of  her  tongue  as  she  gives  her  glowing  assessment  of  merlin  throwing  him  for  a  moment.   it’s  too  easy  to  grow  used  to  the  empty  compliments  and  half-spoken  insults  here,   too  easy  to  fall  into  the  trap  of  politics  and  forget  what  it’s  like  to  hear  someone  speak  so  candidly.   she’s  a  breath  of  fresh  air,   the  feeling  of  contentment  that  settles  in  your  bones  when  you  know  you’re  home.   moving  across  the  room  with  her  in  their practiced  steps,   the  eyes  of  the  court   (   and  the  toadstool  )   upon  them,   it’s  the  first  time  he’s  breathed  freely  in  years.

❝     i  never  doubted  it.     ❞      the  smile  that  dances  across  his  lips  is  light,   a  sparkle  in  his  eyes  reserved  only  for  her.   he  knows  it’s  dangerous  to  be  so  familiar,   to  look  so  fond,   but  why  should  he  care?   the  queen  had  set  this  up  for  a  purpose,   let  her  think  its  her  machinations  that  are  working.   his  fingers  tighten  around  her  waist,   pulling  her  closer  as  he  watches  her.   how  perfectly  they  fit  together.      ❝     i  always  knew  you’d  put  them  all  to  shame.   so  yes,  i’d  be  a  fool  not  to  find  you  dangerous.   i’ll  have  to  make  sure  you  never  consider  me  a  toadstool,   won’t  i?     ❞

● ● ●                                   ❝ I am glad — ❞ She tosses the words back with a feline grin, reveling in the none too small sense of victory she feels at bringing that impish little boy back out of her partner after all this time. ❝ I should never be doubted. ❞ What a strange thing to be the one saying such a thing now when he’d said the same to her so many times before! When she’d been but a little thing and Mordred had been her tether to the world outside of her caged paradise of Avalon, his tongue heavy with arrogant confidence and loose with tales from places she’d only ever dreamed of. It only reminds Nimue how much she’s missed him; how much this feels like being whole.

           he hadn’t expected to surprise her. he thought so highly of her, perhaps he had imagined her incapable of surprise. but being able to accomplish it? well, it wasn’t exactly dimming the affections he was so desperately trying to keep controlled. this request wasn’t about the way he felt about her. it wasn’t! it was because, all his life, he had dreamed of serving a worthy cause, defending the innocent and championing justice. he thought he had found such a position in camelot, only to find it rotten within. and yet, in her court, he had found the cause he had always dreamed of serving. 

          for a moment, he could not meet her eyes, but the embarrassment faded quickly. he had nothing to be ashamed of, no regret. ‘ in truth, my lady, this is the second note i penned. the first was taken to camelot with a messenger and contained my resignation from the round table. ‘ it had been long overdue. ‘ it is camelot that has caused my departure, and, no matter what your answer, i serve that throne no longer. ‘

● ● ●                                   ❝ Oh, you perfectly impetuous creature! ❞ She found herself chuckling at his declaration after the initial shock had worn off, despite the many ramifications it could potentially have. Nimue had never known a knight to simply leave the roundtable or the prestige that came from owning one of its chairs behind. Of course, she had wished the feat of Galahad so many times over — but she had never dared to ask it of her brother, knowing what he would choose. Her thumb rubbed over the coarse material of the parchment, feeling its friction against her skin and the warmth that it brought. It was true enough that Avalon was in need of good men and maybe she was in need of someone real and human to put her faith in as well.

             the handwriting was shaky at best, but she was going to get suspicious if he kept going down to the shore and hiding what he was doing. honestly, she was smarter than he was in so many way, she may have figured it out already, that each day before sunrise he would go to the shore, practicing the letters she had taught him in the sand, letting the water erase the attempts so he could start again. but now he held out the small scrap of parchment to her, already a slight blush on his cheeks. ‘ i– would you— this is for you. ‘ 

        inside, the letters still far from perfect, was: i, pelleas of ebusus, do beg permission permision to become your knight, lady nimue. 

@moondarkens​ asked for pelleas

● ● ●                                  ❝ For me? ❞ The sorceress couldn’t help but quirk a brow at all his stammering, used to it as she was whenever he was flustered or that remarkable brain of his was trotting faster than his lips could plod. Nimue was eager to have her curiosity fed — to know what it was that the boy had been working on in such secrecy each morning. From the bit of color that painted his cheeks, she imagined it might have been an attempt at a poem. Her fingers brushed his as she took the bit of paper, the connection brief but kinetic. She could still feel the ghost of it when she brought her hand back.