This is the opening thoughts of a story set in 11th-century Britain.

Chatham's Ubiquitous Dream

Night had fallen... bereft of splendor, no hounds abay, lunar stillness abounding.   Scant light crept over heather patches, revealing their multitudes as the close-cropped, gorse-thatched heads of homely children.  Summer's breezes had taken wings, warming other climes; leaving in their absence only subtle, vague remembrances of sweltered August midnights.  Reminders of winter’s proximity were everywhere in evidence.  Robert of Chatham reclined against his pack. Placed beneath shield and mace, it provided support for his weary back.  Too long in saddle would do that to a man... any man, truly, but more so one of his advancing years.  His fingertips positioned themselves against each other, hands supported his chin as he sat—motionless; an unconscious response to years of conditioning, countless hours of waiting for combat in service of a master he would never meet.  One unaccustomed to his habits might have thought him in prayer; it would not have been unseemly to presume it.  Such was not the case this night; all his thoughts were of her. 

Solitary was his concentration.  If ambushers overtook him as he sat, so be it. Tonight, he would not move to repel it.  If wolves ripped out his throat, he would not take up sword against them, so long as her memory cast even faded recollections upon him.  His eyes, yet closed, could see her as clearly as if she stood in elegance before him, calling to him.   Her arms outstretched, clad in fine blue silk, her long gown shimmered even in lowlight moon.  Loveliness, thy name is Arica... royal by nature if not by birth, virtuous beyond reach of all but him.  Wretched fate put miles upon miles between them. Robert silently cursed all who kept them apart.  Before his God he vowed to find the path to her. Steadfastly, he summoned all powers to act as guides.  

Somewhere in the night, his vigilant guard breeched, he was summoned to Morpheus.  The dreams began.  She beckoned to him from some faraway place, a shadowy nether- land of dreamers and lovers.  There, she gently took him by the hand and guided him deep within her soul, to a place where no one could ever threaten them.  Renewal through her was his only wish.  No thoughts exclusive of her could find haven in his mind, and sublime feelings of warmth overcame him as he slowly claimed her as his own.  Their ritual dance of love swayed rhythmically to the beat of their hearts, ebbing and flowing as channeled energy gave rise to passions only they knew.  Crescendo rose and fell, again and again, as Eros carried them deeper and deeper, oblivious to all but their ardor.  Then, as he heard her cry out, his eyes opened to the dawn of a new day.  Though his sleep had been fitful, he was nonetheless invigorated, and his journey could continue.