Please pray

for my son. His kidneys are failing. and we are waiting or the local hospital to tranfer him to a bigger hospital in Florida, We are very scared, He also has pulmonary anemia.

happy Guy day!!!

i really wish wordpress would STOP ‘improving; things. i guess no GuyDay for me!!!

My Sweet Thing Chapter 11: 11 – Through the long night

Tags

LOTR, fanfiction, rohirrim

My Sweet Thing

Chapter 11

Through the long night

“Do you have everything you need?” Lýðrest was by Elfhelm’s horse, pretending to hold the bridle while watching him tie his sleeping roll behind his saddle.

The young captain didn’t notice the look of worry on his young wife’s face. “Roll, cloak, a change of clothes, weapons, tack, three water skins. Yes. That’s everything.” He tightened the last cinch, holding everything in place before turning to realize that she looked worried.

Scared to death.

“Is something wrong?”

“Fek no!” She tried to look affronted. “Why should something be wrong?” Quickly, she looked down, studying the dust about her feet. “How long will you be gone? Where are you going?”

Comprehending that she was quite frightened at being left alone, Elfhelm smiled before taking her into his arms. She did not resist. “I’ll be gone fourteen days, give or take. We are heading north on patrol-”

“Where Gauwyn was injured.”

“Aye,” he nodded quietly. “There as well. We’ll be careful. I doubt they’ll try to ambush us again any time soon. And if they try, we’ll be ready for them.” He didn’t tell her of the nasty trap that more than likely killed several of the Dunlendings over a moon past. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“If you die, I don’t want to marry Gamling,” she muttered. Elfhelm laughed out loud at that, grateful he was the only one who heard her. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” Elfhelm wondered if she were aware her arms were around him, holding him tight.

“Aelwydd says she’s trained you to be my clerk.” Lýðrest nodded. “So you will keep up with my paperwork, the payroll and such. You know how that works.”

“Aye. They have to have their marks and the engraving on the back tells how much they get. If they try to chew me up for more or don’t have their mark, I’m to get Aelwydd or Gamhelm.”

“Very good. I have rotations already scheduled, so you simply have to post them. If I’m not back in time, simply repeat them. Make sure the barracks has food and there is plenty of feed for the horses for those under my command.”

“Just like the tavern.”

“Just like the tavern,” he agreed. Aelwydd said she had a quick eye and mind. “Ask Aelwydd or Gamhelm if you have any questions. Gauwyn is starting to work his sword arm and ride again. You are to work with him. That includes riding.” She snarled at that. Elfhelm tucked his finger under her chin and lifted it. “Do it. Don’t make me spank you when I get home. In the evening, you’re to go to the tavern my mother runs and help her. The work should be familiar to you and she could use the help, I’m sure. It will keep you busy and I’ll be home before you know it.” He stared at her for what seemed forever, watching her eyes mist up. After a moment, he leaned down, kissing her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth and his hand holding the back of her head. She allowed him to plunder her, before pulling back when the company began to wolf whistle and demand they just get a room. He broke off the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers. “Miss me?”

“Like a bleeding flea – infested quilt,” she muttered. “At least I’ll get some sleep without you snoring like a damned thunderstorm in my ear.”

“Hæfern should be back from Aldburg next week. The two of you can sit around and swear to your heart’s content. If I see your da, I’ll tell him you’re well.” She nodded morosely. He kissed her again.

“Come on, can we just leave?” Cælin was up in years, working on his third wife and romance was totally lost on the man. Elfhelm openly wondered why he didn’t retire. “Because I love to bed my wife. I don’t love her cooking,” was the oft-repeated excuse. He said that about all three of his wives.

Reluctantly, Elfhelm turned her loose and mounted up. He looked back as the company turned the corner, pleased she still stood where he left her, watching. Maybe this separation would do the trick and he would get lucky before the second moon was up.

Neither one of them were aware of the jealous, angry eyes that watched the tender exchange or the departure.

~~~…~~~

True to Elfhelm’s promise, Aelwydd and Hereswið kept Lýðrest extremely busy. She rose early and fell into bed every night, exhausted, her arms wrapped around Elfhelm’s pillow. The payroll came in and dividing and distributing it was a taxing, headache-inducing process. Several of the younger Riders did attempt to garner extra coppers from the young woman, but soon learned that she was smarter than they were. Not only that, she was evidently allowed and capable of setting their garrison responsibilities during her husband’s absence and the attempt to collect additional pay only acquired them unsavory chores, such as cleaning the stalls like stable boys. One particularly obstinate fellow found himself cleaning the Marshal’s pigpen, much to the amusement of his fellow Riders.

Most afternoons found her in the yards with the young women, practicing, training their own sword skills. She openly disliked the training and was rather vocal to Gauwyn when the two of them went riding afterwards.

“I don’t understand,” she griped the afternoon after Elfhelm left for patrol. “I don’t see any reason why I need to learn to fekking fight with a sword, a knife, or a big stick!”

Gauwyn smiled. He ignored her earthy language, something his mother despaired of as her daughters were enamored of Lýðrest’s command of such filth. “Imagine you could have run Hucohun through.”

“That would work.”

“Aye.” He stretched, painfully, his side giving him fits.

They tended to stay close to the garrison; Gauwyn working newly knitted muscle. It was whispered he would limp for the rest of his life. Lýðrest felt badly about that, but she had done the best she could. He didn’t seem to hold it against her.

When Hæfern returned, he took over Lýðrest’s sword training, taking it very serious indeed.

“Don’t know why I didn’t teach you this, myself,” he muttered thickly, backing her into a corner. When she reached it, she lashed out, backing him back into the middle of the yard. Every other thrust was punctuated with a curse that made most of the yard’s occupants’ hair stand up on the back of their necks. One particular whack would definitely leave a bruise on the older Rider’s arm for sure.

“Aye,” she responded, concentrating on his sword arm. “I could have killed Hucohun and not been put in this stupid arrangement!”

Hæfern dropped to his knee, point of the practice sword to the ground and effectively pausing the fight. “Do you really think that?” his head cocked to the side.

“Of course, I do!”

“Think, girl. You know better.”

Truthfully, she did. Even had she been able to defend herself, that night was three against one, wretched odds.

“Do you like Elfhelm so little? Way I hear it, the two of you are rather sweet on each other. The garrison is still twittering like teenaged girls over your goodbye kiss.”

Lýðrest colored at that. She threw her own practice sword down on the ground and stormed away. It was not lost on her that she did care deeply for the man she was married to, enjoyed him, his company and she was missing him horribly. She missed his morning and evening kisses, his warmth in the bed and yes, even his snoring.

She went home, washing up and changing clothes and threw herself into her work at the tavern that night. She worried her mother-in-law, her new family, but mostly Aelwydd, who knew deep inside what was bothering the young woman. But she also understood the stubborn set of her shoulders and backbone.

Time would tell. Hopefully, she would miss him enough to end this foolish prick-teasing game the two of them were playing.

Elfhelm and his company returned on time, fourteen days later. Lýðrest was in his clerk’s office, preparing to repeat the rotation, so deep into the fortress, she didn’t hear their return. She was interrupted by a sharp rap on the doorframe.

Elfhelm stood against the door, looking tired worn. He was filthy. “Could you lay that aside?” His voice was exhausted, thick, certainly not the robust, vibrancy she was used to.

“Elfhelm?”

“I need your help. It’s not bad, but…” His mouth went white. “I don’t want my mother or my sisters fussing over me, do you understand?”

“Sure.” She got up slowly and took him by the arm. Together, the two sauntered, Lýðrest chattering unusually so about her ‘adventures’ while he was gone. The captain managed to smile, look as if he were hanging on her every word. No sooner than they got into their cottage, he sank down on the nearest bench by the fireplace. Lýðrest shut the door, grabbed her healer’s kit and sank down in front of him. She began to unbuckle and pull his leather armor from him, slinging it out of the way to the floor. “Where?”

“Arm. Hip. It’s not bad, not really…just hurts like…” Lýðrest was now pulling his chain maille over his head.

“A fekking warg’s arse.”

“I knew,” he whispered, “you’d have something appropriate to say.” His smile, while thin, was genuine. “I’m just tired and need to sleep.”

As his clothing came off, Lýðrest hissed. “Not bad, my arse. Had you cleaned them, it wouldn’t be bad!” Before long, he was sitting in his small clothes and she was stoking the fire, every large kettle that would hang on a hook, filled with water and over the fire, waiting to boil.

“Béma! Must it be so hot in here?”

Lýðrest was busy nosing over healing salves and a pain-reliever tea. “You can sweat this out while I fix your bath.” She handed him a mug of willowbark-laced tea. “When did this happen?”

He took a deep draw of the hot brew. “Bleh!” he grimaced. “Can’t you put this stuff in caffe?”

Lýðrest was putting another bucket of hot water into the tub. “I make shitty caffe, just so you know. When did it happen? How long have you been riding all over the fekking Riddermark like this?”

Elfhelm shrugged. “Five… six days.” He buried his nose in the mug to hide his smile as his wife swore the dirt from the floor. Home. This was home.

It was quiet for some time as the water level rose in the tub and Lýðrest fussed and worried over each cut and laceration. There was a particularly deep cut on his shoulder that needed several stitches. Elfhelm sat very still while she sewed him up, taking care to make sure the sutures were tight and even. ‘Funny’, she thought to herself, ‘I can sew flesh evenly, but give me a needle and thread and a quilting hoop, and I’m a lopsided loony!’ Finally, she poured the last pot of boiling water in the tub and nodded for him to get in. She did not turn away as he stepped out of his last bits of clothing and climbed into the tub. He hissed at the heat but sank gratefully into the water nonetheless. Lýðrest kicked his clothing into the corner and pulled the little bench he was sitting on behind him and began to bathe the parts of him she could see.

In the past weeks, since they arrived in Cantwaraburg, Lýðrest had become more and more interested in her husband’s body. Unbeknownst to her, he was aware of her quiet, under the covers scrutiny and he reveled in showing off in typical male fashion. Like most Rohirrim, he was tall, but rather than have a lean physique, he was thick, muscular. Broad across the shoulder with a powerful chest that, as much as Lýðrest hated to admit, she was learning to love as it held her safe, snug, and secure at night. Everything about him was thick, hinted at power.

Including… that.

As she remembered, even limp, his was not the shriveled up, dangling thing most injured men had between their legs. His looked… heavy and Cynni and Belle told her it would grow hard and larger than when it was in its resting state. To think of his… larger? Bigger? Standing like a staff…

“What are you pondering on that has you so quiet?” Elfhelm turned around, leaning on the back of the tub. He immediately saw his wife redden furiously and realizing she was having earthy thoughts, smiled smugly. “Do not lie or make up something outrageous.”

“What makes you think I’d lie?”

The back of a damp finger reached out and caressed her jawline. “You’re blushing.”

It crossed her mind to lie anyway, but truth was she was curious and if she couldn’t ask her own husband, who could she ask? Certainly not her mother-in-law… maybe Aelwydd… but…

“I can’t figure out how you’re going to fit!” she blurted. “Belle said a man gets… bigger and you’re bigger already and I just don’t know how you’re going to … how we’re going to…” She realized her husband was grinning about as hard as she had ever seen the man smile. Damn, if he wasn’t chuckling. She ducked her head, petulantly. “You maggot-pie. You’re laughing at me.”

Now he was laughing. “No, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.” His hand continued to caress her face. “How much did Belle tell you?”

Stammering, Lýðrest told him all four sentences of information she received. “That it will fit, I’ll like it, eventually, and the longer you go without, you’ll get… blue balls and it will hurt you.”

Elfhelm’s smile fell just a bit. “That’s all?” Lýðrest nodded. “Do you want me to have my mother or Aelwydd talk to you?”

“NO!” she snapped. “It’s damned embarrassing for me to be this old and ignorant-”

“Actually,” he interrupted, “I prefer you ignorant. Not that that’s a bad thing, simply I’ll get to teach you everything.” He turned back around, presenting her with his back. “If you’ll finish my back and help me wash my hair, you won’t have to look at me when I embarrass you, because I probably will.” Elfhelm heard the bench scrape across the floor as Lýðrest pulled closer. Her fists went to his back, a bar of soap in her hands. The scent of sandalwood filled the air. “It will get bigger, but it will fit fine.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll get wet.” Her hands stopped. “A woman’s body is made to react to a man’s to help things along. I will teach you to touch me in ways that will make me rather large and yes, very hard. You have parts of your body that will make you very wet, which will make it easier.”

Suddenly, Lýðrest grabbed his chin, turning his face none to gently, so he was looking straight at her. “And what if I don’t get wet enough?”

Elfhelm’s face split into a slow-growing grin. He kissed her, much like he had when he left two weeks before. His look was rather rakish. “Then I will crawl between your legs and lick every nook and cranny and your sweet clit until you are gushing and make a wet spot in the bed. And just when you cannot take anymore, I will spread you wide and I will fit.” His forehead was pressed against hers. “And you will love it.”

Lýðrest pulled back, eyes wide, full of fear, but also full of need. Elfhelm ducked his head beneath the cooling water and held out his hand for the soap. Quickly he washed that mass, before motioning for the bucket to rinse. When he finished, he stood up, water dripping from everywhere on his body. As she was still sitting, Lýðrest looked up taking all of him in, every bit, every inch.

“Tell me, léoflic,” Elfhelm’s voice was a husky whisper. “Will you allow me to gaze at your naked beauty so thoroughly?” He smiled ruefully when she blushed and looked away. Snorting gently, he held his hand out. “Take my hand and stand up.” When she acquiesced, he pulled her up and still clasping it, laid her hand on his uninjured shoulder. With his other hand, he pulled her close, that possessive hand on the curve of her hip, until she was tucked into his body, the damp that adhered to his skin, now clinging to her dress. “You realize,” he whispered in her ear, “the first full moon passed while I was gone?” He now laid her hand flat on his shoulder, shuddering as she began to stroke, caress the muscled skin, mindlessly mimicking his own touch along her jaw line. He felt her nod. “Why do you wait?” His murmur was a low rumble in her ear. “Surely you know I would be gentle. I want to pleasure you.”

“I’m scared.” It was a lamb’s bleat, an endearing softness he did not expect from her.

“Well, we should address that fear, but not this evening.” He kissed her when she looked up. “I’m in no shape to woo such a reluctant, beautiful woman. And I’m hungry too and as much as I have missed you in my arms, your cooking,” he finished ruefully, “has much to be desired.” This caused Lýðrest to break out in a rather joyous laugh, something not seen or heard often. “But,” Elfhelm lifted a single finger and tapped her on the nose, “I will have the next few days off, meaning you do as well. I would like to show you some of the surrounding countryside, show you where the good fishing spots are, as well as a field that is normally abundant with rabbit and squirrel.”

“But I can’t cook it, remember?” She was still smiling.

“Well, I guess,” he lectured to the rafters while he pulled her in close, “I’ll have to teach you to do that as well. Why,” he chided humorously, “did I marry you again? OH!” He continued, lest she interrupt him, “That’s right! Your father’s vast holdings and your jewels!” He spun her around, making her squeal. “And your sweet singing voice!” They were both laughing. Finally, he kissed her, a lingering kiss that promised much. “Help me get dressed and we’ll go to the tavern for whatever has been cooked up. But be prepared to spend the next few days with me where hopefully, we’ll lay some of your fears to rest and maybe, I can teach you to fry up a trout!”

Fifteen minutes later, the two sat in a dark, back corner of Elfhelm’s mother’s tavern, sharing a tankard of mead and looking forward to a shared dinner of pork and honeyed vegetables. No one noticed or mentioned, save Lýðrest, the obvious slow movements of the captain, or the grim, white line his mouth made when he moved the wrong way.

They were unaware, as they left the tavern in the early evening, as they slowly strolled hand in hand down the path back to their little cottage, of a pair of angry, jealous eyes that followed them.

tbc

amazing grace

so much death as of late. this came across my playlist. thought i’d share…

missing my son…

rip theodan king

bernard hill

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/bernard-hill-titanic-lord-rings-135738475.html

sleep well Servetus

thank you for your wisdom.

My Sweet Thing 10. And so it goes

Tags

LOTR, fanfiction, rohirrim

My Sweet Thing

Chapter 10

And so it goes

Lýðrest woke up with a groan and then a smart smack on her arse.

“What in fekkin-” She sat up, fists at the ready, before realizing her back and thighs were still stiff. “Ow!” She glared at the cause of her stinging bum. “Why’d you do that?”

Elfhelm was up, dressed, and smiling. He was holding two mugs, one of which he handed her. “Caffe. I just brewed it. Here. It will wake you up!”

With a scowl, Lýðrest took the steaming mug and drank the bitter brew. She looked at him with a frown. “You brew a good cup,” she admitted grudgingly. “Why’d you hit me?”

“I didn’t hit you.” He actually sounded appalled, hurt that she would make such a claim. “I smacked your arse. Time to get up.”

She started to lie back down, but she had a semi-full mug of hot caffe in her hands. “I’m hurting.”

Elfhelm’s features softened somewhat. “I know you are. That’s why you need to get up and move. It will help.” She finished the cup and with great stiffness, swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Seeing the empty tub against the wall, It dawned on her she remembered very little of anything after she ate the night before.

“Elfhelm?” He looked at her expectantly. “I don’t remember going to bed.”

For a moment he stared, knowing the unasked question, before deciding to answer. “You were more asleep than awake when I arrived. I braided your hair, got you out of the tub, dressed you, and put you to bed.” He threw a finger up, cutting off her retort. “Aye, I gave you two moons to get used to the idea of our marriage and us consummating the marriage. I said nothing about treating you like a sister.” He turned his back and put his empty mug on the sideboard. “It’s not like I’m not going to see you. Wouldn’t matter anyway. You were hurting and stiff and needed a helping hand last night. Seducing you was out of the question.”

Lýðrest’s feet hit the floor and suddenly, she had needs that had to be taken care of. “Uhm… Elfhelm?” She glanced at the chamber pot.

Elfhelm knew immediately she wanted privacy. “I’m late, so I’ll be quick. You need to get dressed. The Marshal’s wife and my mother will be here shortly. They said you are in need of clothes and we are in need of some homey touches to this place, including I’ll bet a privacy screen and a tub. After that, Aelwydd is going to teach you to run a garrison and a larger household. For some reason, they think I’m going to be something and I’ll need your help.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “In the afternoons, my mother said you can help her in the tavern.” He ducked his head. “You’ll be comfortable. Also, when I’m out on campaign, you won’t be alone, twiddling your thumbs, if you’re there.” He took a step towards the door, before turning back, with a grin. “Oh. Forgot.” He bounced across the room and cupping her face in his hands, kissed her sweetly on the mouth, his teeth nibbling on her bottom lip, making her gasp. He pulled back, as if to inspect her. “Get used to that every morning and every night. See you at dinner time.” And with that, he tossed up the drop bar and dashed from the little house, leaving Lýðrest stunned and fingering her tingling lip.

She almost wet herself, trying to get the door shut and the bar dropped before getting back to the chamber pot.

~~~…~~~

Aelwydd and Hereswið kept her as busy, if not more so than she had ever been back at Druncenig Ende. It was decided (without Lýðrest’s input) that the most important thing she needed was clothing and things for her home. Aelwydd’s eldest daughter, Beornia, had just had a growth spurt and normally her outgrown clothes would go to the next sister – Mayda – but Mayda had had one as well and now stood taller than her elder sister. The younger ones – Orva and Sulis – were much too small for the clothing, so they came to Lýðrest. Overnight, Lýðrest discovered she had a new wardrobe and one nicer than anything she had ever owned, even if it was second-hand. She was lost behind the quilt-rack, a spinning wheel, taught arts she never knew existed.

“What’s wrong with her?” Æðelhild, Elfhelm’s youngest sister was nine summers and a busier know-it-all, Lýðrest had never met! “Elfhelm had to teach her to ride! Everyone knows how to ride! Everyone has a hope chest! I have a hope chest! And she can’t sew! vWas she dropped on her head?”

“Shhhh!” Elfhelm’s mother tried to shush the child, but she wasn’t about to be hushed.

Tact was not in the child’s vocabulary. She marched over to Lýðrest. “Why can’t you sew? Didn’t your mama teach you how?”

Hereswið was trying to get out from under the huge rack she was sitting behind, working on a large section of quilt. “Æðelhild-”

“My mother fek-” Lýðrest stopped herself in her tracks. One of the first things Aelwydd and Hereswið attempted to convince Lýðrest of was that ladies did not swear or talk like the men in… well… whatever tavern her father ran. They were expected to comport themselves like… well… ladies. She inhaled, attempting to find calm where she felt none. “My mother is dead,” she stated matter-of-factly. “She died before I was three summers. I barely remember her.” The child drew up in shock. Before she could open her mouth again, Lýðrest continued. “My father ran a tavern and I helped him run it. I know nothing about sewing or hope chests or girly things, but I know how much food needs to be prepared a slow night or a busy one, I know how to sew up a man if he’s been injured and I know how many caskets of ale or oak whiskey is needed for a celebration. I know,” and with this she looked up to her mother-in-law, “where the best place in a cellar is to store mead, store ale, store beer and store wine. What temperature is best. I also know how to dodge grasping hands and how to lay out a man who refused to keep his hands to himself and tries to take liberties.” She then turned back to the little girl, who stood before her, mouth agape. “I didn’t know how to ride because I didn’t need to ride. I can lay a man out with my frying pan. I’ve been much too busy working to keep a roof over mine and my da’s head and food in our belly to worry about a hope chest, waiting for man to marry that honestly I never thought would come.”

Before she could continue, the child’s mother took her gently by the arm. “I think you are needed in the garden.” The little girl began to protest. “It’s not been weeded in a week. If the soil is dry, get a bucket and go to the river.”

“Sulis?” Aelwydd addressed her youngest, who was of the same age. “Go with her.”

With much groaning and bemoaning and grousing, the two young girls took off. Hereswið shook her head before returning to her seat. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what gets into her.”

“Nosy. Wants to know it all.” Lýðrest’s head was down, anger barely hidden.

“We’re simply curious,” Mayda, one of Gamhelm and Aelwydd’s daughters spoke up, barely civil. For some reason, she was borderline rude from the moment she met Lýðrest and Lýðrest decided she returned the dislike. “We’d like to know what it is Elfhelm sees in you. Don’t get your knickers in a wad.”

“Mayda?” Aelwydd never looked up from her hoop. “Go help your sister in the garden.” The girl snarled before tossing her hoop on the bench and stalking away.

Lýðrest watched her stomp off angrily, before returning to her own hoop. “Béma, whatever it is I’m making, it’s damned ugly!”

One of the younger of Elfhelm’s sisters – Edyð – was sitting next to her. She was of an age with Lýðrest and decided she was going to like her new sister-in-law, regardless. It was not lost on Lýðrest the girl thought her brother hung the moon. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just a practice scrap to keep you busy and to teach you.” She shrugged with a good-natured grin. “You’re not supposed to make your wedding quilt, anyway. Your sisters and your friends are.”

“I have no sisters or friends. The only friends I had are back in Druncenig Ende.”

It was quiet for a moment. “Well, I’m your sister,” Edyð spoke softly. “You’ve married my brother, so that makes you my sister.”

For the first time since arriving, Lýðrest smiled. “I guess it does then.”

“Tell you what!” Edyð motioned to Beornia to pass her her quilting hoop. “I’ll teach you to sew if you teach me to swear!”

“Edyð!”

“Me too!” Beornia chimed in. “I want to learn too!” She saw her mother raise her finger. “The garden is full of little girls. I am NOT going there!” She turned her attention back to Lýðrest before her mother could admonish her. “Do you know why Mayda is so nasty? She thinks she’s in love with Elfhelm.” She handed Edyð’s quilt portion to her.

“He never paid her any mind or attention,” Edyð cut in. “Treated her like a little sister and nothing more.”

“An annoying little sister.”

“Aye.”

“So!” Edyð seemed all excited about getting to know her new sister. “We’ve heard all sorts of whispers and silliness about how you and Elfhelm met and married! Tell us what really happened!” She leaned over and looked up at Lýðrest, batting her eyes. “Was he romantic?”

“Did he sing to you?” Beornia snickered.

“Was it love at first sight?”

“Did he sweep you off your feet?”

Lýðrest was staring daggers at Aelwydd, who seemed completely nonplussed and totally oblivious of the fact her daughter and friend were waxing insipid and dreamy twaddle. She looked at Edyð. “No.” Over to Beornia. “No.” Back to Edyð. “No.” Back to Beornia. “No.”

Both girls were in shock. “So what we heard…”

Lýðrest was focusing on the mess she was making worse in her own hoop. “If you were told that I was hiding from goatish scut who planned to gang rape me and Elfhelm hid me in his room so it wouldn’t happen,” she stabbed the material viciously, “then you heard correctly. I was under the quilt in my clothes and shoes and he was on top in his cloak and we… spooned up together as the bed was small.” She jabbed the cloth again, pricking her finger. “OW!” She stuck the digit in her mouth. “Ewfhewm weft tha dor umbawbed an’ ma da cauh uf.” She pulled her finger from her mouth and inspected it as if it were an evil orc. “My da couldn’t wait to announce it to everyone. We didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. By the time the Marshal and my uncle got there, it was too late. Apparently, setting me aside will damage his career or some shite, so we’re stuck with each other.”

“Why would your da force a marriage on you, especially to a man you didn’t know?”

“Because,” Lýðrest returned to attacking the quilt square, “he wanted me out of Druncenig Ende bad enough and Elfhelm is a damn sight better than any man I’d find there!”

“Oh.” Edyð’s response was very subdued. This was so unlike what she hoped for her beloved brother. “Well, surely you’ll fall in love with him, if you haven’t yet.”

“I just don’t understand how anyone could accidentally get caught in someone’s cloak!” She stopped momentarily and glanced up at Aelwydd. “Lady Aelwydd-”

“Just Aelwydd.”

“You mentioned last night that you had been accidentally caught.”

“Aye.” She smiled. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me. You’ve heard this before,” she nodded to her daughter.

“I love hearing it.”

“When I was seventeen summers, my da allowed me to go with him to a horse fair. The men go to trade horses, race and such. Show off mostly. The women go to priss and preen and maybe catch the eye of someone not on their farmstead.”

“So, you went to priss and preen.”

“Oh no.” Aelwydd had now laid down her sewing. “I had a dapple mare that was faster than the wind. Got her from a barely civilized horselord in the Wold. What was his name…” she wiggled her fingers in thought, before snapping them. “Finan! Finan of the Wold. In fact, Gamling’s first gelding was from their herd. Amazing horseman.”

“Anyway, I wanted to race. I knew I could win every prize being offered, but my da refused. Said no man would be willing to court me if I beat his arse racing. Ticked me off, it did.” She nodded hard, Elfhelm’s mother now grinning like child with too much sweet cake. “We argued for some hours over it and rather loudly, I must admit. Eventually, I took off, just to prove I could raise up dust. I rode for a lot longer than I planned and realized I was out in the middle nowhere without my sword. I only had a paltry knife to eat with.”

Aelwydd was now smiling in fond memory. “I started back, but my mare came up lame. She had a loose shoe. The sun was going down, I could hear wolves, other things…” her voice drifted off for a moment, “I was so scared… then out of nowhere, this red-headed Rider who had been staring at me from the moment we arrived, barrels out of nowhere on the biggest, meanest stallion I’ve ever seen. He jumped from his horse, checks my Lady’s hoof, tells me we’re not making it back to the gathering tonight, proceeds to make a big fire, pulls out tack… dried beef jerky and hands me a strip for dinner and then offers me a place in his bedroll!”

Hereswið clucked, never looking up. Obviously, she had heard this story before. “Awful.”

Aelwydd was just getting warmed up and she thrust an accusatory finger at Lýðrest. “It was! It was awful! How dare he offer to keep me warm and protected in the dark of the night! I refused!”

“Good girl,” Hereswið mumbled, concentrating very hard on her square. “Stupid move.”

“I sat, in the dark, on a rock that hurt my butt, freezing. After I suppose about an hour, he got up, said my teeth were chattering so, I would attract every warg in the vicinity. Next thing I knew, I was wrapped up tight and warm… and that man was a heating bag the likes I’ve never seen.” She nodded hard. “Still is.”

Beornia leaned into Lýðrest and whispered. “This is my favorite part!”

“Next thing I know, it’s morning, I’m still wrapped up tight in his cloak and he’s wrapped around me and my da and brothers are standing over us yelling they’ve caught me wrapped in that man’s cloak! Before I know it, my mother is planning a ceremony and that man is teaching me how to take better care of my horse. He gave me two moons.”

“That sounds familiar,” Lýðrest muttered.

“It should! No doubt that man of yours talked to mine. Weirdest courtship I’ve ever encountered or heard of.”

Lýðrest snorted. “Elfhelm taught me to ride and is teaching me to fight. Give me a frying pan any day.”

“Seeing how stiff you were, you still aren’t riding,” Aelwydd had returned her attention back to her sewing. “It took time, respect, and a few arguments, but I fell in love with that man. Best mistake I ever made, getting caught ‘accidentally’ in his cloak.” She dropped her sewing in her lap and tilted her head in thought. “I don’t think he’s ever realized that I know he loosened my mare’s shoe on purpose.” She made a moue with her mouth and shook her head. “No. I don’t think he knows.” The women started laughing.

Somewhere, in the midst of all it all, Lýðrest began to ponder what Elfhelm had told her about the difficulty in protecting her as long as their marriage wasn’t consummated. None of the women in the circle acted as if it was a chore. Maybe, she was being childish. Maybe, she was just being obstinate. Elfhelm hadn’t treated her unfairly or horribly. He dressed her the night before, braided her hair, put her to bed. He made her feel safe….

Why was she waiting?

~~~…~~~

As Elfhelm feared, his savings took a huge dent when his wife went shopping with his mother and the Marshal’s wife for necessities for their home. Living near a garrison and large settlement meant they didn’t have to wait for caravans or tinkers to come through town. Luckily, her wardrobe didn’t take a huge bite of his silver as he expected, but she did purchase leggings and tunics, as well as a sturdy pair of boots. It was the household goods that were staggering. Pots, pans, eating utensils. A privacy screen, a tub, a wardrobe. Linen to make… linens. He came home one evening to find people carrying things in. Just how big did she think their home was? By the time Aelwydd and Hereswið finished, the place was neat as a pin, set up like a dollhouse, a beautiful new quilt on the bed, which had been restuffed and now boasted fluffy goose-down pillows. Elfhelm wondered aloud what had happened to his nice bachelor pad.

“You have a wife now, Elfhelm,” his mother jibbed him. “If you could ever get down to the business of seducing her, you’ll have children and then we’ll either have to find a bigger place or add a loft to this one!”

Their lives settled into a nice, comfortable routine for a few weeks. Lýðrest spent days following Aelwydd, dogging her footsteps in the garrison. Her mind was sharp when it came to money; able to add and subtract in her head at an amazing speed. Once, one of the young riders, not realizing she was married to a captain, made a lewd advance, only to find himself backed into a wall and rapidly cursed at by a tongue so raspy vile, it sounded like arrows being shot at a stone wall. Her finger was poking him in his sternum and by the time Gamhelm pulled him away from her and sent him to the stables to clean stalls, he swore never to make a pass at any strange woman again, save the whores at the Three Legged Rider.

The bruise caused by her finger lasted a week!

Two afternoons after their arrival, Elfhelm made her saddle her mare and they went riding. She still was sore and stiff and she cursed him for every jarring bounce and trot.

He called her a whiney baby while rubbing a smelly oil on her legs and upper thighs.

He kissed her every morning before he left for the day…

And rolled her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, every night, causing her toes to curl and her nether regions to feel… tingly.

Three weeks after their arrival, he was sent out on patrol for two weeks.

It was the longest two weeks of Lýðrest’s life.

Tbc

My Sweet Thing 9 – Everybody Loves You Now

Tags

fanfictioin, LOTR, rohirrim

My Sweet Thing

Chapter 09

Everybody loves you now

~~~…~~~

Elfhelm was grateful everything hadn’t fallen down around his ears while he was gone. Although he was the lowest captain in the garrison, he was still captain and there were duties he had to perform; scheduling rotations and making sure payroll had been dealt with. Thankfully, Gamhelm’s wife, Aelwydd, had stepped in, taking over as only she could and quietly made the arrangements and distributed the salaries of the soldiers. Sure, they would understand he wasn’t there to oversee it, but men needed to be paid. They had families, responsibilities.

So after going through the paperwork and thanking Béma for intelligent women, he decided a quick ale at the Three-Legged Rider was in order. He’d received word from his mother that she intended to feed them this night and he figured his little home was crawling with women. If he was lucky, he’d arrive back home about the time the dust settled down and the extra females were gone.

The bar was full, full of Riders and single men. The Three-Legged Rider was not the family tavern his mother ran. His mother was interested in feeding a man’s stomach. His aunt, Earcongotæ, on the other hand, was more interested in feeding a man’s libido. He no sooner sat down, before he had company.

The buxom blonde plopped herself in his lap, her laces loose and her breasts easily accessible. She handed him a tankard. “I hope and pray to Béma the rumors aren’t true.”

Elfhelm took the mug and drank gratefully from the froth. Paperwork was nasty work that left one with a dry mouth. “Ah, that’s cold and I thank you! What rumor would you be talking about, Aedilthryd?”

She sidled in closer, more intimately, her blouse now completely open and her pert nipples openly displayed to him. “Why, that you got married.”

“Really? Who told you that?” He reached across and pulled her blouse closed. A man could take just so much temptation.

“Oh, the garrison is just talking about it!” She put both arms around his neck and began to play with his ears. “And they say you married some nasty wench with a trash mouth from Druncenig Ende, of all places.”

Elfhelm winced and Aedilthryd caught it. “I did not marry some nasty wench. I married Hæfern’s niece, who also just happened to be the tavern owner’s daughter.” The girl’s mouth dropped, flapping in shock. “And before you ask, yes, I do like her a lot.” He set the empty stein down on the side table and stood up, with the girl still in his arms. “Gamling! Here! Take this!”

Gamling had just entered the tavern, looking for nourishment not found in a kitchen. “What?”

“Take her.” He plopped the girl in the tall redhead’s arms. “She needs an itch scratched and I’m in no mood or condition to do it.”

Aedilthryd was giggling now and kissed the young man on the mouth. “I’ve missed you, too! Think you can handle me?”

Gamling’s face lit up in a playful grin. “What? You think I won’t be enough?”

“Oh,” she dragged her finger around the neckline of his tunic. “Normally, yes you could, but you’ve been in the saddle and Elfhelm has been gone and doesn’t want to play and I’ve been sooooo lonely. I’m liable to be just insatiable.”

Gamling spun around, the whore still in his arms, searching the men at the bar. “Háma !”

Háma looked up from his cards. “Not now. I’m in the middle of a good hand.”

The door was opening, several more Riders coming into the tavern. Gamling’s smile now split into a huge, almost evil grin. “Théodred! Ho!”

“No, I’m not!” the king’s son laughed. “You’re holding the ho!”

Aedilthryd was giggling. “I am not a whore! I’m an honest working girl!” She found herself thrown in the air and as she landed, repositioned over Gamling’s very wide shoulder, his hand possessively on her rear.

“Well, I plan to work you all night! Théodred! Come give me a hand!” He turned so the girl’s backside was high in the air. “Look at this! You know you want some!”

Théodred was grinning. “Oh yeah.” He smacked the wench on the rump, making her yelp. “I’ll aid a fellow Rider in wearing this one out! Let me grab a pitcher and up we’ll go.” The pitcher was already pulled and on the bar as the two men and woman thundered up the stairwell and down the hall, Aedilthryd squealing the whole way. The noise tamped down when her door shut.

“So, it’s true?” A new, more mature voice was sitting next to the young captain. A refilled tankard replaced the empty one. Elfhelm picked it up and took a drink.

“Aye, Aunt Earcongotæ. It’s true.” Finally, he turned to look at the middle-aged woman who owned and operated the bar. “I’ve married Hæfern’s niece, Lýðrest. Her father owns the tavern in Druncenig Ende.

“Mighty fast work, boy. How did this happen?”

Elfhelm made much of taking a long draw from the deep goblet. “She was in a bad, bad spot and I helped her out. Thing is, it was misconstrued and now I have a wife that I need to convince to be a wife.”

Elfhelm stared long and hard into the cold fireplace across from him, knowing the woman next to him was scrutinizing his every movement and facial expression. “Sounds like Gamhelm and Aelwydd.” Elfhelm nodded, never truly acknowledging his aunt. “Have you asked their advice?”

“Talked to Gamhelm.”

There was a loud thump above them. Earcongotæ looked upwards at the ceiling. “That room will be bouncing all night. I’ll have to see if that girl has tomorrow off. She might be worthless if that keeps up. If you talked to Gamhelm, you got good advice.”

“I did. Gave her two moons to get used to the idea. Plan a ceremony. I even agreed to wear the flowers.” He shuddered at that.

His aunt smacked him on the arm. “The flowers is the easy part, Elfhelm.”

Elfhelm smiled. “So I’ve heard.”

“In the meantime,” the woman gestured to her bartender, who brought her a cold mug as well, “where are you sleeping? Please tell me you’re not sleeping with your horse!”

Elfhelm raised the mug again, realizing he had reached the bottom of this one as well. “Oh no,” he whispered with a satiric grin. “We’re sleeping in the same bed.”

“Ah!” His aunt smiled. “So there isn’t much for her to get used to.”

Elfhelm rose and set the mug on the table. “We’re not doing anything. Just sharing the bed. She was clothed and in her shoes under the quilt and I was on top in my cloak. We spooned up in sleep. That’s all that happened when we got caught.”

The brothel owner’s tankard stopped midway up. “And you’re still wanting to make a go of it? No way to set her aside quietly?”

“No choice. Gamhelm said so. We were caught by her father and two serving girls.” Earcongotæ nodded in understanding. “Earcongotæ?” She lifted her eyes in response. “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Eni hadn’t died and left you with three children? Why didn’t you remarry?”

His mother’s sister thought hard for a moment. “No man has ever made me feel like Eni did. And if he had lived,” Eni had been a promising young captain, cut down in his prime in an orc attack on the Eastenmet, “I wouldn’t be doing this. I would be in charge of a garrison. It’s the same thing, really, you know. Not much difference between a garrison and a brothel. Just different…” there was another loud thump on the ceiling. “…stock. DAMN THEM! If they come through the floor, I’ll take it out of all three of their hides!”

~~~…~~~

Lýðrest found herself stripped and in the tub in no time flat. Oils were poured in the water, a variety of scents rose in the steam. No sooner than she emmersed herself, the two women immediately set to unpacking her few things. Aelwydd had two cook pots, one boiling water for tea and the other with a wonderful smelling stew staying warm. Lýðrest slid lower into the tub as she realized that the few linens that were gifted to her were miniscule indeed. She was supposed to have something called a ‘hope chest’ in which she and her mother were supposed to have added to since her birth. Lýðrest was infuriated that these two women thought she might be lacking in any way. It wasn’t like she planned on getting married ever! She was about to tell them such, when Elfhelm’s mother pulled the last piece out of the last saddlebag. “Oh, Lýðrest! This is beautiful!” She turned to face the young woman in tub, holding up the delicate piece of lingerie. “He didn’t tear this from you?” She nodded to Aelwydd. “I’m surprised it isn’t in shreds!”

“I’ve not had a chance to wear it yet. We haven’t…” her voice trailed off.

Both women looked at each other. “Where,” Aelwydd asked gently, “has he been sleeping?”

“With me!” she cried. “And before you start about how painful it is for him, I know. But he gave me two moons and by Béma, I’m taking two moons!” Finally, the deluge of tears began, tears Lýðrest had denied herself for years. “I didn’t fekking want to get married! I didn’t fekking plan to get married! I certainly didn’t fekking plan to get married to someone who lived so fekking far away from my da!”

Somewhere in the midst of her tears, she realized water was being poured over her head and strong, but gentle hands wove soap through the long locks. She continued to cry while her hair was rinsed and then strong hands kneaded her shoulders. “Poor thing. Tired. Exhausted. Away from everything that’s normal in your eyes. Hard to transplant a rose when it’s just been yanked haphazardly from the ground and shoved in new dirt without any nourishment or aid. Here, sweetling. Drink this.”

Lýðrest found a steaming cup of something placed in front of her. Taking it with the tips of her fingers so as not to get burned, she blew in the top. “This has comfrey and willow bark. I can smell it. And I’m no delicate rose!”

“Aye,” Aelwydd said behind her. “You’re hurting and this will help your aches and pains and just so you know, roses aren’t delicate. They are rather hardy and grow in strange places. They have thorns for a reason, to cling, to climb towards the sunshine, but one does have to take care of them and treat them with great respect.”

“Here,” Hereswið sat next to her, trencher in hand. “Give me the cup.” Lýðrest obediently handed it over and took the trencher, the smell of the hardy stew making her mouth water. “Eat up and don’t worry about manners, today. We’ll drum that into you later.” The stew was delicious, much better than the dried tack and wild game the men charred on the fire on their trip back from Druncenig Ende. Lýðrest concentrated on the food in her hand, vaguely listening as the two women worked behind her, not caring they went through her medicine bag, nodding in agreement at her obvious knowledge.

“You sewed up my son and aided in his healing.” Hereswið was sitting next to her again, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Gauwyn says you saved his life, bathing him and then sewing him up and making poultices and teas to help him and making sure he came home.”

Lýðrest’s body was relaxing, the food and the tea doing their job on her body. “There were three I tended to. He was the worst.” She looked over to her mother-in-law, her eyes heavy. She handed the now empty trencher back to the woman. “I couldn’t let him die in the bed. Not under my da’s roof.” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, the fire in it still evident. “Not on my watch.” She looked up to see tears freely flowing down the woman’s face. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m happy. You saved my youngest son’s life. I love you already as if you were my own.” She nodded once, really a dip, before standing up.

Aelwydd made up the bed while Hereswið bonded with her new daughter-in-law, using the linens Lýðrest brought with her and spreading the thin quilt left at the foot. The woman was making note of the things she saw the cottage was going to need: cook pots, mugs, eating utensils, a wardrobe, pillows and a new quilt. The mattress needed restuffed and unless Elfhelm had forgotten a saddlebag or two, his bride needed clothing and needed clothing bad. She owned little more than what she wore. Tenderly, the woman put the filmy piece of lingerie in the trunk at the foot of the bed and laid out one of the girl’s nightgowns, noting it was thin and over-worn as well. She shook her head. What was her father thinking, not keeping up with his daughter’s needs? Didn’t he have a clue? Perhaps he had done the best he could by her and maybe Elfhelm was her meal out of whatever purgatory she hailed from. If that was the case, she didn’t blame the girl’s da one bit for forcing this marriage. As it were, they would be sewing for days, but it needed to be done.

Suddenly, the cottage was diffused with light, Elfhelm stepping into the home. Lýðrest was more asleep than awake in the cooling water and with her back to the door, didn’t seem to notice. Quickly, his mother made her way to him. “Go to the house,” she whispered, “and have your sisters give you a few big towels. Your home and bride,” she gently admonished, “are sadly lacking the necessities and niceties.”

“Neither one of us planned-”

“I know.” She shoved him out the door. “We’ll fix that, but it might take a few weeks. Go get the towels and I’ll have dinner hot for you when you return.” She pulled the door gently to, before going to the fire and moving the hook with the stew back over the low fire.

Elfhelm returned soon enough, in time to watch his mother sit behind his wife, still in the tub, brushing out her damp, long hair. Unbound, it was glorious and truth was, he hadn’t seen it in anything but a braid, long and thick down her back. With a whispered finger to his lips, he sent them out, before sitting down behind her and finishing the job. Gently, he platted it, much like he did his horse’s tail, noticed and cursing himself for the stiffness obvious in her shoulders and back. Tenderly, he caressed the stiffened knots so visible, hearing her sigh in relief as he worked the knots out. She didn’t seem aware of his presence, much less that they were alone. He allowed her to lay languid in the tub, while he spooned up and ate the stew his mother left. The two women were adroit in running the tavern as well as the garrison and he had no doubt they would teach the runnings of such well to his wife.

He just needed to teach her to be a wife and from his observations of his da and mother as well as from his Marshal and his wife, the best way to teach was to show compassion, tenderness and to lead with rewards and a calm hand. Right now, Lýðrest needed all of that and badly. When he finished with his stew, he set the bowl on the table and pulling the quilt back from the bed, he picked up the towel he retrieved from his mother’s.

“Stand up, léoflic.” Lýðrest did such, making no remark that the command came from her husband, not her mother-in-law or the Marshal’s wife. Elfhelm forced himself not to gaze on her, the slenderness of her curves, the beauty of her. Wrapping her up in the towel, he lifted her from the tub, and carried her to the bed. He set her down lovingly and dried her off, before tossing the towel aside and drawing the linen nightshift over her. “Up you go.” Lýðrest groaned as she climbed into the high bed and scooted over to the wall. He threw the quilt over her and blew out the lamp that was next to the bed.

Realizing there was a mess, he put the dishes and the now empty pot on the sideboard, before stoking the fire to a roar. He then began the long, arduous process of emptying the tub, tossing the water out of the door bucket by bucket. His mother lamented why men used the river. She had never had to empty a tub, much less fill it! The river, while cold, was more convenient! Either way, he figured now that he had a wife, he better get used to having a tub. Which meant, he needed to acquire a tub. He had a feeling the rainy day he had been saving for had come with the ferocity of a summer storm and his saved meager silver was probably getting ready to dry up.

Which reminded him; whose tub was this? He didn’t have a tub…

He shook his head as he pulled the drop bar on the door and closed the windows, save one. He didn’t worry about thieves or miscreants crawling through the window. Only a crazy man would attempt mischief in a captain’s quarters in the garrison. It was spring and while the night was cool, it was a welcome contrast to the fire in the hearth. Quietly, he crept to his bed, stripping off down to his small clothes and laying his clothing neatly on the chest. He crawled in the bed with his wife, curling up and spooning her to him.

Somewhere, deep in the back of her sleeping soul, Lýðrest realized her husband had put her to bed and when the low rumble began in her ear as he pulled her into the protective cocoon of his embrace, she blissfully fell deeper into sleep.

tbc

My Sweet Thing Chapter 08 A Room of our Own

Tags

fanfiction, LOTR, rohirrim

A Room of our Own

Gamhelm was true to his word. He chose a gentle, sweet mare for her and brought her with him for Lýðrest to ride to her new home. The mare was very pretty, chestnut with a blaze and four socks. Her white tail swished at the flies buzzing about, but she was more interested in the apple that Lýðrest was feeding her. Gamhelm said the mare was a gift from him and his wife, a bridal gift of sorts. She could name her anything she liked.

But for right now, she stroked a velvet nose and watched tearfully as her things were tied to the pack animal brought as well.

Cynni and Belle surprised her that morning, bringing linens, gifts. They knew Lýðrest had no hope chest, had nothing prepared. She never intended to marry, never thought of it. Her life had been with her father, so this was all a surprise. As they helped pack the precious bedsheets and pillow cases, Cynni laid out an exquisite gown, exquisite to Lýðrest’s eyes at least, of a white, almost transparent lawn, not meant to sleep in.

“I know he hasn’t… the two of you haven’t yet,” she whispered. “And I don’t know why you’re waiting or he is, but when you decide to make a real marriage of it, you wear that!”

“Cynni, I can’t take this!” Lýðrest tried to hand the garment back.

“Yes, you can.” Cynni took the gown from her and proceeded to pack it anyway. “I’ll be honest, I wore it once, on my wedding night. Coenwahl took one look at me in it, pulled it over my head and told me never to bother with such again!” Belle laughed at that. “I’m glad he didn’t rip it from my body.”

Lýðrest smiled wanly before admitting. “It scares me. It fekking well pisses me off, I’m scared of nothing except what is going to happen when our agreement is reached.”

“Agreement?” Belle perked up. “What agreement?”

Lýðrest dropped her head and whispered. “Once Gamhelm arrived and told Elfhelm and myself we were really married, Elfhelm gave me two moons to come to accept it. Not only has he been teaching me to ride, he’s been…well…”

“Kissing the captain!” Belle finished for her. “You lucky girl!”

“And sleeping in the bed with him, poor man.” Cynni finished. “He’s going to have blue balls, for sure.”

“Blue balls?”

At that moment, Cynni jerked her head at Belle, who shut the door and the two women explained the full facts of life to Lýðrest.

So now, she stood in front of a pretty mare she would get to name, that was hers, and watched dispassionately as her linens and clothing… and that… piece of lingerie that she was supposed to seduce Elfhelm with was pack in rolls behind her saddle and Gauwyn’s saddle.

“Girl, are you not even going to say good-bye?” Lýðrest looked up into the eyes of her father, a man who this morning seemed to have aged another twenty years since last night.

“You hate me,” she whispered. “Why should I say good-bye?”

The man gently took the reins from her and tossed them over the horse’s pommel. Taking her in his arms, he drew her close, tucking her under his chin. “I love you. Don’t doubt for a moment I don’t love you. That’s why I’m doing this. He won’t ill-treat you, not like some others I could name.” In that moment, he looked up, over his daughter’s head, to see Hucohun leaning against the wall of the tavern, a mixture of revulsion and sarcastic arrogance plastered across his face. In a moment of fatherly protection, he drew her closer, clutched her tighter. “We’ve been through this. I raised you tough. Besides, Hæfern will be there. I’m not far; only a few days away. If you need me, I’ll be there. Once someone kills Hucohun, you can come visit.” That brought a chuckle from the young woman. Hamon tucked his finger under her chin, lifting her face and forcing her to meet his eyes. “That captain of yours is going to be somebody; a garrison commander and you’ll be a garrison commander’s wife. Surely, that is much better than being the tavern owner’s daughter. Please, Lýðrest. I love you more than my own life. Don’t leave me with angry words between us. I couldn’t bear that.”

That was what she needed to hear. No one was close enough to hear her, but her father heard her just fine. Both were teary – eyed when she mounted up and followed her husband out of town.

She didn’t look back.

Hamon watched until there was nothing left but dust. He knew when the bastard sidled up next to him.

“Happy? You could have given her to me just as easily and she’d have stayed he-”

Another one of Hucohun’s teeth went flying into the dust and he soon followed it to the earth. “You are filth and that captain is going to be somebody, something you’re not. and never will be!” Hamon bent over and pulled the man from the soil by the scruff of his tunic. “I just sent the only thing that means shite to me away because of you and I’m thinking it’s long past time you found a new place to hang your gloves. A long, long way from here.” He shoved him away, throwing him back into the dirt. “Get the fuck out of here. If you darken my tavern again, I’ll put a hurt on you so bad you’ll never stand up again.” With that, Lýðrest’s father turned and stormed off.

Hucohun pulled himself up, a snarl on his face. He wiped spit and blood from his face, looking at the streaked remnants of blood and dirt from his cuff. “I don’t think so, old man,” he muttered. “You’ve not seen the end of me. Neither has your bitch daughter!” With that, he got up, and strode off, not noticing those who turned away after watching the spectacle

~~~…~~~

By the time they pulled into Cantwaraburg four days later, Lýðrest was cursing anyone who came near her. Between riding in the saddle from sun-up to sun-down and then sleeping with nothing between her and the bare earth save her husband’s cloak, every muscle, every bone in her body hurt. If she were the type to cry, she would have. As it were, she damn near cried with relief when the garrison and the settlement surrounding it came into view.

“Welcome home, Lýðrest. Welcome to Cantwaraburg.” Gamhelm almost had a smile on his face. He rode out in front, moving to the head of the battalion of riders. Lýðrest watched him with exhaustion. How could he stand to ride after all this time? Elfhelm had taken his place next to him and even he looked comfortable and at ease in the saddle. Lýðrest stayed in the center, next to Gauwyn, who in all honesty had spent more time with her and spoken more to her during the trip than her own husband.

“You’re hurting.” The young man was pale, but heartier than he had been in Druncenig Ende.

“How the fek can you tell?”

Gauwyn grinned at the woman. He’d gotten used to her earthy language, realized it was a defense mechanism for the most part and decided long before they left her home that he liked her. He figured she was just the thing for his perfect and oh – so – very proper older brother. Elfhelm needed a little spice and the tavern owner’s daughter was perfect. “You’re not used to being in the saddle. You do get used to it. Eventually. Ah. The family is coming to greet. Put your happy face on, Lýðrest. You’re getting ready to meet your new relations.”

Lýðrest decided her happy face was left unpacked in the wardrobe back at Druncenig Ende.

~~~…~~~

Luckily for her, at least in her eyes, Elfhelm’s family had been most interested in Gauwyn. A gaggle of women surrounded his horse, whispering, bickering, petting him. The eldest woman, who Lýðrest suspected properly was Elfhelm’s mother, went to Elfhelm first, following his nod toward Lýðrest. In an instant, the young woman realized, she was being inspected like some sort of farm animal and drew up angrily over the open scrutiny. Upon seeing Lýðrest’s backbone harden, the woman smiled, years falling from her face and patted her son on the arm. She then headed to her youngest and elbowing her way through the group of women, proceeded to fuss over him.

“Ready to go home?” Elfhelm materialized at her side. He was windblown and hale and didn’t look a bit uncomfortable or sore. He was carrying her pack from Gauwyn’s horse in his lap. Reaching over, he took the reins from her hand. “Come on.” Slowly, he led her around the walled fortress and beyond the settlement. People came out from their homes, greeting the captain, many calling him by his first name. They smiled and stared curiously at the woman he was leading.

Around the edge of the wall were several uniform cottages. Each one had small yards and diminutive gardens in the back. Elfhelm stopped in front of one and after dismounting, helped his wife from her horse. She was limping and stiff from being in the saddle so long for her and he winced at her grimace when she took her first tentative steps, bent over.

“Béma, I hate you,” she whispered.

“I’m sure you do, Léoflic. I hate me too, if it makes you feel any better.”

Lýðrest stood up straight, vertebrae in her back popping as she did so. For a moment, she stared at her husband, before breaking into a grin and laughing harder than Elfhelm had ever heard her laugh. It caused him to smile and for a moment, the two of them shared a happy moment together, causing their neighbors to come out and stare.

Eventually however, Elfhelm’s chuckle turned into a rather sweet, gentle smile. Stepping in front of her, he opened the door to the small cottage and dropped the saddlebags just inside. “I’m going to put the horses up. Usually,” he whispered quietly, “you should tether and curry your own horse, but I know you’re hurting, so I’ll do it for you today. I have some things to tend to for a few hours, but I’ll be back by dinner. Go on in and get situated.” He kissed her on the forehead, and turned to leave. “OH!” He turned back around, still walking backwards towards the horses, “My mother will probably show up shortly, once she gets Gauwyn situated and knowing them, she’ll probably bring my sisters as well. Don’t let them take over,” he winked. Taking both sets of reins, he walked off, leaving her standing in the dust. She watched him for a moment, suddenly alone. She shivered in the spring breeze, before steeling her screaming backbone and turned to the house.

Her House. Hers and Elfhelm’s. She never thought about having her own home, didn’t consider it ever and now all of a sudden, she had a house, her own garden and her own horse – a horse she still hadn’t named. Perhaps, she should just name the sweet mare Æppel, seeing how she loved them so much. Elfhelm told her she would spoil the mare and make her fat and useless if she continued to feed her every apple from every apple tree they passed. She had a husband as well; one she admitted to herself was more patient than she. He was kind, she would give him that much. In a way, she felt bad, especially after what Cynni and Belle told her, what he must be experiencing when he slept and snuggled with her. She wondered, for not the first time, if she just shouldn’t go ahead and give in; let him have her…

Bah, by all that was fekking holy, he gave her two moons and by Béma, she was going to wait her two full moons! She took a deep breath and stepped up into the house.

It was dark.

No, really. It was dark in the house. She couldn’t see shite. Every window was closed, shut up and she bumped into something in her way. With a curse, she pulled the door as far open as she could get it and propped it with a saddlebag. Now able to see somewhat into the gloomy interior, she made her way to the windows, unfastening and throwing them open, latching them back. Once they were all released, she turned to look closer at her new home.

It was small and it smelled as if it had been closed up for a long time. Well, it wasn’t so small; it was bigger than the room she had at Druncenig Ende and the room she shared with Elfhelm, but considering everything…

There was a large fireplace, large enough for her to step into. Taking a closer look, she could large hooks that swung in and out. Not only was it made to keep the cottage warm in the winter, it served a two-fold purpose for cooking. As she turned, she saw a cupboard and sideboard, a small, but serviceable table with two chairs. There were two benches in front of the fireplace. Walking across the small sitting area, she opened the cupboard to find a few trenchers, an earthen mug and two small, thinning pots. Obviously, her kitchen was ill equipped. Wandering away from the sitting area, there was a darkened area in the back. Squinting, she found a bed that would barely be big enough for the two of them, along with a chamber pot sitting in the corner. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed and opening it, she realized it was full of his clothes and no room for her few things. She turned back towards the door and it hit her how bare the house was, that it was meant for one man, not a husband and wife and as it stood, was barely suitable for the two of them.

Clearly overwhelmed, she returned to the sitting area and sank onto one of the benches. She stared into the cold fireplace, her mind running in circles.

What had her da done to her? She needed to unpack, but unpack where? Dinner. Elfhelm said he’d be back by dinner. Was she expected to cook? And cook what? In what? Were they expected to share a trencher? And the chamber pot, there was no privacy screen. Were they expected to… do their business in front of each other… Béma!

I’m not going to cry I’m not going to cry dammit to fekking Mordor I’m not going to cry fekking shite can I run home…

She sat there a long time, her back, legs, going numb. She didn’t hear the activity, the noise, going on outside her door.

“Lýðrest? It is Lýðrest, isn’t it?” A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped completely from her perch.

“What? What in fekking… how did you get in? How did you know my name?”

The woman was in her middle years, her rust-colored hair, starting to go gray. This woman had openly perused her when she arrived and without introduction, Lýðrest knew who she was. Realizing the light had dimmed in the room, she looked over her shoulder to the door to discover it was crowded with females galore; young women to young girls. Off to the side, was another middle-aged woman, looking at her with a rather calculating gleam.

“Oh honey, you’re stiff.”

“No shite! I’ve been in a fekking saddle for four days! Who are you?”

There were several shocked, sharp intakes of breath from the group and the two middle-aged women looked at each other, communicating silently. They nodded to each other before the one before her addressed the group. “The lot of you run on home.” A chorus of robust disappointment rose up from the group. “Do not argue. You can get to know your new sister later. She’s tired and needs a hot bath.” Elfhelm’s mother turned to look around, clearly now in command. “No tub. What is it with men and bathing in the river! Why are all of you still here? Shoo!” She pointed to the other woman. “Aelwydd! There is no tub in here. How is she supposed to have a relaxing bath?”

“I’ll take care of that – oh look, just the right timing!” The woman – Aelwydd – stepped to the door. “GAMLING! You and your father retrieve our tub and bring it here! DON’T YOU ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME! I DON’T GIVE A WARG’S BUTT IF YOU’RE TALLER THAN I AM! I CAN STILL TAN YOUR HIDE! JUST DO IT!” She stepped back, glaring. “AND BRING MY HERB KIT! YOUR FATHER KNOWS WHICH ONE! AND ALL MY BIG POTS!” She stepped back in with her arms across her chest. “I swear that boy gets more and more obstinate each day!” She nodded hard once at Elfhelm’s mother. “He needs a hard-headed, stubborn woman to take him in hand!”

Lýðrest eyes were bouncing back and forth between the two. “I thank you very much for the bath, but would you mind telling me who in Forodwaith you are and why you’re in my home?”

It was silent for a moment, while Lýðrest waited expectantly. “Well?”

Finally.

“Gamhelm said she was earthy and a bit rough around the edges.”

“A bit what??? Rough? What the-”

“I am Hereswið, Elfhelm’s mother,” the woman interrupted her smoothly. She stepped around the bench and took Lýðrest by the hand. “This,” she nodded to her companion, “is Aelwydd, Marshal Gamhelm’s wife.” That one dipped her head as well. “We’ve come to help you unpack, see what we can do help you get settled, but,” she looked around the spartan quarters, “it appears this won’t be a job done in a day. Are those two saddle bags all you have?” Lýðrest nodded mutely. Aelwydd was checking the cupboard.

“Looks as if when Berctuald was transferred to the Eastemnet, his wife took everything with them!” She waved the two pots. “I wouldn’t put anything in these, they are so thin! Their dinner would end up all over the fire! Tell me, girl,” Gamling’s mother addressed her, “do you know how to cook?”

Lýðrest, exhausted as she was, didn’t appreciate being backed into a corner by two women she didn’t know. “No, I don’t fekking cook! I’ve run my da’s tavern for the last ten summers, thank you very fekking much! I’ve had no time learning the-” and with this her voice went up and octave and simpered, “genteel lady arts!” She sat down with a plop. “I’ve spent my life keeping paws off of me, pulling brews and hauling caskets of ale.”

“I take it you’re used to keeping men in line?”

“Did a damn fine job of it until some unmuzzled foot-licker decided I was his next conquest and wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

By now both Hereswið and Aelwydd were perched on the bench, hands on their knees, across from Lýðrest. “So that wild tale that Gamling told us about Elfhelm hiding you in his bed and then spooning up with you in his cloak is true?”

Lýðrest snorted and nodded affirmatively. “My da and two of his serving women caught us, even though I was in my clothes and shoes and under the quilt and Elfhelm was on top of the quilt, wrapped in his cloak! Nothing I could do would sway my da.” She stared up at the rafters, praying to find a solution. “By the time the Marshal got there, he said we were good and married and might as well get used to it. Who in all of Béma’s children, gets caught wrapped in a cloak, unintentionally and fully clothed?”

Aelwydd leaned forward, smiling brightly. “I did! Best mistake I ever made!” There was much noise suddenly as Gamling and his father entered the bungalow, carrying a large tub. They set it down in front of the fireplace and began to pull the pots from it, as well as some firewood.

“I supposed you want us to draw water from the well?” Gamhelm’s voice was droll. “I figured as such. Come on, Gamling. Stop glaring at Lýðrest. You’re not making her feel welcome.” The women watched and waited until the two men left the cottage. Aelwydd pulled her herb kit from the tub and digging through the sack, found flint. She knelt in front of the fireplace and began to strike the flint, quickly starting up a small fire.

“Can you count money?”

“Yes!”

“YES!” Hereswið pumped her fist. “Excellent! You are going to fit in perfectly!”

“Fit in?” Lýðrest was now fully exasperated, worn out and wanting nothing more than to crawl into the unquilted bed and go to sleep. “What in Gates of Isengard are you talking about?”

The two women grinned at each other before Aelwydd spoke up. The woman spoke so fast that Lýðrest could barely understand her. “My husband might be Marshal, but I run that garrison. Hereswið runs the tavern, you’ll feel right at home there, I’m sure.”

“Someday,” Hereswið picked up, “Elfhelm will have his own garrison, will be a highly ranked captain with at least one complete éored under his command if not more. He’s going to need a wife who can handle the garrison, handle the payroll, paying the soldiers and make sure the stock and inventory of the weapons, food, tack, and supplies are adequate and well fortified.”

“She’ll need a level head, take no guff from the men, much less from her husband-”

“-and run that place like a well bred horse! And that’s-” Hereswið jabbed her finger in Lýðrest’s sternum, “is where you step in!”

tbc

happy guy day!!!

its been awhile…

my Sweet Thing Chapter 07 I’ve loved these days

Tags

fanfiction, LOTR, rohirrim

My Sweet Thing

Chapter 07

I’ve loved these days

“What? You don’t… what?” Elfhelm looked at the woman in disbelief.

Lýðrest bowed up. Why did this Rider make her feel a finger tall? And how in fekking Mordor did she manage to become married to him? And how dare he… yell at her in front of a company of Riders, which in all honesty, made her feel smaller than a finger tall?

“Can we fekking well discuss this later?” She leaned towards him, her face snarled up in a similar scowl. She completely missed that Gamhelm was leaning on his saddlehorn, the lower part of his face hidden behind his hand, totally covering the snicker that so rarely fell from his features, but for some odd reason, had been very prevalent during his trip here. He looked over at his son, whose mouth hung agape in wonder.

“NO! We can’t discuss it later!” A rare Elfhelm temper was quickly becoming full-blown. “I have to figure out a way to get you to the garrison if you don’t ride!” Both hands were on his hips. “We’ve got to fix this,” he spat to no one in particular.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Gamhelm quietly responded. Two furious sets of eyes looked up at him. “We will be returning in ten days to aid in returning Gauwyn back home as well to as ensure our message where your men were attacked was received.” The Marshal’s eyes had darkened to color of a dark storm. “In that time, teach her.”

“But-”

The older Rider put up his hand to stop her tirade. “I am aware that the horses here are nags and I saw no usable wagons. We will bring a mount for Gauwyn, a packhorse for your household goods and an extra mare for you. I will chose her myself, ensure she is gentle and easy-going.”

“But-”

“Elfhelm’s stallion is well trained and should be willing to abide a different rider for a short time.”

“But-”

“Look girl,” Gamling interrupted. It was clear he was disgusted that the conversation was even taking place and he was still infuriated that his friend was now in a marriage not of his making to someone he considered beneath him. “If you walk, it will take us forever. The other alternative is slung over like the saddle of a pack horse!” He leered at the barmaid. “Although I’m sure your husband will enjoy the sight of your arse bouncing around in the air!”

Lýðrest’s gasp was quite audible. “Why you fekking warg arse-wipe-”

She was cut short by the sound of a solid thump caused by the flat of Hæfern’s hand meeting the back of Gamling’s skull. “Y’might be the Marshal’s son and I like you well enough, but she is still my niece!” He nudged his horse forward. “Insult her again, I’ll kick your arse.”

The two Riders glared at each other, unseeing that their Marshal frowned upon both of them. Gamhelm finally shook his head and returned his attention to the angry young woman on the ground. “As poorly worded as it was, my son is correct. The alternative is either walk or-”

“Please!” Lýðrest stepped forward, towards the Marshal’s horse. “It’s damned embarrassing!”

“Well, you should be embarrassed,” Gamling hissed back. “You’re supposedly Rohirrim!”

Lýðrest doubled up her fist, but before she could fling herself at the man, Elfhelm’s hand lowered itself on her shoulder, pulling her to him. As she was pulled into his chest, his arm completely went around her upper chest, clasping her safely to him. “Gamling? Shaddup already.”

“Yes,” his father agreed. “Please. In fact,” He turned to his son, “leave. Now. Head out.” With an angry huff, Gamling turned and galloped out, leaving the town behind him. Gamhelm watched him dispassionately, shaking his head in disgust as the young man turned the corner, disappearing from sight. “Hæfern? Follow him. Smack him in the head every chance you get. I see I will have need to talk to my son about his manners.” He waited until the girl’s uncle also vanished around the corner. He looked back at the young woman still being gently restrained by her husband. “Lýðrest, if you wish to curse the boy, feel free.” He smiled as she inhaled, opening her mouth to do just that. “However,” he interrupted, “your best curse would be to wish a woman just like his mother on him. That will work just fine.” He nodded and smiled at Elfhelm. “You have ten days to teach her to ride.” Lýðrest turned to begin to lambaste the man, but before she could inhale, he turned his horse, looking at her over his shoulder. “It isn’t hard, Lýðrest. In fact, it’s as easy as sex.” And with that he turned and followed his son out of town. Elfhelm and Lýðrest watched as the group of Riders followed the Marshal and soon all that was left was dust.

Leaving the young couple standing in the middle of the town.

“I don’t have time for this shite,” Lýðrest hissed. “I have to help with the-”

“In ten days, you are leaving this Béma-forsaken settlement,” Elfhelm reminded her. “Your da is going to have to learn to run the tavern without you at that time. He might as well start now.” He nodded in the direction of the departed battalion. “There is a large pasture outside of town, out of everyone’s way. We’ll go there after lunch and we’ll get started. Actually,” he took a finger and closed her unhinged mouth, “I think we should pack a lunch and have a picnic.” He nodded to himself, satisfied at his plan. “That would be perfect. A picnic and horseback riding lessons. I’ll go to the kitchens now to get it started. Dress appropriately.” He turned to leave her in the dust, but looked back over his shoulder, winking. “Oh and darling,” he winked, “I will take you leaving your mouth open like that as an invitation to put my tongue in it.”

He grinned as her curses followed him into the tavern.

~~~…~~~

Hamon had a great deal to say about the plans Elfhelm had for Lýðrest, none of it nice.

“I’m sorry you’re so upset, Hamon, but please remember, you shoved us into this.”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing!” The captain leaned into his father-in-law, making it so no one heard but him. “I’d like to consummate this marriage and try to make the most of it, but I would like her willing. To do that, I have to woo her.” He swung the picnic sack, made up for him by the cook. “I also have to teach her to ride a horse and teach her the workings of a garrison. She and I have a lot to do, including getting to know each other. She is now my responsibility,” Elfhelm hissed. “Give over the reins!” And with that, he stalked out.

“He’s right,” Cynni spoke up quietly. “You made sure she’s married, happy or not. At least he’s willing to try.” She shook her head, her voice dropping more. “I’ve changed the bedclothes every morning. He’s not taken her yet. There’s been no blood.” She dropped her head in embarrassment at Hamon’s furious glower. “He’s trying to do right by her. He’s right. Give over.” With that, the wench ducked her head and attempted to leave the kitchen, but Hamon grabbed her arm.

“Did I do wrong? Did I do the right thing by her?”

With this, Cynni smiled. “Aye, you did the right thing. Hucohun wouldn’t stop until he’s had what he wants and he won’t care what condition he leaves her in. This one will care. He’ll care as long as there is hope. Maybe, he’ll soften Lýðrest up. A little.” With that, Hamon loosened his grip and watched as the woman went down the hall.

~~~…~~~

“This is a saddle. This is a bridle. These are called reins. That’s his rear-end. Don’t step back there. Always walk around the front where he can see you. If you startle him, he’ll kick. He also shites from that end and passes wind. You don’t want to be back there when he does that. His name? Yes, he has a name. It’s Heaðuwylm. Here. Hold your hand out. Flat, palm up. See this? It’s alfalfa. Hold it here. Wait. He won’t bite. Yes, I know it’s slobbery. So are you when you get a treat, I bet. Here, wipe your hand. He’ll love you forever now. That and apples and carrots. Here. Let me show you how to put on a saddle. Don’t be afraid.”

With more patience than even he thought possible, Elfhelm taught his bride to saddle his stallion. He snickered when while pulling the back strap of the saddle, she accidentally brushed the horse’s male member. She jumped back, blushing furiously, both hands about her ears.

“Fekkin’…It’s… it’s…”

“Bigger than mine,” Elfhelm dead-panned. “Don’t worry. He won’t try to mount you,” he said with a grin, laughing to himself as Lýðrest turned redder. Finally, they saddled and geared the horse, with lunch attached to the rear of the saddle. Leading Heaðuwylm outside and shutting the door behind them, Elfhelm mounted and pulled forward. He extended a hand. “Put your foot in the stirrup and pull up.”

Lýðrest stared up at him. “I have two perfectly good legs-”

The smile on the Rider’s face became set. He re-extended his hand. “Pull up.”

“Really-”

“Do not,” he said between gritted teeth, “make me get off and set you up in my saddle.”

“What’s the matter, Lýðrest?” Hucohun’s voice broke through the town’s center. He was leaning against the tavern wall, arms crossed, watching the goings on. “Never ridden a horse? It’s just like riding a man! Surely, your husband has broken you in by now.”

Lýðrest inhaled, ready to blister his ears, but her husband stopped her. His hand reached further. “Let’s not give him anymore entertainment than possible. You’re a better Rohirrim than he. Give me your hand.” His fingers spread. “Please,” he whispered.

Although she wanted to smack at him, instead she placed her hand in his. With some difficulty, she managed to get her foot in the stirrup and found herself pulled up behind the man. She was assailed with the scent of leather and her vision was filled with the expanse of a broad back. Her fists were clenched in her lap.

“Put your hands around my waist.”

“I’d rather not,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“Suit yourself.” With that, Elfhelm kicked his horse into a fast trot, causing Lýðrest to screech and grab onto the only stable thing near her – Elfhelm. With one hand, he moved her hands to his waist. He looked over his shoulder. “Lean on me. Move with me. It will piss Hucohun off.” Lýðrest did as she was told and by the time they left the circle of buildings, she was moving as he told her and more comfortable than she wanted to admit. His back, his shoulders were wide, the wool of his cloak, scratchy against her cheek, but the muscle beneath was hard, warm and, in an odd sense, reassuring.

They rode for about half an hour, making sure the settlement was far behind them. At some point, Elfhelm left the path and wandered away from anything remote to civilization. Soon they found a stream and followed it. By now, they were no longer at a low gallop, instead at a stately walk. He pointed over to a place marked by two trees. “We’ll eat there.” Once he reached the trees, he dismounted, leaving her in the saddle. For a time, he walked, leading her, correcting and stabilizing her posture. Eventually, he handed her the reins, instructing her in a walk, building up to a slow trot, some hours of infinite patience. He noted she was a fast learner, praised her for what needed to be praised and grinning when she blushed at the compliment.

“You aren’t thanked for the job you do very often, are you?”

“What?” She pulled up next to him and he noted that her leggings and tunic were ill-fitted; borrowed from someone not her size. That was something else they would have to attend to before they left and most likely, after they arrived at the garrison. In the back of his mind, he had a feeling he was getting ready to spend a lot of coin to dress his wife properly. He saw many favors he was going to owe his mother and Aelwydd.

“What?” Lýðrest was now glaring at him from her high perch. “Why are you staring at me, you paunchy flap-dragon?”

For the life of him, Elfhelm had no idea why he burst out laughing. “You realize, léoflic, it does things to me when you call me names.” He gestured for the reins.

“What?” Understanding that the riding lesson was over, she handed him the reins.

Elfhelm continued to laugh. “You are making me sexually aroused.” She gasped at that and seemed to be wildly affronted when he extended his hand. “And the thought of me being paunchy; I know better and so do you! Take my hand. ” After helping her dismount, he slung the reins over the pommel of his saddle and took the satchel that was still attached to the horse’s rump. He took off his cloak, spreading it up next to one of the trees and bid her to sit down. Taking the spot next to her, he pulled the satchel on his lap. “Hungry?”

Lýðrest was watching Heaðuwylm. He had wandered down to the stream and was drinking. “Don’t you need to tie him up?”

Elfhelm was rummaging through the satchel. “No.”

“But won’t he wander off? Run away?”

“No.” Elfhelm found what he was looking for; two wine skins. He set them to the side and pulled out the meat pies made at his request. Ugly as she was, Tortgyð was an above average cook. Elfhelm had been forced to eat more disgusting slop in some places and he appreciated the time the woman took with what little she had to work with. “He knows who feeds him and he knows who his master is. I’ve never mistreated him, never given him reason to run away. Why would he wander off?” Elfhelm wasn’t about to tell her he had trained him not to wander. He unwrapped a meatpie and handed it to her.

They ate in relative silence for a short time. A cool wind occasionally blew and Elfhelm was not caught unawares that Lýðrest slid closer and closer to him, seeking out the warmth from his body. When she finished, he handed her a wine skin. A nagging voice in the back of his head suggested if he gave her enough wine, he might get lucky right there on his cloak.

He squelched the thought. He wanted her willing, not sloppy-arsed plastered.

“So,” Lýðrest finally spoke, interrupting his nefarious thoughts, “when we move back to your garrison, I guess I’ll be expected to keep a clean house and have lots of mewling, puking babies. No more working for me.”

“No, you’ll have plenty to do.” The sun was moving faster than he would like, but he was rather loath to remove her from his arms. “I’ll have a garrison of my own someday and as my wife, especially if we are in a small one or far from a major settlement, I’ll need your help with the running of it.” He looked down at her, taking in her contentedness and a smile he hadn’t seen before. “Do you read or write?”

“No,” she shook her head. “But I know money and can add and subtract it. Need to in order to run the tavern.” She smiled and snuggled in closer. “You’re cuddly and warm. I like that about you.”

The Rider frowned and took her wineskin. It was almost empty. “Do you drink very often?”

“Never had a chance.” She pointed at the skin. “That stuff’s pretty good. Can I have some more?”

Elfhelm was shocked. He figured a tavern wench had had her fair share of what she served. It didn’t dawn on him that she would…

Damn! She was virgin in more ways than one. For all her coarse language, she was as innocent as… as….

Shite!

“Actually,” Elfhelm tried to keep his over-active libido down, “I think you might have had a bit too much, too fast.”

Lýðrest propped her elbow up on his knee and cupped her cheek in her hand. “Are you saying I’m too tipsy to ride anymore today?”

Damned if the wench didn’t look fetching with her hair blowing about in the early spring breeze, with that up-turned nose and… and… mouth… and… and…

Elfhelm leaned forward, his hand moving, cradling the back of her head. For a moment, his nose encircled, traced the tip of hers and when she didn’t pull back, his mouth found hers. For a short time, he stayed still, allowing her mouth to inexpertly explore his. Eventually, he broke the kiss. As he pulled back, he realized she looked startled, almost horrified at her own audacity. He traced her nose with his again, before smiling. “Lýðrest?”

“What?”

“Allow me.” His hand still behind her head, he brought her in, guiding her, teaching her. This time, she allowed him to lead, followed it, nipping at him as he was nipping her. His entire body sprang to life and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from taking her right there on the cloak. This time, when he broke the kiss, she sighed and snuggled in, allowing him to pull her close. He pulled up the edge of his cloak and wrapped her securely in it.

“Elfhelm?” She was obviously drowsy.

“Yes, léoflic?”

“I like sleeping with you.” Her voice was quiet, wandering off.

“Do you now.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You snore,” she yawned, “but it doesn’t bother me.” And with that, she drifted off.

So that first afternoon outing, she learned a little about riding, a little about kissing and the two simply learned to like each other.

But she learned to gallop the next afternoon.

Two afternoons after that, Elfhelm produced two practice swords.

And surprise of all surprises, she put her tongue in his mouth.

tbc