Fortune Favors the Bold
by jobberinnyc
The first scroll... in which, a journey begins, some of the past is revealed and the harsh nature of life becomes evident
The wind whipped cruelly around me, and even the bright sun over our heads did nothing to warm the chill in my bones. The cold air hurt my chest to breathe it in, and I wrapped the fur-lined cloak tighter around my shoulders.
The cold and snow never seemed to bother you the way they did me. Even the snow drifts, which came to almost my knees, barely reached your calves. Do you remember lifting me out of the deep snow on that day? Perhaps you do not. I do, and that, is the most important thing. I had followed you on the quest,as you knew I would. As I had followed you almost since the day my parents had given me to you.
You had entered out village as a savior. The sword wielder who had rid us of the demons that had plagued us. My family had been among the poorest of the poor, and I cannot deny the way I followed you around the village during the feast days that followed our liberation. I did not know then that you saw me. I did not know what came into your mind as you sat on our dirt floor with my parents. I felt shame that you saw our shabby home. That your presence alone filled our home. Even then you were a big man. You towered almost two heads over my father. His thighs were smaller than your arms, but as you sat there in your leather breeches, it was your chest that I watched most intently. My father, who I had seen bathing at the stream was a thin man, as everyone in my family was, food being so scarce. His chest was sallow and hairless. Yours was huge and broad and covered with thick, black hair. I could see, what you called your teats poking through the thick mat of hair. Your arms drew my attention as well.
Had I known that you would take me away, would I have paid more attention to my family. To the home I had know. I am shamed again, to say that I would not. Even if I had know, would I have done something different in that moment? I have some small talent with omens, but I do not know, and I will never know.
I felt the shame warm my body as you guided us towards a cave. There are many such sanctuaries in these mountains. Pilgrims and travelers had known about them for years. After I left my parents home and made my way with you, you taught me to read. And I devoured the parchments and diaries and such that made it to my hands.
When you left me with the mage and went far to the east all those years, when I would cry myself to sleep and wake red-eyed and raw throated that I would not see you again, I read the great poems and plays found by the men who conquered the Greeks and Romans and see you in my mind's-eye as the warrior heroes described.
The first night you came back, when I was old enough to share both your stories and your beds, you told me I called you Hercules while I was lost in passion. You laughed about it, and I turned red with embarrassment. You held me close that night, carefully, as if I were a delicate maiden and though I begged you to take me roughly, you would not, afraid you would break me.
You took me to study swordsmanship with the great masters and, though my skill does not equal that which I have with the auguries, I am able to enter a mead hall without the fear that you need protect me. Though you do protect me. Did you see it within me, even then? The fact that I am different than most men. The fact that my head turns to you and not the fair skinned maidens with dark hair and bewitching eyes. That I turn towards you and your power?
The fires are easy to start. They require little in the way of preparation and concentration. A few words of ancient power, in a language long lost to the world, a few tracings in the air of gestures which seem meaningless and the fire burns. We lay beneath your cloak, red and lined with white fur and mine under us, our limbs entangled and my leg thrown over yours. We have slept with yours on mine, but you proved too heavy for me, and so, long ago, I had taken the habit of lying on top of you, like a blanket, my small frame not even covering half of your massive one. I waited until your breathing became slow and even, before resting my head in the palm of my hand and staring at you. Over the years your hair has become black flecked with gray, and I like it all the more this way. I ran my hand carefully over your arm. That huge slab of muscle, hard as a rock, unyielding even when I pressed into it with all my might, gripping it when you entered me. Your chest hair was soft and straight, unlike the hair that bunched around your manhood and as I touched it, you barked out with that deep, commanding voice, in a tone you rarely used with me.
"Let me sleep!" I yanked my hand away, as if I had touched the fire and rested flat on the cold floor of the cave. Your voice became more gentle, the tone I liked best (except when we coupled when I enjoyed your gruff tones and animal growls) and brought tears to my eyes. "You've known my body for years and it still excites you?" I nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see me in the dark and added "Yes" as an afterthought. Your laughter was deep and rumbly and if I had been paying more attention, I would have known you were tired. You needed sleep and substance, as much as any man, though I barely thought of you as a man, as much as a god of some sort. Without effort you pulled me on top of you, as rested your hand on my lower back, the simple weight of your arm held me down so that I could not move and I fell asleep, feeling some of your chest hair between my lips.
The thing that woke us up was the growl. You moved immediately, tossing me somewhat gently away from the noise and grabbing for your sword. The bear showed his teeth to us, and you laughed a bit, tossing your sword aside and running towards the bear. The animal looked startled and your shoulder hit its, just below its front paw. The momentum pushed you both out of the mouth of the cave, and I, knowing I couldn't even lift your sword, grabbed my own and saw you and the bear tumble in the snow.
I saw it first, having the sight as I sometimes do, and waited for you to realize, the bear would not play with you. It was sick, driven mad by hunger and disease. Usually even the wild beasts admire and bow to your strength but not this one. You dodged the first swipe of its giant paw, but the second raked your shoulder, leaving red marks across your hardened flesh. Your own fist battered the creature, and it fell back to the snow. As you touched your own wound and looked at the blood, you knew the beasts was beyond saving. As it shook its head and stood to its full height, even taller than you, you rushed the creature again and wrapped your hands around it. I could hear you whispering, and while someone else might think you were marshalling your strength, I knew you were asking the gods for forgiveness. Killing animals for anything beyond food was an anathema to you. And as you squeezed tightly I could hear the creature's spine creaking from your power. You crushed it as swiftly as you could, and I heard the snap. I watched as you dropped the beast down and I saw its labored breathing as it flailed helplessly. I watched as you knelt down in the snow and laid your huge hand upon the creatures head as if it would tell you to end its misery. I left you to your solitude and prepared my own salves and oils to cover your wound. By the time you came back to me your hands were almost blue and covered in snow,\ and I knew you had buried the creature, reverently and quietly. You did not weep; you never had in all the time I had followed you. But you were quiet as I gently applied my potions to your skin and when you laid to sleep again, I let my hand rest softly on your chest. Neither of us spoke, but neither of us slept either.