Rhiallis: Neither Maiden, Nor Married

      Today’s snippet, titled “Neither Maiden, Nor Married”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s new (Good) Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
– – – – – – – – – – –
      Rhiallis’ hands ached.
      For each of the past five days she had waded through dozens, even hundreds, of wounded townsfolk and militia. Celeste and Lenore worked at her side each day – and Sadie, Cuilewen, and Korael several days as well. They had applied poultices, wrapped miles of linen around innumerable limbs, set bones, stitched lacerations. They had pressed bits of fabric soaked in milk or medicine to parched lips, spooned gruel into hungry mouths, and closed the eyelids on the newly deceased.
      That was not to say every moment was despair. There were children, so resilient and full of smiles and laughter despite the situation. There were young lovers finding reasons to celebrate the hopeful future of the city. Separated families and friends reunited, people believed dead found alive, wounds that would have killed people without the diligent work of the Valorous Order of the Golden Sword.
      And then there was James.
      He was not a member of the Order, but he worked alongside them, putting his knowledge to work on the people of Drezen. He was not a member of the Order, but many people assumed he was, for he was commonly seen in the company of members. He was not a member of the Order, but Rhiallis wished he was – the days when his easy smile was absent from her world were somehow darker than the rest.
      They had shared supper four nights in a row. Mira had hosted the Order last night at the site of her Inn, roasting a pair of suckling pigs with apples Sadie brought back from Mira’s trees in Kenebres. Niro and his childhood friend, Cole, had invited the Order to his school the first night. They could hardly talk about anything other than the visit of the infamous Nathan “The Bastard” Bronson and the food was little more than re-heated rations, but the company was good. The group had spent the second and third nights in various configurations, but each had included James and Rhiallis.
      Tonight, James had invited them to the cottage he had claimed. It adjoined to a carpenter’s workshop and was mere steps away from a sawmill that would, in time, find an owner and product to mill. She anticipated the scent of fresh lumber, so warm and inviting and homey, but dreaded picking sawdust out of her food.
      Her apartment in Sadie’s home were crammed full of equipment, furniture and decor she had purchased in advance of buying her own cottage, and the furnishings Sadie had had brought in. As she scrubbed her hands in a fine porcelain ewer, watching the clear water turn a ruddy brown, Rhiallis wished there were hot springs in Drezen. Nothing had ever made her feel as good and as clean as a soak in the near-scalding waters with plenty of lavender-sage soap.
      This’ll do, she thought, patting her face dry. The mirror was imperfect, stretching her body to weird proportions, but the reflection it provided was clear enough. Twisting one of her braids back behind her ears, Rhiallis fluffed out the mass of pale blonde waves that cascaded down her back and smiled at herself. There was not much call for finery in Drezen, not yet, but she had decided to unpack the beautiful kimono Kumiko had convinced her to buy in Kenebres and wear that tonight. I hope I’m wearing this correctly. She tugged at the broad belt, setting it slightly above her natural waist. The fine emerald silk was thick with silver embroidery and scratched her bare skin beneath it, but the effect was so remarkable that she could hardly fault the garment for it. It crossed from left to right across her chest, fastened with ten perfectly matched toggles of carved ivory. When she walked, the hem swished around her ankles and the slit in the side shifted to flash glimpses of her deeply tanned calves and – if she was not careful – thighs.
      Walking toward James’ cottage, Song trotting at her side, Rhiallis felt suddenly very content. The sounds of work still filled the air, though the sun was nearly down and night was upon them. People were laughing and shouting and talking behind all the closed doors; she heard someone with a high, clear voice singing a poignant dirge for the dead. Song yipped as they passed a stray, heavy with dreadlocks to protect him from his herd, and wagged her tail.
      “Looking for a mate, are you, lovely girl?”
      Song tilted her spotted head, ears piqued.
      “I imagine there will be lots of dogs here; they can’t all have been killed in the city and people will bring them with them when they come.” Rhiallis smiled at at the thought of families pulling ox-carts filled with their belongings, their small children, their elderly, and tucked in there somewhere, a puppy or a kitten – or several. “Drezen is going to thrive again. And if we’re lucky, Song, it will be our home for a long time. Some day, soon maybe, the Order will find a way to close the ‘Wound and then no more travelling. We can settle here. Put down roots.”
      Song bumped into her leg as they walked and Rhiallis chose to imagine it was her way of agreeing that that was a happy thought.
      The door was closed when they arrived at James’ cottage. Her brow furrowed as she leaned to the side to peer into through one glazed window. It was dark inside, but she could smell roasting meat. There was just enough light to make out the small round table set for two and a heavy cauldron, still steaming, over a fire banked so low that it seemed in danger of going out.
      Rhiallis knocked twice. “James?”
      There was no response. Twisting her lips in thought, she wondered if she had been mistaken about the invitation. Rhiallis turned from the door, her fist pressing into her hip, and looked first one way, then the other, up the street.
      It was a quiet neighborhood, as yet, mostly uninhabited, but just as she began to worry that something had happened, she saw movement at the end of the road.
      “James?”
      The figure began to trot toward her and she sighed in relief as the paladin-carpenter approached, a sack held close to his body.
      “You’re early,” he said. It was almost an admonishment, but something caught in his throat and his next words came out with a stammer. “Y-you look amazing. Astonishing.”
      Rhiallis felt the color rush to her cheeks and she smiled at him. “Thank you. You- I mean, you look good too, James. I- Where is everybody?:
      The corners of his eyes crinkled and he looked sheepish – a child caught in a harmless lie. “I didn’t think you would be here so early. Nothing is ready yet.”
      He opened the front door and waited until she stepped through.
      “James.”
      “Hmm?”
      Rhiallis pursed her lips to the side for a moment, watching him light a dozen candles in quick succession.
      “Where is everyone else?”
      The flickering light played across the strong planes of his face, turning his eyes from green to amber and then drawing them into shadow so that they were nearly black. He stepped closer, his body suddenly so near that she could feel the warmth of him through her silken robe.
      “They’re not coming,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
      She could feel that too, the heat intense against her thigh as he drew her close. The distinctive callouses of hands well-versed in swordplay swept across her jawline. His thumbs settled just before her ears and his fingertips pulled gently at the nape of her neck. From one heartbeat to the next, Rhiallis lost track of her place in the world. His lips burned away the darkness, a white light blazing between them, and as the kiss deepened, she forgot everything that had troubled her. There was no room in that moment for grief over loved ones lost, of fallen friends, of demonic hordes encroaching. For the span of a few moments, all she knew was light.
      “Rhiallis?”
      She blinked, confused. Her entire world was spinning, but as their gazes met she felt anchored as she had not felt since-
      “Rhiallis? Are you well?”
      Parting her lips to reply she inhaled and gasped, choking on the sudden influx of air.
      “God’s Blood, woman, you scared the Hells out of me! You stopped breathing entirely.”
      “I did?”
      Song’s whimper was plainitive as she lay her spotted face upon her leg, big brown eyes peering up at her in concern. James dragged a chair over and guided her into it. “Yes! I mean, I have been told my kisses can make a maid see stars, but this is beyond that, eh?”
      Rhiallis could not but help but smile back as he straddled a chair across from her. “Only maidens, you say?”
      “Well, I find it prudent to my continued breathing to stay far from the married ladies.”
      Her expression must have dimmed for he left off the banter and took her hand, a serious look upon his face. “Apologies – are you-? Did I blunder?”
      “No.” She shook her head. “I am neither maiden nor married, and I forgot myself when we kissed – I do not quite know how to explain it, but since the Wardstones were destroyed, those of us in the Valorous Order of the Golden Swords have developed a great many special powers. One of mine is that I – er… I do not always need to breathe.”
      James wore a mask that she could not quite decipher. After a long, queer pause, he tilted his head. “Neither maiden nor married. Widowed?”
      “Nearly so.”
      “Ah.”
      He sat back in his chair, splaying his legs in an exaggerated pose of nonchalance. When she did not speak up to elaborate, he stood and retrieved the sack from the table. As James silently busied himself stoking the fire and preparing their meal, Rhiallis began to feel awkward. She shifted in her seat, debating with herself – should I offer to assist? Should I just go? Oh, what have I done?
      “Taste this,” he said, turning to her with a wooden spoon in one hand, the other cradled beneath it to catch any drips. “Be careful, its hot.”
      Rhiallis leaned forward, cautious not to dribble on her gown. The stew was piping hot but luscious with earthy mushrooms, fresh root vegetables, and meaty venison. Where in the world did he get fresh food like this tonight? It must have cost him a fortune…
      “Delicious, truly.”
      “Thank you.”
      James returned to his kettle, stirring it.
      “I was betrothed, once.” He spoke with his back to her. “Her name was Marta. I was apprenticed to her uncle. Nice girl. Very kind. She had the biggest, brownest eyes I have ever seen. Like a doe.”
      “Oh.”
      He set a pair of ceramic bowls on the table, each filled to brimming with his stew. Continuing his story, he laid out silvered eating knives and actual crystal goblets that shot rainbow hued sparks when the candlelight caught their angles.
      “My mother found the match peerless. I would inherit my mentor’s business when he retired, and he was a talented, successful carpenter – much sought after in the area. Marta’s mother had only bore the one child, but her aunts were all quite fecund. Mother was counting on a dozen grandchildren – at least.” James chuckled, pouring pale wine from a dark decanter. “I was probably amenable. I was young. She was pretty. But. The call.”
      Rhiallis nodded.
      “We anticipated our vows. Celebrated them prematurely. A lot. Frequently. But fortunately, there were no children before I left. Oh here, try this wine.”
      Slightly puzzled by his manner, she obeyed. It was crisp and sweet and she knew she would have to pace herself lest she let herself over-indulge.
      “Look, I just-”
      “Don’t explain, James. I understand. It is still different for a woman – I know. You know that I fled home, and that I wandered for a long time. Then I went to Surdar.”
      He pulled up a chair across from her, tearing a hunk of fine, white bread from one of the two petite loaves he had produced from within the sack. “Please, go on. And eat while it is still warm.”
      Rhiallis took a bite, savoring it and raising her knife in compliment to the cook. Chewing, she tried to decide how to proceed.
      “There had been an attack. I offered my skills to the wounded and I met Commander Viggo Relane. We became close in the days that followed – very close. I-”
      “You loved him.”
      “I love him still,” she lost her voice for a moment. Glancing down at Song, she managed a wan smile, but the dog was not fooled and maintained her state of alertness. “The Call was his. I never felt it, but Viggo… he had his duty to his home, but he wanted so deeply to go Kenebres and study beneath the finest paladins in Mendev. Joining the Order was his dream. We were going to be married, then leave the militia in the hands of his second and come to Kenebres.”
      “But?”
      “He did not live long enough to fulfill either of those plans. I came in his stead.”
      James scooted his chair closer, laying his hand atop hers. “I apologize, if I caused you any pain, Rhiallis. That is never my desire.”
      Somehow, despite the strange shift in mood, he still managed to emphasize the word desire in a way that made her heart beat faster in her chest. She threw back her head, swallowing the entire goblet of wine and stood. Forgive me, Viggo…
      “I don’t want to talk anymore tonight,” she said, pulling him close. He needed no further encouragement, folding her into his arms, burying his hands in her wealth of pale curls and pressing his lips to hers.

– – – – – – – – – – –
Signed, Josie
Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me

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