Confessions

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Rhûn Darkmoon and AelKennyr Rhiano

Nasi heaves a sigh as he feels muscles chilled and cold from the day's journey in the rain begin to warm and relax at last.  He has shed his sodden clothing, scraped himself dry on a piece of old linen and dragged some dry, although slightly rumpled clothing from his pack.  Now, sitting close to the fire, with Fafnir nearby, he is as content as he can be in his current circumstances. True, the rain has hampered the hunters this day, so it was cold left-over venison and rabbit from the previous night's supper that would be filling his belly tonight, but at least it would fill his belly.  As he waits for Eilif and the Elder to join the group before the meal can begin he casts shy glances across at Fafnir.  In the firelight his eyes positively glow golden, and Nasi finds himself wondering at the other dwarf's thoughts, for he is both a fascination and an enigma to the stonemason.

Fafnir shifts his weight on the stool, wincing a little as Nizl gives a wordless squeal so high pitched that he is certain forest creatures are covering their ears and retreating further into the woods, certainly keeping a distance from their little home for the night. He casts a look over his shoulder to see Hjalmarr dawdling the child on his knee.  He turns back around to Nasi, and his lips curl in a soft smile, the rebuff he had received earlier, when he offered to prepare their evening meal stinging a little less.  They seem destined for a cold supper, and his faith in Aztryd's ability to season the leftover meats is nearly as inconstant as he judges her ability to properly dress and prepare a hunter's meal to be.  However, he thinks as he folds his arms around his growling stomach, it will suit his purpose for her to take care of their meals, if she wishes.

Amber eyes drink in the dwarf who sits so close beside him, Nasi's hair shine in the reflected light of the fire, and the glow catches the silver rings that hold his beard, giving the bands a reddish cast.  His eyes stray up to the lips, the full and tender lips, and a flush creeps up his neck that has nothing to do with the heat of the fire.  The stonemason's hands are still bandaged, and so each day as Fafnir walks besides him, he carefully slides his hand into one of Nazi's but dares not hold as tight as he wishes.  I cannot bear to be near him and not hold onto some part of him, Fafnir realizes, and the red cast of the flames plays shadows across the satin brown skin of the mason. He catches his breath, and a hand drops down to grip his stool, as the realization hits him that he cannot now imagine going to sleep nor rising without Nasi beside him, warm and close. The world seems, for a moment to fall out from under him, and he gives a small gasp.  He drops his eyes, thinking hard, quickly. No one must know he is so affected, He clear his throat a little.  "It is good to finally be dry, isn't it , Handsome?" he says softly.

Nasi drops his eyes and feels his cheeks flushing at Fafnir's words.  You were staring like a love-sick calf, he berates himself. He had to have noticed.  Frantically he casts his mind about for a reply. "Aye," he blurts out and looks up shyly. Anything further he might have been going to add slips from his mind totally as his ebony eyes meet the warm honey gaze of the other and he is caught as helpless as a fly in a spider's web.  "I.. I mean... " he begins again, but further explanation is drowned out by the rush of wind as the door opens and stamping of boots as Eilif and the Elder return from the stables.

Fafnir leans forward to try to catch what Nasi is about to say. His speech is the slow and considered expression of a deliberate and ordered mind, and  his eyes lock onto the dark pools of Nasi's, and his chest tightens a little. He opens his mouth, but then the door opens, and Eilif and Adelsteinn walk through. The room erupts in greetings, and the level of the conversation becomes louder as dwarves, eager to know what lies ahead of them on this journey, call out questions that the Elder cannot possibly answer. Rising smoothly to his feet, Fafnir catches Eilfi's wrist as she stands behind the Elder and gestures with a flourish to his seat by the fire.  Not waiting to see if she takes it or not, he steps up to beside the brewer and claps a hand on Adelstienn's shoulder.

"What?" he calls out," Did some really ask our Elder if we will have something besides cold venison on the morrow night?" He looks around the room until his eyes rest upon the red face of the one who has asked.  "Well, then, my friend, if you find our fare too mean for you, please, feel free to join the hunters on the morrow. Mayhap you can find us a nice boar?" His eyebrows lift, for this one, who has been so injured he could not even walk has found, now, the strength to complain about their food.  And food was plentiful and readily acquired for the most part. They have not gone hungry once, upon their journey, although bread was not at every meal, nor did they sweeten their teas.

"Yes," he continues, " I think a boar would do nicely. A bore captures a boar." Then he leans forward, and his mouth drops the grin he had been wearing. "If I hear you again pelting the Elder with such gibble gabble, I will set you to fishing...." he turns and starts for the door, calling over his shoulder. "Without a pole.  See what we catch with you as bait. I need to relieve myself." And he moves swiftly and smoothly through the door, amazed at his rush of anger.

Nasi stares wordlessly at the door that has slammed shut as Fafnir departs.  Nasi does not know if it were the wind that helped blow it shut, or Fafnir's anger.  His shoulders slump as he turns to stare into the fire.  Of course he knows. Who would not lose patience with such a stone-tongue as he?  He is probably been relieved at the interruption, glad for a chance to escape.  Resting his chin on his hands he stares morosely at the fire.  "Why," he asks himself silently. "Why is it that every time he speaks to you, you turn to stone?  Fool.  Cursed, stone-tongued fool!"

 He slams the door and strikes his boots sharply upon the rocks and stones, splashing little pockets of water left from the rains that pelted them all day. After nights of stars, he does not stop to look up in wonderment, especially not at this moment. "Why," he asks himself, his shoulders slumping as he walks toward the water well, and leaning forward, resting his hands, palm down upon the rough wood lip and his forehead against the slanted roof. "Why is it that every time Nasi is about to speak, some fool of a dwarf has to open his mouth and nonsense spews forth?" He thinks, as his anger bleeds away.  His mind's eye turns to Nasi, sitting by the fire, the red-gold flames dancing across his perfect skin, his perfect lips, his shining hair, and Fafnir feels his breath catch in his throat.

"I cannot do this," he thinks, and he straightens up, pushing himself off with his hands back into an upright stance.  Dusting his hands off, he looks back over his shoulder at the buildings, the voices loud, but the words indistinguishable. "I must do this," he whispers to himself after a moment of indecision, "quickly." He hurries over to the cart and bends down beside, inspecting it carefully, running his hand over weathered, rough planks until he jams a splinter  under a nail of a thumb. "Mahal's nipple," he curses under his breath and sticks the thumb in his mouth to suck as he continues to examine every part of the wagon.  The wood is warped and the paint peeling, and try as he might, there is still not a spare part of it that looks able to conceal the things he needs to keep hidden a little while longer.

Nasi chews on a thumbnail deep in thought.  Fafnir has been gone some time.  Although he has kept his eyes on the fire his ears have strained for the first sound of the door opening and heralding his return. The rowdy chatter of the others as they settle to their meal would do credit to a group three times their size deep in ale. He knows their noise is fueled by their relief to have food and shelter at the end of another long day.  Only Eilif sits quietly, her eyes carefully watching the others, but not joining in their general babble, unless someone speaks to her directly.

After the meal is consumed and cleaned away he knows they will not take long to seek their beds.  The long days of travel are taking their toll on all of them.  Bed - the word brings to mind the nights he has shared his bed with Fafnir.  Together they have slept, as together they have shared their days.  The thought of seeking his bed this night without the tall, lanky dwarf next to him is more than he can bear.

Nasi mutters a curse, unheard by the others in their general hubbub, and pushes himself up from his stool.  It is time this stone-headed, stone-tongued dwarf found his voice!  Determinedly he strides to the door, not even bothering to pick up his cloak.  Easing it shut so the wind does not slam it, he stands for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

The moments pass. Inside the voices grow louder and fall away in the manner that supper time conversation has. The smell of food still floats out from the building and tickles his nose, rumbles his belly. He reaches in his pocket, and pulls out a scrap of cloth wrapped cheese left from the noon meal and stuffs the soft, sharp tasting hunk into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chews on it. He stands up and fumbles about for his pack, trying to make out the shape and color by the thin light coming from the stable. Time is not his friend now, for he has been away longer than he should, and his fingers desperately clutch and snag his pack. Pulling the rough canvas sack towards him, he reaches in, rooting around carelessly, causing the other items he would not reveal yet to clank together.  Finally he locates the two sacks he was seeking and pulls them out.

Dropping them by the wheel on the spongy ground, he closes his sack, and leaves it where it rests. He draws his dagger as he sinks back down to hunch close by the back axle of the cart, reaching out to feel along it to find the right spot. There!...There it is , the natural knot hole that he had been carving out every night since they left.  He has been careful not to carve all the way through the wood, just to scrape out enough of a hole to hide two small, flour sack wrapped packages.

He straightens up enough to grab the coil of rope on the cart and then bends back down. As he reaches for the first sack, he loses his balance and rocks forward to plant both knees in a puddle of water. A string of curses flow in whispers from him, and he snatches the bag angrily and tries to stuff it in the makeshift hiding place.  "By Yavanna's beard," he whispers loud. "The hole is too small."

Nasi's head snaps around at the loud whisper. He would know that voice anywhere.  Without pausing to think, Nasi walks towards sound, realizing it has come from where the wagon had been set for the night. As he approaches, in the faint light from the stable he can see Fafnir on his knees in a puddle of water and he frowns in concern. "Are you hurt?" he asks, stepping nearer to offer help. It is then he notices the sack in Fafnir's hand and another laying on the ground nearby.  He tilts his head puzzled and slightly amused at the scene before him, trying to fit the words he has heard to what his eyes were seeing. He leans against the corner of the wagon, and his voice is gently teasing as he asks, "Do I really want to know what you are doing?"

"Mahal's hairy left nipple!" blurts out Fafnir, and he tries to jerk to his feet, one bag still in his hand. But he instead bangs his shoulder painfully against the floorboard of the cart and sinks immediately back down into the soggy grounds, knees finding the puddle of cold water.  "Nasi?" he says, wincing as the shock of the blow numbs his arm for a moment.

Nasi drops his casual stance immediately and steps forward. Grabbing Fafnir gently but firmly by the upper arms he lifts him effortlessly to his feet and carries him bodily a step or two backwards so they are clear of the puddle.  It is only then he sets him back down on his feet, but retains his firm grip on Fafnir's upper arms as he looks into the other's eyes, his own inky dark with concern. "Did you hurt yourself? Are you in pain? What are you doing there, groveling in a mud puddle when you should be inside warm and dry and eating supper?"

For a moment, Fafnir stares dumbly at Nasi, the sack in his hand forgotten as he see the concern in Nasi's face and in his eyes, hears in the tone of voice, feels in in the way Nasi holds on to his upper arms.  "I banged my shoulder," Fafnir answers, dazedly. Then he blinks, his amber eyes round and and staring hard into Nasi. "I..I..." He stammers, and blushes furiously, for he hates above everything to stammer. "Halfwit!" he berates himself mentally.  He tries to think of an answer, but instead, he swallows hard and squares his shoulder. "I was looking at the axle of the cart," He says cautiously.

Nasi looks deeply into Fafnir's eyes after he finishes speaking.  He looks down at the sack in Fafnir's hand, and the one upon the ground.  A burst of noisy laughter punctuates the silence, and he turns his head to look towards the way station for long moments and then at last turns his gaze back to Fafnir. His eyes have lost their shyness, and his voice when he speaks is now and fierce, "You and I are not like most of the rest of our Clan.  We are different. I know that you, like me, have had to find ways to live with that, but you are mine now.."

He pauses, shocked, as he realizes the truth of his words. He rolls them around his tongue for a few moments more, and then smiles as he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. Suddenly those words that had been so hard to find come tumbling forth. "You are MINE, and that is the last lie you will ever speak to me."  He nods toward the bags. "Now tell me, what are you doing, and then you shall tell me much more about yourself."

At first Fafnir bristles with anger, hearing the accusation in Nasi's voice, and guilt at being caught mingles with resentment at the words, as he had pared his words carefully in his answer. "I was looking at the axle," he says slowly. "That is not a lie." He raises the hand that holds the sack and shakes it, the jingling of coins clicking together, a soft sound that does not travel beyond the two of them. "I was going to put this away, safely in the wooden casing sheathing the axle, but I am not a wood smith or a cartwright, so that hole I have been working on is too small, and it dare not be any bigger." He swallows a lungful of air and presses on, the edges of the indignation wearing thin, though he clings to it desperately.  "Well, Nasi," he continues, tumbling the sack into the other's hand. "Go ahead, look. We can't survive on sweet words and air when we reach Grey Havens, now can we? Should we beg on the streets, hoping that some daft elf will give us a copper or a half silver?"  He points back into the way station. "We are all one company now, now that we have to be, but what about when we are there? Do you think that Aztryd will make herself useful, or has tucked away gold to help us all as we wait for this Old-Way to take us to the land of gold and silver?" He can't stop the words now, and a fine trembling starts along his arms. "And what about Hjalmarr? Tell me he does not  have a king's ransom tucked about him.  Or the others, but do they have enough?  And ...and Eilif, I watched her walk out with a pitiful small sack of belongings. She has nothing. You have nothing or less.  So...so.." His voice trails off, the anger spending itself into nothing but a numbness. 

Then he realizes what else Nasi just said. "Mine," he repeats softly. He looks up, his eyes a little wide, and his voice even softer. "Yours?

Nasi struggles to stop his lips curving into a smile as he listens to Fafnir.  Oh, this one has fire in him, alright. Fire enough to ignite the slow burning embers even in a stone-headed dwarf such as himself.  He feels the fine tremor that passes beneath his hands as the words tumble from the other, and he runs his hands gently on those arms to warm them and steady him.  His whole being responds to his candid confession and his transparent for their future. Yes, 'their' future - he had not missed his frequent use of the word 'we' as he spoke.  Finally, the soft uncertainty as he had questioned, 'Yours' had touched him most of all.

Nasi looks at the sack Fafnir had given him, and gently sets it on the ground unopened. He then holds Fafnir at arms length and regards him thoughtfully.  Finally when he speaks, his voice is steady and stern. "Not a lie then, this time, perhaps," he concedes, "but certainly a half truth.  Half truths I will not hear from you again either.  Between you and I, there must be utter honesty, so I will begin with two confessions of my own."  With this he leans in and draws Fafnir closer, wishing with all his heart he could slide his arms around him but knowing still his back was too painful to do so.  So instead, he holds him by the upper arms with one hand and slides the other up and around to cup the back of his head as he draws him in and kisses him long and deeply. When the kiss ends, his whisper is husky and breathless. "Yes, you are mine. I cannot bear to be without you, so.. so you have to be mine."

Nasi's courage falters a little at such boldness, but the words were spoken now, and there was no taking them back.  Swallowing the shyness that has attempted to rise again, he ducks his head and then looks at Fafnir, his eyes twinkling as he slips his hand into Fafnir's and draws him closer to the cart, stopping near a shabby, iron-bound, nondescript crate.  Slipping his knife from his belt, Nasi works on the seals until at last he levers loose the lid.  He slides it aside to reveal what appears to be a crate of faded old linen strips, but he plunges his hand inside until it is buried up to his elbow and then, with the distinct metallic clink of coins he draws it back out again, his fist filled with gold coins and turns to show Fafnir.

Nasi finally gives in to the shyness as he returns the coins to their linen bed. "I come from a long line of renowned stonemasons.  Generation upon generation of my family have been sought by the richest and vainest of all races.  I.. I have never had much use for the gold we acquired over those generations, not.. not until now, when I have someone I have to take care of.  But it never does to have it be known when one has wealth in hard times, so.. so I packed it in cloth so it would not jingle. I.. I think you might find there is room in the crate if you wish to hide your treasures there."   He finally stammers to a halt, excited and terrified at his confession all at the same time.

The kiss is still on his lips, the taste of Nasi's mouth in his own as the hand slips into his, and he is led around to the side of the cart. Wordlessly he watches, his mind spinning and reeling as Nasi works open the lid of an old and much used crate.  Then he hears the jingle of coins, and his mouth makes a round "o" of surprise.  He peers into the crate, over at Nasi, and back at the crate, his jaw working.  When he can finally speak again, his voice is small, and he averts his eyes. His free hand, splinter still in thumb rests on the side of the cart; that same thumb rubbing along the rough board. "I am a nobody, you see," he says softly.  "Not a mason, not a smith, not a bored scion of a wealthy family. I'm not any one. I was a disappointment to my father, who wanted a real dwarf, and a heartache to my mother, who couldn't understand me.  But I could surprise because I could think faster."

He rubs the wood a little harder, picking up more splinters now, but not feeling the pierce into this skin. He was feeling the past, not the present. " I could think faster, plan better, keep ciphers and I could be used..." He stretches the word out. "Used because what other possible function could I have but to be used. So I entered civil service, which is a necessary evil, and as long as I knew my place, I could make a living and my father could forget he has...had a son. " He stops, lets go of Nasi's hand and leaves his side to walk back over and pick up the two sacks on the ground. Standing back up he tosses them in the air to Nasi, and reaches into the cart, to pull his pack back open as he continues talking.

"I knew my place. My place was keeping their secrets, the Elders. Not Adelstienn. He was honest, the most honest of an honest few, but the others...the others who shared the public wealth with their private coffers. And I showed them how to do it. I showed them, and I kept their secrets.  Because their little secrets fed my family when my father could not.  Because their little secrets fed ME."

He pauses, roots around in his pack and comes up with two bundles wrapped in bits of flour sack.  "But they are dead, Handsome.  The dead can keep their own secrets. And their wealth they made from our sweat, from all of us. So, I went to those homes that were still accessible. I went through their little stashes of wealth, these high and fine Elders, the ones who had entrusted me with that secret, too, and I relieved the ghosts of their material possession. They don't need it. We do."  He returns to Nasi's side with the two bundles.  "Ones of these," he says, "are tools for Eilif. She will need tools. I don't know what they are, exactly, but she will need tools to ply her trade, and these are among the finest." He drops the bundle into the crate and holds out the second to Nasi. "You will need tools, too."  He drops his gaze and waits.

Nasi places the wrapped bundle on top of the crate and slowly unfurls it.  He catches his breath as he sees what lies there, and his hand reaches out, fingers running over the tools caressingly, as he would touch a lover who has long been absent.  He swallows hard and just as slowly wraps the tools back up again, and adds them to the crate of gold and treasure, nestling them carefully among the linen packing before sliding the lid back into place and using the pommel of his knife to gently tap the nails holding it back into place.  Wordlessly he looks at Fafnir and takes him by the hand, leading him this time to the stables.

Nasi settles himself on a bale of hay and pulls the other dwarf down into his arms, cradling him gently to him, his back leaning lightly on his chest as at last Nasi slips his arms around him.  Finally his words come again, and he whispers them softly, his lips close to Fafnir's ear.

"You are not a nobody to me.  You have more fire and courage than any other dwarf I know.  You could have stayed in safety, but you chose to stand with me before the dragon.  I have watched you, each day, shoulder your pain and walk by my side, uncomplaining and determined.  And now you show me you have the courage to survive, no matter what it takes."  He pauses and points with his chin to the way station across the small yard.  "Few there have such fire and courage in their veins. But you, you have the fire of Mahal himself flowing in your veins, my Fafnir.  If others have been blind to it in the past, then they are fools. I .. I am often stone-headed and stone-tongued, but no one has ever accused Nasi the Stonemason of being a fool.'

Nasi pauses and tightens his arms a little around Fafnir before he continues. "I have walked proudly beside you all this journey, and I shall walk proudly beside you wherever our path should lead us.  You are mine, Fafir, my bold, courageous Fafnir, and you are far from a nobody."

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