AelKennyr Rhiano and Lihan Taifun
Aztryd leans against an old fir tree that forms its own patch of pleasant shade, giving relief from the midday heat. Her blistered feet are bandaged, which has helped this morning's walking, but she is still glad to be off those feet for now. The crude repairs she made to her boots look to hold together at least for today. Nizl -- cleaned and fed -- sits at her feet in the stringy grass. Now Aztryd is attempting to finish the last morsels of her own noonday meal with one hand, while keeping the other hand free, ready to nab Nizl if she attempts to stray. "Enjoy the freedom today, magpie," she says to the little one. "We are getting closer to town, and soon we will have to keep you hidden. We all may be down on our luck, but not so reduced as to be parading the women and children in view of Outsiders. I can pass for a man, if no one looks to closely. But you -- anyone can see you are a little magpie." She tickles Nizl's tummy, and Nizl gurgles happily, understanding only the fact that Mama is talking to her. Aztryd sets down her dry slice of cheese, and takes up her wooden mug of water.
A warm breeze sweeps through the trees, and Fafnir gives, in response, a long sigh. He has had his fill of warm breezes, and the blistering sunburn he has from their daily trek under the unrelenting day vessel of Arien. Give me cool nights, gentle breezes, moonlight, and Nasi's arms, he thinks, and the next sigh is more a breeze itself. He can hear Nasi a short distance off, speaking to the hunters, his voice a low rumble. For a dwarf of few words, Nasi makes each count, and if Fafnir has interpreted the tone correctly, there are a few dwarves who will have wished the stone mason had kept those few words to himself by the time he is done.
Looking down at his meal, Fafnir lifts a heel of hard wayfarer's bread to peek at the bit of meat and slice of sharp cheese, resting atop yet another hunk of bread. Lifting his hand that holds his meal up to his nose, he sniffs at the meat, and his lips curl a little. "It is not necessary to baste everything in pig grease," he murmurs, and lowers himself carefully to the ground, giving a sharp hiss as his scabbed burns protest the use of his back muscles.
He grabs the two slices of bread, and squeezes to keep the cheese and meat between them, raising the entire thing to his mouth, and takes a big bite. Chewing manfully, he swallows hard to force the whole thing down and looks about, only then realizing Nasi has their water. His eyes look to his left and spies Aztryd with her little one, sitting there, under the tree. The baby is sitting up, gurgling and making baby choking, squeaking sounds that always reduces proud parents to exaggerations. He watches the exchange between mother and child, his gaze thoughtful.
Aztryd looks up to see Fafnir watching her, over his own midday meal. He bites into his bread, and then looks around, as if searching for ... where is his mug? Or waterskin, or whatever he had? No one, not even one so sharp tongued as Fafnir could be, should have to swallow this bread dry, especially not on so hot a day as this. She leans forward, extending her own mug toward him with one hand, still holding Nizl with the other, with the simple offer, "Water?"
Fafnir's face colors, and his eyes widen in open surprise at her gesture, a look of indecision flitting across his face. He casts a look back to see Nasi still with the hunters. A short distance away, Elif is sitting next to Adelsteinn, and here, here Fafnir is alone, with Aztryd, and a dry mouth. He leans forward, wincing as the fabric presses against the scabbing burns and takes a small sip of her water. Handing it back, he bobs his head in thanks, his amber eyes giving her a frank and open stare. "I thank you for the unexpected kindness," He says, and then then turns his gaze to the child beside her mother. "How old is the little poppet?" he asks. He gives the child an experimental smile, meant to be warm and tender.
Aztryd takes back her mug, and acknowledges Fafnir's nod with one of her own. She pulls Nizl up closer to her, supporting her in a standing position. Nizl wobbles unsteadily on legs not quite strong enough to support her own weight, and leans agains Mama. "Nearly a year now," says Aztryd, cautiously. She eyes Fafnir speculatively. She had never expected him to be interested in babies.
Fafnir gives the infant a wide-eyed look of surprise that he so often has seen grown dwarves give their children and adds a goofy grin, watching the babe as she dips and wobbles. "A year, you say," he repeats and then turns his gaze to the mother, the silly expression gone. His brow furrows as he purses his lips for a few moments. Lowering his gaze, he separates the meat and top slice of bread from the cheese and second slice, pauses, and then looks back up. "You know, the little moppet favors her mother," he says.
He lays the bread and meat upon his knee and lifts the now free hand to stroke at his beard. "I think she is quite the little charmer, "He continues, "what with her little plump bottom, just the padding one needs when one is inexperienced at walking. Why, there has been a time or two when in my cups and trying to make my way back to my quarters, I would have given much for such ample cushion." He gives her his most brilliant and friendliest of smiles.
A small smile creeps across Aztryd's face, as she considers the image of Fafnir struggling to walk. Quickly, she bites her lip to bring herself back to a more seemly expression. Still, anyone who admired Nizl must have some good features. "Yes, she will be breaking her falls with that cushion soon, I expect. And soon after that, she will be sprinting all around our feet." She settles Nizl onto her lap. "Say hello to Fafnir, magpie," she coaxes. Nizl gurgles happily, and lunges for the shiny buckle of Mama's belt.
"Hello, little dumpling," says Fafnir, his eyes watching as the wee one makes a grab from Aztryd's metal buckle. He watches the child as she chitters and coos, a small smile playing about his lips. Then he looks back up at Aztryd. Behind them, he no longer hears Nasi's voice, but there is the drone of conversations all about them, a buzzing like lazy bees. The cheese atop his bread has grown soft and there are little oily dots across the surface. His mind searches blindly for something to say to keep them from falling into uneasy silence, but his wits fail him. Taking a deep breath, he says the first thought to enter his head. " A year, and she is finally learning to walk. I am sure it must be her father's side that she gets that from. I cannot fathom that it would be you who would have been such a later bloomer." He takes a breath again and continues on, recklessly and blithely, his tone light and almost playful. "Why, I bet you were the charmer yourself when you are a tiny young sweetling, before you married and became a settled wife. I bet back in the day, dwarves jostled each other for the pleasure of your company."
Aztryd blushes and ducks her head. "Such questions! Oh, the boys back in Gamilfun, when I was young, which was not that long ago ... " She suddenly turns pale and silent, thinking of the Gamilfun of her youth, Gamilfun as a thriving community, full of her friends and kin ... Awkwardly, she attempts to turn the subject. "At least her father was strong. Though I do hope she didn't inherit his temper ...." No, that was not a pleasant topic either. "You know, this little one has lived on the road longer than she has lived in any proper home. Such a little traveler she is!" And, thinks Aztryd, so shall we all be, soon. We are homeless now, and who knows when we shall have any proper home built again.
Fafnir watches her face as she talks, cocking his head to one side as he listens, noting the emotions that chase each other across her face. "I think," he says slowly, "I think this little one may do better when all is done and recorded, than any of us. We will forever measure all that comes now to us against what has been, in Gamilfun, for good or for ill. She will not have such limitations." He falls silent a few moments as the wind sweeps through again, and he hears the shifting of bodies, the lull of conversations, and the distance call of a magpie. "You do not care much from one such as I, do you, swee--Aztryd?"
Aztryd narrows her eyes as Fafnir's tone becomes serious. She replies carefully. "One 'such as you?' I am not sure what you mean by that. I think -- at least I thought -- you had no patience for children, seeing them only as a distraction that interfered with the women from serving the men. And had no patience with me, either. But I will say you are a fine cook. And you did you part with that dragon. That was bravely done."
"One such as I. That is to say, poor, common, unacquainted with wealth personally. " A fly finds his way to the forgotten lunch and lands upon the meat. Absently, Fafnir waves it off. He looks from child to mother and says,"When you arrived, I never knew babies could produce such a ..." his nose wrinkles at the memory..." such a smell. Such a tiny thing and such a, a majestic odor." He lifts a hands and sweeps it in her general direction. "I didn't create our ways, our traditions, " he continues. "I have met wives much like you. Proud wives of proud elders who sit fine within the couch of duties as wives of important dwarves. So long as they are able to pick and choose when it pleases them how they shall wife unto their husband, they are most gracious. But require of them to assume all the wifely virtues and they then wish to see the world through a cheese cloth. All that filters through is how unfair the world and others are to them."
He reaches down and brushes his fingertips across the blades of grass. "Patience, "He says, and frowns in thought. "No, I had little patience, for you had none for me, or of me." He pulls a blade of grass. "I did nothing bravely. I did not stand there bravely. I would have befouled myself, but I was too deep in fear to do even that. Nasi was, is, the brave one. I am as I were, a minor functionary to elders who had no wish to be elderly."
Aztryd stares at him for the space of a breath. A second breath. Then looks away, looks anywhere but at him. She notices another frayed spot in the stitching of her boots, which will need mending tonight. She notices Nizl, nestling sleepily against her arm, and with her other hand absentmindedly smooths the tiny copper curls on the top of her head. "So," she says slowly, her face still turned down, "perhaps you see the wives of elders too keenly for our comfort." A beetle crawls across the toe of her boot. "But you know that I no longer have any important husband."
Aztryd looks around in embarrassment. To her relief, a few of the others are starting to stand and prepare to move on. "We had best be getting ready," she says, not quite looking at Fafnir. "You haven't even finished your meal." She hastily downs the last of her water, and busies herself with putting it back into her pack. Her mind still races with Fafnir's words, words that will take longer to digest than this dry meal will.
> Next
A warm breeze sweeps through the trees, and Fafnir gives, in response, a long sigh. He has had his fill of warm breezes, and the blistering sunburn he has from their daily trek under the unrelenting day vessel of Arien. Give me cool nights, gentle breezes, moonlight, and Nasi's arms, he thinks, and the next sigh is more a breeze itself. He can hear Nasi a short distance off, speaking to the hunters, his voice a low rumble. For a dwarf of few words, Nasi makes each count, and if Fafnir has interpreted the tone correctly, there are a few dwarves who will have wished the stone mason had kept those few words to himself by the time he is done. Looking down at his meal, Fafnir lifts a heel of hard wayfarer's bread to peek at the bit of meat and slice of sharp cheese, resting atop yet another hunk of bread. Lifting his hand that holds his meal up to his nose, he sniffs at the meat, and his lips curl a little. "It is not necessary to baste everything in pig grease," he murmurs, and lowers himself carefully to the ground, giving a sharp hiss as his scabbed burns protest the use of his back muscles.
He grabs the two slices of bread, and squeezes to keep the cheese and meat between them, raising the entire thing to his mouth, and takes a big bite. Chewing manfully, he swallows hard to force the whole thing down and looks about, only then realizing Nasi has their water. His eyes look to his left and spies Aztryd with her little one, sitting there, under the tree. The baby is sitting up, gurgling and making baby choking, squeaking sounds that always reduces proud parents to exaggerations. He watches the exchange between mother and child, his gaze thoughtful.
Aztryd looks up to see Fafnir watching her, over his own midday meal. He bites into his bread, and then looks around, as if searching for ... where is his mug? Or waterskin, or whatever he had? No one, not even one so sharp tongued as Fafnir could be, should have to swallow this bread dry, especially not on so hot a day as this. She leans forward, extending her own mug toward him with one hand, still holding Nizl with the other, with the simple offer, "Water?"
Fafnir's face colors, and his eyes widen in open surprise at her gesture, a look of indecision flitting across his face. He casts a look back to see Nasi still with the hunters. A short distance away, Elif is sitting next to Adelsteinn, and here, here Fafnir is alone, with Aztryd, and a dry mouth. He leans forward, wincing as the fabric presses against the scabbing burns and takes a small sip of her water. Handing it back, he bobs his head in thanks, his amber eyes giving her a frank and open stare. "I thank you for the unexpected kindness," He says, and then then turns his gaze to the child beside her mother. "How old is the little poppet?" he asks. He gives the child an experimental smile, meant to be warm and tender.
Aztryd takes back her mug, and acknowledges Fafnir's nod with one of her own. She pulls Nizl up closer to her, supporting her in a standing position. Nizl wobbles unsteadily on legs not quite strong enough to support her own weight, and leans agains Mama. "Nearly a year now," says Aztryd, cautiously. She eyes Fafnir speculatively. She had never expected him to be interested in babies.
Fafnir gives the infant a wide-eyed look of surprise that he so often has seen grown dwarves give their children and adds a goofy grin, watching the babe as she dips and wobbles. "A year, you say," he repeats and then turns his gaze to the mother, the silly expression gone. His brow furrows as he purses his lips for a few moments. Lowering his gaze, he separates the meat and top slice of bread from the cheese and second slice, pauses, and then looks back up. "You know, the little moppet favors her mother," he says.He lays the bread and meat upon his knee and lifts the now free hand to stroke at his beard. "I think she is quite the little charmer, "He continues, "what with her little plump bottom, just the padding one needs when one is inexperienced at walking. Why, there has been a time or two when in my cups and trying to make my way back to my quarters, I would have given much for such ample cushion." He gives her his most brilliant and friendliest of smiles.
A small smile creeps across Aztryd's face, as she considers the image of Fafnir struggling to walk. Quickly, she bites her lip to bring herself back to a more seemly expression. Still, anyone who admired Nizl must have some good features. "Yes, she will be breaking her falls with that cushion soon, I expect. And soon after that, she will be sprinting all around our feet." She settles Nizl onto her lap. "Say hello to Fafnir, magpie," she coaxes. Nizl gurgles happily, and lunges for the shiny buckle of Mama's belt.
"Hello, little dumpling," says Fafnir, his eyes watching as the wee one makes a grab from Aztryd's metal buckle. He watches the child as she chitters and coos, a small smile playing about his lips. Then he looks back up at Aztryd. Behind them, he no longer hears Nasi's voice, but there is the drone of conversations all about them, a buzzing like lazy bees. The cheese atop his bread has grown soft and there are little oily dots across the surface. His mind searches blindly for something to say to keep them from falling into uneasy silence, but his wits fail him. Taking a deep breath, he says the first thought to enter his head. " A year, and she is finally learning to walk. I am sure it must be her father's side that she gets that from. I cannot fathom that it would be you who would have been such a later bloomer." He takes a breath again and continues on, recklessly and blithely, his tone light and almost playful. "Why, I bet you were the charmer yourself when you are a tiny young sweetling, before you married and became a settled wife. I bet back in the day, dwarves jostled each other for the pleasure of your company."
Aztryd blushes and ducks her head. "Such questions! Oh, the boys back in Gamilfun, when I was young, which was not that long ago ... " She suddenly turns pale and silent, thinking of the Gamilfun of her youth, Gamilfun as a thriving community, full of her friends and kin ... Awkwardly, she attempts to turn the subject. "At least her father was strong. Though I do hope she didn't inherit his temper ...." No, that was not a pleasant topic either. "You know, this little one has lived on the road longer than she has lived in any proper home. Such a little traveler she is!" And, thinks Aztryd, so shall we all be, soon. We are homeless now, and who knows when we shall have any proper home built again.Fafnir watches her face as she talks, cocking his head to one side as he listens, noting the emotions that chase each other across her face. "I think," he says slowly, "I think this little one may do better when all is done and recorded, than any of us. We will forever measure all that comes now to us against what has been, in Gamilfun, for good or for ill. She will not have such limitations." He falls silent a few moments as the wind sweeps through again, and he hears the shifting of bodies, the lull of conversations, and the distance call of a magpie. "You do not care much from one such as I, do you, swee--Aztryd?"
Aztryd narrows her eyes as Fafnir's tone becomes serious. She replies carefully. "One 'such as you?' I am not sure what you mean by that. I think -- at least I thought -- you had no patience for children, seeing them only as a distraction that interfered with the women from serving the men. And had no patience with me, either. But I will say you are a fine cook. And you did you part with that dragon. That was bravely done."
"One such as I. That is to say, poor, common, unacquainted with wealth personally. " A fly finds his way to the forgotten lunch and lands upon the meat. Absently, Fafnir waves it off. He looks from child to mother and says,"When you arrived, I never knew babies could produce such a ..." his nose wrinkles at the memory..." such a smell. Such a tiny thing and such a, a majestic odor." He lifts a hands and sweeps it in her general direction. "I didn't create our ways, our traditions, " he continues. "I have met wives much like you. Proud wives of proud elders who sit fine within the couch of duties as wives of important dwarves. So long as they are able to pick and choose when it pleases them how they shall wife unto their husband, they are most gracious. But require of them to assume all the wifely virtues and they then wish to see the world through a cheese cloth. All that filters through is how unfair the world and others are to them."
He reaches down and brushes his fingertips across the blades of grass. "Patience, "He says, and frowns in thought. "No, I had little patience, for you had none for me, or of me." He pulls a blade of grass. "I did nothing bravely. I did not stand there bravely. I would have befouled myself, but I was too deep in fear to do even that. Nasi was, is, the brave one. I am as I were, a minor functionary to elders who had no wish to be elderly."
Aztryd stares at him for the space of a breath. A second breath. Then looks away, looks anywhere but at him. She notices another frayed spot in the stitching of her boots, which will need mending tonight. She notices Nizl, nestling sleepily against her arm, and with her other hand absentmindedly smooths the tiny copper curls on the top of her head. "So," she says slowly, her face still turned down, "perhaps you see the wives of elders too keenly for our comfort." A beetle crawls across the toe of her boot. "But you know that I no longer have any important husband."
Aztryd looks around in embarrassment. To her relief, a few of the others are starting to stand and prepare to move on. "We had best be getting ready," she says, not quite looking at Fafnir. "You haven't even finished your meal." She hastily downs the last of her water, and busies herself with putting it back into her pack. Her mind still races with Fafnir's words, words that will take longer to digest than this dry meal will.
> Next