“Gods above!” Emlyn says, stretching, “It feels good to be able to move again.”
“You’ve worked hard enough for it,” Benger nods, “You should enjoy it and be proud of yourself for doing it.”
Rolling over on one elbow, Atres grins at her, “Mind if I get a look at those blades of yours?”
“Before you do,” Emlyn says, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it?” Atres asks, interested.
“Would you mind speaking with my grandfather?” Emlyn asks.
“I thought all your family was dead,” Atres says, suddenly suspicious.
“Yes, they are,” Emlyn agrees, “but a couple of them aren’t... quite gone. My grandfather is in this blade. He and I had a long talk last night about you. He wants to meet you.”
Atres looks at Benger, “Is she having me on?”
Benger, smirking, shakes his head and gestures at the blade, “Feel free to test it for yourself. I didn’t quite believe her the first time, either.”
Emlyn stands and unsheathes her grandfather’s blade and lays it across her palms. Atres, following her to his feet, lets out a low whistle of appreciation at the watered blade.
“This is what you’ve had the Temple smiths trying to replicate?” Atres asks, and she nods. “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. May I?”
“Yes,” Emlyn nods, “but once you grab the hilt, don’t be so surprised you cut yourself.”
Tentatively, he reaches out and takes the hilt. As soon as his hand closes around it, there’s a dry chuckle in his thoughts.
“So, interested in my granddaughter?” Melfyn laughs, “You’re not the first. Maybe not the last, either.”
“I’d like to be the last,” Atres replies, “I’d very much like to be the last. Uhhh... Sir… What do I call you?”
“Hrmph,” Melfyn replies, “I’m Melfyn. Tell me what made her catch your eye?”
Before Atres can reply in words, Melfyn gets the image of Emlyn leaping from one tree to another with her cats’ claws.
“That’s my girl,” Melfyn replies with a chuckle. “Now tell me why you think you’re a good candidate for her?”
What Melfyn gets back is more emotion than words, before Atres can try to frame an answer. A rush of tenderness, an overwhelming urge to protect her, pride in her ferocity, a tinge of lust, and Atres’s absolute besottedness with Emlyn.
“Hah!” Melfyn laughs, “I knew it! You’re half-gone for her already. You’re in for a bit of a wait, though. She’s not, by our standards, quite old enough yet. Our marriageable age is typically twenty. Betrothals don’t typically happen, among us, until she’s a bit older than she is now.”
“Girls here usually marry younger. Sixteen or so is common here,” Atres replies, “I’ve already promised to wait for three years.”
“Hmmm,” Melfyn replies, “If she’s not pregnant until she’s twenty, that might not be such an issue then.”
“I assume she’s told you what I am,” Atres says.
“She has,” Melfyn replies.
“Conception, for us, has to be planned,” Atres explains, “It’s not so easy and requires a bit of magical intervention to ensure that it happens. Keeping her from getting pregnant shouldn’t be a problem, at least with me, but why twenty?”
“That’s usually the age when our girls have their full growth,” Melfyn explains, “It makes for stronger children if they’re done growing themselves.”
“Strong children seem to be important,” Atres says, “I know I’ve heard her use those exact words.”
“For a House to be successful among the Cymry,” Melfyn explains, “the children must be strong, able to rank well in the annual tournament.”
“Maybe you can explain something else to me?” Atres asks,
“What exactly is a founding sire?”
“Called you that already, did she?” Melfyn laughs uproariously while Atres sputters a bit, “It means she wants you to sire quite a few children and help her raise them as proper Cymry. She was the middle of nine, you know. Large families, among the successful Houses, are common among the Cymry. Hmmm, fatherhood frightens you a bit? Why?”
“I haven’t exactly been a role model,” Atres admits.
“I heard about some of your exploits,” Melfyn grimaces, “Are you done with that foolishness?”
“I think I’d turn myself inside out,” Atres says, “just to see her smile. I find myself wanting to be, working to be the man she needs me to be, so yes. I am done with all that. I hadn’t really considered marriage or being a father until I met her. I didn’t think it would be possible.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“And now?” Melfyn asks.
“Now I find myself wanting to have her to come home to, her to wake up to,” Atres shrugs, “I find myself wanting to go hunt down whatever it is that’s made her so jumpy and stab it until it stops twitching. I find myself wanting to scoop her up and rock her until she feels safe, content, and happy. I had to stop myself from throwing my bedroll down in front of her tent last night so I could guard her from whatever it is that she fears. I find myself wanting to be her partner in all these things she wants to do, and wanting her to be my partner in some things of my own. It’s not easy to find a woman who’s truly an equal, at least not here. Your granddaughter is a unicorn, and I’ll keep working until I’m good enough for her.”
“A unicorn?” Melfyn asks.
“Something unique, something magical, something precious.” Atres answers firmly.
“That she is,” Melfyn agrees.
“May I have your permission, your blessing to court her?” Atres asks.
“What would you do if I said no?” Melfyn asks.
“I’d abide by her wishes,” Atres answers, “whatever those may be in light of your answer.”
Melfyn laughs, “Very well. You have my permission, but you’d best tell her about your assignment as soon as we’re done here. She’s not going to like it much, but I see why you accepted it. If she gives you too much guff about it, you can tell her that I said I think you’re right.”
Sensing Atres’s alarm, Melfyn adds, “Don’t worry. I picked that up in all the protectiveness you have of her, already. So, tell me, how do you feel about getting tattooed? Assuming she can find someone to do it, that is. All of us are; it’s how we display our affiliations and our status. I’m glad she’s keeping hers covered for now since her name, her house, and many other things are written on her skin. Still, if she’s to try to found a new House, it seems like she means to do it among the Cymry, and they’ll not respect you until you’ve gotten one.”
“Tattoos aren’t common among us,” Atres shrugs, “but they’re not unheard of either. Many of the dragon-blood clans still have clan tattoos.”
“We’re not talking about some little clan mark, boyo. My granddaughter’s starts at the soles of her feet and goes up to her shoulders as well as down both arms to her fingertips,” Melfyn explains, “Somewhere on the ribs is more typical, but, as you pointed out earlier, she’s not typical. If you want them to accept you, and more importantly, accept you as her mate, you can’t be typical either.”
Melfyn gets a sense of acceptance and a fierce determination that makes him smile.
“If that’s what it takes,” Atres shrugs, “then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Tell her that I said I’ll advise you,” Melfyn chuckles, “when the time comes for you to get your tattoo. I’ll help you decide what should be in it. Whatever you do, though, don’t ask my son Terwyn for anything. He’s in her other blade, in case you were wondering, and he’s... unhappy that she’s the only one of his children who survived. In his current state of mind, I don’t trust him not to sabotage things for her out of pure spite.”
“Duly noted,” Atres replies.
“Off with you now and go tell her about your new assignment,” Melfyn sighs.
Atres releases the hilt and holds the blade by the cross-guard, still a bit stunned.
“I need to tell you something,” Atres says.
“What did he say?” Emlyn frowns.
“I have permission to court you,” Atres grins for a moment, “but that isn’t what I need to talk to you about.”
He hands the blade back to her, and Emlyn takes the hilt, smiles for a moment, and then sheathes it.
“Then what is it?” Emlyn says, looking puzzled.
“I’ve been given a new assignment,” Atres sighs, “It’s the best and worst possible thing all rolled into one.”
“What’s your new assignment?” Emlyn asks.
“Hmm...” Atres says with a grin, “I’m to keep an eye on you and how you’re progressing.”
“What!” Emlyn explodes, “They picked you to spy on me. Where is Argonath? I’ll have his balls. Oja can have some earrings to go with that necklace.”
Laughing, Atres shakes his head, “It’s better if you don’t. Think it through. If I’m the one filing the reports, I can control what ends up in them. I can keep things that might identify you out of the archives. Your grandfather said you weren’t going to be happy about it, but he also said that I should tell you that he thinks I’m right about this.”
This statement stops Emlyn in her tracks.
“He’s almost always right,” Emlyn says slowly. “Gods above! You probably won’t be the only one that they put to watch me, either.”
“No,” Atres says gently, “probably not. What I will be is the one with the most access to you. It’s also the perfect excuse for me to visit your Temple as often as I can, even with my other duty assignments, and to spend as much time with you as I can. I’m going to enjoy showing you around Harito, maybe even a bit more of Tassatung. We travel a good bit, and not always on things as mundane as recruiting missions. Some things are a bit more interesting. Having a female partner might be beneficial. I’ve got something coming up, once we’re back in Harito, if I could interest you in tagging along.”
Mollified, Emlyn nods, “As long as it doesn’t interfere with this thing with Divaros, I might be persuaded if I can bring one or two of my brothers with me.”
“That might be possible,” Atres grins, “I think I’d like to meet the rest of your cohort.”
“They’re going to want to meet you,” Benger says, shaking his head, “I just hope you’re up to it. Your reputation precedes you and won’t win you any points. I’ll say this: so far, your interest in our sister seems genuine. Let’s hope it stays that way.” “
"Had I known that was going to haunt me like this,” Atres grumbles, “I would have turned every last one of those wenches down.”
“As long as you start turning them all down now,” Benger says with a look, “then it should all work out.” Atres sighs heavily and nods.
“I can see why you want to replicate your blades,” Atres says, “They’re incredible. I was shocked at how light they are.”
“When I’m in better form,” Emlyn replies, “I can make them move fast enough to whine.”
“They’re remarkable,” Benger says, “So much so that they got our Goddess’s attention. Her little project to replicate them is officially sanctioned.”
“I’m taking your father’s plow back to Harito,” Emlyn says, “so that Master Lokrag can replicate it in the same steel that those daggers are made from to see if that’s better or worse than what they have now. If it’s better, then maybe we can sell some of those to help offset the costs for what I want to do.”
“And if it’s not,” Benger asks.
“Then he gets his plow repaired for free and we try again later,” Emlyn replies, “They’ll have to repair it to make the mold. Once the mold is made, we can keep trying different blends until we come up with something that does work better.”
“What is it that you want to do?” Atres asks, and Benger laughs.
Atres gives Benger a curious look.
“Her plan is beyond ambitious,” Benger grins, “but not without merit.”
Even more curious, Atres turns to Emlyn, “Well... out with it, lass.”
“I want better metal,” Emlyn shrugs, “What I’ve been able to find here is terrible. It’s either weak, soft, or brittle. It’s not good for weapons or armor. By my people’s standards, it’s not even fit for tableware. To be brutally honest, I could melt down my mother’s place settings and make better armor from that than what we have now. If we’re to be assigned things like chasing down dragons, we have to have good armor. It needs to be able to withstand a chomp or a swipe of their claws. Right now, that’s not the case. Since we can’t buy what we need, we’ll make it.”
“Hmmm,” Atres mulls this over, “That means mines and smelters and gods alone know what else. No wonder Benger calls it ambitious.”
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