We Are All Free Here

They were both well and truly hammered by the time they stumbled up the stairs to the big bedchamber at the top. Red had tried very hard to avoid drinking much, without being either rude or arousing suspicion, and Corrac had too. "I don't wish to make a poor impression on my new bride, particularly tonight," he'd demurred with a grin, and all around had roared and clapped him on the back... then topped off his flagon with more wine. Indeed, it had been impossible to avoid, as the rowdy and joyous partygoers had pressed cup after cup into her hand, raised toast after toast to them both... and now Red, who almost never drank spirits, was swaying on her feet, a most pleasant fuzzy warmth swamping her senses. The feast was still audibly going on in the great hall, but they'd been excused early, with a predictable round of winks and back-pats.

Corrac held the iron-bound door for her and reached to steady her as she staggered up the last stair and into her-- their-- new bedchamber. Red tried not to show her awe. It was, by a comically large margin, the nicest chamber she'd ever been in. It was huge, big enough to hold the largest bed she'd ever seen, and still have enough room for a bureau, several chests and an armoire, a padded bench and an armchair by the fireplace. All the furniture looked new, carefully crafted from Wilder yew. The bed was piled high with fine linens and topped with wolfskins, and from the fire drifted the sweet smell of seasoned applewood. Strange, conflicting emotions stirred in her heart, stoked by the copious amounts of wine. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve anything this fine. I deserve a muddy roadside and a moldy crust of bread. None of this can ever be mine, not really. But perhaps I can be dry and well fed for a few weeks until they figure me out.

Corrac was sitting on the bed, looking at her wordlessly. Her stew of conflicting emotions gained a new flavour, sweetness and fire in equal parts. There was a look on his face that she would never have expected-- tenderness, shyness... nervousness? This lion of a man, with huge callused hands that could heft a claymore like it was a goose feather, was nervous?

But then, nothing about this situation had gone the way Red had expected. The best she'd hoped for was to get plowed by some middle-aged backcountry landowner in exchange for meals and a dry roof over her head-- really it was a version of her mother's profession, if a client with a slightly longer term. That's all noble marriages are, after all, aren't they? Hell, that's all marriage is, isn't it? 

 But then she'd ridden alone, clad in a dead woman's bloodstained dress, clutching her signet ring, frantically rehearsing her Rjuven accent, through the most beautiful countyside she'd ever seen... and then the day before yesterday, she'd ridden up to the wooden castle on the island in the river, and waiting for her was the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes upon. Waiting with a smile and a gift for her, not jewels or flowers, but a hawk with golden eyes and curved talons like Khinasi daggers.

Oh, Red had seen pretty men, had bedded her share... but they were gap-toothed, flea-bitten dung-rakers, compared to this man who was like a statue of Anduiras come to life.

Her usually deft hands, struggling through the wine-induced fog, fumbled with the ties on the bodice of her gown. Her handmaid-- I get a handmaid now, some poor sweet woman whose sole duty it is to braid my hair and empty my chamberpot... oh, how the nobles live!-- had made it look so easy when she'd done it up, and now the damn things seemed like ensorceled bonds from the bards' tales, meant to confine a demon from wreaking havoc for all eternity... Impatiently, she tore at them and heard an expensive seam rip with a satisfying sound. The linen shift she wore underneath, unlike the gown, contracted when she breathed and permitted sweat to pass through it. She struggled out of the accursed uncomfortable pile of brocade and velvet and kicked it aside, stumbling toward the bed... coming to a dead halt before Corrac.

Oh, gods. This is damned awkward, isn't it. And to think this is just what nobles DO.

"My lady. Reynhild." His eyes were an unreal shade of blue, like the harbour under a cloudless sky at midday. He took her hand, but gently, so gently, and the look on his face was like a barbed hook that sunk into her heart and tugged.

Oh, gods. I am way too drunk right now.

"You don't have to... We don't have to do anything you don't want to. Wholeheartedly. This is Wilder's Gorge. We are all free here. Especially you."

It took a moment for Red's foggy mind to comprehend his meaning, and then she just stared at him, openmouthed in disbelief. What manner of strange faeryland have I fallen into? What strange place is this, where noble lords ask permission before bedding the brood mare they've purchased? Who are these people, the Wilders, who look at their lord as adoringly as if he were a god, even as they get shitfaced with him at the same table?

Corrac recognized her bewilderment, but not its source. "Come. Lay down for a while. It's been a very long few days, and you've been through a great deal. Just rest." Well, that does sound rather nice... this bed looks amazing, and the room is actually spinning somewhat right now... maybe I'll just lie down for a moment... She crawled into the bed next to him. The linens were so soft she thought she might drown in them. The pillows threatened to absorb her head... Gods, I think there are feathers in these, not rags or straw.

But then he rolled onto his side to make sure she was covered and comfortable, and Red realized she really wanted to see what those proud swells of muscle at chest and shoulder looked like without a shirt obscuring them, and as though possessed by some drunk, clumsy demon, she freed herself from the covers and began wrestling him out of the hateful garment. He laughed, delighted and surprised, and the sweet sound made something stir in her she had no name for... and then of course she realized she wanted very badly to see the rest of him too, and began digging in the tangled nest of bedclothes and limbs with equal parts ferocity and ineptitude. And moments later there he was, nude, the firelight caressing the angles and planes of that warrior's body, so gods-damned beautiful her heart raced... as she swayed, still relatively clothed, the room spinning, trying to figure out where the chamber pot was, and the likelihood she'd need it if her dinner chose to make a quick and violent reappearance.

Oh, gods, I hope I don't puke.

"Come here."

And he drew her into his arms, and suddenly she was enveloped in warmth, and a feeling crept over her that she didn't even recognize, because she didn't recall ever having experienced it before... an unprecedented lightness, a calm, as though she could relax her eternal vigilance for just a moment, a feeling as though she were...

Safe.

She was asleep in moments, and barely felt the gentle brush of his lips on her forehead.