WORRLGENHALL

by Luke, Monica

  Already there, he saw her walk inside and sit down, but he did not go to her. Instead, from a distance he crossed his arms and leaned against the wooden wall in a darkened corner watching her as she patiently waited for him.

  Knowing he could have easily slept among the men in the inner guard towers, he knew she would come back, and something inside him made him certain he had to come back too.

  After he made her wait for a good while, now convinced she wouldn’t leave until she spoke with him, slowly he walked out from the shadows.

  “What am I to do with you?” he questioned aloud, even more drawn to her, but annoyed with her persistence, “You are a strong willed one.”

  “Wed me,” she spoke without the slightly hesitation, as she stood and looked at him. “Then do to me what those who are wed do.”

  “Do what to you?” Laad asked surprised.

  “Wed me.”

  “What were your words before that?”

  As she looked at her feet, shyly Nona answered. “Do to me what those who are wed do.”

  “Young one,” he replied, “I wonder if you even know what those who are wed do.”

  “I know of what I have heard,” she spoke quickly.

  “It would be cruel to do such a thing,” Laad said concerned for her and turned, yet he felt that each word he or she spoke drew them closer, “And just leave you at dawn.”

  “Wed me,” she said a third time, and added, “Then give me yourself in such a way, that I am so weak it will hold me.”

  “Your age causes me to wary,” Laad said bemused by her words, “What notions have filled your youthful head that you speak in such a way. I know you have never been touched.”

  “I hear you well,” she said, as she walked closer, “When I am yours, I know I will please you.”

  From such passion in her voice and glint in her eyes, hesitantly he stared at her and wondered where such thoughts came from her. Truly young, she had no experience of love and life, yet the zeal of her words, made him think of the joy she could bring him.

  “And what is there about me that has seized your heart so that you long to my wife?”

  “There is much,” Nona spilled her heart, “The sound of your voice; your deep green eyes; the way you walk, and your bravery, and ...”

  “Nona,” Laad sighed out her name to stop her from speaking, and as it came out of his mouth, a rush went through his heart such that he could not finish his words.

  “Within, I feel your head is filled deeply of me,” she said assuredly, “Make me your wife.”

  “I…I must reason for a time,” Laad suddenly said, as her words began to sway him, and left her.

  Gone for so long she feared he had left her to rejoin the warriors, her heart filled with sorrow and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her belief of love guiding her, making her always certain she would know true love at first glance. She knew she had found him when she first saw Laad’s face.

  “Now I have known how a fool feels,” she whispered to herself; then began to walk away.

  Just as she reached the heavy wooden doors to leave, as she pushed them open, she noticed Laad and a man standing just beyond them.

  “Young one, already you will not wait for me, how can you be my wife?” Laad asked when he looked up and saw her.

  Again, she smiled; then noticed the man a priest.

  “I vow by the very blood within me will it forever flow through me with only love for you.”

  Laad smiled at her genuine words as he and the priest walked towards her; then once back inside, he gently took her hand.

  Both hand in hand, they kneeled as the priest asked them give the other something dear to them they wore; then while standing over them, he put his hands on both of their heads.

  “Before God I bond you making two into one, and one you shall remain until the other breathes no more.

  As Nona gave Laad her hair beads given to her by her mother before she died, he noticed how her hand trembled when he took them.

  “You tremble,” he whispered, “Are you afraid?”

  “No,” Nona inhaled to try to calm, “Such joy quickens my breath and fills me such that I am unable to calm myself.”

  Again, Laad smiled; then gave Nona his war wristband worn by his father that he now wore; then as they held their items, they were now husband and wife.

  As both looked at the other and smiled when the priest closed the door, Nona so filled with joy and love, closed her eyes and lowered her head, unable to speak.

  After of few moments of silence, gently Laad put his hand under her chin to have her look up at him.

  “Open your eyes,” his soft request.

  Nona opened her eyes and looked up to Laad, her eyes filled with such a glow it could have lit the stable on their very own.

  “What shall we do young one?” his question, as he looked at her beautiful face.

  “My great want is to feel your body upon mine,” she whispered.

  “But we have no place to go,” he said. Their wedding hasty, he also realized they had no place to live.

  “Then, in the shadows lay me upon the straw,” she whispered shyly.

  “I will not,” Laad said, as he suddenly lifted her, then put her upon his horse and rode away.

  Right away, he took her close to the waterfall. Once next to it, he carried her in his arms from his horse to beside the water, then after he put a blanket down, gently lifted and put her upon it.

  The cool air off the water on Nona as she lay, she sighed and looked up at Laad; then the stars behind him.

  “The waterfall is the place of passion for those in love.” She sighed again. Her belief of love at first glance strengthened, “Is it why you brought me back to it?”

  “I reasoned it the right place.”

  While he stood, he removed his own clothes; his virile body towering over her as he did, she did not lose his gaze as he looked down at her.

  “I shall undress you to behold what is now mine,” he said, once he was naked.

  “Please no,” another shy reply, “I will do it.”

  Eagerly, he watched as she stood and slowly removed her dress and her bindings before she lay back upon the soft grass; then as he looked at her from head to toe. Her innocent form shapely and now enticing to him, when he started at her hair, then let his eyes travel below her navel he thought of the golden haired children she would bless him with one day.

  Slowly, he got beside her; then brushed the back of his hand gently along her smooth cheek. “I fear you will hurt much from me,” he whispered his fear, “You are young.”

  “We are wed,” she moaned, as she felt his strong hand against her face, “Now fit me to you.”

  “Nothing has ever come to mind that I have longed for more than what I behold before me,” Laad admitted, the sound of the waterfall soothing and yet rousing, Nona was right, it was the place for passion for those in love, “And I long to feel how your chaste walls will cling to me as I move between them.”

  “Never have I heard such words.” Nona breathed heavily, “And never have I felt what is burning deep inside me.”

  A soft kiss upon her lips, she held him close as he tenderly lay upon her; then her nails deep in his back she bore his thrusts and kept her whimpers low from pain until pleasure rose too within her.

  Her whimpers heeded making him afraid to push more than halfway inside her, he decided to content himself with just that.

  “I hear your whimpers,” he said softly, “I will not hurt you more by pushing any deeper.”

  “I will love no other and have no other,” she vowed, refusing to release him until he filled her fully, “My longing for you will be great if you rush our wedding night. Leave me without longing and filled with joy that I pleased you.”

  “So many words you speak Nona! Yet, they cause my heart to race and blood to rush through me.” Laad moaned, granting her wish, as he pushed deeper, “Such is that I feel for you in this short time, I swear by all that is holy
could only be love.”

  Laad able to feel as he pushed deeper, the torrent rush about to come out of him prepared his will to withdraw his shaft and spill onto the ground.

  “Young you are, yet you do bleed. I will not leave you with child,” he moaned knowing only a few thrusts more he would release his fertile warmth inside her, “I will be a father to my seed with you when the time is fitting and not always away.”

  “To deny me such a thing is to deny I am your wife, and I now am,” she moaned back, as she held him even closer, “Your seed belongs inside me. The earth has no claim to it.”

  From that, Laad released deep into Nona and his final thrusts so strong, he pushed her forward chafing her back on the blanket, and as his body quivered, she knew she was suited to him.

  “Did a pleasure come to you from deep inside?” he asked concerned that he may have only thought of himself.

  “Yes,” she answered, as she blushed, “The scratches deeper into your skin are when I felt it.”

  “When that feeling comes over you,” he said softly, “Speak it to me. It stirs me to know it.”

  “I will,” she whispered; then gave a long sigh of love, “My husband.”

  “You are no longer the young one to me,” he said, as he looked into her eyes, “You are a woman, and my wife.”

  His stay at WorrlgenHall now ending, Laad held her close, his heart aching that he had to leave her.

  “Will you be safe when I am away?” he asked concerned, as his palm gently went to her chin.

  “I shall,” she assured him, “I have a way about me, that wins me favor.”

  “And it is true,” he agreed, finding himself suddenly wed, “Yet, I will worry.”

  “The sun rise approaches soon,” she whispered, “Our wedding night is almost past us. If I could stop the sun from rising, I would.”

  “I will race the sun rise,” Laad said, as blood rushed into every part of him, including what would fill her, “And spill into you again.”

  “My heart is bound to you,” she whispered. “As you stood before me in Uded’s door sill, I knew I would forever love only you.”

  “As I watched you sleep,” he remembered, as he touched her face to wake her, “I knew you loved me.”

  “And me?”

  “Nona, I would never make my wife someone I would not intend to truly love.”

  After he filled her again, neither slept as they dreaded the sunrise, but the king gracious in giving him leave, he knew he had to rejoin the others.

  “I will never ride so hard for anything, as I will to return to my wife,” he said, as he dressed, then mounted his horse.

  Tears in her eyes, as he bent down to kiss her, she whispered, “Come back to me.”

  Chapter 3

  Ecia stood before the council of men at their mercy while they sat in a circle and discussed the matter of her betrayal, while occasionally glancing up from their forum at her.

  “Why did you help him?” one man shouted his question.

  “And doing so betray your own,” another sneered.

  “Skin her alive!” bellowed, yet another.

  At first refusing to answer, boldly she did. Her shoulders straight, her stare at their faces intent, although, her life lay in their hands, she was fearless.

  “I cannot speak why. I do not know myself,” she answered, “Other than his eyes called to me.”

  “Then from your answer, you leave us no other course.”

  Mercy granted, her life spared, the council banished Ecia from her village and all the surrounding villages.

  With nothing of her own granted she could take, except what she carried now cherished, they left her to the mercy of those she came across who would give it.

  Bidding goodbye to her Brother Ecer and her childhood friend Alden, she asked them to join her, but they refused, and with that, the villages as her homeland, were no more.

  **

  From a high hill, Tohlor could see the king. With him, no less than five hundred men on foot and horses, he knew he had come prepared for revenge.

  “I can see the king,” Tohlor hurried to tell Bayl, “With a small part of the united men just pass the hills.”

  Quickly, Bayl and Belon rode out to the king.

  “Father,” Bayl said glad to see him as he approached, “Baric’s state is unchanged.”

  “And you?” King Rone said, concerned for his younger son too.

  “I am well.”

  A half nod from King Rone, he continued ahead, yet his mind ran with worry. Baric the older and next to rule, should his fate be death, he questioned could Bayl rule the lands of Worrlgen since he was given to quick judgment and carelessness, which often times led to one’s fall.

  “Once we reach the hill,” Orem, the king’s Lord Helm Commander of the men, said to King Rone as he rode next to him, “I will divide the men left.”

  “Arrange as you will,” the king said, Orem’s years of victories in battle making him wise, he was confident in Orem’s decisions, “Then give word to me.”

  Once at the camp, quickly King Rone went to Baric’s side, and so intense was his fever that he spoke words unknown to any who heard him.

  “He wrestles in his head from the wound,” Orem said shrewdly, as he looked at Baric, “The village people in the lowlands know roots well. I would wager they poisoned him with one of the blades.”

  “Is Orhan near?” King Rone asked, troubled.

  “As you speak, he comes.”

  As soon as he made it to the camp, right away, Orhan went to Baric, and as he sat beside him, touched his head.

  “He is cold to the touch, but he sweats,” Orhan said; then opened a pouch he brought with him, “A sickness is inside him. I can see that he has lost much blood so I will not bleed him.”

  “He was asleep when I found him, and still has not awakened,” Bayl said quickly.

  Orhan got out oddly looking red roots out of his pouch. “A bowl and water,” he then ordered.

  Rushing about, one of the men brought Orhan a bowl and water, and as he curiously watched him crush the red roots with a small milling stone, before he added the water, Orem noticed him gawking.

  “Close your mouth and be about your way,” he brusquely ordered.

  After pulling away Baric’ binding, Orhan studied his wound.

  “It is healing well,” he said and mixed water into the red roots, “When the sunrises, sets, and twice between give him this.”

  “Do you believe Orhan can heal Baric?” Bayl asked his father as they stood next to him.

  “He has a gift for cures. He was one of the youngest healers to your grandfather,” King Rone said; then turned to Bayl, “It is why I brought him with me.”

  The red roots, taking Baric into another kind of sleep, his ranting stopped and when they noticed, they began to feel he would heal.

  “Let us have words,” King Rone said to Bayl, as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder troubled, “Speak of what went wrong?”

  As they walked, Orem next to them too, Bayl explained his hasty judgment. Suspecting the villagers to be few and weak, he was certain they would defeat them.

  “Never take lightly those who fight for the love of their homeland and have no king,” Orem said wisely, “They will band together and fight until their dying breaths.”

  “Then what will you have us do?” Bayl asked, although he already knew the answer.

  As King Rone turned and looked at his son, who lay helpless and wounded, anger rose from deep.

  “Go back to the lowland and lay waste to it and all within,” he answered quickly, “Orem will lead.”

  The next morning, just as he had planned, Orem divided the men. He put those who fought under Baric on one side and those who fought under Bayl the other.

  “For this battle,” Orem commanded, as they planned, “We will not give word of our coming, as you did before, then wait while letting them gather many from all around. They have made clear they will not give up the lan
d.”

  “Why have you divided the guilds that survived?” Ogorec questioned Orem.

  “Some will fight in the villages and some the open field again.”

  “They would not be bold enough to fight again,” Belon blurted.

  “You ran like female dogs with your tails between your legs making them no longer fear us. Burn two of their villages and they will gather.”

  “We should fight together,” Belon insisted, as the thought of Ogorec came to mind.

  “No,” Orem said boldly, then stood and spoke to the king.

  First, again looking at Baric before he spoke, although he knew it would anguish the king, he suggested what he thought was best.

  “My king, I believe it wise to send Lord Baric back to WorrlgenHall. He is of no use and could be wounded or killed in battle if they somehow reach him. Orhan has helped him. I believe sending him back will only help him more.”

  “Bayl.” King Rone looked at his son.

  “I agree father…”

  “It is done,” King Rone gladly agreed, “Send Orhan back with Baric. Choose those strong to return with them.”

  “And you king,” Orem suggested, “Your battles are long pass you. I beg you return with Lord Baric.”

  “I will ride with the men,” King Rone said, as he stood on his chariot.

  Since Ogorec was Baric’s first in command and guard, Orem ordered him to go back to WorrlgenHall with him; then he randomly chose twenty men, but Belon was not one of them.

  “I plead to stay,” he protested when he didn’t choose him, fighting his urge to look at Belon, “And fight with the men.”

  “Safeguard Baric’s journey back, as well as a commander, you are his guard,” the king reaffirmed Orem’s command, and his word final, Ogorec said nothing else. Instead, once Orem dismissed them, set to leave in the morning, he walked unhappily away.

  **

  His horse heard before he even arrived, as those closest to the king sat talking of battle plans, Laad rode into camp and went to stand before him.