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From: Bramble <NObramblethornSPAM@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Smoke and Cinders" (FF, nc, fant)
Date: Sat, 21 Sep 2002 07:10:02 -0400
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. If you can't separate fantasy 
from reality, if you're too young to read sexually explicit material, or 
if you just don't _want_ to read sexually explicit material, then please 
do us both a favour and find something else to read instead. There's 
also some violence in this one.

*****

Smoke and Cinders
by Bramble

Sit down, kid. I won't bite - not while I've got a perfectly good knife 
on me, anyway. That was a _joke_. Sit down and tell the nice lady what 
you're after.

Oho, I thought so. Every boy with a sword wants to be a merc. Yeah, 
we're hiring, but only if you've got what it takes. See those men over 
there? They're mine, and if you're going to let them down I don't want 
you. And by the way, it's 'Descherea'. Dess-cherry-eh. It's a type of 
flower. That's a joke too, but not mine.

Glad you asked. See, there are ten thousand mercenaries out there, and 
every one of them's got a theory. I call 'em the "one-in-eighters." Take 
a kid, stick a sword in his hand, send him up against another kid just 
the same, and one of them's going to get lucky and kill the other one. 
Then he looks around, finds another kid who got lucky, and one of them 
gets lucky a second time. Then do it one more time, and you end up with 
a kid who's just killed three men.

First time you kill a man who's trying to kill you, you know it's luck, 
and you thank the gods for letting you live. Second time, you think 
you've got a bit of an edge. Third time, you think you've got the secret 
of immortality in your hand. It's crap - for every kid like that there 
are seven dead ones who just ran out of luck. But that never stopped 
anybody from having a theory. Get me a beer and I'll tell you my theory.

Thanks. Where was I? Yeah, theories. Some will tell you it's about the 
drills, or having a wizard to back you up, or longbows, or travelling 
light, or reconnaissance, or equipment. Or having the right _name_, or 
any other bullshit. And there's something to most of them, but me, I 
have my own theory. Probably no better than any of the others, but -

Exactly. It's my company. And my theory is, it's about nerve. Doesn't 
matter how many men you've got, as long as you can show the other guys 
you've got more nerve than they have. First to blink, loses. Lemme tell 
you a story about that, but get me a beer first. Have one yourself.

What? Oh yeah, bit of a shock seeing me in the light, isn't it? No, 
that's not soot on me, kid. Looks like streaks of soot, but it don't rub 
off. I'm a mixed-blood - go back a couple of generations on my father's 
side, you'll find a gen-u-ine demon outta Hades. If you can _find_ my 
father, that is. Nobody else ever has. Usually I wrap up real good to 
cover it, 'cept when I was apprenticed to a blacksmith and nobody paid 
smudges a second thought.

Anyway, this was back a few years, right at the end of the mountain wars 
up North. I had my first company then, hired anybody who wanted to join. 
Never do that again. Last big battle, up near Vergill, one of them lost 
his cool and ran. Nothing worse for morale than seeing one of your own 
men running. Verg-men charged us, killed half the company before me and 
Dom rallied them. After the fighting was over the King paid us, I paid 
the men off and left them to find their own way home. Realized it'd be 
better with just Dominic and me - and one other guy who had more balls 
than the rest - than sharing the pay with some bastard who's going to 
split at the sight of blood.

Dom? My half-brother. All human, though you wouldn't think it to look at 
him. He's the tall one over there, looks like a scarecrow on stilts. 
Six-eight, or thereabouts.

Yeah, impressive, isn't he? You know what he fights with? A fucking 
_scythe_. Maybe a good swordsman could beat him - me, I like my swords, 
and I can best him eight of ten sparring. But you know what they say 
about first impressions - you see _that_ coming at you, you'll turn and 
run, and then it doesn't matter _how_ good you are. He can run faster 
than you, too.

As I was saying, the Northern War was practically over, and I didn't 
have a company any more. I thought I'd come down south and start 
recruiting for the next one - back then there were rumours the King 
wanted to grab a slice of the Gevorra Valley. Nice place, if you like 
wheatfields. So, we were on the road, and come nightfall we stopped in a 
small town whose name I forget. Not much to look at, but on the highway 
so they had a decent-sized inn - called the Red Goblet, it was.

We stabled our packhorses and headed on inside. I was still pretty 
pissed off about Vergill, and it'd been a cold cold day. I'll walk 
through snow all day, no problems at all, but it was that sort of wind 
that blows right through you and sucks the heat out of your bones. So I 
didn't pay much heed to anything inside until I'd got a bowl of stew 
inside me - and even with the fire going an' all, I was still pretty 
chilled at the end of it.

When I _did_ look around, what I saw didn't improve my mood any. Couple 
of locals sitting around chewing the fat, and over at the back two 
tables were about a dozen men. I recognised the colours - another 
mercenary outfit called the King's Eagles. Dress all in red-and-gold, 
like _that's_ a good idea on a battlefield. We'd met once or twice 
before and there was some bad blood between us - they'd poached one of 
my men, spearman by the name of Roger. Looked kinda uncomfortable when 
he saw me, can't say I blame him. But mostly I didn't like them because 
they're so goddamned prissy. You wanna fight for a cause you believe in, 
I respect that, but if you fight for money you're a merc like me. 
Toasting the King and painting an eagle on your shield don't make you 
anything different. And Evanar Liunsun, their captain - second son of a 
baronet, did I mention prissy? Half-elven, at that.

Don't get me wrong. I've nothing against elves. They're pretty, if you 
like that fragile look - not my taste, though Dom's quite partial, and 
they don't like my kind. But they've got principles and mostly stick to 
them, and that's something I can respect. It's the half-elves. They live 
with humans but they think they're better because they've got something 
else in them too - hey, I've got something else in _my_ blood, but I 
don't flaunt it. And at the same time they've got this huge chip on 
their shoulder because the elves don't accept them. That's why most of 
them turn out vain little things. Some exceptions, but Evanar wasn't one 
of them.

So my mood wasn't the greatest, and I was stewing quietly, when I saw 
something that set my mind working. Right past me, coming from the bar 
with four pints in her arms, walks a woman in Eagle colours. 'Bout 
five-four, half a head shorter than me; chestnut hair, braided and 
coiled up out of the way. Nice little fighting knife tucked into her 
belt, right-hand side. I figured her for an archer - us close-in 
fighters keep our hair short so's it can't be grabbed. (Or there's a 
trick where you dip it in lye so it breaks easy, but that's too much 
trouble for me.) I only saw the back of her, but two things caught my 
attention. First is, you don't meet a lot of female mercs - when you do 
there's usually a story behind it, and she didn't look like one who 
needed the money that bad.

Second thing was her scent. People don't think about scent much, but 
they react to it - really pulls the strings, if you know what I mean. I 
notice it more than most - from my father's side, I guess - and over the 
food and the wet cloth and sweat I caught her scent clear. It wasn't 
like peaches or grass or any of those, it was a real person smell. 
There's nothing else like it. Closest I can get... ever held clean silk 
right up to your face? No? If you ever do, it was a little like that, 
but only a little.

I got up and bought myself another round, and on the way back I got a 
better look at her. She was sitting next to Liunsun, and for a moment I 
thought she was his woman. Then I saw her face properly, and the way he 
talked to her, and realised they were family. I'd missed it before 
because she was more solidly built than most of her kind - about what'd 
be normal for a human, maybe even a fraction plumper, and with good 
strong arms. But once I knew what I was looking for, there was no 
missing it - something about the eyes, and the skin.

I made my drink last, and kept one eye on her while I talked to Dom and 
Alain. Didn't want to give the Eagles the impression I was sizing them 
up, no... She wasn't drinking herself, and from the way she behaved - 
just slightly unsure of herself and looking at Evanar a lot - I had the 
feeling she was still trying to settle into her brother's crowd on her 
own terms. Then I leaned over to Dom and whispered, "I've got an idea."

My crew will tell you there's only one thing worse than Descherea in a 
shitty mood, and that's Descherea feeling playful - I'd just shifted 
from one to the other. Dom knows my moods, and he knows the best thing 
to do at times like these is to humour me. That way, nobody gets hurt - 
well, nobody that matters, leastways. And though I'm the smart one in 
the family, he knows me so well he doesn't need to be told what I want. 
Which, right now, was for him to get off the bench and find himself and 
his scythe a different table, out of the way.

Next time she came past on her way to the bar, I half-stood and caught 
her eye. "Good evening, miss! I'm curious - I didn't know there were any 
women in the King's Eagles."

I liked the way she reacted. A bit on the wary side - I had my hood 
pulled forwards to shade my face, and her brother had probably been 
warning her about us - but she gave me a smile. A real one, at that. 
"Just me, milady. I badgered my brother until he let me join. He didn't 
like the idea."

"I can't blame him. It's a rough life - hey, come sit and tell me about 
it? I'm Descherea, by the way." I patted the space beside me where Dom 
had been sitting.

She had that I-want-to-I-don't-want-to look as she curtseyed. "Panara, 
milady. I was on my way to get the guys some beers, but maybe -" I cut 
her off with a smile and a shake of the head. "Look, you're a soldier, 
not a barmaid. You want them to respect you, tell them to get their own 
bloody beer. Isn't that right, Alain?" He mumbled agreement; knew I was 
up to something, but didn't know what. I solved her dilemma by taking 
her hand and guiding her down beside me.

I have to grant that she hadn't caught her brother's snootiness. There 
were traces of it - keep company with those types and it'll rub onto you 
- but once we got talking it rubbed right off again. She told me she'd 
joined out of boredom, wanting something more exciting than hunting game 
in the forest; I told her about a childhood in big-city gangs, the 
wanderlust, not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps. I think she 
was pleased to find I wasn't as bad as they'd been painting me.

We discussed the annoyances of being a woman in a male profession. How 
to get armour that fits - I've found it's largely a matter of menacing 
the smiths until they realise they _can_ work to my specifications. And, 
my personal unfavourite, how to fight with cramps. Yeah, didn't think 
you wanted to hear about that. Behind her, I saw her brother and Roger 
giving me the death-stare from time to time, but there are some 
conversations a man is powerless to interrupt. Besides - and I'm just 
soft enough that I was a trifle flattered - she _wanted_ to talk to me, 
so she did.

She'd been at Vergill, and we swapped stories about that; at one point 
the Eagles had been overrun - I _thought_ they were missing a few 
familiar faces - and it'd come down to knife-fighting. There was a 
fading wound on her left hand, from blocking the wrong way - but then, 
any block that keeps you alive is a good one.

I didn't tell Panara exactly what I thought of the King's Eagles, only 
that there was some bad blood between me and her brother: "I'm afraid he 
doesn't think much of my ancestry." I was pretty sure Evanar had already 
told her about _that_, so there was no harm in letting her hear it from 
me, and I was rewarded by her response. "Well, it's hardly something 
_you_ did, is it?"

Ah, sweet girl. If we weren't punished for the misdeeds of others, how 
different my life might have been.

And hers, come to think of it.

After that I caught her trying to get a good look at my face, and that's 
something I wasn't quite ready to allow - storyteller I know used to 
say, a mystery's better than a fishhook. And so I sent her on her way - 
"Your friends must be missing you, but do come back later and talk some 
more. Tell you what, can I see the bow you use?"

I couldn't hear what was said when she returned to the Eagles, bar a few 
words - "mongrel" being one - but the mood was clearly icy. She was 
arguing with her brother and the other Eagles who'd been around long 
enough to remember me, and getting steadily more unhappy. Poor girl; 
it's hard when you realise the friends you've been trying to win are 
sanctimonious arseholes.

I'd done what I set out to do - sour their evening - but I wasn't 
content. For one, I owed Evanar more than this; for another, it pained 
me to see a sweet-tempered lass like Panara keeping company with them. I 
considered waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife between Evanar's 
lily-white ribs, but somehow that didn't suit my sense of justice; 
besides, the alternative would be more... fun. Could I get away with it?

Yes, maybe I could. And if it got me killed, well, isn't that better 
than regrets?

Across the table I tapped Alain on the shoulder - he was four or five 
pints the worse for wear - and told him "Pull yourself together. Might 
be a fight in a little while." Alain's a big guy, a little slow perhaps 
but dependable, looks like a very whiskery bear with a broken nose. 
Saved his money and retired six months ago, I hear he got married. Right 
now I could see him starting to sober up. No rush. What I had in mind 
would take a while.

Then I caught Panara's eye. Wasn't easy; she was slouched at the table, 
not talking to anybody, and I had to wait until she looked up to make 
sure I wasn't looking at her. Pretended she didn't see me, and looked 
down again. All the while, I'm doing my best "hey, I like you, what's 
up?" face. After a couple of minutes she looked up again, and when she 
saw I was still looking she just shook her head at me.

So it was time for some good old-fashioned diplomacy. I got up, all on 
my lonesome, and walked over to the King's Eagles like a goddess of sun 
and smiles. "Hey, fellas. Hey, Roger. Look, I know we've had our 
differences, but how's about letting bygones be bygones? I'm here to 
talk, not fight. Peace?" And I stuck out my hand to Big Brother. He had 
to shake, of course; he couldn't very well let me look like the nice 
one. He even smiled, which must've cost him; he knew pretty much what I 
thought of him. "Peace."

Then I leant forward to rap on the table under Panara's nose, and she 
started and looked up at me. That smile just melted me; she might have 
gone to war, even killed a couple of men, but there was still a trace of 
girlishness there. And by the brightness of her eyes, she'd been on the 
verge of crying. That argument must have been nastier than I'd thought.

"Come on, honey, you promised to show me your bow." Which she hadn't, 
but she got up and came back to my table with it rolled in oilskin. This 
time I stood aside and let her scoot in first against the wall; she may 
have been a fine archer but she hadn't learnt tactics yet. I sat next to 
her, on the aisle side, and we unwrapped the bow and talked shop. I'm 
not much of an archer myself, but I know a little about how bows are 
made and I can appreciate good work when I see it. This was a very nice 
bow indeed - good recurve on it, Carefully-wrapped grip. Right size for 
her, too - nothing worse than some macho idiot trying to use a 
seven-foot bow. I tried flexing it and was surprised by how hard it was; 
I couldn't tell you what the pull was, but I'd have had real trouble 
using it. Strings in good condition too, wrapped in a nice little 
leather pouch. Strings...

"Hey, honey, let me try something?" I picked up a bowstring, coiled 
neatly in my hand, and tugged at her shoulder to turn her away from me. 
She felt curious, but didn't say anything; I reached for her hair and 
pulled out the pin that held it, uncoiled it into a long braid. Very 
long, almost to her waist - I could see why she hadn't wanted to just 
cut it off. "'Nara, you have absolutely gorgeous hair." Which was true. 
"I want to play with it." And I started running my fingers through it, 
unweaving the braid, straightening it out. I do love long hair, and I 
took the opportunity to hold it up, run my fingers through it on the 
pretext of removing a knot, breathe it in. It smelt like her, but 
stronger. "You must have been growing this for years."

"I've never cut it." She leaned back a little, let me work with her 
hair. After the fight she'd just had with her brother, she obviously 
found the stroking relaxing. Sometimes you have to give people an excuse 
to do something they enjoy. Once I was satisfied all the tangles really 
were out and she was comfortable, I worked my hands over her scalp and 
started dividing that hair into strands again. Three tiny ones, braided 
together into a small one. Three small ones, braided again into a medium 
one. You have to keep the tension on them, or they come apart; by the 
end of it I was using my hands, her hands, and my teeth to hold things 
together. And three medium strands - one from the back, one from the 
left side, one from the right - to bring her hair into one long thick 
cable. It would've stayed together fine just with tying the ends, but I 
didn't let her know that. Just asked her to reach behind her and pull 
the end tight while I bound it with the string. Found the midpoint, 
placed that up at the start of the weave, put her other hand on that to 
keep it in place, and started working it down through her locks. It's an 
old splicing technique I'd learned from a sailor.

I'd have loved to really wrap her hair, but it was just too long for 
that; it's surprising how quickly a six-foot bowstring goes, and I 
didn't want to finish short. So I worked it down as best I could, 
threading through the locks and knotting the string every inch or so, 
pulling it tight at every knot. It's a good splice - when I tugged at 
the ends, there was no way it was going to come loose. I still had a few 
inches of bowstring left at each end, so I tied each of those into a 
fancy knot and tugged on the braid. "Finished. Here, feel the end."

She obligingly reached for it with her right hand, and I slipped the 
loop around her wrist and pulled; before Panara quite realised what had 
just happened, I'd yanked her left hand down and secured it alongside 
the other. She squealed, more in surprise than anything, and before she 
could panic I'd backed off and tugged her round to face me. Once again 
with that grin - "It's okay, I'm just teasing you. Let me see how that 
looks from the front, and then I'll let you go."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Evanar giving me a 
what-the-FUCK-do-you-think-you're-doing? glare, but I paid him no 
attention; like I said, it's all about nerve. Act like you've got a 
God-given right to do whatever it is you're doing, and you'll get away 
with it every time. Or nine out of ten, at least. I leaned forwards, 
looked into her eyes - wide, still startled, just what I like - and then 
reached for her hair. Straightened a few bits that didn't really need 
it, and while I was half-standing over her I took the opportunity to 
look her over better.

She was wearing those split-skirts that are really just baggy trousers 
for women. Good for fighting in - comfortable, makes it harder to target 
your legs, and you can fasten the cuffs to your boots like she'd done. 
The colour wasn't so practical - gold and bright red panels would've 
made her an arrow magnet - but I had to admit, it did look good. Up top, 
dyed a darker red, a leather bodice. What I'd wear - nothing hurts worse 
than hitting yourself in the tits with a bowstring - and some sort of 
under-tunic. The bodice was cut pretty high, but with her arms pulled 
back like that it looked like she had nice breasts. And right then I 
would've killed for the look in those sea-green eyes.

I stayed there checking her hair just long enough to get her a bit 
impatient, and then I sat down beside her. "Back to me, hon, so I can 
get you out of this. Hope I didn't offend you or anything."

"No, no, I don't mind a joke..." But she sounded nervous. Good. Just 
when they're feeling threatened, show them kindness; just when they're 
feeling safe, give them a scare. Keeps 'em off-balance, easier to deal 
with. All the same she twisted around again to offer me her hands, and I 
fiddled with the knots. I wasn't untying them, but she couldn't see 
that, and while I was there I made sure to brush against her wrists some 
time. You think a woman's all about breasts and pussy, kid, you've got a 
lot to learn. Right time and place, just stroking the insides of the 
wrists can set her skin a-tingling, and that's what was happening to her.

I gave her a count of twenty - the Eagles looked like they were starting 
to think about coming over to sort things out - and then I shook my 
head. "You've twisted this knot or something, I can't see. Hop up on my 
lap so I can get the light on it." This time I didn't coax her at all, 
not physically; I wanted her to remember later that she'd done it of her 
own free will. She could've wriggled out and walked away, after all. If 
I'd let her think of it.

I didn't. She shuffled over awkwardly, sat down gingerly on my lap as I 
shifted back just far enough to make room for her - there wasn't a lot 
of space between us and the table. No accident, that. Even though I'd 
been looking forwards to it, I hadn't guessed just how _good_ it would 
feel to have the warmth of her nestled up to me like that, perched on my 
thighs. Still trying to keep some of her weight on her feet, so's not to 
squish me - or perhaps to keep some vestige of control - but either way, 
she needn't have bothered. With an arm around her waist, I drew her back 
onto me. At that moment I knew I wasn't just playing, I really was going 
to fuck her.

"I really am sorry, hon. I shouldn't have played a trick like that on 
you." And I grasped the knots again, oh-so-accidentally tugging her 
wrists up a little higher as she settled into the place I'd made for 
her. Picking at the ties around her wrists, I manouevered them to one 
side, nearly tipping her over - it's hard to balance without your arms, 
when the person you're sitting on doesn't _want_ you to balance - and 
then immediately caught her around the waist again.

"Easy, dear. It's only me. I'm not gonna hurt you." But I didn't untie 
her either, and it wasn't the arm around her waist that moved to rest on 
her thigh soothingly. _Gods, but you're warm. Nothing like travelling 
through sleet to make me hungry for this._ "My fingers are still clumsy 
from the cold." Without asking her permission I tucked my hands under 
her arms, fingers splayed over her ribs. Pressing them, squeezing her 
like lovers do.

She moved against me, part struggle, part wriggle, offering her wrists, 
still hoping I'd let her go. I ignored them, leaned forwards, letting 
her feel my breath on her neck as I whispered. "I like you, Panara. I 
really do."

By this time we had quite an audience. The barkeep was doing his best to 
look invisible, the locals were gawping from a prudent distance. And her 
brother finally lost his patience. He pulled himself to his feet, face 
purpling, and strode towards us fingering his sword-hilt - most of the 
Eagles were on their feet behind him, ready to fight, two big guys with 
hand-axes alongside him. "This has gone far enough, you mongrel bitch. 
Let my sister go NOW."

I didn't have to look for my companions; they were where I wanted them. 
Alain standing at the bar nearby, ready to move. Dom still sat nursing 
his beer as if nothing was happening, scythe propped against the table.

"I don't think so. Your sister and I are having a delightful 
conversation, and if she wants to leave she'll say so herself. Won't 
you, Panara?" And under the table, against her thigh, I let her feel the 
length of the dagger I'd slipped from her belt. She nodded wordlessly; I 
couldn't see her face, but I could feel her breathing, and that was 
better. "So why don't you just sit yourself back down and have another 
drink while I see about getting her untied, Evanar?"

That really did it; from our past encounters I knew just what tone of 
friendliness would send him over the edge. "Come on boys, it's time to 
teach the tainted some manners!" But instead of stepping forwards - and 
he _was_ a damn good swordsman, with that much backup he could've had us 
to rights - he turned to make sure the Eagles were all behind him.

When he turned back to us, the axeman next to him was missing his head. 
Fast as that, and Dom was standing there grinning with blood on his 
scythe. Ever seen a man decapitated? Makes a hell of mess, and on an 
even floor the head rolls quite a way. Kinda saps the will to fight, if 
you know what I mean. And I had the knife up against Panara's throat 
now, with her arching back against me trying to avoid it. It felt like 
catching a butterfly in my hands.

"Sit down. Nobody gets hurt as long as they just show some manners." By 
now I'd flipped my hood back, reckoning it was time to look 
intimidating; Panara kept twisting around trying to see me, but every 
time I'd tap her with the blade. Most of the Eagles had gone pretty 
white now, and they were still looking at Evanar for direction. Give him 
long enough and he'd find the courage for a charge. I had to do 
something about that.

"Hey, Roger!" He'd been standing near the back, fingering his sword 
edgily, and met my gaze very reluctantly. "Roger, do you want to fight 
me? Or are you going to sit down quietly?" Rest of the Eagles turned to 
look at him instead - that's a good trick if you can pull it, change 
their leader on them - and when he swallowed and sat back down, the 
others followed him. Guess he remembered how I am with grudges.

Evanar lowered his blade, but didn't move, still trying to figure out 
how to win a fight that was already over. I nodded at Alain, and he 
walked over and took the lad's sword away from him. "Sit him down, over 
by the bar, keep an eye on him. Barkeep, mead! I was in a damn good mood 
five minutes ago, and the sooner I find it again the better for everybody."

There's nothing as good as having an entire roomful of people completely 
under your thumb - unless it's having one person there - and just then I 
had both of those. I cuddled Panara against me and set the knife back in 
its sheath, in easy reach, as the barkeep hurried over. "Now, thanks to 
the King's wages... drinks all round!" I paid him, generously at that, 
and sent him on his way ferrying drinks to the Eagles. After all, it'd 
give them something to think about other than their consciences. Took a 
few sips, and when everybody had a drink I raised mine.

"To the King!"

Well, there's only one response to that. "To the King!" That got them 
drinking again, even Big Brother - under Alain's watchful eye - and it 
quieted them down a little, until I noticed one person hadn't joined in 
the toast. Kinda hard to do with her arms behind her back, but that's no 
excuse for disloyalty. "Panara. Come on, drink to the King."

"Please. I don't drink." But I raised the tankard to her lips and tipped 
it, so she didn't have much choice in the matter. She drank, and when I 
tipped more she drank faster. Spluttered a bit, and I had to pat her on 
the back. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Thank you." Sullen, shrinking back into her shell, which wasn't 
what I wanted at all. Killing things is what I do for money; this one I 
wanted to bring to life.

"It's okay, sweet. None of this is your fault. You were just in the 
wrong place at the wrong time, and now your brother's come to his senses 
things are going to get better." _Except for the guy on the floor, of 
course._ "I may be a bit of a bitch, but not enough to hurt you for 
something your brother did." Rested one hand on her shoulder, stroked 
her back softly. "It's okay. I'm on your side." I felt her shuddering, 
like she was about to cry, and then she let it out in a long deep sigh. 
Relief? Not exactly. More... trust. If it's trust a kitten shows when 
you pick it up by the scruff of the neck. She sank back into my arms and 
I held her tight. Held her until she leaned back against me, until 
nobody in the room mattered but the one I was holding.

That was a beautiful feeling. One of those memories... I keep it, locked 
in my mind, for the worst times - it keeps me going. Just her, breathing 
in my arms, nothing else.

When I drifted back into rational thought I had one hand on Panara's 
hip, stroking slow circles with the palm, the other pressed against her 
bodice at the waist. I leaned forwards, chin on her shoulder, and 
whispered in her ear. "You can look at my face now, if you want."

She turned her head, cheek brushing mine, and pulled back a little to 
see me properly. Studied the charcoal taint-marks on my face, and nodded 
to herself - almost a shrug. When she settled back in my arms again, her 
face was so close I wanted to kiss her. Instead I nipped at Panara's 
earlobe, making her jump and squeal. Oh, I liked her all right, but I 
had no intention of going easy on her. Gave her thigh a warning pinch - 
I still had her earlobe caught - and then breathed out, warm, slow. I 
let my tongue come into contact, and was rewarded with a shudder that 
ran down the length of her body.

Mmm. That body. Drew my leg up against hers, down, worked my toes 
between her ankles. Shame we had boots on - I wanted her skin so bad - 
but it couldn't be helped. Hooked my foot around her leg and pulled it 
back, trapped it with mine.

By now I was nibbling, caressing her ear with my tongue, flicking at the 
skin just behind and under it. Maybe she wasn't exactly willing, but she 
wasn't trying to escape either, just tensing and melting in my arms. I 
caressed her thigh, fingertips, flat of my hand, stroking, squeezing. I 
stroked her belly through the leather and savoured her reactions.

It's the little things. Her bodice was laced pretty tight, and at every 
pass I could catch the thonging with my thumb, pluck her like a harp. Or 
climb her like a ladder, and soon enough that's what I did. My right 
hand pressed against her bosom, pressing, stroking. My left falling 
naturally down between her knees. I released her earlobe, brushed my 
lips against her throat, and spoke in her ear.

"Kiss me."

And she did. Hesitant, reluctant, but she turned her head and kissed me. 
Chastely on the lips at first, but I made it clear with teeth and tongue 
that I wanted more. She yielded, letting me part her lips and taste her. 
My tongue darting over her teeth, finding her tongue, flicking and 
caressing it. I don't think she even noticed when my hand drew closer 
along her inner thighs, or when I pulled the leather thong undone; she 
was too busy kissing me back, breathing me in. When we broke for air my 
hand had slipped inside the bodice and cupped her breast, just a thin 
layer of linen between my skin and hers.

"You taste like smoke and cinders." I nodded. Her eyes were wide as I 
closed my hand, caught her nipple, let it go and traced a circle around 
it. She'd tasted of mead and first kisses. I could feel the heat in 
myself, knew I wasn't going to get _that_ sort of relief here and now - 
but there are other things just as sweet, and I needed to stay sharp.

When I moved the hand between her thighs, she flinched - I guess she 
hadn't admitted to herself that it was there - and tried to pull away, 
but I just gathered her closer to me and squeezed my leg a little 
tighter on hers. Tweaked her nipple, hard enough now to roll between 
thumb and forefinger.

"Please. No." But it was much too late for that. My fingers were already 
pressing against her sex, and I could feel a trace of dampness that 
wasn't from the weather. Her breast was just nicely hand-sized; I broke 
contact for a moment, stroked her throat, then slid my hand down under 
the tunic and touched flesh. Her hands pressed against my belly - I'd 
have liked them a little higher, but we take what we can get - and the 
more she tried to protect her cunt, the more her hips rubbed against mine.

I played with her breasts, taking her measure, hand opening and closing 
like a heart beating around her. Whispered to her. "'Nara, every man in 
this room is looking at you right now. D'you think I should push this 
bodice down, give them a good look at your tits?" She shook her head 
violently; I chuckled. "Don't worry. I don't intend to share you. 
Besides, they've got imaginations..." I pressed a finger against her 
lips, found her tongue, then down again to wet her nipple.

Speaking of wet, that skirt was definitely getting damp where it had 
bunched between her legs. I started sliding that hand up and down, 
letting the friction build, working from side to side but mostly up and 
down. She shuddered and her thighs clenched together, then let go. I 
could feel her trying to figure it out. Squeeze, and she'd be holding my 
hand against her; spread, and she'd be opening up to me. And while she 
made up her mind which - in the end, I knew it'd come down to which one 
felt better - I just kept rubbing.

My poor Panara was breathing fast now, gasping for air. The way we were 
positioned I was too close to see her face, but from the heat of her 
cheeks I could tell she was blushing scarlet.

Rub. Rub. Rub. Trailing fingernails over her breasts.

Panting. Making little soft undecided noises deep in her throat, 
whimpering. The wetness was growing, and I could smell her arousal.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

I nuzzled the braid aside, kissed her on the back of her neck. Felt her 
hips rocking, fighting the rhythm. So I changed it to match her again.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

Grinding against my hand, frantic. I fastened on her breast, letting her 
know there was no way out.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

And then she came. I'd thought she might be a silent one, but she let 
out a sharp high-pitched yip and then slumped forwards, letting her 
weight press herself against my hand, completing her release. Breathing 
in ragged sobs. I could feel her body spasm, fingers clenching and 
opening. I let her spend, slowing and softening gradually until she was 
done. She went limp in my arms, and I held her up; I could see tears on 
her cheeks, and I kissed them away - salt - before giving her a soft 
kiss on closed lips.


Then, while I held her, Alain came over - seems he'd taken the time to 
fasten young Evanar to his seat while I was otherwise occupied - and 
gave me a comrade's smile. Facing away from the Eagles he mouthed 'Time 
to go', and I nodded.

"Come on, honey. Time to get up." I helped her out of her seat - her 
legs almost folded under her, Alain helped me prop her up. I bowed to 
the tavern's clientele, and tossed the barkeep a pouch of coin. "Thank 
you for a most enjoyable evening."

Dom stood waiting by the door, scythe in hand; he'd be last out. Alain 
went first, carrying his knapsack and mine, and I tugged Panara along. 
Standing in the doorway, cold blowing in, I kissed her again and then 
stood back.

"Coming with us, or staying?" I meant it.

She looked at me, and I tried to catch one last impression. Her bodice 
gaping open, a damp spot the size of a farthing on her skirt, but what I 
wanted was the look in her eyes. Even now, I can't quite figure it out.

"Please. My bow..."


And that's what I was talking about. Having enough nerve to get what 
you're after, no matter what the numbers say. Think you've got that?

Maybe?

Well, think it over. And if you're headed back to the bar, take this and 
grab some drinks for my crew. Especially the one in the red bodice.


*****

'Smoke and Cinders' is copyright to Bramble (me), 2002. Usual rules 
apply: you're welcome to make a copy of this for personal use, but 
please don't redistribute without my permission and/or without proper 
attribution. Note that I'll occasionally Google for selected phrases 
from this story... apologies to the 99% who understand common courtesy 
and don't need to be told any of this.

If you enjoyed this story, I would like to hear from you. If you have 
constructive criticism that might improve my writing, even more so. I 
have an account at Hotmail, username 'bramblethorn'.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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