Men of Shienar Women of Arad Doman

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All characters and individual material is © Jasmine Becker 2011. All rights Reserved.

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Men of Shienar, Women of Arad Doman

Metic yawned wide enough to put an entire fist in his mouth. It was a

truly

early morning. The halls of the keep of Fal Moran, the capital of Shienar, were quiet. There was the occasional servant tending to the halls, doing this and that -- sweeping, dusting, cleaning -- but most moved with the same tiredness he felt.

He was beginning to grow old. A few years ago, he wouldn't have noticed not sleeping for a few days. Now, it ate at his bones and made his eyelids heavy. He was approaching his twenty-fifth name day -- what most southlanders would call thirty-five years old -- and sometimes he felt the bone-weariness that older men complained about.

The window shutters were still tightly shut, preventing chilly midwinter air from the outside to penetrate inside the fortress. Not only the few visiting southlanders would flee to their rooms then. Winter in the Borderlands -- the northernmost part of the world before the great Corrupted blight -- was beyond harsh. At times, tree could explode during the winter due to sap freezing and anyone who ventured outside without adequate supplies and warmth could find himself losing a finger, toe, hand, foot or possibly more. Then there were those who simply froze to death.

Still, the keep of Fal Dara was comparatively warm. Massive furnaces in the cellar kept the heat up during the winter and provided warmth to the great bath halls -- of which there were two. He was headed to the least used of these at this moment.

Such great baths were a luxury. They were a marvel of engineering he had never truly understood. Visitors had told him that in the rest of the world, people bathed in wooden or Copper tubs and knew nothing else. That, or a stream, river or the ocean. Only the borderlands had these great bath-halls.

One did not need to understand something in order to enjoy it however. Carrying a thick wrapping towel for drying and otherwise clad in iron-studded leather armour, he walked downstairs quickly. Apart from the armour -- which was like paper compared to the plate-and-mail he usually bore -- he also had a sword strapped to the belt.

No one went unarmed in the Borderlands. The dangers of monstrous Trollocs, Myrdraal and other shadow-spawned servants of the Dark One were far too great. Even women -- well, most of the ones he knew, anyway -- bore knives, daggers or even swords. Even those who didn't knew rudimentary fighting with hands or anything that was close for grasping as a weapon.

When he was young, he had marvelled at the stupidity of southlanders who allowed their women to go untrained this way. More so, how could the

women

not want to be prepared? That was before he had fully understood the lack of danger to the southlands thanks to the vigil of the northern lands -- such as Shienar.

He opened the thick, wooden door that lead to the bathing chamber. It was a large, rectangular chamber set with plain, white ceramic tiles. The room was filled with steam, making it hard to see, but it was blessedly warm. He disrobed quickly to avoid wrinkling the leather and stored his garments and belongings in one of the many wooden chests placed along the walls.

Humming

Last stand at Airen's valley

, he walked to the edge of the quadratic pool and tested the water with one toe. He saw a pile of clothes laying next to the basin of water and frowned. Who'd be stupid enough to leave clothes out like that?

He saw a shape, unclear by the mist but thought not more of it.

The baths were open to all, commoners and noble both. In a Shienaran bath, you were as likely as not to find yourself washing at the same time as the Lord's wife as a scullery maid or a groom.

The water was pleasantly hot.

He stepped down, relaxing and sighing as he allowed the blessedly warm water to envelop him. At first, he dove, submerging in the pool entirely. Metic stretched, settling against one of the edges of the pool. He noted the figure he had seen before close by.

It was a woman. He could see her more clearly now -- a bronzed hue and a slightly slimmed, oval face with long, black hair. The visitor was clearly not Shienaran. Had he guessed, he would have ventured that she was from Arad Doman, one of the exotic countries along the Aryth Ocean.

Courageous.

Most strangers and visitors didn't have the courage to even get

close

to a bathroom once they learned that Shienarans did not share their odd aversion and shame regarding nudity. It was good to meet those who took customs as they were meant to, adopting those necessary where they visited.

Good morning, lady. A pleasant day, isn't it?"

His voice was gruff and somewhat deep -- that of a soldier used to bellowing orders to conscripts and trainees, but he could make it pleasant. Well, less grim anyhow.

That was when he noticed that she

had

noted his arrival. Her eyes were as round as teacups and her arms trembled. She seemed to be pushing against the basin's back wall.

"Milady? Something wrong?" He inquired with concern. Surely this couldn't be her reaction to finding another visitor to the baths, not when she knew exactly what customs were in place in Shienar.

He was wrong however.

"Don't look! Burn you, have you no shame?!

Don't you bloody dare look, man!" She half-screeched, half-yelled, her face scarlet with mortification.

He looked away quickly, obeying, but couldn't stop the amused smile that spread across his lips. How ironic. Domani women were practically infamous for wearing garments that molded itself to the body like a second skin but they were as scandalized as any Tairen maiden when even the

notion

of being completely exposed in front of a strange man.

"Milady, you should know we have different...customs here in Shienar.." She didn't answer. "Pardon me for saying so, but if you didn't want to be disturbed, you should have bathed in your room. In a private tub. I'm sure the servants would have brought it, had you asked."

"Be quiet! Quiet, curse you!" She huffed.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her scramble out of the tub, climbing without the help of the staircase a small distance away.

There were muffled mumbles as she obviously dressed, pulling on her shift.

"Alright." Came her now pleasantly lyrical voice after a moment. "You can look now. If you want"

He slowly raised his gaze to see her standing wrapped in a massive, fluffy towel. She had covered chest, stomach and down to her knees with the thing as well as pulling it up to her shoulders. It gave her the appearance of a white, black-haired larvae.

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch and bit down to keep from laughing

Her face grew hotter and her eyes flashed.

"Laughing at me?! Are you laughing at me, man?" She demanded hotly.

He sobered up immediately. "Not at all." He lied, hoping to make her more at ease.

Metic felt ashamed. It was not his way to make women uncomfortable. Besides, there was a saying in Shienar, and in some of the other borderlands too, though it varied with where you went.

A woman's rights are what she bloody says they are.

If she wanted to use the baths alone, he should let her.

"Let me tell you something,

Shienaran!

" She stepped toward him, both hands gripping the towel tightly and taking small steps to reach the side of the basin. "Your customs are

indecent

! At least in Arad Doman we know how to separate the personal from the public."

He got the impression that she wanted to fold her arms and glare down at him. He merely looked up at her, politely listening.

"Moreso, Shienaran" She said, gracefully stepping forward with swift, practised steps "we do so with graaaaceeeeiiii-!" The young woman had taken the next step too quickly. She slipped on the bathroom tiles and fell forward like a drunken team of mules, arms flailing like a windmill in need of repair.

He ducked without thought, instincts ingrained by years and years of combat practice. The woman struck the water surface with a massive 'Splash', landing only several feet in front of him. She twisted and turned underwater, breaking the surface and pressing into his body by mistake.

She goggled, water streaming from hair and face.

She was very pretty, he noticed with her this close. Her lips were small but not too small -- he had never liked too plump lips. Her eyes were a deep green, nicely setting off her dark hair now pressed to her head by the wetness.

The rest of her body was equally impressive. He hadn't really concerned himself with watching before, but it was hard to ignore a body pressed against your own. Her breasts were full and heavy, settled against his chest with her nipples pressing below his own pectorals. Her entire body was curvaceous, though not even approaching

too

full-fleshed -- she was simply a pleasant armful without the skeletal or too-slim look that some women had.

He thought her face was going to catch fire, the way it burned with red-visaged shame. Her towel floated in the water, forgotten a few feet away.

Suddenly he realized she could probably feel his cock brushing against her inner thigh. He quickly drew away. There were some things Shienarans were fine with, and some things that went too far. Remembering her earlier instruction, he hurried to look away as well, quickly putting his gaze on the far wall.

"I don't think there's more need for

that.

You've probably seen it all

now.

" Her voice was frustrated. She didn't tell him to look however.

There were more splashes as she -- he assumed -- retrieved her towel. After a few moments he looked over to her, clad in the wet thing now indeed hugging her body like a second -- though thick -- skin.

She climbed the stairs out of the pool this time, a scowl on her face.

"You can't go back to your chambers like that. You'll freeze, all soaked and barely any clothes to wear."

"What do you suggest I do, Shienaran?"

"My name is Metic." He introduced himself belatedly, giving a short bow of his head from the pool and climbing out of the water to retrieve his things stashed in the chest.

When she realized she was about to leave the pool, her eyes widened and she looked away quickly, fingers fidgeting with her towel.

The young woman mumbled something inaudible.

He quickly crossed the room, opening the chest and retrieved his own towel. He tossed her the thick, almost garment-like cloth and smiled.

"Use this."

Her gaze softened and he didn't think the blush that rose to her cheeks was rage.

He turned politely.

"Done, you can look. Thank you." She said.

He had taken the opportunity to get dressed, wet as he was. It was not proper to leave a woman shamed, then let her go back to her quarters alone. If she allowed, he would accompany her. Well, he'd accompany her as far as the woman's quarters anyhow. Men were not allowed in the Woman's quarters that easily.

She didn't talk much on their journey back through the keep, carrying her dress and soaked towel on her arm. Some of the servants gave them curious looks -- one middle-aged woman gave him a smile and a wink! - but the keep was still mostly empty of people.

Indeed, they reached the large corridor leading to the women's quarters without encountering others and he stopped.

She walked on a few more paces before turning. "What's the matter" she asked, cocking one eyebrow.

He nodded to the large door perhaps twenty paces ahead. "The women's quarters. Men aren't allowed in there, you know." She must have arrived last night and be

completely

ignorant of their customs. Women!

"Oh." She frowned at that, looking at the massive doors. "Well..that's odd." She turned, eyeing him from head to toe. Women seemed to be able to weigh, measure and determine everything from his preference in food to what he liked between the sheets with one single, sharp glance.

He had fought trollocs for most of his life, killed a mydraal and even taken on a Draghkar during one battle in Tarwin's Gap, but the woman's appraising look made him flinch.

He couldn't tell what she decided about him, but the Domani leaned forward, giving him a surprisingly warm kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his wrist. Her fingers barely reached around the thick part of his arm.

"Thank you for your help. And....your understanding." Her look grew sour. "Not exactly the best example of Domani grace, was it?" She sniffed.

He fought

hard

to keep his features smooth and neutral. "No, i suppose not. Still, it can happen to anyone. No harm done." He smiled and added. "I promise i won't tell anyone."

The smile -- the first smile he had seen on her -- she gave in return made her entire face even more attractive. He noticed with a sharp gaze that one of her molars had a small flaw near the tip. Odd, that she had become a merchant. Domani valued physical beauty, using it to their advantage in all trading. In Arad Doman, nearly all merchants were women and they always did extremely well.

"Thank you" She said again, squeezing his wrist. "Would you like to come for some tea? I've brought a nice box of Tremalking black along. Lest you're used to...stronger things. I suppose i have that too. Somewhere." A mischievous smile played on her lips.

"Women's quarters." He reminded her. "It's not allowed. I'd need to ask permission."

"I give you permission, soldier." She said stately, spoiled only slightly by the smile still gracing her lips.

"You're not Shienaran. It wouldn't be proper. Perhaps another time." With a deep bow, he turned and left.

A small voice called him nine kinds of crazy and a stone-blinded fool. He could have followed her to her chambers. This early, most women would still be asleep -- women always slept far longer then men did, after all. Still, it hadn't been the smoothest of first meetings and he didn't want to make her feel as though she had to invite him.

The same middle-aged servant who had grinned at him earlier had apparently overheard most of the conversation while cleaning parts of a carpet. When he walked by, she stared at him as though he was insane.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and she pursed her lips, shaking her head emphatically.

The day went by without much trouble otherwise. He had duties to perform. For one shift -- four hours this day -- he guarded the western gate. All the visitors who came into the city were checked, it was made sure that all of their cowls, cloaks and hoods were pulled down to expose their faces.

This was law in the borderlands. No one was allowed to hide their face -- A myrdraal couldn't hide with his face exposed, it's eyeless egg of a head making it easily viewable in such conditions.

He helped visitors with directions to decent Accommodations, nodded politely at their thanks. Later on, his service was in the keep where he stood guard in the corridor for a short while. Not guarding anything important to be sure, but still vigilantly watching the surroundings. Part of a lesson when growing up here in the north was that nowhere was safe. There were places that were more dangerous -- the blight for instance -- and places that were less so -- like Fal Moran. Darkfriends, however, could strike anywhere. It was his job -- his and the job of the some 5 million inhabitants of the borderlands. Of them, perhaps only 500 000 were officially soldiers, but even farmers knew how to work a basic weapon.

In short -- coupled with two hours of intense sparring and training that left him sweaty -- it was an uneventful day. Evening quickly approached and found him in his comparatively small chambers. Perhaps twenty square metres large, it held a bed, space for clothes and armour, a small fireplace and a rug of excellent Tairen maze design.

He had settled down by the fire with a mug of spiced wine -- sitting in his favourite chair and preparing to open a leather-bound copy of

Observations and Theories on the Shadow.

Some would have thought it much too ostentatious, too complicated for a simple soldier, but he preferred the heavier reads. A peddler had brought this on his request specifically all from the White Tower, where the other copy was.

He had begun enjoying the first chapter when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was one of the raw recruits -- there were always many younglings who wanted to spend time with the comparatively older soldiers, hoping to learn from them -- he sighed and stood. When he opened the door however, it was the Domani woman.

He realized that he had never learned her name.

Beneath her arm she held one small black wooden box and in the other, two cups made from delicate sea folk porcelain.

"Milady?" He asked in confusion. Had she come all the way to serve him

tea?

"I figured i couldn't let you go like that, without proper thanks." She smiled, stepping in the room when he moved aside. Looking around, she pursed her lips. "It's very small, isn't it?" Like most women, she was adept at quickly finding

fault

in things.

"I like it small."

"Oh..." The corner of her mouth twitched. "I see."

He unfroze his rear from the floor. "Make yourself at home, Milady." He gestured to the chair next to his own and she bowed her head.

"My name is Melisa, by the way." She gave a rueful, slightly self-deprecating laugh and shook her head. "I don't think you heard it the first time."

That must've been the time she had mumbled in the bath halls. Well, he hadn't.

"What brings you to the borderlands, Milady Melisa?" He asked, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. It wasn't polite to sit down while she bustled about, pouring water from a pitcher into the kettle hanging over the fireplace and set both of the thin-handled cups on

She smiled at him. "Just Melisa, soldier. Trade." She remarked, shrugging. "What else? You have some excellent pelts and furs, as well as some of the best weapons in the world. I own five merchants caravans who gladly trade in it all."

He kept himself from staring with difficulty. "You own

five

caravans and settle in a

visitor's

room in the women's quarters?"

"Having a bit of coin doesn't make me different from any other scullion or cook, does it? Why should i need expensive quarters?" She gestured to the surroundings of his room, settling down into the polstered chair with a pleased sigh.

He didn't expect to hear that from a woman, least of all from one hailing from Arad Doman. Still, it was true. With a bit

more, true

respect he bowed his head and sat down in the other chair.

She breathed in deep, something that made her impressive chest swell. "I like these kind of surroundings. There's a charm in simplicity. And.." her gaze fell on him and again that appraising, though this time appreciative look crossed her eyes. "There's charm in simple men as well."

He wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment, but he decided to.

Her eyes had fallen on the book and she was frowning.

"At least I

thought

you were simple. What are you man, a philosopher?" A quick smile told him it was not meant as a barb.

He shrugged. "I like reading. Those kinds of books hold my attention."