Note: I guess this is a bit long, and not a -whole- lot of sex in it, but, there's some! Hopefully more in the next bit. Not sure when that'll be.
***
"I guess it's just... Man, fuck, I don't know. Something about this place. Ever since the Duke took power, it's just like... I don't really know if this place is gonna be a home for much longer, y'know? I don't wanna wake up one day and have some soldier outside telling me I have to join up, for the good of the... Fucking, hills or whatever."
Richard scratched the back of his head, staring off at the hills he'd just mentioned to his good friend Damon, both sitting outside the village, drinking together as the evening wore on.
Damon stretched his arms. "It's pretty bad. I don't know that I like the guy, I mean hell, you're probably right, new Duke and all... Coming in like he did, probably wants to prove himself. Get some blood under his... Name, I guess. But I mean, where are you gonna go? Thrickendale? Probably just as likely to end up enlisted, to defend against us lot. At least we've got a fighting chance. Thrickendale's got no soldiers any more."
"What, and we have? Old Margaret doesn't count, she can hardly lift a spoon of soup to her lips now, let alone a sword to..." Richard paused, and Damon smiled.
"Heh, she's not that old, eh."
Old Margaret had fought for the village about twenty years ago, when Richard was very young. He still had memories of being in awe of her in shining armour, muscles rippling as she went off to battle. And later, her stories would fill the tavern as she held court, though she was quick to move away from some topics, and towards another drink, as the toasts to fallen comrades went on. Eventually, the stories stopped, although Margaret would still be known and well-regarded in the village for some time, chopping firewood. But that had slowed down lately, too.
"I said she's not that old, eh?" Damon repeated, smirking and digging Richard in the ribs. "I know I still would."
"Let's talk about something else," Richard said, rubbing at his side. "I hear there's a caravan on the way. Actors."
"Ah, yes, the acting," Damon replied, puffing himself up and imitating what one might suppose must be an actor. "Maybe I might ask to enlist after all, see if I can get any of them before they run away."
"Ha, I forgot about the last group. I'm sure these ones are much nicer."
"The last ones were plenty nice enough, as I remember, it was their husbands that were the problem."
Richard laughed. Damon had an abundance of youthful beauty and a stark deficiency in morality. Or subtlety, at any rate, which would have allowed him to get by a lot easier. But he was a good friend. He'd always buy you dinner if you were hungry, it would just probably turn out to not have been with his own money. The result of which had made him quite good in a fight, too.
The night wore on, and talk continued in the vein of reminiscing about women. Richard was certainly no stranger to them, or to men, either, but had been in something of a malaise of late, wondering what the future might hold.
It was as the two friends returned to the tavern to drop off their glasses for the last time at the bar that Richard's eyes fell upon the backside of a stranger, new in town. Flexing in a pair of tight black trousers, the buttocks seemed to belong to a man with shaggy black hair and a moustache, returning two small glasses to a table for himself and a woman. He smiled in greeting her, with a warmth that suggested great familiarity between the two, and a long kiss that would seem to confirm it. He had the frame of a musician or dancer, and Richard wondered if he was part of the acting troupe, though the strangers seemed to be travelling alone, and with bundles of strangely packed objects.
The woman, he observed, also had black hair, and a similarly radiant smile with a hint of mischief. He felt Damon pat him on the shoulder and laugh, wishing Richard luck for the night. He half-turned and mumbled a goodbye, which was met with further laughter, before making his way to the table where the pair sat.
"New in town, eh? What brings you to Mearhaven? I'm Richard, by the way." Richard sat down, beaming broadly, putting both arms on the table. The realisation that he'd had too much to drink was one that he would reflect upon the next morning.
"Mearhaven?" the woman replied, turning to the gentleman. She wore a dark green robe, with the hood down so her curled black hair was visible. "My dear, it seems we are closer than we thought..."
"Closer to what? Sorry, listening in." Richard nodded for the pair to continue.
The gentleman turned to answer Richard. "Closer to the new Duke. We are here to show our respect, and offer gifts. But my wife and I are arriving ahead of schedule. My name is Alexander, by the way." The man named Alexander offered his hand to Richard.
"Richard," returned Richard, shaking Alexander's hand solemnly. "And are you going to visit the Duke too?" He turned his questioning to the woman.
"Yes," she smiled. "We're travelling together. I'm Athena."
