[Author's Note: At last! Part III has come. In response to the comments from Part II, I cannot write male-dom. It's not because of a conflict on a moral level or anything, it's a practical issue. I know nothing of male-dom and can't write it effectively. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. I hope you enjoy this story nonetheless. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.]
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"You really came at a good time." Roland remarks as he and I return toward Keira's home.
Luke has gone off to check on Magnus and make sure that the moody man isn't getting himself into any more trouble. Roland, having already returned his water barrel to his mistress and thus been given a bit of free time, follows me on my way back to my own dwelling.
"Good?" I ask of him. "Please, explain."
"The Freedom Night is coming in just a few days." he elaborates.
This doesn't really clarify anything for me, and that quickly becomes apparent to my companion.
"It's a night, once each moon-cycle, when a festival is held for us men-folk and our service, as a reward." he tells me excitedly. "Many Elvaran prepare food, drink, and music, and it is just a wonderful time."
I must admit, that does sound appealing. I always did love festivals. Playing songs, singing, and drinking with my friends by the flickering light of a great fire. I remember how my friend Bjorn would always drink too much ale and sing too loud, and how he one time caught his beard on fire and had to be doused in water once we could get him to stop running about in a panic.
"Is something wrong?" enquires Roland. "You don't like festivals?"
I realize now that I've stopped in the middle of the path, my hands shaking slightly, my eyes not focused on anything in particular as I recall the memories of my home. The day of the raid, Bjorn squared off with two Elvaran warriors. He broke through the guard of one assailant, only to have the other slide her thin-bladed sword between his ribs and puncture his lungs. He suffocated on the ground, blood bubbling between his lips while the skirmishing continued around and over him.
"It's a good festival," Roland insists, "it's great fun!"
There are tears in my eyes and my heart feels a bitter hollowness, a cold, heavy sensation that is entirely horrible.
"I'm sorry," I quietly murmur, "I'm sure it's wonderful. I'm just thinking of my home."
"Right, the raided village." Roland acknowledges, serious in tone for once. "I take it you lost many loved ones?"
I nod silently and he pats my shoulder in a weak effort to comfort me.
"Let's get this task done," he says, "then we'll find Luke and you can talk to us both about it, eh?"
"That would be nice." I reply, genuinely meaning it.
I need friends now more than ever. Keira is nice, quite sweet in fact, but she is not like me. Our statuses will likely keep us from relating as I can with fellow men in the keep of the Elvaran. I can relate to Luke and Roland, we share the same lot in life, just as Keira can relate to her sisters. These are our roles, I suppose, and we must do our best within them.
When Roland and I enter Keira's home, she smiles at us, rising to greet us. Roland kneels before her but she bids him rise, much to his visible displeasure.
"You've made a friend, Sven?" she asks, her voice full of joy.
"Two friends... and Magnus." Roland answers for me.
Keira laughs at that and pats my head proudly.
"I knew you would fit in well," she says, "and here you have two friends already."
"I told him about Freedom Night." Roland adds.
This seems to make Keira even happier.
"Are you excited, Sven?" she asks, leaning down to meet my gaze.
"i am." I respond with as much emotion as I can.
To her credit, Keira can immediately tell something is on my mind.
"Roland, leave us for a while." she bids him.
"Yes, ma'am."
Roland hurries away, leaving me alone with Keira. My beautiful, powerful mistress sits in a chair and effortlessly pulls me into her lap. I must say the position is quite comfortable and I relax in her arms.
"What plagues your mind?" she politely inquires. "Will you tell me?"
"I... I miss my home." I manage to say weakly.
Keira strokes my hair lightly, comfortingly cradling me like a child against her body. She smells sweet, like a beautiful flower, alluring and appealing. Given that she's not yet had a chance to bathe after the raid, I marvel at this fact.
"I know you miss your home." she replies, meeting my eyes with an expression of kindness. "Trust me when I say I wish we'd not so thoroughly decimated your town."
I must confess I am surprised. Not at her kindness, but at the notion of an Elvaran regretting warfare.
"We need to expand," she continues, "to spread our people and our way of life. But I don't think sparing a harmless village would have hindered our progress."
I nod in agreement.
"But it was Alma's will." she tells me. "She wanted the village reduced to ash, and so it was done. Our mark has been made, our power made clear for any who would oppose us."
"That it is." I confirm unhappily.
"I am sorry for your losses." she softly states. "Why don't you go out and find your friends? Have some fun with them."
"I'd like that."
Before I go, Keira insists once again on checking on my wounded personal region to see how I am recovering. The area is still swollen and sensitive, but the damage is clearly not permanent, much to both of our relief. And with that taken care of, I set off through the village to find Luke or Roland.
By now the village has come to life with activity. Elvaran hunting parties are setting out to procure more food for the village's collective storage. Men busy themselves hauling firewood into homes or cleaning clothing outside between the houses. They talk amongst each other jovially, not at all in the dismal state that I'd expected when I'd first heard of the Elvaran way of life. I walk past young Elvaran sparring with wooden swords, groups of full-grown Elvaran talking or engaging in some sparring of their own, and the occasional patrolling guard. None give me a second glance. All is well.
I find Luke and Roland standing to the side of a small clearing by the settlement's wall, while a group of very young Elvaran run about at play. The young girls run around, playfully fighting, shouting, and laughing. Luke and Roland diligently supervise this play as parents might with their young. Come to think of it, it's possible these Elvaran are the offspring of Luke, Roland, and their respective mistresses.
"Are they yours?" I ask, coming to join the two men.
"No," Luke replies, "they're just some young ones we've been told to keep an eye on."
"They seem to be having fun." I observe.
"Children of all sorts find ways to have fun." Roland says.
Luke appears troubled, his expression is distant, as if his thoughts are entirely elsewhere. Roland tries to make conversation with him, but Luke seems too distant for even Roland's upbeat nature.
"Luke," I finally ask, "what's on your mind? I assumed you would be excited about the upcoming festival."
Luke sighs heavily and goes to sit on a log which lies beside this cleared space. Roland and I join him, hoping to get some insight into his mood. He looks over to make sure the children are still contentedly at play before addressing us.
"I worry about Magnus." he murmurs.
"The world worries about Magnus." Roland smirks.
I laugh, but quiet myself quickly to hear what more Luke has to say.
"He was greatly troubled already," Luke explains, "taken as a prize from a large conflict. His recent stay in the House of Penance has further soured his temperament toward the Elvaran."
"And?" Roland asks. "A bad mood won't bring down our mistresses."
I must admit I agree. Even if one is dissatisfied here, what could be done about it?
"He's asked me to help orchestrate a revolt." Luke whispers furtively.
Roland and I are silent, stunned. A revolt? We are all here because we were beaten by Elvaran warriors, how could we possibly revolt?
"A subtle revolt," Luke says, "one of intrigue, poison, and knives in the dark."
"No!" Roland snaps, serious for once. "I love it here, I'll have no part in this madness."
Roland makes to rise but Luke puts a hand on his shoulder, settling him.
"At ease, brother." he says firmly. "I want no part in his madness either, but I worry for others that he might draw to his cause."
Luke looks to me very pointedly at that statement. I fidget awkwardly, not knowing why this remark is directed my way.
"Understand that I don't distrust you," he clarifies, "you seem to be a good man. But I can see trouble in your eyes and sense it in your demeanor."
"I've only just been taken from the ruins of my slaughtered village." I snap. "How would you prefer I present myself?"
Luke's expression changes to one of sympathy.
"I am sorry," he states, "I meant no disrespect, Sven. I meant only that you are clearly still shaken at the loss of your folk. Those who are unsteady may be easily manipulated. Roland and I both have content lives here, I think Magnus will realize that. Be wary of him."
I think this over for a moment and nod in agreement. He's right, after all. I'm not used to this life, and a way out could be tempting, much as I do like Keira, Luke, and Roland.
"You're right, I'm sorry I spoke in anger." I apologize.