The War Gift - part 4

Before Cailan could give into the lethargy that followed his orgasm, Jarek urged him out of bed and to the bathing room.  They both washed, and by the time they were clean and dry, the evening meal had been set up in the parlour.  The blindfold and leather cuffs also rested on the floor by the now familiar cushion.  The sight made Cailan sigh.  Immediately the warmth of Jarek’s arm wrapped around his waist.

“Shall I give you a choice, my prince?”

“A choice?” Cailan questioned.

Jarek nodded.  “Would you prefer to spend the meal next to me on the cushion, or with me on my lap?”

Cailan blinked at him in surprise, but before he could answer Jarek pressed a finger to his mouth. 

“I should explain further before you decide.  If you choose to be next to me on the floor, you will wear the blindfold and cuffs.  If you choose my lap, I will neither bind nor blind you, but I expect your eyes to remain closed until I say otherwise, and I want your arms around me during the meal.”

“But I just had to keep them still before,” Cailan stated.

“True, but I’m asking more of you this time, although you still have a choice before you.”

Cailan considered his options.  Neither would have been his first choice, but he knew he preferred the alternative of merely closing his eyes than having to wear a blindfold.  “I’ll sit with you,” he chose after a thoughtful silence.

Unexpectedly, he felt a kiss pressed to his head.  It was a surprising gesture, something that felt almost as personal as the private touches he’d endured earlier, but he didn’t question it as Jarek took his seat and settled him on his lap.  His owner made sure he was comfortable before nodding at him to close his eyes and wrap his arms around the bigger man’s waist. 

It was an uncomfortable position at first, until Cailan realized that he’d have to lean his whole weight against Jarek’s chest to keep his body from knotting up at the odd angle that putting his arms around Jarek’s waist placed him.  However, once he settled in, he was able to relax into that strangely easy mindset of focusing on nothing but what Jarek was requiring of him during this time.  A difference to this meal though, was the conversation his possessor initiated.

“Tell me what you learned through your reading this afternoon, petling.”

Cailan thought about the history book he’d read so eagerly while he finished chewing and swallowing the bread Jarek had fed him.  “I learned that I really knew very little of your people’s history,” he admitted.  “I thought it was interesting that your family has been the only ruling one since an imperial government was established.  Most kingdoms face overthrow or a new king through wars or deaths, but none of that has happened in Cylandrea.”

Jarek fed him a bit of meat as he responded.  “Cylandrea has faced war and death and uprising, young prince.  Those things have just never succeeded in deposing my family from the throne.”

“Do you worry it will happen someday?” Cailan asked.

“I don’t think there is a ruler alive who hasn’t worried on that at some point, but it isn’t something that consumes my family’s mind.”

Cailan felt the lip of a goblet touch his mouth and he drank willingly.  His mind was already moving on to other things now that conversation had been opened up.  “The book you gave me mentioned other significant Cylandreans besides the royals.  It spoke of a couple well-known sorcerers, the head aid to Cylandrea’s first king, and how some nobles gave talented servants land to work and develop so Cylandrea’s borders could be expanded.”  For a brief second Cailan nearly opened his eyes, but he caught himself as he continued.  “Why have I not seen any servants in the palace since I’ve been here?”

“You have seen Lady Bara and Sir Garrison,” Jarek reminded.

“Yes, but they were not palace servants.  At least, I didn’t think they were.  What of the men and women who work directly for the royal family?” he questioned.  “Someone brings this food we eat, and cleans the rooms when we are not in them.”

“True.  Did you interact much with your servants in Arten?”

“In the normal ways, yes,” Cailan told him.  “It wasn’t that we conversed frequently, but part of a normal day involved seeing the servants go about their work as we went about ours.”  He felt his lips lightly brushed and he obediently opened his mouth.  A pleasant tasting mixture of rice sweetened with honey fell on his tongue.  He enjoyed the bite as Jarek continued the conversation.

“I will admit that I’ve kept us separated more than I would have in other circumstances, but I have my reasons.”

If Cailan could have rolled his eyes, he would have.  “Can I know those reasons, or are they something else I’ll have to eventually learn.”

Without thinking, Cailan let go of Jarek’s waist to make the sign of sarcasm along with saying those last two words.  His lapse didn’t even occur to him until one of his wrists was gripped just a bit tighter than was comfortable and his hand was firmly slapped.

He yelped at the unexpected sting and his eyes flew open just in time to see his other hand gripped and slapped.  He yelped again, but before he could vigorously protest his treatment, Jarek gave him a stern warning.

“Close your eyes, little prince, and put your hands back in place if you don’t want a harsher reprimand and a return to the blindfold and cuffs.”

Cailan did as he was told, but the temptation to pout was great.  It was just an accident.  He hadn’t meant to disobey.

The two of them were silent after that, their dialogue having abruptly ended.  Cailan refused any more food as the brief conflict had caused him to lose his appetite.  Jarek seemed to finish in just a few more bites as well, but when he was done he kept the two of them sitting where they were.

For Cailan, it was an uncomfortably long time before he felt Jarek shift, and then he was lifted and carried.  The pull to open his eyes again was strong, but the fading sting in his hands and threat of the blindfold reminded him to keep them shut. 

In less than a minute he was placed on a cushion on the floor, his back against what he guessed to be the room’s divan.  He heard Jarek move about the room for a minute before the man returned to him and sat on the chaise.  Cailan could feel the furniture shifting with Jarek’s movements, but was unsettled when no part of the actual man brushed against him.  Previously Jarek always made sure there was some physical contact when Cailan couldn’t see.  But this time there was nothing but blackness and the impersonal texture of the couch.  

It surprised Cailan to realize how much he missed that connection.  Without being able to see or feel his owner, there was a sense of being adrift.  That feeling grew as his earlier anger over being reprimanded faded.  His hurt, loneliness, and fright since being brought to Cylandrea came to the fore as feelings of loss overwhelmed him in the silent room.  The loss of his home, his family, his freedom…and now the feeling of having lost the slim connection that had been made between him and the only consistent person now in his life.

A bubble of pain developed in his chest, pressing on every vulnerable part of him until the force of it caused unwanted tears to run down his cheeks.  The deep down ache he’d been fighting since his life changed refused to be cowed, and in just a few short minutes he was near to choking on the sobs that were insistent on coming out of him.

At the first slight touch of a hand on his shoulder, Cailan turned desperately into his master’s body and clung.  No words were said, but he obeyed the hands that urged him up onto the couch, and sank into the arms that wrapped around him as he continued to cling, desperately crying out his loss and clutching at this man he very much needed right now.

It wasn’t until a long while later that his sobs abated enough for him to realize Jarek was murmuring soft assurances to him.

“Shh, petling.  It will be all right, sweet one.  Calm down now, calm down.”

Those words and others were repeated continuously until Cailan’s crying had tapered off to just the occasional hitched breath and stray tear.  “I want to go home,” he said more to himself than to Jarek.

One arm gripped him tighter while the other cupped the back of his head and held him securely. 

“That is not an option, young prince.”  The words were serious but sympathetic.  “Your life is here now.  It is with me.”

“I am a possession with no family, country, or purpose,” Cailan replied miserably.

“No, young prince.  That is not true.  You still have a family.  Distance doesn’t change that.  And you have two countries now.  Arten is the country of your birth and childhood.  The country of your foundations, but Cylandrea is the country of your present and future.  As for your purpose…”  Jarek cupped Cailan’s face and made him look up.  “You have one, I promise.”

“To satiate you,” Cailan said morosely.

Jarek sighed.  “Yes, little prince, that is part of your purpose, but not all.  A person’s purpose is often much bigger than they realize.”

“How would you know?”

“It is simply something I have learned and that I trust in.  A pebble may feel insignificant in its size, but if you toss it in the water, its ripples branch out and touch things the pebble may never realize it could affect.  A person’s life is like that.  A single soul can touch thousands.”

Cailan stared at the bigger man.  “You think that’s true of me?  You barely know me, and I’ve seen almost no one since arriving in Cylandrea.”

“I know you are honorable and love your family.  I know you are brave because you have not even tried to run from these events that have scared you.  I know you are beautiful every time I look at you.  And I know that you will soon meet more of your new countrymen.  I will introduce you as needed.”

Relaxing slightly, Cailan rested against Jarek’s chest instead of clinging to him as he’d done earlier.  “I feel like I like you, but I’m not sure I want to,” he admitted softly.

Jarek didn’t respond to that, but one hand combed through Cailan’s hair, occasionally scratching soothing strokes down his back.  Cailan fell asleep to that feeling, the exhausted emotions keeping him deeply under even as he was later undressed and settled in Jarek’s bed for the night.

*****

For the second morning, Cailan awoke naked and warm next to Jarek.  Yesterday his head had rested on Jarek’s chest.  This morning he was on his side with his owner’s body pressed closely against his back.  A muscled arm was wrapped around him, but even more distracting was the feel of the firm rod nestled against his bottom.  It was a sensation that was hard to get used to, especially knowing what else it would someday entail.  But so far Jarek had kept to his promise not to force him, so Cailan worked not to let his nerves at how close they were to actually being joined overwhelm him. 

Not wanting to wake the other man, Cailan lay still and looked around the room for a distraction.  His gaze ended up falling on one of the nearest sights, the image of some of Jarek’s long hair having fallen across his shoulder.  Even in just those few strands, Cailan could see the shimmer of silver in the black tresses.  Carefully, he moved one hand just enough to finger the wisps of hair.  They felt softer than he expected, and he marveled at the loveliness of them.

He jerked slightly and quickly let go of the strands when a pair of warm lips pressed onto his shoulder blade.  Jarek sounded amused as he spoke in a gravelly morning voice. 

“Keep touching if you like, my prince.  I don’t mind.”

Almost warily, Cailan reached for the hair again and rubbed it gently between his fingers.  “I’ve never seen hair like yours, or like any of your people’s.”

“What do you mean?  Hair is hair,” Jarek commented.

Cailan snorted.  “No, it’s not.  At least not in Arten.”

Jarek seemed to find his statement rather humorous since Cailan heard him chuckle.  “How is hair different in Arten?  It looks the same as any other people’s hair.  None of you are growing grass on your heads.  Although the color you personally bear is among the most unique I’ve seen.”

Cailan stiffened and tried to pull away from his possessor, but the arm around him kept him in place.

“I’ve angered you,” Jarek said in surprise, his voice still rough and raspy with his recent wakefulness. “But I don’t know why?  Is speaking of hair offensive in Arten?”

Cailan clenched his hands into fists, but didn’t try to pull away again.  “It is to me,” he told his owner.

“Why?  Your hair is beautiful; among the most lovely I’ve ever seen.”

Cailan sneered and felt a growl in his throat.  “Please do not mock me, sir,” he said adamantly, purposefully refusing to use one of Jarek’s preferred titles.

“I have not mocked you, young one,” Jarek replied, his tone now holding no humor.  “I will, however, punish you if you show me such impertinence again.  Is that understood?”

Swallowing his pride, Cailan worked to answer more respectfully.  “Yes, my lord.”

“Good.  Now, I will have my questions answered.  Why do you accuse me of scorning you when I was actually offering admiration for a part of you I find beautiful?”

Cailan answered honestly, if still just a tiny bit peevishly.  “I did not believe you meant it that way.”

Jarek’s hands maneuvered Cailan until he was on his back with Jarek looking down at him.  “How did you think I meant it?  I cannot believe these beautiful strands have never been admired.”

“Then you would believe falsely,” Cailan told him, and then looked honestly confused.  “Has your hair truly never defined you?”

“Of course not.  Why should it define me, or you for that matter?”

Cailan had never lived among people who didn’t know what their hair color represented and he had to take several moments to consider how to explain something that to him had always been an inborn understanding.

“In Arten,” he began, “we know from birth where a person’s greatest abilities will be by the color of their hair.”

Jarek looked as confused as Cailan often felt.  “How can that be?”

“It…it just is,” Cailan stated.  “Hair color reveals aptitude and skill.  Black, red, brown, green…they all mean something different.”

“And apparently some colors are believed to be better than others?” Jarek asked.

“Not typically,” Cailan told him.  “They are each respected for their individual abilities.  Although someone with more than one color in his hair, like my father who has red, black and brown, is held in high esteem.  People with multi-colors obtain skills and proficiencies above what most others are capable of.”

He said that last bit proudly because despite his father being unable to save him from becoming a concubine, Cailan still had great respect for his parent’s abilities.

Jarek scrutinized him as he considered Cailan’s words.  “Ok, I think I understand so far, but what I do not grasp is why you seem to find your own hair offensive when you’ve told me that the different colors aren’t considered better or worse from one to the next.”

Cailan sighed and looked to the ceiling, wishing that the answers to all life’s difficulties would be written there for him to see.  “I said that they typically weren’t thought of that way.  Hair like mine, silver hair that doesn’t truly have color, is looked down on.  A child born with silver hair has no significant skills other than perhaps good mental aptitude; but book reading and advanced numbers competence are of little help to a warrior on the battlefield, or a man who needs to work hard to provide for his family.”

“I see.  So you’ve spent your life being discriminated against for the color of your hair, young prince?”

Cailan shrugged, trying to act dismissive to the truth of Jarek’s words.  “I am the first silver-born Artenian in more than eight decades.  It is very rare.  As the son of the king, I’ve had it better than others.  But, I faced mocking and scorn for as long as I can remember because it was known I’d not amount to anything, although no one said as much in front of my family—well, no one except my brothers.  Brothers can say what they wish, I suppose, as long as they pretend it is just in jest. 

“My father at least let me train as a soldier, even knowing my abilities would be very limited and my smaller size would be against me.”  Cailan sighed.  “I did my best to make him proud, and he did not belittle me, but my brothers and compatriots always far exceeded me in almost everything. 

“But like I said, I know I’ve had it better than those from the past.  In centuries gone by, silver-born children were often abandoned and left to die.  Eventually that was seen as barbaric, but they were still unwanted, so if a silver was born, they were usually fostered or adopted out to a family in a neighboring country.”  Cailan blinked against the pressure of tears as a thought occurred to him.  “I wonder if there wasn’t some relief when I was brought here to Cylandrea.  Having ‘Prince Silver’ out of the kingdom might be seen as a blessing to many.”

Cailan hadn’t been able to look into Jarek’s gaze as he talked, but he thought he heard some ire in the man’s voice.  “These children were killed?  And you were called Prince Silver as a degradation?”

“Only by other kids in my growing up years, and I never told my family about it.  Not even my brothers would call me something like that.  It shames the whole royal house.”

“You shame no one,” Jarek said emphatically.  The forceful words tore Cailan’s gaze away from the ceiling and made him finally look in his master’s face.  “I have seen the duty and honor within you.  Deciding you aren’t good enough because of the color of your hair is a fault in others, not in you.”

Cailan appreciated the words more than he knew how to say, but he shook his head.  “I can see you mean well, even believe that, but there is truth in what I’ve told you.  I do not have the abilities of others.  If I wasn’t careful and paying attention, I could have easily been a detriment on the battlefield instead of an aid.  I worked as hard as I could with what I had in me, but I’ve truly only ever been average at best.”

Jarek stared at him, looking wholly unconvinced, and then the bigger man settled at Cailan’s side so they both looked upwards. 

“I think aspects of your culture confuse me as much as my world confuses you, my petling,” Jarek murmured.  “I do not want to condemn your people, but I strongly oppose what they did to the ‘silver-born’, as you call those like you.”

Feeling disloyal and needing to redeem his people, Cailan tried to make Jarek feel more positively disposed.  “My family and people oppose that mindset now too,” he defended.  “Silver-borns have not been harmed in over a hundred years.  The last three born before me were able to fully live out their lives.”

There was quiet for a couple minutes after his statement, and then Jarek asked, “Were they happy?”

That question surprised Cailan.  “I…I don’t know.  The last one passed away almost twenty years before my birth.  They…never married, if that’s what you mean.  My kind are not seen as a good match, because we will never be as strong as other Artenians;  and,” he continued, “although we don’t really know what causes a silver child, no one wants to mate with us in case the offspring have a higher chance of being born the same way.”

Jarek was silent for a very long time after that, and Cailan didn’t know how to read his quietness, so he remained mute as well.  Then, abruptly, Jarek placed his whole body over Cailan’s and kissed him aggressively, almost painfully.  When he eventually released him, Cailan’s lips were swollen from the other man’s passion.

“Hear me, little prince, my petling.  No one in Cylandrea will look down on you for your hair color, or eye color, or height or for anything.  You may receive looks and attention for your silver tresses, but mostly because we Cylandreans have never seen hair like yours.  It is unique and special, but not something that will be derided.” 

Even Cailan knew his face expressed his doubt, but he nodded in simple acknowledgement of Jarek’s words.  His master’s hand came up and caressed his face.

“Someday you will believe me,” he said with certainty.  After that he kissed Cailan one more time and then shifted off the bed.  “Come, petling.  We will eat, and then I believe we both need some exercise.”

*****

Exercise ended up being the highlight of Cailan’s day.  Jarek took him out of the palace and into a large courtyard. 

“This afternoon I must oversee the training of some of my soldiers,” his master told him.  “But I thought you and I might engage in some training ourselves.”

“What kind of training?” Cailan asked in surprise.

“A few things,” Jarek replied vaguely.  “We are both educated fighters, but we might learn a few things from each other.  What type of sword do you prefer?  A long sword?  A tapered saber? A scimitar?”

Cailan gaped at him.  “You’re going to give me a weapon and fight with me?”

Jarek laughed, but then brought Cailan in front of him so they were face to face.  “I would never do anything to harm you, nor am I foolish enough to allow you the chance to harm me.”  The humor faded a bit and an almost sad tenderness replaced it.  “The trust is not yet there for us.  However, we can battle through our frustrations or in a training exercise without bringing injury to each other.”

Jarek reached into a bag tied to the belt of his tunic and withdrew a small chain similar to the collar now around Cailan’s neck.  For a moment, the younger man thought the item would be placed on him, but instead Jarek hooked it around his own wrist.

“Hold here,” he then directed, guiding Cailan to grip Jarek’s wrist around the chain.  When Cailan obeyed, his owner put his free hand over the collar around Cailan’s neck.  For several seconds he closed his eyes, and Cailan felt the unexpected tingling of magic prickling him while his master wordlessly mouth an enchantment. 

“You’re a sorcerer?” he asked in shock when Jarek finished and released him.

The bigger man shook his head.  “No, not at all, but I have a few minor spells and charms at my disposal.”

“What did you just do?” Cailan had to ask.

“Protected us,” Jarek replied.  He pointed between the collar and the chain now on his wrist.  “I’ve set a connection between these two items we wear.  The spell places a type of invisible shelter over each of us.  We can fight with swords or daggers or bow and arrow, but the spell will not allow you to harm me or me to harm you.”

“How?” Cailan needed to ask.

It’s set up like a clear, unbreakable armor.  Nothing dangerous will pierce it.  It only works between us though, because we wear the matching chains.  It would not protect us from another’s attack.”

Cailan’s doubt shown through and Jarek chuckled before bending to the ground and picking up a palm sized rock.  “Here, young prince.  Throw this at me.  You will see that you cannot hurt me.”

Cailan took the rock and studied it for a moment.  It was not big enough to kill, but it could cause injury if thrown hard enough.

Jarek stood before him, calm and nodding at him to throw the stone.  Unsure if it was the right thing to do or not, Cailan drew his arm back and chucked the rock at the bigger man.  Jarek didn’t try to dodge it at all.  Instead, he let the rock hit his forehead, and the impact caused something like a ripple around his head.  The stone landed on the ground, having caused no harm at all.

“Believe me now, little prince?” he asked.

Cailan was still wary.  “I believe I cannot hurt you, but I’m not wholly convinced of the reverse.”

Jarek did not look the least upset at Cailan’s words.  “I thought not, and you are wise to be guarded.  Shall I throw the rock at you?”

Cailan took a deep breath and nodded.  If it hit him, he knew it would hurt, but it would not incapacitate him.  Jarek picked up the same stone and with much less force threw it at his concubine.  Cailan forced himself not to duck away from the projectile, and was pleasantly surprised to see the ripple effect appear by his chest where the stone hit.  He’d not felt a thing.

“Does that convince you, Prince Cailan?” Jarek questioned.

Cailan nodded once.  “Enough to be willing to engage in battle training.”

“Excellent!  What sword is your choice then?”

Cailan initially wished to request the large broadsword that was often taken into battle, but he knew the heavy weight of it was something he struggled to maintain in a longer clash.  The tapered saber was a better choice, so he put pride aside and announced his preference.

Jarek seemed pleased with the pick.  He walked to a large chest against a stone wall and opened it, retrieving two sabers from its depth.  He held both, handle out, to Cailan, allowing him first pick.  Cailan reached for one, and in just moments the clang of steel echoed in the courtyard.

A skill Cailan had learned out of necessity over the years was the ability to judge how an opponent would strike.  He realized very quickly that Jarek’s larger build and more experience made him the better man in ability, but he also knew that one good swipe could bring down both the good and the bad.  Observing carefully and quickly, Cailan avoided being overpowered by recognizing how his rival moved and chose to attack.  The speed his father praised him on when delivering messages also made him quick on his feet in close combat.  He ducked and dodged, avoiding Jarek’s blade and occasionally lunging an attack of his own.

Just as Jarek had said, the invisible shield stayed over them, so although both men managed the rare cut that would have taken the other down in battle, neither was hurt.

Their scuffle continued for almost an hour of the day, until they both were sweating and breathing hard from the exertion.  It was clear neither intended to admit defeat as well.  It would have been hard to judge how their training battle would have ended had the sound of a bell and the voice of King Alaric not intervened.

Both men in respect—and honestly with a fair bit of relief—went down on one knee as the king entered the courtyard.

“I’ve been watching from my rooms and have not seen so interesting a clash in a long time, but I also saw two men foolish enough to let pride be stronger than common sense.”

The king’s tone was only mildly scolding as he approached them, but Cailan felt the heat of embarrassment warm his cheeks.  From the corner of his eye he saw Alaric’s hand rest on Jarek’s head, and he felt the same pressure drop onto his.  The weight of the touch warned Cailan he was not to lift his face.

“This was a time of training and exercise,” the king reminded.  “Not a time to exhaust yourselves to the point that you are no good for the rest of the day. 

“My brother,” Alaric addressed his sibling.  “Your soldiers—my soldiers—need your attention, not your fatigue, this afternoon.  And Cailan,” he said in admonishment, “You have duties to Leader Jarek.  Collapsing in exhaustion before the mid-day meal lacks sense.  It is time for both of you to rest.  Sit in the shade.  Hydrate yourselves, and at noon come join me for a good meal.”

“Yes sire,” the two of them replied in unison.

“Good men,” the king replied, all hint of rebuke now gone.  He turned and exited the courtyard as nobly as he had arrived. 

The moment he was gone the two men collapsed instantly onto their backs, and the mutual show of exhaustion brought simultaneous laughter from both of them.  They laughed for several minutes where they laid on the ground, and when they finally calmed Jarek rolled to his side and close to where Cailan was sprawled.

“You are a worthy opponent, my prince.  A true warrior.  You were quick and often one step ahead of me.”

Cailan shrugged, not sure if he felt the words were true praise or condescension.  “You are stronger and more skilled.”

“Strength and experience are invaluable, but they do not always come out in first place,” Jarek replied.  “We’ll train more another time and see what other skills we can share or teach one another, and we’ll use a bit more sense then too,” he added with a chuckle.

Cailan met his owner’s gaze as Jarek placed a hand on the younger man’s chest.  “Is the king upset with us?” he asked.

“No, and if he was it would be with me.  He was just stepping in with his own wisdom when it was clear we both forgot ours for a time.  But,” he said seriously, although a wink betrayed his tone.  “He will be upset if we do not give our bodies the rest and water they need.  Come sit in the shade with me, petling, and we’ll recover ourselves.”