The Coquette and the Thane

A/N: Part one A Journey Across the Sea is behind us; part two The Road to Carthak lies ahead.  :)

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PART II| Chapter XI

2:11 | Speaking of Elephants

The morning after their target prisoner’s escape, a brief round of “interviews” with the remaining crew of the captured ship proved that the young dragon hadn’t been lying: the rest of the men knew nothing.  Thus, much to her frustration, before high noon that day Captain Desper was up deck, supervising the gathering up and releasing of prisoners back onto their original ship.  It hadn’t been a slave harvesting mission, and they had no business with the men otherwise.

Or at least, so she thought.

“You can’t do this!” A young voice broke out over the top of the rest of the mostly silent crew as her men shepherded them out from below deck, and at first, Fern ignored it.  “Where’s my brother?  What have you done with him?”  Her eyes traced the rippling paths of sunlight as they darted over the waves, deceptively calm, now that the storm had passed, her mind lost in thought.  “He’ll come for me, you know, no matter how you separate us!  He will find me, and when he does-”

Fern frowned, a curious thought occurring to her, and turned.  The boy was still talking, but she was looking, not listening: hay-barrel blonde hair, caramel skin, fit for a human, and lean, but young. 

What would he be, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? 

He wasn’t yet twenty.  He looked nothing like the dragon’s consort, except perhaps for the extra darkness in his skin, but then, who was she to judge the possible range of versatility in human family trees?

Making her decision, she turned fully around.  “Rokh,” she called to the man currently detaining the loud-mouthed youth and gave a curt beckon, signaling him over, “…bring the boy here.”

“On your knees, boy,” her handyman grunted as soon as the human was before her, and the teen huffed as he obeyed.

“What, she have height issues or somethin’?” he mumbled grumpily, and Fern raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“And why ever would I want to take up as much space as you?” she asked, causing his head to jerk up, his cheeks warming, and she watched with amusement as his mouth opened and closed like a guppy out of water, his brow furrowing indecisively as if he couldn’t quite make out whether or not he was actually being insulted.  “Tell me your name, boy,” she said, and he abandoned the beached fish expression.

“Zyric.”

“And who is your brother?”

“Kedean.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  How stupid humans could be.  “Tell me what he looks like, child,” she clarified.  “I don’t enlist magical physic powers to learn and memorize the name of every creature to ever step on my ship.”

“Oh…ah, right…” He frowned, shaking his head—a move that knocked a curtain of loose bangs into his face—and then blew upwards to push the fallen hair back out of his eyes again.  “Well, he’s about…seven times your size…” he said, “…and, uhhh…got brown eyes, and…sorta long black hair, goes to about here-” He motioned to his shoulder blades, “-but he keeps it tied back most of the time—‘cause he fights, you know, and-”

“The black giant?” Fern asked, crisp with the words, and Zyric blinked.

“Err…he’s not a giant…” he said, “…but I guess maybe to you he might look like one, and yeah, his skin’s pretty dark, if that’s what you mean…s’not black, though—not quite.  Why?  What’d you do with him?  Did he escape?  I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t hold him.  He-”

“You look nothing alike,” Fern stated, ignoring his comment entirely.  To her surprise, the boy looked honestly insulted.

“We do, too!” he argued.  “We have the same chin…” He made a sweeping motion with his fingers over said body part, reminding Fern of the one time she’d seen a human man cutting away at a beard there with a pocket knife, “…and the same eye shape,” he added, drawing invisible circles around his eyes as if that might help emphasize the statement. 

She’d never seen such a blue on a human before.  Curious.

“You said he’d come for you?” she asked, jumping directly to the topic that initially caught her interest, and this brought back the fervor to his mood.

“He will if you keep me!” he repeated, insistent of the fact and clearly utterly confident in its validity.  “He got away, didn’t he?  I knew he could.”  He sounded proud of the fact, though with the barest hints of disappointment—that he hadn’t been taken along for the ride, perhaps?  “He will find me, if you don’t let me go, and then you’ll regret-”

“Will he bring his mate with him?”

“His…his what?”  The boy looked sincerely confused.

“His mate,” Fern insisted, impatient, “the dragon, his lover, his pretty little redheaded piece of a-”

“Dee hasn’t had a serious lover in years,” Zyric cut in obliviously, frowning.  “Not since N-”

“Oh, nevermind,” Fern clipped him off.  “We’ll keep you and hope for the best.”  She turned to the patiently waiting Rokh.  “Take him back below deck, but continue returning the rest of the prisoners to their ship as planned.”

Zyric blinked.  “Hey, wait,” he called out as he was pulled to his feet, “you were going to return everyone to the ship?”

She glanced to him.  “I am returning everyone to the ship,” she said, “…everyone, that is…except you,” and she smiled—a smile that would have been ‘sweet’ if she’d remembered how to make it so.  As it was, only the corner of her mouth lifted, and the look didn’t reach her eyes.  She turned away from him, redirecting her face before the guilt in her gut reached her expression.  “Feed him whenever he wants it,” she said, careful to keep the words flat over his rising protests, “…and have some spare bedding moved down before nightfall…”

It was a sad day when children became unwilling pawns in wars they had nothing, nor wanted anything, to do with.  But perhaps, she thought grimly as her eyes wandered back to the ever-dancing sunlight on the water, perhaps that was just one more of the countless unfair prices of revenge.

Rochve Village, Northeast Quarter

The couple that met with Kedean and Baisyl when they arrived greeted them with ample enthusiasm—a wedded pair of well-off merchants in their late fifties, apparently quite accustomed to ferrying a similar train of passengers and goods alike back and forth between the small village and the larger trading city on at least a monthly basis. 

Kedean quickly provided them with a brief rundown of their story, telling it more or less as he had believed it to be when he took the job: that Baisyl, ‘Mistress Anriel of Worchest,’ was the eldest daughter of a baron, on her way to be wed across the sea in Brittaney, and that he had been her assigned protector for the duration of their voyage.  Unfortunately, pirates attacked and robbed their ship before it ever made it to the Carthan Sea, and they barely escaped with their lives. 

He left out any mention of his brother, the pirates’ actual reason for accosting them, and Baisyl’s true history, explaining only that he knew people in Carthak and hoped to find further help there.  Luckily, they appeared to be trusting and instantly sympathetic.

The husband, recognizing the names of several of Kedean’s acquaintances in Carthak, immediately took off to speak with him further, leaving Baisyl alone in the capable hands of his wife.  A mother of four of her own, she knew the face of an exhausted young woman when she saw one, and thus took full advantage of the opportunity to hustle Baisyl off for a last good wash in their home before they departed.

Baisyl hadn’t realized how much he missed actually bathing until the fresh, kettle-warmed water touched his skin—nearly hot enough to burn, but not quite—and he melted into it.  Granted, he would have preferred running his hands over his own body, and maybe even finding a little release on his own, but as it was, simply ridding himself of all the caked layers of salt and dust and sweat that he hadn’t realized had accumulated felt magnificent.

What he didn’t expect was to find himself face to face with a boldly unabashed handmaid the instant he ventured out: a young girl in her late teens or early twenties who proceeded to dutifully present his naked form with a towel, lay out a change of clothes for him on the bed just outside the washroom, and leave with nary a blush.

Well, he was blushing by the time she left.

And he frowned when he realized it.  Since when was he ashamed of his naked body?  Perhaps it was only that no one had really seen him in such a state in this form—excluding, of course, Kedean, but Baisyl didn’t count that.  He hadn’t been completely naked in that case.  Still, he smiled at the memory, and, comforted, proceeded to dress.

Downstairs, Kedean waited patiently for his charge’s return, listening with equal patience as their soon-to-be caravan guide rattled on, elaborating first on recent events of interest pertaining to their common acquaintances, and then carrying on to speak in detail about the current market for mercantilism, issues with caravan raids by bandits and disputes with various native woodelves over territory encroachment on favored trade routes. 

Despite relaying occasional bits of useful information, it was still a blessing of sorts to Kedean when the merchant’s wife unwittingly cut in with an outburst of, “Oh, yes, much better…” providing an innocent excuse to turn from the merchant and look up.

And anything said beyond that point was lost on him—Baisyl was descending the steps.

Rich, forest green jacquard made up the bodice of a dress that hugged his charge’s figure like a tailored corset, accenting the dip and curve of his waist as if sewn to fit and highlighting the pastel vanilla of his skin tone like a pearl set against dark satin.  The loose, sweeping chiffon of the gown’s skirt came within an inch of brushing the floor with each step he took, though he held the front partly aloft as he moved, and clearly, someone had helped him with his hair, a simple, but effective braided style keeping the otherwise dominating deep red locks all but completely up atop his head, off his back and shoulders—and off his neck. 

Like this, Kedean found it nearly impossible to connect the cocky and self-assured young man of but an hour before with the composed, delicate young woman now waiting at the foot of the stairs.  Then, catching his stare, the corner of Baisyl’s mouth curved up, an elegant eyebrow rising with it, and with their eyes locked, Kedean was reminded sharply that this was, indeed, the exact same character.

Beside him, someone cleared their throat.

He turned, and found himself face to face with the smiling caravan leader, a little too much knowing amusement for Kedean’s tastes dancing boldly in his eyes.  “Quite a creature you have, there,” he said, clearly teasing him for his distraction, and though it was entirely lighthearted, Kedean was thankful to have skin dark enough to make the heat in his face undetectable.

“Ah…yes,” he said.  “She is…lovely.  I’m sorry,” he apologized, “could you excuse me for a moment?”

“Sure thing, take all the time you need…” the man said, but by the time he finished speaking, Kedean was halfway across the room. 

“Oh, but look, aren’t you such a dear?” the merchant’s wife was cooing, running appraising circles around Baisyl as she spoke.  “Such a pretty thing when you walked in, even dirty as you were, but my you cleaned up well, didn’t you?”  She nodded approvingly, as if agreeing with her own assessment, fiddling with various parts of the dress as she did—embroidery on the sleeves, a button along the collar.  “Remind me of my own daughters, you do,” she said.  “Been a while, but-”

“Ma’am,” Kedean greeted when he arrived, directing the comment at the merchant’s wife, and drawing her attention, “I-”

“Oh, and her thane returns,” the elder woman greeted back with cheery enthusiasm, and Kedean blinked.

“Her…what?”

“Her thane,” she repeated, smiling, “…her warrior, her protector, her soldier, her paladin…”

When he looked, he found Baisyl’s eyes on him, watching him, and at the glance, his charge raised his eyebrows inquiringly, as if to ask if he were, indeed, all those things, and Kedean smiled, softly. 

“Ah…yes, then…I suppose I am that,” he answered, and the woman chuckled.  It pleased him more than he expected to see Baisyl’s expression warm, too, in turn.

“Such a romantic notion, I think…a beautiful young noble lady and her ever-faithful protector, traveling the lands…” She tutted, clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “…but of course, it’s nothing like that, is it?”  She turned her smile on Baisyl.  “You’re off to be married, didn’t you say, dear?”

Baisyl opened his mouth.

“A lucky man, to be sure,” she asserted, before he could speak.

“Ma’am…” Kedean drew back her attention, once more, “…I meant to say before, you must know we currently have no way to reimburse you for these extra kindnesses-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she scolded.  “This old thing?  It looks far better on your lady than it ever did on me,” she said, “…and I wouldn’t be able to wear it now anyway, even if I dared try.”  On that front, at least, she spoke the truth; it fit snuggly enough on Baisyl’s trim body, and the elder woman was undeniably several sizes plumper than he.  “I have too many dozen more like it that have been as untouched as this for years…and it made me feel like a mother again.  Just be sure to dance in it for me, will you?”

Baisyl looked startled, but he recovered quickly, promising, “I’ll see to it that I do, ma’am, thank you…” with a genuine smile and a polite dip of the head.

“And a sweetheart, too, on top of everything!” she exclaimed, and Kedean covered a laughing snort with his hand, clearing his throat to mask it; Baisyl looked to be within moments of sticking out his tongue at him.  “Oh!  I meant to tell you…” she went on, utterly oblivious of their exchange, “…in relation to the issue of your sleeping arrangements…” 

That caught both of their attentions.

“Since you arrived so late and necessarily can’t pay your way until you arrive…we were hoping you’d make do with sharing the space in the last of the storage wagons.  It’s only half full…assuming you’d be alright with occupying such close quarters?”

“A storage wagon?” Baisyl blurted at the same time Kedean asked, “Together?” and the startled woman glanced between the two of them, unsure who to address first.

Baisyl composed himself quickest.  “Sharing sleeping quarters with my guard will not be an issue…I have complete faith in him as an honorable man, and I would appreciate the close proximity for safety’s sake, but-”

“A storage wagon will also be quite satisfactory,” Kedean cut in, ignoring Baisyl’s desperate look of disapproval.  “We are very grateful…” he stressed the word as he faced off against Baisyl’s growing pout, “…to be allowed to travel with you at all in the first place, without being able to pay anything up front…”

“Oh, lovely!  That’s certainly a relief,” the woman said, and then, on spotting Baisyl’s clearly put out look, she sighed.  “I am sorry, dear…I know it must not be quite what you’re used to…” She sounded, surprisingly enough, sincerely sympathetic.  “I know if it were one of my girls, they’d have done pitched a fit by now.” 

Kedean thought Baisyl looked ready to pitch a fit, but thankfully he kept it to himself. 

“And they’re not even used to beds quite so soft as yours, hm?”  She patted his shoulder.  “It is only two or three days…four at the very most, and the roads are mostly well worn.  I’ll have some bedding moved in of course and have a nightgown fetched for you…alright?”

Baisyl’s eyes flit to Kedean, lingered for half a moment, and then—with a quiet, determined exhale—he turned back, giving the woman a ghost of a smile.  “Yes, that will be plenty, thank you…” he said.  “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“There’s a girl,” she encouraged.  “Go on, then…if you find Tuphon, I’m sure he’d be happy to show you where your compartment is, or you can just follow the train back to the last few wagons…yours should be at the rear or close to it, half full, as I said, with boxes…silks, I think…nothing to make your nose turn, anyway.  If all goes well, we should be pulling out within the hour.”

Baisyl blinked, startled momentarily from his silent sulking.  “That fast?”

The merchant woman grinned.  “Salesmanship is a fast business…wasn’t kidding you when I said you two made it in the nick of time.”

Indeed she was not.

Considering themselves dismissed, they made their way out, heading towards the wagon train and then back along the line as instructed.  Their fellow passengers, Baisyl noted, were not so immediately welcoming as their train leaders. 

A number of them, men and women alike, stopped dead in their tracks to stare openly as they passed, and though aware that they probably made a rather unusual sight—Kedean alone standing out like pepper in a salt shaker wherever he went—being the subject of so many stares unnerved him more than he cared to admit.  Baisyl found himself standing closer to his guard before he had made a conscious decision to move.

Halfway to their destination, his guard assured him, as if commenting on the weather, “They won’t eat you, you know,” and Baisyl looked sharply up, surprised to have his anxiety called upon so quickly and directly—was it that obvious? 

“I’m not worried they’re going to eat me,” he said, not bothering to mask the nerves and irritation in his tone, “…I’m worried they’re going to eat you.”  To his surprise, Kedean laughed; it did little to help his nerves.  “I fail to see where the humor in this is,” he clipped.  “Whatever their interest, they shouldn’t stare so…and if they must, then I’d have them look, take in the sight, and then turn away again.  Is that so terribly difficult?”

Kedean smiled, shaking his head.  “As much as I appreciate the concern, milady, in my experience so far…it is, apparently.  I’m afraid it’s something you’ll have to get used to.”  He drew his eyes over Baisyl’s frown, examining the expression as if mapping it for future reference.  Then, he said, “They stared in the market, too, on the way here…did it not bother you then?”

Baisyl’s eyes left the crowds, and his frown changed as he turned to face forward again—more thoughtful, less irritated.  “No, I noticed then,” he said, “…and I suppose it must have bothered me to some extent, but…I don’t suppose I was paying quite so much attention, then.  My mind was on…other things.”

“Oh?” Kedean inquired innocently enough.  “Such as…?”

“Such as…oh, say…how it felt to have you pinning me to a wall…”

Kedean looked down.  “You know, I did that to get your attention-”

“Yes, well,” Baisyl responded immediately and looked up, “…you may rest assured: it worked.”

Whatever Kedean might have said was impeded; they’d arrived.  Or, at least, Kedean used their arrival as an excuse to avoid responding, and Baisyl watched the careless grace with which his guard caught the back side of the wagon and hefted himself in with a frown.  The back was open and low enough to the ground, only three or so feet up, making it accessible enough, but given his dress, Baisyl was still trying to figure out how exactly to get in when Kedean noticed his predicament.

A soft thump a moment later was his guard rejoining him on the ground.

“Here,” Kedean opened his hands, motioning for Baisyl to turn his way, “come here…”

Baisyl glanced over, approaching without sparing it a second thought.  “What are you going to-”  Hands settled on his waist, leaving him approximately half a second to process Kedean’s line of thinking and open his mouth to object, “Wait-” catching his guard’s shoulders, before Kedean moved, hefting him up like sack of hay—or feather pillows, for all the effort he expended—and one of Baisyl’s hands hopped up, clapping over his mouth.

Because nobles did not yelp or squeak or whatever other kind of undignified noise might have escaped him, had he let it.

And he landed promptly a moment later on the back lip of the wagon, Kedean’s hands still on his waist, their faces but three inches apart and Baisyl’s cheeks frustratingly warm.

“There,” his guard said, “…better?”

Baisyl’s hand dropped from his mouth.  “What on-”

“‘Thank you’ would suffice,” Kedean told him, joining him in the wagon the next second as easily as before.

Baisyl turned a scowl on him.  “I’m not a piece of luggage, you know.  You could have warned me-”

“Did it seem like I mistook you for one?” Kedean asked curiously, laying back as Baisyl watched, leaving one leg up, bent at the knee and laying the other flat, both hands tucking neatly behind his head.  “Now,” he continued as he shut his eyes, “…your experience may differ significantly from mine, but…I’ve personally never known any piece of luggage to talk so much.”

Baisyl stared, half aghast and half incredulous, floundering over the words.  “Y—how…”

Kedean opened one eye, prompting, “Yes, m’lord?”

Baisyl glowered.  “You’re…” He pursed his lips, folding his arms over his chest and turning his head to glare at the outside world, as if it, too, needed to know of his displeasure.  “I preferred you when you were docile and obedient,” he quipped.

“Did you?” Kedean asked without inflection, and Baisyl looked back, fully ready to snap ‘Yes,’ with righteous indignation.  But then something held him up.

His guard’s eyes were shut again, his posture easy and relaxed, and instead of spitting words, Baisyl found his gaze wandering instead, seizing the open opportunity to map the hard lines of Kedean’s body uninhibited. 

He watched the slow, paced rise and fall of the man’s chest and remembered the strict, tense professionalism in the man’s posture when they first met and he tried to convince him to call him by his first name.  He traced the paths of shadow and sunlight over his guard’s closed eyes, and nose, and lips, and tried to recall how they looked, determinedly impassive, the first few times he tried to tease a rise out of him.

“You know…” Kedean said eventually, quietly, without opening his eyes—or moving anything but his lips, for that matter, “…it is rather difficult to relax with you staring at me like that.”

Caught, Baisyl’s heart tripped over itself in his chest, and he supposed he should have expected it at some level, but that didn’t stop heat from flooding back to his face.  He worked diligently to keep all traces of such reactions out of his words when he said, “Your eyes aren’t closed.”

“They are,” Kedean responded; when he opened them, it took significant strength of will not to immediately turn his head guiltily away, “…or they were,” he amended, “…but it doesn’t take much awareness to judge when you’re being inspected like a cut of meat…” and after that, face hot and nerves in his throat, Baisyl admitted defeat, dropping his gaze. 

His concession of “My apologies,” was still barely a mumble, though, as he leant his weight against the closest wall, and his eyes moved out, to the distant line of trees past the edge of the village.  It was just past midday. 

The wagon would be pulling out soon.

“I spoke carelessly…” he said at last.  “I don’t require, or even expect you to be obedient or docile…and I do prefer it when you treat me like a human being as opposed to some prized parcel to be spoken to reservedly and handled with care.  I am also fully aware that you are the one helping me, and not the other way around…and that I should be more respectful to that fact.”

“Milord-”

“And I wasn’t inspecting you like a cut of meat,” Baisyl added stubbornly.  “I was…trying to remember how you used to look at me,” he said, listening without looking as Kedean shifted and rose to stand behind him, “…back…before you knew anything about me.”

“I still know very little about you.”

The answer came from above him and to the side, but Baisyl kept his eyes on the woods, responding, “You know more about me than I do you…” without so much as a twitch of the head, finally looking only when Kedean settled in to sit beside him.  He left two feet of space to spare.  “I know your name, and that you have a brother.”

“There’s little else to know.”

“I doubt that.  Do you no longer wish to rest?”

“It seemed you were more inclined to talk.”

Baisyl blinked, and then pursed his lips.  “If you would rather sleep I assure you, I can find it within me to shut my mouth every now and-”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Kedean insisted, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips as Baisyl watched.  “Whether or not you believe it…I do enjoy speaking with you.”

What cursed law of nature dictated that immediately after hearing such an admittance, Baisyl would find it near impossible to do any such thing?  Noting his predicament, Kedean chuckled, and, thankfully enough, it leant Baisyl the composure settle him with a glower.

“You think you’re so very charming,” he grumped, and Kedean shook his head, still looking irritatingly amused.

“No…you think I’m charming,” he corrected, “…and I have yet to figure out why.”

“Y—but…”  Finding very few suitable replies to that, Baisyl eventually opted to change the subject, clipping out, “What were we talking about?”

“How little we know about each other,” Kedean answered, eyes lit with good humor, and Baisyl hummed thoughtfully.

“Ah, yes…you were about to answer some questions for me,” he said.

Kedean quirked an eyebrow.  “Was I?  And see here, I thought you were going to answer some questions of mine…but very well,” he conceded, “…ladies first.”

Baisyl turned his head, met his guard’s gaze, held it, and after a long, deciding moment, he snorted and turned back away.  “How did you get that scar?” he asked, ignoring the bait.

“Which one?” his guard responded, and Baisyl made a mental note to make it a point to find out what other scars his guard had and where from.  It could wait, though; they had time.

“The one on your shoulder,” he clarified.  “The one shaped like a diamond.”

“When did you see that?”

“When you took your shirt off before your first fight on the ship,” Baisyl answered easily, and Kedean spared him a glance.

“You were paying attention,” he noted.  “It’s not that large, and you were sitting on the side of the deck, I remember.  It couldn’t have been that obvious from that distance.”

Baisyl smiled.  “You were half naked and possibly the most well-put-together man I’d ever seen…of course I was paying attention.”

Kedean took that as his cue to start answering the question. 

He explained that nearly a decade ago he’d been under the employment of an emperor’s advisor who liked to mark his royal guardsmen—hundreds of them though there were—both to assure their loyalty as well as imprint them permanently with their status.  The shape he engraved on them varied by rank, but the scars went deep enough never to fade. 

This answer, of course, led to a number of other questions about his living conditions at the time, how he’d come to be there, where exactly ‘there’ was, what it was like, and so forth, and Kedean accepted each new question with perfect patience, feeding Baisyl’s apparently insatiable curiosity with as detailed answers as he could provide and allowing the conversation to run far past when the wagon train pulled out.

Darkness found them still talking.

“…they eat off the floor?” Baisyl repeated, still finding the concept beyond difficult to grasp, and his guard laughed softly, entirely amused by his charge’s continued habit of finding each thing even remotely different from his own experience to be a wonder in and of itself.

“Yes,” Kedean repeated, “…out of bowls and platters, naturally, but they’re set out on the floor, on rugs…the rugs are beautiful.”

“The floor…” Baisyl shook his head, bemused.

“And they eat with their fingers.”

Baisyl’s head snapped up.  “Oh, no, now I know you’re taking me for a-”  Their wagon clipped to a halt, and whatever Baisyl intended to say cut off immediately in favor of, “Oh, thank the stars we’re stopping, I could eat a…”  Again, he paused, but this time for a different reason, his lips pursing thoughtfully, and after a moment he turned to Kedean.  “What was that creature you mentioned?  The really large one that you said would be used to carry only the wealthiest in the royal palaces?”

“…horses?” Kedean asked, and Baisyl huffed, hitting his shoulder mild-manneredly.

“No, no, no, I know what horses are.  The other thing…the giant…grey…fat one, with the ears…”

“Elephant,” Kedean said, and Baisyl’s face lit up.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, triumphant.  “An elephant, that’s exactly it.  I am so hungry, I could eat an elephant.”  He considered a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, “What a peculiar word…elephant…”

Kedean smiled.  “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, my lord, I am fairly certain you would not be able to eat an elephant in its entirety…and I hear they’re stringy and hard to chew, besides, though I never actually ate of one myself.”

“And why ever not?” Baisyl asked, peering over the edge to the ground with a frown as a low horn blew farther up ahead, announcing that they were, indeed, stopping and that it was safe to disembark.

“Though ugly, they’re quite intelligent…more so than domestic dogs, to be certain, and I developed a sort of fondness for several of them.”  Kedean hopped down, landing in grass.  “It would have felt…unjust, to me, to eat an animal with a thinking mind…”

“Mmm…I suppose,” Baisyl conceded, sounding unconvinced, “…though it seems to me that all animals are exceptionally stupid in comparison to the…more advanced races, and meat is meat.  Well?”

Kedean looked over.  “Well what, milord?”

“Well,” Baisyl pressed, “are you going to help me down or not?”

Kedean blinked, surprised, but recovered quickly and moved over.  “I’m sorry, milord,” he apologized, catching Baisyl’s waist as his charge looped his hands cooperatively around his neck.  “It was just, after last time…” He lifted, toting Baisyl’s weight without a qualm and delivering him primly to the ground a second later, “…I assumed you wouldn’t want my help.”

“Ah…yes, well…”

They stood like that, together, for a long moment: Baisyl’s fingers laced loosely behind his guard’s neck and Kedean’s hands resting as gently at his charge’s waist, so that if it weren’t for the lack of movement and music, they might have been dancing.  Then, Kedean cleared his throat, Baisyl’s cheeks warmed, and they both dropped their hands, stepping apart nearly in unison.

“I, ah…suppose I changed my mind,” Baisyl finally finished, pushing a loosened strand of dark red hair distractedly from his face and behind his ear.  It fell immediately free again.

“Yes…it would seem that you did,” Kedean responded, and he reached out without thinking, tracing the same path Baisyl’s finger took moments before—though he followed it a fraction more slowly—catching the same lock of hair and guiding it back, along Baisyl’s cheek, and finally tucking it gently away, this time ensuring that it stayed.  By the time he drew his hand back, Baisyl’s eyes were closed.  “We should go to the front, milord…” he suggested, “…see what they’re preparing for supper and if we can lend a hand.”

“Hm-mm?” Baisyl’s eyes flit back open.  “What?”

“Dinner,” Kedean repeated, fighting a soft smile—as well as the desire to lean forward and touch his lips to his charge’s forehead.  Or to his lips.  He reined the urge.  “We should go eat.  You said you were hungry?”

“Oh.”  Baisyl still sounded faintly distracted, but he nodded.  “Yes, supper.  That…sounds like a good idea.  We should.”

And so they did.

---

A/N: Oh, sweet romance.  The next chapter will be fun, I promise.  :D

Althydia, the only reason I have yet to answer your question (about which "Baisyl" Kedean perfers) is because you can bet Baisyl is wondering the same thing, and he WILL ask.  Soon.  :3

Oh, and the fact that Kedean refers to Baisyl as "milady" while they're walking and then "milord" not much later is not a typo; he'll use the masculine pronoun only when they are either alone or completely out of earshot of others.  It would certainly sound odd if he called him a lord and someone caught on.  ^^