Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Title: Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter Title & No.: #8. Doing it all his own way.

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non.

Rating: NC - 17
Abuse, Anal, Angst, BDSM, Bi, B-Mod, Bond, Death, D/s, H/C, HJ, Humil, Language, M/F, M/M, Minor, N/C, OC, Oral, Preg, Rim, Spank, Violence, Voy, VS, WD, WIP.

Archive: Originals - misc. > Slash-male/male
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of places and characters to actual persons, living or dead, and places is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Authors Notes: There seems to have been a little misunderstanding about the last chapter.
Wrailan never intended to replace his wife. He meant to take a second wife, since his religion does allow him to have up to seven wives.
But doing so would have made the first wife the head of the household, but the second wife the one he would show off in public. As long as she provided children that is….
woops, noticed a little mistake. Amraeen is 21, not 19. That should be a lesson, never to write without your character notes at hand. But ok, that's been sorted.
For review replies, comments and thank you's go to: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/14530-polinues-marines-the-would-be-mage/

Summary: The first few years of Polinues’ life were strange years.

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Chapter 8. Doing it all his own way.

Charlotta watched her two younger sons anxiously.
They had turned one summer old with the Blessing Moon, and Arlathi had begun walking before the final harvest had been taken in.
Now it was nearing Yule, but Polinues was still content with going about on all fours.

Charlotta was beginning to get worried.
She was sitting in the boys’ playroom, the nurses fussing about the twins, watching them intently, rubbing circles on her already swelling stomach.
The new child was expected with the Planting moon.

“It’s not natural, Arlin. He ought to be standing up, with support, by now. But he doesn’t even try. He just sits there. What do you make of it?” Charlotta asked the hedgewitch, which sat by her.

Arlin had moved to the household when Charlotta had been pregnant with the twins.
When Charlotta came with child again, Arlin had been given a permanent position in the staff, and now she followed the Lady around all day long, just to be safe, as Wrailan put it.

Arlin shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head,

“Sincerely, I don’t know, Charlotta. Some children are just slow to walking. If there is anything wrong with his legs then we won’t see it for another year, at least.”

“But what if there is something wrong with his head? What if something was damaged when he was born?”

“Oh, there is nothing wrong with his head, Charlotta, nothing at all!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Look at him, Charlotta. If there was anything wrong with his head he wouldn’t be so intent on everything that goes on about him. See how focused he is on everything that he does. See how he watches everyone around him, like he’s studying them, learning everything there is to learn, before he tries it out for himself.”
Charlotta sighed, stretching her back painfully, the witch was right.

Polinues could sit silent for hours, staring at everything and everyone around him, like he was scrutinizing the very fabric of their being.
He never cried unless it was absolutely necessary, and he hardly ever complained about anything.
He would just sit there and look at his picture book, or study the people around him, or fiddle with his toys until he had figured out exactly how they worked.

Right now he was sitting in a window alcove, his picture book propped up on the window seat, Polinues sitting in a small chair infront of it.
His elbow rested on the open book, his head nestling in his tiny palm and his foggy grey eyes staring out of the window, dreamy and far away.

Charlotta watched him, and wondered what such a small child could possibly have to dream about.

With everyone’s attention averted from him, Arlathi jumped into action.

He waddled over to the window, where his twin was sitting, and with a malicious giggle pushed Polinues so hard that the older twin fell off his chair.

Polinues cried out as he fell to the floor, but he only glared at his twin, as he stood up and sat back down, turning his eyes to the book again.
Arlathi laughed, and pushed again.
Again Polinues fell to the floor, but did not retaliate.

It was obvious that Arlathi was taunting his twin into action, because a third time he pushed, Polinues falling to the floor with a shout.

Arlathi smirked devilishly, one of the young nursemaids started running towards them to intervene, but Charlotta shouted at the girl,
“No! Leave them be. I want to see what he does.”

Hesitant and slightly bewildered the nurse stepped back, and the five women in the room watched as Arlathi reached for Polinues’ precious book and yanked it down on the floor.
The heavy book, which was half the size of Polinues, thumped to the floor, landing face down, pages crumpling and the spine popping alarmingly loud.

The look on Polinues’ face was frightening, Arlathi wailed and took off in the direction of their mother, but instead of following, Polinues turned his book over, babbling at it in his baby-talk.
He tried to smooth the pages, a sound of a page tearing freezing him in place.

Charlotta saw such fear and pain in his eyes that it stung her to her core.

Polinues closed the book gently, and pushed it ahead of himself as he crawled along the floor, to another window alcove, and settling down on the floor, Polinues opened the book, turning the pages with a care that none of the women had ever seen in a one and a half year old.

Charlotta sighed, as Arlathi advanced on his twin again.
The boy had not given up on riling his twin up.

Before anyone of the women could react, Arlathi lifted a large, heavy tin chariot over his head and with all his strength hit Polinues over the head.
Polinues gasped in pain, a long, sad wail erupting from him, as he clamped his hands over his head, his grey eyes filling with tears as he stared up at his brother.

The nurses all started, meaning to break them up, but this time Polinues himself froze them in their tracks.
Arlathi stood over his twin smiling triumphantly, as blood began to flow freely down Polinues’ head, into his right eye.
Arlathi’s triumph turned to terror in a blink of an eye.

Polinues screamed in rage, and standing up with speed and agility he grabbed Arlathi’s tunic and dragged his twin across the room, towards the doors to Arlathi’s private sitting room.

Arlathi wailed like a stuck piglet the entire way, but he did not struggle against Polinues’ grip, only stumbled after the enraged boy, wailing for his mama.

As they reached the doorway, Polinues pushed his twin inside with such force that Arlathi landed face first on the hardwood.
Arlathi lay on his stomach crying, while Polinues began to push the doors shut.

Charlotta intervened, picking the bleeding boy up, she stroked his hair and his bloodied face, talking to him in a soothing voice,

“So you can walk, you little rogue. Come now, stop fretting about him, let’s go and clean you up. Arlin, come with us. Nurse, I think Arlathi deserves a little spanking and then a time out.”
The Head Nurse nodded, picking the howling boy off the floor.

Charlotta and the hedgewitch made their way down to the bathing halls, where they cleaned Polinues up and Arlin tended to his cut, which was a lot smaller than the blood had indicated.

“See, Charlotta, I told you he would walk just fine. I’m guessing he only does it when he needs to.” Arlin said, with a smile and a wink, Charlotta smiling back.

“I don’t know what to say. He walks, but he doesn’t like to. He hardly talks at all, and Arlathi is already speaking a great deal. What is going on in that head of yours, Polinues?”

Charlotta bounced the boy on her knee, something that her other three children had all loved at that age.
Polinues only grimaced and tried to catch a hold of his mother’s skirts as if to steady himself.

“He doesn’t like that, ma’am.” A timid voice said from behind them, one of the maids of the house was sitting on a bench, drying her hair.

“How do you know?” Charlotta asked the girl, who blushed a little, as she braided her long hair, smiling at the toddler.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean any disrespect. Thelaura, one of the young master’s nursemaids, is my sister, and sometimes when I don’t have chores she lets me sit with her in the early mornings. He doesn’t like being bounced on the knee like that, and he doesn’t like being coddled like a baby. And we’ve spied him more than once practicing his walking and his words, but he stops as soon as he realizes someone is watching.”

Charlotta and Arlin looked at each other incredulously, then turned back to the young maid,

“He practices walking and talking when he’s alone?”

“Yes, ma’am. He walks around his room in the mornings. And I’ve heard him talk to that book he’s always looking through. My brother’s son used to do that too, when he was a toddler. He didn’t start talking until he was nearly five winters, but if he was left alone somewhere he would talk to his toys or anything else at hand.”
The girl curtsied and left them, Charlotta and Arlin eyeing the toddler on his mother’s knee, who was looking up at the two women with a curious gaze.

The two women walked back to the playroom together, where Arlathi was sitting on a chair, facing the wall behind the door, hicupping and sobbing dramatically.
Charlotta thought to herself that she could hardly wait for Leyjen to return to the castle.

It was still more than two and a half years until he would be allowed to come home on leave, once he entered his third stage.
He had had to complete the initiation stage and the first stage along side his second stage, which he was now half way through.
He would be allowed to come home for three weeks, once he had taken his Turning to the third stage, and Charlotta had a feeling that Leyjen and Polinues would bond well and become great friends.

Leyjen gulped down the warm blood, his muscles trembling with pleasure, the brigand beneath him clawing at the boy’s back in desperation.
Between mouthfuls of bitter blood, Leyjen grew dizzy, and with a growl he let go of the brigand’s collar, the man slipping to the ground, his last breath rattling in his lungs.

The boy stretched his arms above his head, popping his spine with a sigh, his canines retracting slowly, about three quarters of the way.
The scent of southern oceans floated by him, and twisting around he looked into the shadows of the forest.

“Amraeen? Why are you lurking over there? I thought you were going to come with me.”

The Vampyr came out of the shadows, his skin radiant, his eyes gleaming, Leyjen could tell he had already fed.
Shaking his head slowly, Amraeen smiled at the eleven summers old boy.

“It is time you learn to hunt on your own. I can’t watch over you every second of the night. Also he had a partner. I took care of him.”

Amraeen pulled the lifeless corpse into a dip underneath a fallen treetrunk and piled leaves on top of it.
He offered Leyjen his hand, the warmth of the boy’s skin tingling in his palm.

The pair walked silently through the dark forest, Amraeen breathing in deeply, enjoying the scent of Leyjen’s skin.
The scent of poppies, identical to his father.
Leyjen was also breathing deeply, his voice startling the Vampyr a little when he asked,

“How old are you, Amraeen?”
Amraeen chuckled softly, answering,

“Two hundred, seventy three winters.”

“No, I mean, how old are you really, not how long you’ve been a Vampyr.”

“I was twenty-one summers old when I was turned.” Amraeen answered wistfully, supporting Leyjen across a small creek.

“It was my father that turned you wasn’t it?”

Amraeen stumbled, a look of shock on his face giving away the truth.

“How did you know?”

“Just, the way you acted towards my father when he came to the Castle. The way you looked at him. The way you look at me. The cold respect you showed my mother before she died.”

Amraeen nodded, sinking into old memories.

The boy was quiet for a long while, then asked, with a tone that suggested that he had been wondering about it for some time,

“Amraeen, why do you smell like the ocean?”

“Huh? I smell like the ocean?”

“Yeah. Or at least what I’d imagine the ocean would smell like. Sort of wet, and salty, and like the wind of the Peolin Sea, after a really big storm. And wet sand and kelp.” Leyjen’s voice sounded dreamy in the ears of the Vampyr, and Amraeen smiled as he looked down at him.

“To the Vampyr, and I guess to the Aaenda too, everyone has a distinct scent. Someone told me once that the scent is unique to each person, and that it reflects some hidden part of their soul or a memory, or even a desire.”

“So, which is it with you? Why do you smell like the ocean?”

“I grew up in a coastal city, in Senizja. I had to run away from there when I was a teen, and ended up in the Etherial. I met your father there.”

Leyjen nodded, and Amraeen could feel that the boy was mulling something over, but couldn’t put them into words.

To distract the boy, and hopefully avoid the question, Amraeen spoke quietly,
“You smell like poppies.”
Too late Amraeen realized his mistake, as sadness filled his voice and and Leyjen stopped.

“Father smells like poppies.” He said quietly, his amber eyes inquisitive, Amraeen could almost see the wheels turning in the boy’s head.

“I know.” Was all Amraeen managed, averting his eyes, and pulled Leyjen gently onwards.

The thought seemed to have flown from Leyjen’s head, because the boy spoke lightly, as they came to the edge of the forest, the dim shadow of the Temple compound rising menacingly in the distance,
“Mother smells like the hearth fire, just after you light it in the mornings, especially when it’s freezing outside in the winter.”

Amraeen knelt infront of him, and kissed the boy’s forehead.

“I’ll come back on the new moon.” He said, straightening Leyjen’s collar, the boy nodding wearily.

“I’ll see you then, Amraeen.” He whispered, falling into the Vampyr’s arms and hugging him tightly.

Amraeen waited under the eaves of the forest until the boy had disappeared through the garden gate behind the old barn, the boy’s scent of poppies clinging to his skin.