Roads and Their Travelers, 3/3 [Gods and Monsters universe]

[mlyn.livejournal.com]

Gods and Monsters, Roads and Their Travelers, 3/3
Rated: 17+
Notes: previous story arcs can be found at 13_warrior. I plan on this being the end of this universe, but most likely will continue writing 13th Warrior fic. Today also happens to be the one-year anniversary of this universe; on New Year's Eve 2005 I started the first part, and I think it only fitting that today I end it.
Archive: my LJ and 13_warrior only



Herger truly did make a rotten farmer, but that didn't stop Hrothgar from putting him to work in the fields.

In truth, he could have refused. He was no slave, nor a permanent member of Hrothgar's kingdom. His service the year before in driving away the wendol had put Hrothgar in his debt, not the other way around. But for the winter Herger had had little to do, and needed something to make himself useful. The odd jobs had run out by the spring, and then there was nothing but crop-raising to be done.

Ahmed had it better, in some ways. The kingdom's tanner was an old man, the only one with experience in the trade, and needed to pass on his skills. He had asked Ahmed and one of the native youths to learn how to treat hides and pelts, and prepare them for trading. Herger had taken part in hunting while the snows were deepest, and many animals' winter coats were now thick, glorious patches of white around Ahmed's little work hut.

He was one of the few to work a craft outside of the great hall, because of the smell of treating hides and pelts. His hut was far from the hall, at the opposite end of the fields. Herger wondered if he'd taken up the work partly for the privacy.

He pulled off his gloves as he approached the hut, noting the stream of smoke from the roof. If Ahmed's fire was still going, he had not yet gone to the hall for the nightly meal.

He entered and saw Ahmed bent over the fleshing beam, dragging his double-handled blade in circular motions. As he watched, Ahmed tossed the blade to the ground between his feet and began to release the pelt, turning it on the beam to work a different section. His motions were smooth and quick. He'd picked up the work fast.

"I might never have thought of you doing this," he murmured. Ahmed started and looked over his shoulder, then smiled. Sweat ran down his face and the front of his shirt was grimy with grease and other disgusting fluids. At least it was an old woven thing, donated for this cause.

"After a while you do not mind the filth, and the activity keeps me warm. I am almost done for today; will you wait?"

Herger nodded and uncovered a stool, lifting off a high stack of finished pelts. He recognized many rabbits, some fox and mink, and sections of a bear Weath had helped hunt down. They had gone into his winter den to find him, an activity that had reminded Herger strongly of Ahmed's help in finding the wendol's cave.

The little hunt stank of the untreated pelts, with the fat and other filth that had to be scraped off, as well as the soaking hides that would be tanned and prepared for leather working. But it was also warm with the large fire needed to keep the cauldrons boiling, and the work was paid in kind. Ahmed would be able to leave with his own set of luxurious furs, and plenty of leather for whatever he needed. Herger was planning on having some women in the kingdom make Ahmed a set of leathers for rain, and the fur-lined cloak and gloves he already owned could use some cleaning and repair.

In the time Herger had been lost in thought, looking around the hut, Ahmed had finished the scraping. He stretched the pelt over a rack to dry and then went to a bucket against the far wall, stripping off his work shirt as he went. He washed up quickly, twitching his shoulders a little as he shivered.

Herger watched the muscles of his back and arms move. Ahmed had put on weight over the winter, and it wasn't fat. His transformation from unskilled poet to self-sufficient warrior seemed complete.

"Will you hand me my shirt?"

Herger blinked. Ahmed had turned with a scrap of cloth in his hands, drying off. His chest, shoulders, and arms moved with every twist of his hands. Herger forced himself not to stare, and looked around until he found the garment and handed it over.

With the approach of spring, the weather had finally warmed enough to go out of doors without risking death. After dressing, Ahmed left his cloak behind, while Herger shoved his gloves under his belt and led the way to the great hall.

They had a quiet meal at the far side of the hall's main room, avoiding the drunks and fools. Herger did not have much to say, and these days Ahmed was too tired from a day of work to attempt any conversation. They both were at peace with this, Herger realized as he watched Ahmed eat. Ahmed was at ease with a great many things, these days.

"Might we sleep in your hut tonight?" he murmured, putting down his cup of water. "The ships may be here in a month, if the minstrels are right."

"It would be nice to enjoy a bed while we can," Ahmed agreed.

"And warm."

Ahmed grinned, still a bright flash of white, like the snow rabbit's fur. "I thought I was the one demanding heat all the time. You are used to this climate."

"But how am I to get you bare-assed if you're cold?"

Ahmed only raised an eyebrow and went back to eating. Yes, quite at ease.

They finished their food and gave their obedience to Hrothgar and Weilew, his queen. It was colder outside now, so they crossed their arms tightly and made the walk with brisk steps, moving through the gathering ground fog. The fog no longer made Herger nervous. He knew now what things lived in the mist.

In the hut, Herger helped Ahmed take the cauldron off its hook, then Ahmed stoked the fire. The coals were already glowing hot enough to repel a man at a distance, and the fresh wood caught immediately. When it was snapping and popping, Ahmed began to undress.

Herger looked up from preparing a bed of furs. He'd dragged out the mattress Ahmed sometimes slept on, and the pelts would make it warmer and softer. He laid down one more fox and then stood, watching Ahmed in the firelight.

Ahmed was distracted, watching the flames as he balanced on one foot and worked off his other boot. He was bare to the waist again. While his pants were loose, the fabric was also thin, and pressed against certain curves as he stood with his leg raised. Herger watched him finish with one boot and then work on the other, never swaying.

When his feet were bare, Ahmed moved his hands to his pants and finally looked away from the fire. He saw Herger watching and smiled, pulling on the drawstring slowly.

"If you do not have oil, we can use some soap and water," he offered.

It made Herger shiver, listening to Ahmed plan such things without prompting. It had taken several tries for him to get used to being fucked, but now he was finally enjoying it. Herger himself was still not used to the heady pleasure of it.

"I refilled the vessel."

"Cooking oil?"

"Yes."

Ahmed's pants and small clothes dropped to the dirt floor. "Produce it, then."

Herger knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. Ever since that night outside La Coruña, Ahmed had had this assurance about sex. It still dazed Herger, even months later. He got stupid and slow, and Ahmed grew ever more amused.

While he'd been staring, Ahmed had crossed the room and pressed Herger down to the mattress. With great efficiency, he relieved Herger of all his clothing. The furs felt like Valhalla under him.

"The vessel?" Ahmed reminded him. Herger lay back and watched Ahmed prop himself on an arm, bending over him. Ahmed's shoulders bunched. Herger wanted to sink his teeth into them.

"…In my saddle bags."

"Which are not here." Ahmed shook his head but rose and retrieved the soap and basin good-naturedly. Herger stretched out and arranged himself on the bed, content to watch him move about.

Ahmed brought the basin back and worked up a lather between his hands, then applied them. His fingers, always skilled with a pen or brush, were even stronger, calloused and tough like tree branches. They knew how to stretch and thrust, to find the spots that caused a shudder or a curse.

Herger lay back and let Ahmed do it all, prepare himself and guide Herger with that firm hand, even taking Herger's hand to apply it in turn. For a long time Herger lost himself in Ahmed's skillful handling, his own strength only good for what Ahmed demanded of him.

After some time, Ahmed wrenched Herger's pleasure out of him with breathtaking skill, and Herger, when recovered, used all of his might to bring Ahmed the same pleasure.

Ahmed rolled onto his side and Herger gasped for air, each weak as wet rags. They said nothing until they had collected themselves, and then Ahmed fetched a cloth to use in the basin.

When they were clean and dry, Herger found a blanket while Ahmed put a final log on the fire. They curled back up on the bed and warmed themselves between the soft wool and silky furs, legs twining and heads resting close together. Herger felt fingers in his hair and ran his own down Ahmed's back in soothing strokes. He wanted to say something, some small thing to convey his happiness and peace and contentment, but he couldn't find any words.

"Yes," Ahmed said, and they slept.


Hrothgar had reports from his scouts that the trade ships were two days down the coast. Ahmed and Herger had readied themselves, giving away or selling possessions they could not take with them. The night before Herger had given Ahmed the set of leathers he'd had made, and in turn Ahmed gave him a fine new shirt of the lightest woven wool.

On this night they were at the great hall again, accepting wishes of good luck from their friends, eating up a feast and drinking every drop poured for them. In the midst of the revelry, someone called for a tale.

Ahmed exchanged a glance with Herger and was about to rise, but Herger was lighter on his feet. He stood and threw the contents of his cup into his mouth, wiped his beard, and bellowed for attention. When more heads had turned his way, he began.

"There was once a herald who was such a blusterer that whenever he saw anyone come riding towards him on the road, he would roar from afar: 'Off the road! Off the road! Here comes the king's herald himself!'"

As he paused, Herger saw heads nodding around the room. This story was well-known and loved.

"Once when he was carrying on like this, he met the king. He did not recognize him from afar.

"'Off the road! Off the road!' he shouted a long way off; but the king kept on riding straight ahead. So, for once, the parson had to turn his horse aside. And when the king came alongside he said, 'Tomorrow you shall have to come to the court. And if you can't answer three questions I am going to put to you, you shall lose both frock and standard for the sake of your pride!'"

There was a general laugh at that. Everyone liked stories about cleverness and trickery. Herger grinned and went on.

"This was quite a different tune from what the herald was used to. Bluster and bellow he could, and carry on worse than bad, too. But question-and-answer was out of his field. So he went to the page, who was said to have a better head on his shoulders than the herald, and told him that he wasn't keen on going, 'for one fool can ask more than ten wise men can answer,' he said. And so he got the page to go in his place.

"Well, the page went; and he came to the royal manor dressed in the parson's frock and carrying his standard. The king met him out in the courtyard, wearing his crown and carrying a gilded staff, and looking so grand he fairly shone.

"'So you're there, are you?' said the king.

"Yes, he was…that was sure enough." This brought another big laugh.

"'Now, tell me first,' said the king, 'how far is it from east to west?'

"'That's a day's journey, that is,' said the page.

"'How so?' asked the king.

"'Well, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and does it nicely in a day,' said the page.

"'All right,' said the king, 'but tell me now, what do you think I'm worth, just as you see me here?'

"'Let's see, the ring Draupnir, that Brokkr gave to Óðinn, dripped eight identical rings every nine days,' said the page. 'So I must not judge you to be more than seven rings, for no man is greater than Óðinn's worth.'"

Someone in the hall shouted that it was a kingly sum, and a bellow of agreement rang out. Herger waited until the clattering cups and yelling voices quieted again.

"'Well,' said the king, ‘since you're so wise on all counts, tell me what I'm thinking now!'

"'Oh, I suppose you're thinking that it's the herald who's standing here before you. But I'm sorry to say you're wrong, for it's your page!'

"'Aha! Then go home with you, and you be the herald and let him be the page!‘"

The ending was as well-known as the rest of the story, so almost before Herger had finished, cheers rang out. The page's cleverness and the haughty herald's usurpation were favorite elements of the story, and everyone in the hall celebrated the reversal of fortune. Pride was important to Herger's kinsmen, but cleverness was more important.

The drinking and eating started up again, but at the same time someone shouted for the Arab to share a story of his own. Having made more friends during this stay in Hrothgar's court, a dozen voices took up the demand.

Eventually Ahmed stood, raising his hands for quiet. Then he raised his voice and began.

"Once a man named Sa'di grew tired of the company of his friends, and went off into the desert of Jerusalem to be alone. But he was captured as a slave, and forced to rake a road for a Frank in his kingdom.

"Fortunately, a man who knew Sa'di, a Halab chieftain, happened to pass that way and took sight of him. He took pity on Sa'di and paid his ransom of ten dinars. Sa'di went back with him to Halab.

"Now, he had a daughter, and it was not long before he had married Sa'di to the daughter with a dowry of one hundred dinars. What a disaster she turned out to be!"

Everyone in the room burst into laughter, even the women. Ahmed chuckled and waited for a moment, then raised his voice to a shout to be heard.

"She was ill-tempered, always quarreling, never obedient. She made life hell with her caustic tongue. Once, at the height of a quarrel, she screamed: ‘Are you not the man my father bought from the Franks for ten dinars?'

"'Yes,' he replied. ‘He bought me for ten dinars and sold me to you for one hundred!'"

Herger marveled at the sound hitting his ears as Ahmed sat down. Even after the hollering and laughter had died down, men started clapping Ahmed on the shoulder and congratulating him on the fine tale.

And immediately other men stood to share their stories, trying to best each other in humor or cleverness or the most dramatic feats of bravery. Herger eventually got up twice more, and Ahmed three times. Mead flowed into their cups as they shared tales and entertainment. Dancing and music helped all expend energy, while some men pulled their women onto their laps for other activities.

Eventually Herger and Ahmed were hoarse, and loose-limbed with mead, and the sun was rising outside. Servant girls took all the single men to quieter rooms off the hall, giving them blankets for beds.

Herger and Ahmed were led into a storeroom for their sleeping space, and dropped to the floor like a pair of old dogs. Herger crossed his arms behind his head as Ahmed rolled onto his side and used an elbow as a pillow. Soon Herger felt a hand drop onto his stomach and rub lightly.

"Good night, Northman."

Herger's eyes dropped shut, but he still smiled and turned his head toward Ahmed. In his mind's eye he saw him lying next to him, but on a bed of green grass. The creek in Francia burbled quietly, inviting them to partake of its cool refreshment.

"Good night, Little Brother."



For the adult version of this chapter, click here. Read the silly extra ficlet in Gods and Monsters, Heart in the Flower.