I've been needing to write something new for a while now, and I love writing fantasy. So here's my first shot at an original story since 'Conquering the River Lord.' The series will be called "Warriors of Arborea," provided I get past this first chapter.
Incidentally, Sinradhe's name is pronounced "shin-wraith."
~*~
Warriors of Arborea, Part 1: The Paladin And The Priest
The chapterhouse of Deiarch was rarely ever quiet. Home to the Paladins of Straavos, Dragon-God of courage and valor, there were almost always the sounds of combat training during the day, or merrymaking at night; unlike other, stricter deities, Straavos encouraged his followers to never flinch from battle when the occasion called for it, but enjoy life as they could during peacetime, and do their best to ensure that others could do the same.
Tonight, though, the walls of Deiarch echoed with the lone footfalls of but a single knight sworn to His service. The majority of his brothers had been called upon by the Church to assist with a campaign somewhere in the east, leaving only a handful of them at the fort to train the recruits and novices and keep their home safe.
With so few brothers left, discipline had relaxed slightly. While the Paladins of the Dragon-God were famous throughout the kingdom for their shining, ornate armor, and most of the brothers were obliged by tradition to wear it when they did certain tasks like patrol the chapterhouse on nightly rounds, it was by no means an enforced doctrine, and the option did exist to wear civilian clothes instead.
Sir Sinradhe Kal'Drakonas had decided to eschew his armor this evening, but neither did he wear his simple linen clothes either. Aside from his ever-present sword-belt, and a pair of leather boots to protect his feet from the cold stone floor of the hallways, Sir Sinradhe was completely naked, enjoying the feel of the night air on his skin as he walked the halls.
The moonlight gleamed off his sweating, muscular body (it was unseasonably hot tonight, as it had been for the last week), and a breeze wafted in through the windows, ruffling his shoulder-length, jet-black hair even as it cooled his body down from the seemingly never-ending heat wave. The breeze seemed to blow especially pleasantly on Sir Sinradhe's nether-regions, stirring the wiry black hair as it teased the sword between his legs into full arousal. He would have to take care of that when his vigil was ended.
It was customary to begin and end the patrols with a prayer to Straavos at the main altar, and this at least was a custom Sinradhe always followed to the letter. However, at the end of his patrol, when he reached the statue of the proud, noble dragon coiled around a greatsword, he heard a man's voice, speaking softly in quiet prayer, and ducked back into the hallway quickly, looking furtively around the corner to discern the identity of the devout brother.
He was no knight, that much was easy to see at first glance. The other man wore the black, purple, and gold robes of a priest of Straavos, the colors arranged in the pattern denominating him as a fully-ordained monk, but not a bishop or patriarch. Sinradhe relaxed a bit...he would be able to approach this fellow as an equal, rather than humble himself to a superior or assume an air of authority before a subordinate. He loved his life at Deiarch, but hated the division of classes between the knighthood and the Church, and the endless formalities that those divisions entailed.
The insecurity of class gone, Sinradhe looked the priest up and down more fully. Barely into his twenties, the man seemed...a good decade younger than Sinradhe, but already a fine figure of a man. He had a lean build, from what the paladin could see beneath the robe, his fair skin contrasting sharply with the shock of red hair atop his head. When he looked at the young priest's eyes, Sinradhe was astonished at how green they were, how they shone with devotion in the sight of his God.
Seemingly unconscious of his flagrant nudity, Sinradhe strolled casually in, his boots barely audible on the stone floor compared with the constant clinking and jangling of the Paladins' normal full plate armor. Kneeling beside the monk, before the statue of his God, the knight took the cross-handles of Straavos's greatsword's hilt in either hand, leaned forward, and kissed the weapon's fist-sized pommel...the ultimate gesture of fealty to the Dragon-God. Turning as he finished his supplication, he saw the priest's handsome, youthful face blush several shades of crimson.
"Something troubles you, brother?" he asked with a slightly wry smile. Here in the main chapel, the moonlight shone through stained-glass windows and broke into a thousand fragments of pastel, rainbow-colored light. Materializing out of nowhere in this light as he had, Sinradhe must have seemed to be an angel of Straavos come to life...until, he thought with a chuckle, the poor initiate had gotten a glimpse of the tool between his legs.
The poor man seemed to want to bolt out of the hall like a frightened rabbit...except for the obvious swelling in the front of his robes. Probably the reason he hasn't gotten up off his knees and fled, Sinradhe thought. So, I am having an effect on you, brother Priest. Good...I may not have to spend the night alone after all.
The young man was trying valiantly to stammer out a reply. "N-nothing, Sir Knight. I had j-just finished prayer for the evening...I was on my way back t-to bed..."
Sir Sinradhe rose from his kneeling position and stood before the priest in all his glory, his strong grey eyes meeting the priest's own and locking him in place with his gaze. "I think you should stay and tell me your name," he said, his voice quiet but uncompromising, commanding in his very presence.
The priest shook like a leaf as he faced the paladin. “B-Brother Ladon, Sir Knight…”
“Brother Ladon.” Sinradhe nodded. “And how long have you been in service to our Dragon-God?”
“F-four years,” the younger man managed to get out. “I’ve only just been promoted from my novitiate.”
“I see. Given your newness to the cloth, I suppose I sympathize...but I must ask you, Brother Ladon, what you think our God, ever courageous and true, would think of one of his clergy quailing in fear at something so simple as the sight of a naked man?”
Ladon swallowed hard. “Forgive me, Sir Knight...it’s just...I don’t...”
“You must learn to confront the unexpected wherever it finds you, Ladon. To be adaptable, deal with situations as they occur, that is as much a part of courage as being fearless in combat.”
He walked ever closer to the kneeling priest, his movements slow and deliberate. By the time he stopped, he was sure Ladon could smell his musk on the night air...the tip of his shaft was swollen red with his arousal and barely a foot away from Ladon's wide green eyes. Sinradhe saw the younger man's hands smooth the front of his robes nervously, lingering slightly longer than was strictly necessary over a part of him most priests pretended to be unaware of, or else deny the urges of.
Because they're afraid. But your fear is the enemy here, not me, my handsome young friend. If you're going to make a decision, you need to do it, because I'm not going anywhere.
He leaned in close and whispered in Ladon's ear. "I can see you, you know. You're as aroused as I am, and I know exactly what you want. All you have to do is reach out...and take it."
Seemingly independent of his own will, Ladon's hand reached for Sinradhe's proud, jutting member, as his other went to unclasp his robes and led them pool around his pale. youthful flesh. The decision had been made, and Sinradhe felt exultation and pride well up in him.
TO BE CONTINUED...
