In Which Falidor Faces the Extent of His Mistake

December 16, 1156

"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes!" Falidor exclaimed as his sisters stepped inside; after having spent the past six days being bossed around and verbally chastised from every direction, he'd never appreciated his own, sweet family more. A pity he didn't live with them anymore--he'd never thought that work would become a welcome escape from home.

Nora's nose wrinkled slightly, which, considering her usual accommodating nature, really said something. "Falidor, what's that smell?"

"My uh, brother-in-law just came back with supper," he explained, still struggling with the term 'brother-in-law'. He'd taken to privately referring to Senwick as his 'bother-in-law', and had developed a slight fear of letting the nickname slip into his speech.

"Is that your baby, Falidor?" piped up redheaded Alsina.

In Falidor's arms, Neleine sniffed. "I'm not a baby. I'm three."

"Well, I'm seven," Alsina boasted. "So there."

Neleine stuck out her tongue; Alsina retaliated with a much ruder gesture, one that Falidor wouldn't have guessed she'd known.

Nora shook her head, smiling to herself. "Speaking of babies--"

"Not that I know of," Falidor answered quickly. "Nora, I haven't even been married a week yet."

Married. Another word that never failed to wreak havoc upon his tongue. He knew he should have just spent that day instead of home instead of going to the inn with his grandfather. That night had been the biggest mistake of his life.

"Dammit, woman! Where the hell is my bread?"

Falidor's in-laws were fighting again.

"Get your own damn bread!" Madelheina shrieked; she was a sour, screaming woman who probably hadn't smiled in a good decade or so. "You know where the bakery is!"

"But I told you to go, and you know I have to have my bread when I come in from the field!" hissed Lonel in reply. Lonel was even worse than Madelheina--not only was he constantly angry, but he often wreaked of beer.

"Well, I guess not today, unless you go and get it yourself!"

Lonel sent a scowl in his wife's direction. "You useless wench!" he growled. "If you aren't going to feed me, then the least you can do is pop out another brat! Remind me to force you down tonight!"

"Well, that'll be shitload of help, considering this whole menopause concept!"

"You're only thirty-eight!"

"Some women get it early!"

"Hag!"

"Drunkard!"

"Bitch!"

"Ogre!"

Shaking her head in exasperation, Madelheina turned on her heel and retreated into the bedroom.

"Where are you going, you filthy slut?" demanded Lonel.

"Jerusalem. Where do you think, asshole?"

What in God's name had he married into?

"Hey! Falidork! You're going to the bakery later!" Lonel barked at him as his wife slammed the door shut behind her.

Falidor sighed. "Fine."

"Damn right you will!" his father-in-law insisted. He continued to send one of his squint-eyed glares his way, until suddenly, his green eyes widened at the sight of something they obviously found pleasing--much to Falidor's horror.

"Well," slurred Lonel as he approached a slowly-recoiling Nora, "what's your name?"

"Er... Leonora," she whispered in reply, her eyebrows raised slightly.

Lonel's eyes lit up, like those of a wolf who had just discovered that the farmer had forgotten to close the barn gate. "Leonora. Pretty name... although, I guess that's not surprising, considering you're quite a pretty girl."

Nora's expression remained unchanged. "Uh... thank you?"

"Just telling the truth, sweetheart," Lonel assured her with a wink.

Managing to turn away from him, Nora's eyes met Falidor's, her unblinking stare engraving the message 'What the hell?' on the surface of his mind.

"We'd better be going," she muttered after a few strained seconds. "Come on, Alsina. Bye, Falidor."

"Bye," Falidor bade his sisters, sorry to see them go.

"Goodbye, Leonora," cooed Lonel as the girls left, his eyes perfectly fixated on Nora's ass; Falidor wanted to hit him, but he knew he'd probably end up getting pinned to the wall with a pitchfork if he tried.

"Well?" the older man hollered, not a moment sooner than Alsina had shut the door. "Put Neleine in the crib and get going!"

Neleine pouted. "I don't wanna go in the crib!"

"Either you sleep in the crib, or you sleep in the cabbage patch!" snapped Lonel. "Now, get her in the crib before she starts crying!"

"Right," he relented, making his way behind the curtains and into the two makeshift bedrooms; he would have to remember to ask Lord Severin for fewer days off.

"Ailede, can you take your sister for me?" he inquired of his wife as he stopped in front of their bed. "Your father wants me to go to the bakery."

Ailede sniffed. "It won't kill her if you just drop her on the floor, you know."

"Shut up, whore!" screamed Neleine; was Falidor a horrible person if he thought the three-year-old was just as awful as everyone else in the house?

"You shut up, brat!" Ailede snapped back at her. "Get her out of my sight, Falidor."

He nodded, secretly wishing she had asked him to get out of both of their sight instead.

"You know why I picked you?" his wife demanded suddenly.

Falidor raised an eyebrow. "Picked?"

"I want the hell out of this house," she continued. "You're a steward; I figured you'd have your own household."

So his suspicions were confirmed; she had planned it all. It had just been an attempt to get away from her family--not that he could really blame her for wanting that.

"Ailede, I told you. My mother..."

Angrily, she dug her heel into the foot of the bed. "I don't care about your mother; I'm just sick of having to put up with mine. And with all the rest of them too."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Falidor Meets Man's Greatest Fear

WARNING: Okay, kiddies, this one's not for you. Mature people only, please.

December 10, 1156

"Well, are you coming or not?" demanded the girl from however many feet ahead of him; in his rather drunken state, her voice seemed to echo throughout Falidor's ears, as if there were three of her shouting to him, each seconds after the other.

"Coming," he assured her, yawning slightly. "Just... hold up..."

Falidor's sixteenth birthday had been the day before last. Lord Severin had given him the day off, but unfortunately, it had proved to be a particularly difficult day for Falidor's mother, so he and his sister Leonora had spent it switching off between the tasks of tending to her and keeping an eye on their younger siblings. He'd had to work the next day, but fortunately, Lord Severin took pity on him and gave him another chance to celebrate his birthday.

So naturally, his grandfather had taken him to the inn in Lyran Village, where the two of them had downed several pints of ale; Falidor couldn't remember exactly how many. His grandfather left shortly after, accompanied by some woman who had been rather tipsy herself. In his absence, Falidor had been approached by this girl, who seemed relatively sober and whose features he could barely even distinguish.

She'd invited him back to her house--her parents and siblings were out visiting friends, and would not be back before morning. He had agreed, but he regretted it now; she lived in the king's shire, and it was a long enough walk for a young man who hadn't just spent a good few hours drinking.

Gesturing for him to follow, she opened the door and made her way into the lifeless house. It was bigger than Falidor's, but from what he could see, much emptier in terms of possessions. Perhaps they were poorer than he, or maybe they just disliked clutter; he would probably never know, and really, it didn't matter.

"See? I told you," she declared triumphantly as he followed her inside. "No one's home."

"Mmm," hummed Falidor, not entirely sure what to make of all this. Perhaps she wanted to clean the house, in order to surprise her parents, and needed help. Or maybe she'd found a wounded puppy or kitten, and wanted to tell someone. Yes, it had to be something like that. He'd do whatever he could.

"So, uh... nice place you've got here," he lied; he secretly thought it lacked a certain homeyness required of a dwelling, but it would probably be rude to tell her that.

The girl scowled. "Oh, don't talk!" she snapped. "Talk is just a waste of time. There are more important things."

Falidor raised an eyebrow. Needless to say, he was rather confused; maybe it was just the alcohol. "I suppose... wait, what--why--where'd your dress go?"

"It'll just get in the way," she answered; from what he could make out, there was a strange sort of smile on her face. "You'd better catch up."

"Catch up?" repeated Falidor.

He couldn't tell if she was amused or not--or even why she would be. "Don't be an ass. Take your clothes off."

"Uh... all right..."

He proceeded to strip down, then tossed his clothing to the side and gave her an expectant stare.

"Now what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Now, you kiss me."

Nodding, he took her cheek in his hand and began to pull her toward him as best he could; it was a difficult task, considering how drunk he was. Her skin was a little rough--he was sure Thetis's was much softer.

There was nothing spectacular about her mouth either, he realized as it met his. Her lips were chapped and dry, and her tongue lacked any sort of pleasant flavor that would stimulate his own. At least she seemed to know what she was doing; the motions were pleasurable enough.

"All right, that's enough of that!" she exclaimed suddenly, pulling away from his kiss. "Let's move on to something else now."

Falidor cocked his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

Grinning devilishly, she reached behind him and squeezed his ass; he couldn't help but jump in surprise. "You know what I mean, you stupid boy!"

As she threw herself upon him, he felt the blood in his veins rush toward his nether regions, as if some dam inside of him had burst. It had happened to him before, but never in this sort of situation; normally, he just dealt with this sort of thing with his own hand, but the girl seemed to have him covered, even though both of her hands were accounted for in other places.

"Thrust," she commanded between nibbles on his shoulder.

"Sorry?" he asked, even more off-guard than he had been a minute ago.

"Thrust!" she shrieked once more.

"Oh. Right."

He proceeded to do so. One thrust, two thrusts, three thrusts... he stopped counting after about six.

Suddenly, he could feel a wave of immense pleasure approaching, like the high tide coming in. Falidor smiled as he readied himself... oh, this would be good, he knew it...

"Pull out!"

Falidor's jaw dropped. Why now? "Excuse me?"

The girl glared at him. "Pull--it--out. Now!"

"Uh... if you insist, I guess..."

Choosing not to question her any further, Falidor did as he was told. Things seemed to be returning to normal down there, but he didn't want to look down; he was still too drunk to even be fully sure of which way was down.

"Well, that was..." he began, searching desperately for a word, "...different."

The girl snorted. "For you, maybe."

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"What in God's name is going on in here?" demanded a man's voice--a very angry man's voice, unless Falidor was sorely mistaken, which he kind of hoped he was.

The newcomer slammed the door shut behind him, then stormed toward Falidor, his hateful green eyes the only distinct feature in focus.

"Who are you, boy?" he growled harshly. "Who are you, and what in the hell are you doing with my daughter?"

Falidor backed away, both startled and suddenly fully aware of the fact that he was naked and in a strange house.

"You're her father? Wait a second..." he cast a sidelong glance at the girl, "...you said they wouldn't be home until morning!"

"Well, obviously, there was a change of plans," she retorted, a note of spite in her voice.

"How dare you prey on an innocent girl like that!" her father roared once more, causing Falidor to recoil further. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Falidor swallowed. "But I--I mean--it was her idea!" he insisted truthfully.

"Don't let Ailede take full responsibility for this!"

He realized something.

"You never told me your name was Ailede," he muttered to the girl.

"It wasn't supposed to matter," she hissed in reply.

Ailede's father's thick brows furrowed into a dangerous v shape. "Get dressed, both of you. We're going."

Falidor frowned. "Going? Where?"

"To--the--CHURCH!"

NEXT CHAPTER: