Time Spent Healing

The sun beat down overhead, its radiant warmth a lashing whip upon their bare shoulders. Yet the three barge lads pressed on. The twins had grown considerably, each able to carry the crates that had previously taken coordination from the three of them. Dortas still struggled with the more physical labors, but was as smart as a whip. Wilkes did his best to hide his smile as they staggered past.

“If I make ten crates aboard before either of ye then I get to take lunch first!” Svend challenged his fellow apprentices, while clinging to his sixth crate like moss to a tree. He’d been the first to hit his growth spurt, and was rapidly outgrowing his childhood toga. An issue that’d be dealt with by his parents, or by his coming of age in a few years. He’d still be decent without a new one, just showing everything below the knee to the greater world.

“Like hell I’ll let you eat first! You ate all the cheese last time!” Leif snapped back. He was the later bloom out of the twins, still barely scraping over five feet in height by the skin of his teeth. He was definitely the scrappier of the two, but maybe it was a small dog complex? Wilkes just watched the two bicker while Dortas made his slow approach.

The gnome was definitely the smartest of the three. The quiet kind of intelligent, watching and waiting for the right moment. Dortas had placed a series of dowel rods beneath his crate and was slowly but surely rolling it and replacing his sticks. His ninth crate would reach the ship’s boarding ramp before either twin noticed. The slope was still his biggest problem, as the crates couldn’t be flipped along their faces. He’d tried that with the first crate and gotten a verbal thrashing from The Captain, Barry, and surprisingly Rangpar.

When the smallest barge lad tried to wrap his arms around it, he couldn’t find a purchase. It was simply too long for his smaller wingspan. It was also too heavy for him to simply heave up and tilt the weight towards his chest. Wilkes waltzed over slowly, and dropped a length of hempen rope by Dortas. Silently he nodded from the rope to the crate, pointing with his lips rather than his hands. If one of them was going to innovate, he’d rather it be done subtly. Trial and error before shared results, like Erik preferred.

A flurry of practiced motions, and Dortas had bound the crate against his back. Hunched over, the gnome took careful steps. Each shifting of the weight threatened to topple him, but Dortas’s resolve remained as an equal opponent. The gnome was quickly becoming his favored apprentice, whether he’d admit it or not. He did not hide his smile as Dortas finished ascending the ramp and proudly stacked his ninth crate with the rest below the deck. The diminutive barge lad pumped his fist and undid the harness. After he leaned against the crates and slowly sank to sit with his back leaned against them. The smile ran from Wilkes’s face as his eyebrow began to twitch with irritation.

“Ye still gotta stack ten lad, don’t pat yer own back just because ye got to nine first. Specially once the twins wisen up.” Wilkes kicked the gnome’s feet, shaking the lad’s whole body.

“Aye, thank ye mister Wilkes. Just wanted a spot to rest the spindles.” Dortas responded quietly, he brushed off his hands and gently slapped his face. It was apparently to drive sleep away as the gnome yawned. If the captain saw him sat and yawning they’d both be meeting the cat o nine sooner than Wilkes had any plan to. Wilkes gave a light, but forceful smack to the side of Dortas’s head when he remained seated.

“That means get moving!” Wilkes barked while chasing the gnome up the stairs. As the wide open sky came back into view and his eyes struggled to adjust, Wilkes felt a pair of eyes staring at him. No, they were tracking him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw a blur of green skin hide behind a mast. Too lithe and agile to be Rangpar. He stroked his chin while humming loudly.

“Hmmm, must’ve been the wind.” He told the open space Beatrice was trying to hide within. An exaggerated shrug later he turned his back to where he knew she hid. The creak of the boards gave the normally stealthy half orc away. He ducked low and pivoted, his shoulder aligned with her hip. He swung up with the practiced motion of lifting a hauling net, and Beatrice was promptly hoisted on his shoulder. He gave a swat to her rump and began to laugh.

“Oh c’mon Bea, you think I don’t know when you’re sneaking up on me? You’ve been at it for two months now.” He teased her relentlessly as she squirmed and wiggled on his shoulder.

“Well it worked better when you were flinging blood like it was a genius tactic!” Beatrice teased him back, finally hooking her ankle around his waist. She pressed hard and managed to swing herself free. She landed gracefully on the deck and immediately began to circle him.

He played along and practiced his footwork. A planted foot and one to pivot on, keeping her in front of him as much as possible. She feinted a lunge, he took a single back step in response. The actual attack that followed up left him entirely stunned. She performed the first half of a cartwheel, launching her legs into the air, and promptly kicked him in the face from that weird orientation. The blow didn’t land hard, barely made the sailor budge, but it bewildered him.

“Welp, you landed a hit. Guess we’re off to hunt for the rest of the afternoon?” Wilkes rubbed his slightly tender jaw as he spoke. He could still feel where she had chipped one of his molars months ago. At the time he’d thought he’d lost the whole tooth.

“Guess so, I’ll tell dad.” Beatrice beamed at him while practically skipping up to the captain’s quarters. The arrangement was one they had come up with at dinner a few weeks ago. With the old crew being more than enough to teach the current apprentices, The Captain was fine with pawning Wilkes off to his daughter. Secretly he believed Jonah was just trying to ensure a sailor lineage, but he kept that to himself.

“You runnin’ off to get cooties from the cap’n’s daughter?” Leif asked. He had set his crate down to fold his arms and glare at Wilkes. The spitfire half elf really did have to get knocked down a peg. Straightening up, Wilkes used the ten inches of height difference to his advantage. Staring down at the boy, he took heavy steps forward. Each board creaked beneath his feet, the old bloodstains scuffing beneath his boots. When he stood chest to chest with the barge lad he noticed a bit of trembling. Not enough to make him stop intimidating the boy, but enough to realize Leif knew his mistake.

“Ye wanna keep that smart ass comment between us, or go repeat it in front of ‘em both. Hell, I might even just tell ‘em regardless.” Wilkes spoke calmly. A cold anger seeped into his words, he grabbed Leif by the collar of his toga when the lad tried to look away. “C’mon Leif, don’t go shaking from yer branch when the wind picks up.”

Wide eyed, the bargelad stammered an apology. Wilkes loosened his grip, casually shoved him backward. A few stumbling paces, a single curse, and a box returned to motion later Leif had learned his lesson. If you wouldn’t say it to the captain, don’t go saying it to the sailors. The green skinned beauty came back to his side. She put both her hands on his shoulder while leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“I heard what the little shit said. I’ll reward you for that later.” Beatrice’s voice was husky. He suddenly had reason to believe they would not be hunting in the woods when they left the boat. That feeling was ultimately proved right. She took him by the hand and dragged him off the ship. The huntress continued to lead him like that all the way to his own home.

Daisy lazed about on her back, belly to the sky right in front of the door. The faithful hound snored loudly. Tongue lolled out she looked like the epitome of canid respite. A quick exchange of glances and the pair gingerly swung the door to his shack open. When it closed with another soft quick, lips met. It wasn’t particularly heated, just warming themselves up. The pecks slowly stretched out, his hands rested on her waist. Fingers danced along his shoulders and between his shoulder blades, circling where his muscles pressed against the shirt. Breaking the kiss, Wilkes took the lead back from Beatrice. He cocked his head towards his bedroom door, and was met with an excited giggle.

His bedroom looked better than it ever had before. The floor boards were swept. The cot had been replaced with a proper bedframe and a mattress of stuffed straw. Thin sheets kept him covered from any bugs but didn’t trap the tropical heat. All in all it was the bedroom of a practical man rather than a youthful apprentice. He promptly flung the huntress onto his bed once they were past the threshold. She landed softly on the mattress, but only had time to barely position herself before he pounced on her. He groped at her bound chest, pushing her breasts out from beneath her coverings. Small gasps and pleased grunts filled the quiet room as he began to tease her nipples. Slow circling motions, light pinches, and of course heavy massaging of the breast as a whole. He could tell she was getting worked up. Her hips rolled against his thigh, her crotch grinding against him slowly.

“Not quite the reward I meant, but I’m all yours, Wilkes.” Beatrice broke the kiss to speak, she stared up at him with a lustful glint. Her hands had wandered from his back to his waist, slowly working his trousers down. He planted a few more deep kisses on her lips before trailing down to her bust. He had only grown fonder of her chest the more he had seen it. He did his best to notice something new about them each time, but mostly just found himself diving face first into the valley between them. There wasn’t a rational explanation for it, just that he enjoyed the sensation of a tit on each side of his face. She squeezed them together once he did sink into his favorite spot on thellin, shaking gently to let the supple green flesh squish all around him. Then a loud knocking came and ruined the moment.

“Wilkes! Ye home bud?!” Erik called from the front door. Daisy barked for a moment, and the pair heard Erik shushing the dog. Wilkes’s boner deflated visibly, and Beatrice meticulously rebinding her chest beneath the wraps. The sailor grumbled at the loss of his favorite view, before walking to his door. He swung it open and forced a smile to greet his oldest friend.

“I’m home yeh, resting up after Beatrice kicked me in the face.” Bluffed honesty was the best approach he could come up with on the spot.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“In her own way.”

“I… am not surprised by that answer.” The elf laughed drily at their brief exchange. Shifting on his feet, scratching at spot where his ears met his scalp, he was nervous about something. Loathe as he was at being dragged from his reward, Wilkes was needed elsewhere.

“So, ye dropping by for idle chatter or do we need to have a serious talk?” The question hung for a few moments. The two sailors held the gaze unbreaking. Erik opened his mouth to speak, but shut it before any thing of value could fall out. Scarred arms folded over the human sailor’s chest. He leaned against his doorway, not glaring but simply waiting. “Yer lucky to be one of two people I can wait all day for, ye know?”

“I… I wanted to pick your brain on something old friend. I don’t have any family on thellin. Not even sure I have family at large either. The captain, you. Rangpar, you’re the closest thing to a dad and brothers I’ve been lucky enough to be given. Amy and I have been a whirlwind, a wonderfully terrifying one at that. We’ve got courting rings, but well…” The elf took a nervous breath. Wilkes already knew the question that came next. “Wilkes of Thellin, my oldest friend and brother in arms, would you be the man of will in my wedding?”

Wilkes blinked in surprise. His shoulder slipped off the door frame and he tumbled to the side. Staggering steps found the ground properly below him again as he shook off the disbelief. Two months and change of courting and he was asking for a man of will. Erik had either become absolutely certain of his relationship or just as reckless as Wilkes himself.

“You want me as the man of will? Not the oath scribe? Wait, do you want Rangpar as the oath scribe?” Wilkes was a whirlwind himself at this point. Wed at the age of 19 was common enough sure, but that was more for the nobles who could afford to have children younger.

“Is that you saying you won’t do it? I can ask the big guy to be the man of will, but honestly I’d rather it be you. I’ve fought on the same side as Rangpar sure, but we’ve driven daggers within five feet of each other. I trust you in a way Rangpar hasn’t gone and earned yet.” The elf chewed his lip as Wilkes gathered his thoughts. Arms flung around his shoulders in a tight hug. Wilkes held him tight, tighter than he’d held most in recent memory.

“Of course! It’d be a joy and an honor to be your man of will! I’ll run to the smith to see if I can have a ceremonial weapon made, we’re sailors so I’m thinking of a trident! Unless you’d rather I carry a sword or a maul?” Wilkes beamed at him as he launched into his chunk of the wedding preparation. The elf smiled back, teeth and all. The two walked right out through the front door. Beatrice pouted on the bed, riled up and forgotten temporarily.

The pair of sailors marched into town before splitting off for their own affairs. Erik went to track down the captain and rangpar in the early evening. It was most likely he’d find the former at the tavern and the latter on the dock telling stories to children wandering by. Wilkes had his own focus for the time being though. He pushed open the door to the smith’s shop.

A bell jingled softly as the door shut behind him. The room was warm, the roaring heat of the crucible projecting even as far as he stood from it on the opposite side of the room. The rhythmic ring of hammer on steel echoed through the shop as the crackle of flames filled the air. It smelt of oil and steel in there, not at a smell he was endeared by. He’d always prefer the fresh air and salt to whatever mortal made smells he was exposed to.

“Be with you in a moment!” The smith called, her voice was gruff from years around the forge. Smoke and a stubborn attitude had a remarkable effect when compounded. A few more ringings of steel that made his teeth rattle and she walked to face him. Her heavy leather apron was covered in a dusting of soot, she took off her matching gloves to shake his hand. The smith wasn’t old per say, but she was at least ten years Wilkes’s senior. Faint wrinkles were coming in and the heat had aged her some. Redhair that refused to remain straight frizzed in a wild mane held together by a tie at her neck and the cloth slip she wore atop her head.

“Ah, Wilkes, good to see you. How’ve you been?” She asked him sweetly

“I’ve been well enough. Ol Cap’n’s been working me like a dog to shape up the apprentices, but I’ve found some rest in my new bed.” He told her with a smile, skipping over that the most of the resting was done with company of his favorite huntress.

“Mmh well then, I suppose you’re coming for the usual? Thirty two-inch square nails, a fleet of barrel bracings, and a new compass needle?” She recounted the order he’d been coming in for every three months since he’d started his apprenticeship.

“No actually I need to commission a weapon for a man of will.” he said excitedly, the woman’s face dropped.

“Wilkes! You only been courting Beatrice for a month and a half as far as I recall! How are you springing for marriage so fast! What does Jonah think?!”

“Woah now, the weapon ain’t for my man of will! I am the Man of Will, for Erik. He’s marrying Amy.” Wilkes explained as he attempted a calming motion with his hands, the smith narrowed her eyes at him.

“Amy the archivist? Story keeper and a sailor hmm?” She waved him over to a work bench and unfurled a scroll of paper. She began to scratch a design down with a lump of charcoal. “What kinda weapon do you want? I can finish a sword in three moons time or a pole arm in four.”

Wilkes had to think for a moment. The sword would be finished sooner, but as far as he knew Amy hadn't even chosen her attendants yet. Hell, he wasn't even certain Erik had asked her. Courtship was meant to end in marriage eventually, but eventually and soon were two very different things. Even if she accepted tomorrow, the spawning season would keep every sailor at sea for weeks. A delay of that length, with the sword’s commission time on top of the need for the Hearth Stone to be carved by the Woman of Heart. It’d be months before they’d have all the symbols ready, let alone the actual ceremony.

“A polearm by my word, perhaps a sword by Erik or Amy’s. I was more coming for a price than a promise if ye catch my drift.” Wilkes scratched his chin as he mulled his next words carefully. “But with spawning season coming up I’ll be sure to pay you handsomely for a job well done.”

The smith snorted at that. She set her charcoal down and smiled at him. She began to roll her shoulders and twist at the waist to loosen her back. “In that case, I’ll be returning to my forge. I’ll have whichever piece you end up being told to have prepared by the end of spawning.”

“Thank you ma’am. Always a pleasure.” Wilkes waved his goodbye as he strode out. She waved back as the door swung shut. He breathed a sigh of relief. He decidedly needed to check in on Amy herself. He’d need to find any old books they had on fighting with a polearm if he were to be mildly competent come the wedding. His hurried walk was uneventful, as the door to the library creaked open he found the answer to his earlier question