Fanfic:Alone We Break
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Taren Ferry wasn't the lively center of commerce that Elman's Creek or Baerlon was. Most here worked the docks and possessed none of the mirth particular of those in the Hama Valon that Valadin had come to know in the six winters he'd called the Grey Tower home. Those of Taren Ferry were a dolorous assortment of hardy men, women, and children; those left behind as many flocked towards a Lord Goldeneyes of Two Rivers.
As a ferry was pulled the quay by barrel chested men whose sleeveless shirts revealed knots of muscle Val looked on quietly.
The eyes had never left him since riding into town on a midnight dark stallion at the height of day, Asha'man coat streaming behind with pins glimmering in the weak sunlight. When stopped an inn to stable his horse, the innkeeper had insisted on not taking any gold on account of having an Asha'man visit town was reward enough. Though the conviviality may have been a thing of good intention Val found he'd grown tired of the posturing regular folk seemed to think was his due now.
After pressing far more gold than was necessary into the portly man's hand Valadin took to the docks where he now watch crates of various sizes unloaded. The stink of the riverbank was pervasive and it was a wonder the toiling men didn't require something to mask the scent. People who had come off the barge along with the crates came onto land with the hurried bluster of tourists with sights to see.
Moving from the path Val found the person he sought with ease. The description given by the quartermaster had been remarkably detailed. "Melovra? Captain Melovra?"
The woman who turned to him had sun-darkened skin and the lithe, fit frame of someone used to physical exertion in any capacity. Beneath a scarf tied atop her head was rich, dark hair that tumbled past her shoulders. In short she was dazzling…and she knew it. The bareness of firm, toned thighs beneath the tight-fitting dress that didn't cover much gave voice to the sort of person this Melovra might be.
Eyeing the forearm length daggers holstered at the woman's waist appraisingly Val approached, "A drink if you would," he asked, voice hoarse from three days of continuous riding. Traveling would've meant causing more ruckus than he had already, but the fantasy that he had done so was still sweet.
"Dear me, I must be improving my lot in life," came the blithe response, "a strapping young man who's also an Asha'man calling after me. Hopefully I'll make up in charm what I lack in appearance at the moment."
With that Captain Melovra led them to nearest taproom and found them a table where interruptions would be limited. She sat close, her scent heavy with spice and adventure. The dankness of the establlishment brought out the lightness of her hazel eyes. The innuendo in her every action roused a base hunger that Val pointedly ignored.
"Other than being curious about what a woman of the sea would be like, what can I help you with my lord." Even the way she spoke over the rim of her mug, eyes batting invitingly brought back that Cairhien night with Nykkolaia.
"A flower."
"A….flower?"
"Yes. A special one called Winter's Love"
Melovra's laugh was mirthless and lacking in the supplicating tones used earlier; the first true sound she'd made since their meeting. "Forgive me, but I can't help you…."
"You can.," Valadin cut in. Now he drew close, eyes honing in predatorily, "Jorgan told me to bid you greetings…also said you didn't like doing hard jobs."
A time passed when only the sounds outside filled the air between them. The simpering temptress was gone. Now sitting at his side was a seasoned leader of unruly men; strength and cunning were the tools that allowed a smuggler to avoid capture…or betrayal. "Why?"
"A gift."
Melovra cut a foul glare in the event the entire meeting had been a jest. Maybe it was foolish, but his reason was as certain as anything in this world. "Mistress? Wife?"
"No….you ask of someone's mistress before their wife?"
"Most men tend to spoil the woman greasing their loins before the one that keeps them fed. I've seen it enough to know the truth of it," the captain said with shrug. The break in conversation seemed a sign that an answer to her question was expected.
"A woman I love," Val replied eventually . Saying it aloud sent a thrill rushing through him every time. Soon they would be joined by more than what they shared in the sheets.
Without warning and with feline quickness, Melovra sat astride him. Her scarred hands were soft as they lovingly cradled his face. Looking into her eyes it was easy to believe the promises held in them and the ample boson flaunted by the low neckline of the dress made it hard to resist the temptation. Rolling her hips once as a way of demonstrating her skill she leaned close, the heat and smell her breath enough to fog even the most pious soul, "If I make you love me," she whispered, "We'll forget about this foolishness?"
Reaching slowly, Val took a handful of the lush hair. Light, this was a perfect woman. The soft moan that came from her begged him to take her to the inn and…he wanted to….
With a sharp yank he bared Melovra's neck while another hand wrapped about her elegant and exposed throat. "I will love no one except her," Val growled ignoring the tip of the dagger that angled threateningly towards his nether parts. "The games end now. I will need that rose in three months time. You will attain it."
Now fear put a different sort of beauty in the captain's face. The sinuous form of her body did not go unnoticed, but Valadin lifted her smoothly from him. A cruel smirk at the dagger kept between them pulled at his lips. Sipping the last of his drink he let his gaze rest on Melovra to let it be known that their deal was expected to be honored.
"How much?"
"50 gold pieces."
"Don't try an' cheat me, madman."
"Just get the flower…"
Outside Valadin took the stink of the river into his nose. Much had changed these past few years…he had changed. Sometimes the thought of who he might become was a source of anxiety, but come what may he would pay any price for Nykkolaia Zeran. Staring out over the water, the truth of his infatuation begged the question of just how far would he go for her. What would he forsake?
The response wasn't long in coming: Everything
