âI must to bed, Trevir.â Harlen said. âYou should, as well. Sleep in the guest room for tonight.â
Trevir nodded, and collected his bow and knife, and the thin blanket, and followed Harlen up the stairs. Harlen closed the door, and bolted it, again, a new feature in his home. After he stripped, Harlen slid into the bed beside the still sleeping form of Hyandai, quietly breathing and still lovely, even in her repose. As he reached out to touch her, she opened one eye partially.
âLover.â She said, simply and curled up against his side, with her head on his shoulder, a tiny smile forming on her soft lips.
---
As was common in these fall months, the next day dawned dark and dreary. Low clouds dragged their bellies, it seemed, along the tops of the trees. These split open and dumped rain upon Morrovale.
Another long and painfully idle day, Harlen thought, watching the rain fall. Hyandai had left the bed early and was, as Harlen watched her out the window, praying at the elven altar, wearing an oilskin cloak. She had been there for the largest part of an hour, so far as Harlen knew, perhaps longer.
---
Hyandai knelt before the altar, her mind instinctively expanding to feel the weather and space around her. A subtle and very palpable pleasure overcame her as the spirits touched her mind. The spirits did not directly speak to the person praying to them, and this was such a thing. They were reviewing her days with Harlen, alongside her.
They were trying to show her something, but what? That Harlen loved her? She knew that, already. That she loved Harlen? She knew that with even more certitude than the reverse. She would die for him, if it came to that, and she knew it. Her spirit-expanded mind could feel him watching her from the bedroom window. With most people, that would be an unwelcome intrusion, but Harlen was her betrothed. If anything, he should be here beside her. But he was a Oneian, and they had their own prayers and visions.
The thought struck her. What spirits would she find at the Temple of the One, in Morrovale? Perhaps she should try to pray at the altar there.
Some of the images in her mind were repeating now. She could see no connection in them, though, and did not know what to make of them, or their connections to each other, or her current circumstance: Harlen glowering at the Ehladrel, Harlen fighting with the orcs in the battlefront in the hills. Harlen taking a deadly blow to his leg to give Hyandai a clear shot at Letharon. Harlen singing to her and rocking her to ease her pain from the orcs ravishing her.
Hyandai shook her head and rose. The spirits withdrew, and she thanked them curtly, and with respect, but in frustration. She walked back toward the house across the thick, lush grass of the rear courtyard. The rain had soaked her, for the most part, even through the oilskin, or around it, rather. She shed the cloak as she came into the bathing room and walked through to the common room.
Harlen was already in the kitchen when she came into that area, cooking eggs and bacon.
âHungry?â He asked as she came through the open archway separating the kitchen from the common room. Harlen held out the pan, showing her the over-easy eggs and the sizzling bacon strips.
Hyandaiâs stomach reported in her stead, a rather impressive belly rumble that caused her to blush slightly. âIâll take that as a yes.â He said, pointing at the little table.
She found bread and jellies arrayed upon the table already and began to spread some of the redberry jelly upon the bread.
By the time she had finished a small hunk of bread with berries, Harlen had slid a plate with two of the eggs and a half dozen of the little thinly sliced strips of bacon. Elves rarely ate meat, in quantity, anyway, and almost never pork, except after a rather successful boar hunt. She liked the crispy strips of bacon, though, and enjoyed crunching them between big, hearty bites of the eggs.
Harlen watched her eat with joy. All of Hyandaiâs grace and elegance seemed forgotten when she was taking in food. She looked more like a ten-year-old bolting their food prior to going out for playtime, rather than a knowledgeable and powerful being that was capable of destroying a manâs mind or healing wounds with her mere breath.
As the last bite of eggs disappeared with the aid of the two-tined fork that he had given her, Harlen spoke. âWould you like . . ..â He started, but an out thrust plate and an almost pitiable expression upon her face answered him. Chuckling he loaded it up again, and watched her begin demolishing a second helping of eggs and bacon, washing it down with water.
He finally made his own breakfast and sat opposite Hyandai. âThe weather doesnât recommend travel.â Harlen said.
Hyandai nodded between bites, gesticulating with her fork. âNo.â She said. âWe should wait for clear weather.â Then promptly stuffed another forkload of eggs into her mouth. âI mean, I am eager to be going, yes, but not so eager that I wish to travel in a morass to get there.â She said, after swallowing that mouthful.
He picked at his food carefully, playing with it more than eating it. Hyandai was nearly done with her second helping.
âI apologize, Harlen, but I am famished.â She said, noting his attention toward her rather wolfish table manners.
Harlen chuckled. âDonât worry about it, we have plenty of food, and youâve been sorely tried these last days.â He said. âI wonât fault you for being hungry.â
She smiled brilliantly. âI am gladdened you do not find my appetite disturbing.â Her expression darkened slightly. âMy first potential suitor, a lad named Irenolan, found my eating so disturbing that he could not bear to watch me when I was truly hungry.â
Harlen smiled again. âIt seems to me you eat like you intend to eat.â He said. âLike you donât want to mess about mucking with the stuff.â
She nodded. âI suppose it came from my eating and working at the same time.â She said. âAnother of my bad habits.â
Oddly enough, he was pleased to know that she had faults, no matter how small they might be.
A grin attempted to cross his face as she reached for the fruit bowl on the corner of the table and began using her nails to flay the skin off an orange. Harlen managed to stifle it, though. No point in embarrassing her about it. It certainly did not seem to affect her figure; he noted with an appraising eye, if anything, she had lost weight since he had met her three weeks prior.
As she turned the orange into a dozen little slices, ready for her consumption, Harlen picked up the plates and silverware and washed them, along with the cooking pan. He suddenly felt hands creeping around his waist and up over his chest.
âFor some reason, watching you do that really heats my blood.â Hyandai said into his ear, with a puff of warm breath.
He smiled as he turned about, and was startled to see her nude before him. He could have sworn he had only turned his back for a moment or two. She wrapped her arms around him again, pulling them tightly together. His manhood was already swelling with anticipation, and Hyandai smiled up at him as she felt it.
âBy the Spiritsâ grace, you humans are ready at a momentâs notice.â She said, smiling appreciatively. âI could not have chosen a better man to betroth myself to.â
Harlen put his arms around her, as well, and leaned down, giving her a long, deep kiss. Her breathing was just as strained and short as his, and he could feel her small hands moving over his rump as she pulled his bulging organ into her pelvis.
Harlen opened his eyes and looked over her head to the table. With a small effort, he lifted her from the floor with his enwrapping arms and moved her back, sitting her upon the table. She giggled at this, leaning back and reaching for a plum out of the fruit bowl.
âDo you remember our first day under the plum tree?â Hyandai asked, looking up with just her eyes and giving him her best naughty expression.
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