FicWad

Chapter Two


There was something marvelous about hunting with the others: the way they moved through the forests like wraiths, silent except for the shift of leaves beneath their light feet; the sight of them between trees, disappearing in the next instance; the very ritual of what they were doing.

Dow shot his first stag-a velvet, which had earned him much praise from the others in the party-when he was sixteen. He had carried it back over his shoulders, bowed and surprised by this new skill, and had received smiles and slaps on the back and cheers from the village for his first hunt as a man.

Llewellyn had sat beside him when they'd feasted that night, smiling, his long hair tied away from his face and his eyes mirthful. His face was still covered in the dark soots of disguise for the hunt; and he sprawled beside Dow and squeezed his leg in congratulations.

There was a quiet sense of revelry in the night, and Dow slunk away from it, too unnerved by the rapturous gazes of the young ladies, talking behind their hands and giggling insanely when he offered shy smiles. Llewellyn followed him silently away from the square, out into the forest, and, before long, to the clearing where they had met three years spent.

Dow collapsed bonelessly in the center of the clearing, sighing and watching the clouds shift against the dark sky. He looked up at Llewellyn, who watched him with a nostalgic smile, and grinned a little.

Without thought, he slowly stripped of his clothing, ever aware of Llewellyn's gaze, of the sound of the older youth doing the same.

Together, they lay in silence beneath the stars and clouds, their faces and hands still dark as the forest, but their bodies bare and pale in the half-light of the mostly clear night. Llewellyn chuckled nonsensically, and shook his head a bit when Dow looked over at him, meeting Dow's dark eyes after a moment and simply smiling.

He kissed the younger man gently, and then returned his gaze to the sky, lifting his fingers as though he could touch the stars if he tried. Dow watched him for a moment, before turning his gaze away slowly, watching the slow drift of the thin clouds over the bright spots of the stars.

At some time or another, Llewellyn's hand crept into his own, gripping it surely. Dow turned his eyes toward the lighter youth, cocking a dark brow when he looked over and smiled slightly.

Llewellyn sat up of a sudden, and lifted his unoccupied hand idly, smearing away the sooty camouflage on Dow's face. Dow just lay very still, staring up at Llewellyn, tilting at the rasp of his calloused palm along his face.

He leaned down slowly, and stole a kiss. Now, Dow did not hesitate or stiffen; he grabbed at Llewellyn's hair, tilting his head and opening his mouth a little, deepening the supposedly chaste kiss.

To that, Llewellyn did not object, though he broke free, cocking a brow at Dow's sudden fervor. Dow looked away with a flush. But Llewellyn tilted his head back, leaning their brows together, cradling Dow's face between his large palms, staring into his dark eyes helplessly.

They kissed gently again, and, as before, it turned feral-much to the wont of young men found in a situation they so enjoyed, to take upon it like wolves to a kill. Llewellyn's hands slid slowly away from Dow's face, even as Dow's fingers curled into the base of his tight braid, tugging at the little hairs on his nape.

Dow gasped, pulling away, as Llewellyn's fingers ghosted south. He stared at the older boy in surprise, blinking owlishly up at him. Llewellyn's hand faltered, and he flushed, moving as though to retract his touch.

He grabbed his wrist tightly, tugging at him. Llewellyn rolled, until he was atop Dow, pinning him as he had done upon a Bealtaine long spent, straddling the hips of the younger boy, keeping him flush to the earth. Dow just stared up at him sternly, lacing their fingers together idly and tugging that hand high above them, until Llewellyn was sprawled over him, their breaths mingling and their noses bumping with the slightest movement.

Llewellyn chuckled, nervous and nearly flighty, his breath hot against Dow's mouth. And then there were his lips, hot brands, and his nipping teeth pleading and plying with an agile tongue; Dow didn't know quite how to say no to that, and decided that he didn't firmly care how to say no.

Because 'no' was not something one spoke when they had a person they cared for doing just exactly that to their bodies.

Dow idly and fleetingly wondered if Draga and Sion had felt this. And then his hand was deep in Llewellyn's hair, and his breath was leaving him in sharp gasps as the older youth did something far too pleasant with his mouth to Dow's body.

It was getting later, Dow could understand that. His mother would be wondering after him before too long. He groaned softly, squirming beneath Llewellyn's hungry mouth and fiendish fingers, and quietly gasped the other youth's name.

Llewellyn's attentions bounced quickly back up to Dow, smiling down at him as he rocked gently against him, distracting the dark haired youth from his complaints and worries.

He tugged at Llewellyn's hair-wondered when it had begun to unravel-and plaintively whispered, "I need to get back."

"Not much longer," Llewellyn pleaded, his hips still moving pleasantly. Dow groaned softly, his thighs tightening at Llewellyn's hips, holding him as still as he could with his strength against the older boy's.

"My parents . . ."

Llewellyn quietly relented. They dressed in an awkward air, and walked slowly back into the village, bumping against each other, their hands brushing gently. The square was empty, and Dow realized that more time had passed than he'd thought.

For a good, long moment, they stood outside his parents house, Dow leaning against the door, smiling shyly up at Llewellyn. The elder grinned down at him, rubbing at the smudged soot still on his face, leaning over and kissing him one last time.

Dow stumbled back into the house, all grins and soft laughter, watching through the window as Llewellyn walked away, reaching out and waving very softly.

"Who's that, then?"

He jumped, and turned to see Drostan standing there, slung against the wall and cocking a brow. Gently, he flushed, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, stumbling over a way to explain what he could not.

Drostan leaned over to the window, and saw just the fleeting back of the other young man. His second brow met it's twin, and Dow turned away, striding off, and then turning back, his fists clenching.

"It's none of your business who that was," he vowed, far firmer than he really felt in his gut and heart. Drostan smirked a little, kicking at the air idly as he tucked his hands behind his head.

"That looked to me to be the son of Fionn. His eldest and only, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's none of your business, Drostan!" He was almost certain he'd wake his parents with his anger. But Drostan just kept laughing, rocking back on his heels and grinning down at his little brother.

"And what might little Dow be doing with the son of Fionn? Staying out late and coming back all a-flush and mad like a maiden?"

Dow shoved Drostan powerfully, sneering and growling under his breath. Drostan stumbled, hit his shoulder to the sill, and stared incredulously at his little brother for a moment.

And then he landed a powerful, heavy fist to Dow's nose, sending the younger son stumbling and falling backwards to the floor, sobbing and grabbing at his face, shrieking when his hands came away warm and wet and dark with blood.

Edain was the first up, followed by Draga, who had a sword ready. Their mother sprung at her younger son, shushing his hysterics as their father turned a stunned and appalled look to the elder son.

"It's his own fault," Drostan growled, gesturing vaguely toward the shaking and stunned brother. Draga cocked a brow, bouncing his sword on his shoulder.

"And explain to me: how is that?""Those are some mighty fine eyes you're sporting there, elfling."

Dow looked up, and offered a genial smile to the man standing over him. He was a member of the hunting party, called Irving; a tall and handsome man with Woad blood in him and a firm brow, deep set eyes, a kingly smile. With a sigh, he settled beside Dow, still smiling grandly.

"And how did you come by those weasel eyes, little elf?"

"Got in a fight with Drostan." Irving whistled softly, and reached a lean-fingered hand out to gently touch Dow's nose; he flinched away, hissing in pain.

"I thought as such. Did your mother do much for it?"

"She set it, told me to give it all a rest." Irving nodded, and stood, stretching, before offering a hand to Dow, pulling him to his feet.

"C'mon. Uryen should have something good to make that heal right up."

Dow followed Irving dutifully, wondering over the man before him. Irving was something indeed. He'd come to the village in Gwyn's youth, abandoned by his Woad father to his southern mother, who had died; he'd been found in the forest, wandering about as though looking for something.

He'd taken up with a smaller family of mostly women, who had a single son, who had called himself Uryen upon his full initiation. Irving and Uryen had been handfasted when Dow had been very small, an odd sight in the village, and seen through many different views-some said that they would bring about the wrath of the Old Ones; others, like Draga and Edain and many of their companions, thought them a harmless addition to the extended family of the village.

To Irving's tall, lanky build, Uryen seemed like a brownie, all dark skinned and large boned. Uryen had taken more to the healing arts after his coming of age, and was the practicing Hedge of the village. Their home smelt heavily of herbs, but it was a pleasant sharpness.

"What have we here? A little weasel? What by the Gods happened to your poor pretty face, Dow of Draga?"

"Drostan hit me," Dow complained. Uryen smiled and laughed, a hearty, deep sound, and led Dow into the house by the shoulders.

"I suppose your mother already set it well?" Dow nodded, but cringed; that hurt. Uryen hummed softly and dug about in his things. "Sit on the table."

Dow did, and looked around. There were cords hanging all over, among the rafters, made in any color one could think of. Irving sat at the hearth watching them, twisting together a new cord, knotting with quiet words and swift fingers.

Uryen smeared a cold, sharp smelling paste over the bridge of Dow's nose with firm, sure fingers that made him hiss in pain.

"I got in a fight with Irv once," he proclaimed. Irving laughed merrily.

"Once? And it was my own fault; you just made sure I knew I was the fool."

Uryen continued as though he hadn't heard; "We were a little older than you are now, and my mother was still about, the youngest of my sisters. Irv had gone out the night before Samhain, and gotten into one of the fields, and had gone about terrorizing the cattle."

"I wasn't terrorizing; I was dancing. My father and I used to do it with my brothers." Uryen rolled his eyes, winking at Dow, who smiled a little.

"At any rate, he came back, barely in one piece, scraped about and talking nonsense of seeing a banshee, and how she was going to come about here; he'd seen her behind our house, had sworn her off before she could wail."

"He got me, right where your brother did, only harder, because he's a might stronger than young Drostan," Irving explained with laughter coloring his words. Uryen shook his head, laughing as well, as he placed a thin poultice over Dow's nose.

"Caught him good. He was even more of a weasel than you are, which was good for Samhain; no one could've recognized him. Must have broken it in two places; Irv?"

He prodded the bends in his nose instead of the turns of the cord, and grinned; "Three."

Dow marveled over that for a moment. It seemed odd, to know that the two of them had come to fists like any other boy, when they so blindly doted upon the other as if they were coming to the ends of their time every day.

"But you don't care much, do you?" He found a sticky adhesive from one of his herbs, and stuck the poultice to Dow's face as he smiled slightly. "Your father was about the other day, you know? Asking if we knew much about Fionn's boy."

Dow bristled a little, and looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his fists from clenching. Irving suddenly laughed, a bright and merry sound, too much akin to Llewellyn's own bubbling laughter.

"He's a good man, your father," Uryen continued over Irving's laughter, "and he wants you to be happy."

"But why'd he come and talk to you both about him? Why not speak to Fionn?"

"Fionn's a bit protective of the boy. I doubt Draga would get a word out before Fionn turned him into a weasel as well."

It struck him, suddenly, that Fionn was only a little older than Seamus, and that he had been one of those to contest the handfasting of Irving and Uryen. That made a bit of sense in his mind, then, that Draga wouldn't go to Llewellyn's father for consult on how to deal with any blooming relation.

"What did you all talk about?"

"Draga can deal with the matter of being attracted to another man," Uryen uttered. He had a brush in hand, and paste about the shade of Dow's skin, which he began to gently apply over the poultice and the shadows around the boy's eye.

He continued, "It's a might different, I suppose, dealing with the concept when it was yourself, and the idea when it's your youngest son. Draga wants the best for you, Dow. He came about, asking over the oddity that Irv and I are, wondering how we went about ours days and such with the anger from the village."

"He doesn't want me hurt."

"Bit late for that. Is all this hitting over Fionn's boy?" Dow nodded very slowly. Irving shook his head, speaking up after he tied another knot. "Drostan's a foolish boy, and bad with his temper. I doubt he'll find a good woman who will put up with all his rage."

Uryen pulled away, and nodded, helping Dow off the table.

"It's there, but it looks a bit better. Not such the weasel any longer, at least. Will you be out on the hunt with Irv?" Dow shrugged. Uryen handed him the pale paste, and the things he'd put into the poultice, explaining the care needed for his nose to heal nicely.

Leaving their home, he wandered aimlessly for a while, before returning to the house for his bow set, and then retiring to the square, setting about to prepare new arrows.

"I heard you had some damage done."

Llewellyn sat beside him, and grabbed one of the arrows, spinning it between his fingers. He softly apologized; Dow looked over at him, barking a quiet laugh and shaking his head.

"It's not your fault. I got angry at Drostan for being nosy, and I got his rage in return." Llewellyn set the arrow down, and grabbed Dow's hand, squeezing gently, turning to look at his face. He smiled a little.

"You had Uryen fix you up?"

"Irving drug me off to it. I was fine being a weasel." Llewellyn grinned a little more insanely, bumping his forehead against Dow's temple.

"I prefer the man over the weasel." Dow flushed gently, and chuckled under his breath, trying to focus on the arrows.

They sat in a companionable silence. Llewellyn helped with the arrows, putting in the fletching and humming softly under his breath as they worked, quiet reels that Dow thought he might know, though he couldn't place quite where they might be from.

He bundled the arrows together, his fingers brushing against Llewellyn's as he handed over the one he'd worked on, and he sighed softly, sticking them into his quiver. After a moment, he looked over at the lighter youth, drawing his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms over them, leaning his head against his arms.

Llewellyn smiled softly, and reached a hand out, darting his fingers through Dow's hair slowly, tugging at the slight curls gently. Dow smiled, and laughed a little, though there was no reason behind it.

He started when he heard his name called, and frowned a bit. Dow sighed softly.

"Your father?" Llewellyn nodded very slowly, moving as though he were going to get up and wander off.

Dow jumped to his feet, grabbed his bow and quiver, and tugged Llewellyn up, stumbling as he smiled softly, and drug him off toward the forest. Llewellyn dug his heels in a moment, looking over his shoulder nervously.

And then Dow halted, stealing a kiss, and Llewellyn did not object to disappearing from his father.