For My Darling Sammikins
May. 15th, 2007 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWhom I love dearly, for many hundreds of reasons.
I post this now, because I do not trust myself to get up on time tomorrow.
Alas, it is only the first five pages, and rough, but I will finish it this week/end goddammit.
A most Happy Birthday tomorrow, my darling Sammie ^__^ I hope it is a good one.
I'm sorry your story is not yet finished.
The Soldier
Grigori stared into his beer and wondered morosely what he was going to do now.
Of course, it was a question he'd been asking himself from the very moment he'd decided to desert. A question he'd asked himself even as his stupid mouth sealed his fate, and his feet had betrayed him to side with his mouth.
So here he was, in a tired looking tavern with barely enough coin to pay for the beer that was failing miserably to drown his sorrows. He looked up to glance around the room. Little had changed in the thirty seconds since his last look around.
Tired and worn out, that's what this place was. The reason he'd chosen it, of course. This was a place for farmers, craftsmen, and otherwise less than well-to-do. No one would notice or care about a sad, lonely soldier hiding away in the corner.
Sad, lonely, pathetic, and in rather deep trouble should he ever be caught.
It occurred to him – again – that deserting the army had not been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Even if…
300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.
His fingers tightened around his tankard, sliding on the wood long worn to slick-softness, and with a rough noise suspiciously close in sound to a sob, he downed the remainder of it in one long swallow. He signaled for another as he slammed the empty tankard back down.
What was done was done, he supposed. His only real problem now was finding work. There was always a need for hard labor, and he had more than a bit of skill with his sword…
That would be the way to go; ten years in the army, more than a few battles to his name. Selling his sword was definitely the best route – but how did one go about becoming a mercenary? He frowned at the table, realizing he was right back where he'd started, feeling utterly lost.
Someone set his beer down for him, and he muttered an absent thanks before falling once more into the bitter memories that had driven him to desert.
"Are you for hire?"
The voice was rough, but firm. Grigori snapped out of his wallowing and looked up.
A farmer, clearly. The heavily lined, sun-dark hair. The dirt. The old before his time appearance, the thin graying hair, heavily patched clothes on a lean but muscled frame. The man could nearly have been his father, right down to the smell of sweat and earth that clung to him.
"Depends on the job and the price," Grigori replied, barely able to hold back his laughter. Surely it was a joke – it could not be this easy to come by a job. If he'd known all it took to become a mercenary was sulking over thin beer in an old tavern, he would have deserted a long time ago.
The old man held a beat up hat close against his chest, the hand clutching it as old and strained as the rest of him, nails dark with the grim that had gotten beneath him. "I need you to get rid of some robbers, they've got a den somewhere in the forest near my farm."
Robbers…nasty type, those. He'd dealt with worse.
"I keep asking," the farmer continued. "No one will do it." His mouth tightened with obvious effort to hold in angry, bitter words. "Obviously I can't pay much, but I'll pay whatever I can. They took something precious from me."
Grigori motioned for him to sit. "If they're robbers, they'll have plenty in their den to cover my fee. If not, that'll teach me to go after robbers with empty dens."
The farmer stared at him. "You're the oddest merc I've encountered yet."
Smiling faintly, Grigori opted for a bit of honesty, liking this man who reminded him of his father. "I'm a hungry merc. Tell me what I need to know."
Nodding, the farmer set his hat down on the table and leaned slightly forward as he began to speak in earnest. "There's seven of them. I've followed their trail to about three miles in the forest, I dare not go farther than that. I think I might know where they go, however. Always they attack at night, so I doubt they return to their hideaway before sunrise."
Grigori nodded. He knew how robbers operated; he'd killed enough while cleaning out dens in the army. A soldier's life was far from the glamorous stories of saving maidens and overthrowing evil kinds. "What is it I'm retrieving for you?"
"My wedding ring," the farmer said quietly, eyes for a moment taking on a faraway look. "They took all the money we had, back then. She's gone now, these past five years. Those rings were precious to us. I want mine back. Simple silver band, but it has the letters K & N engraved."
"I'll get it back," Grigori said. "Show me these woods, and point me in the right direction. It may take me some time, depending on what I have to do to get rid of them and how long it takes me to find your ring. At least a week, I would imagine. Possibly a great deal longer. I'll get it back, though."
The farmer nodded, cautious hope filling his eyes. "Thank you."
"Thank me when I bring you the ring," Grigori said, and finished his ale, throwing down the last of his coin to pay for it. "If you're ready, show me the way."
The forest was one of those he liked to class under Unpleasant. It was one of the really old ones, the type of forest that was as old as time. He felt like an interloper.
Of course, that feeling was most likely because he was sitting alone around a campfire in an area he knew was ridden with robbers. Not that he hadn't been in such infested forests before…but usually he had other soldiers with him, and was much better armed. An old jerkin, a sword, and a dagger were not going to stand up too well if he met all seven bandits at once.
Not to mention he'd have to confront them on little to no sleep – falling asleep out here, with robbers likely to show up literally anywhere…he would like as not wake up with his throat slit. If he'd wanted that sort of wake up, he would have stayed to accept his punishment.
The farmer had taken him three miles into the forest, and told him where to try. An old house, he'd said, that had once belonged to a woodcutter before he went mad and 'did unspeakable things to his children'.
Grigori hadn't asked for clarification on the 'unspeakable'.
Robbers 'earned' their bread and butter by night, which meant they would sleep by day. That meant his best strategy was to lay low at night and travel by day – like a normal person. Grigori snorted and shook his head, amused that working by day seemed so foreign a concept to him.
Perhaps the desertion had not been the dumbest thing he'd ever done.
Something snapped a twig not too far away, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a voice, and Grigori reconsidered his opinion. Company would be nice. Slowly, he lifted his sword from where it lay beside him, then stood up carefully, making as little noise as possible. He'd cleared the area earlier, so there were no twigs to snap or leaves to crunch.
He faded into the shadows and waited, hoping that there was nothing in the shadows behind him. That would be problematic.
Whatever he'd expected to come into the light of his fire – it wasn’t the sorry looking mess that stumbled in and promptly sat down.
Sat down was putting it rather nicely, really. The poor bastard pretty much fell right over.
Grigori watched him a moment more, but if the man was a robber playing poor victim…somehow he didn't think so. Easing his grip on his sword, Grigori stepped back into the light of the fire. "You've dropped in to visit at a strange hour."
The man jumped, head jerking up. "My apologies. I was beginning to think myself entirely alone in this monstrous place."
His accent was clipped; the sharp sounds of the city-bred. Given how stupid it was to simply fall down before a strange fire – Grigori didn't need the accent to know the man was from the city. "You look like you've gotten rather lost, stranger."
"I've gotten so completely lost, I fear I shall never live the tale down, should I ever be foolish enough to tell it honestly," the man said with a tired but genuine laugh. "You haven't killed me yet, so I am hopeful you can help me out of here and not leave dead. I promise if you leave me dead in this forest, I shall haunt you forever."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist the surprisingly cheerful smile the man gave him. "I do not care for ghost, sir, so you not die by my hand."
"Good. Now, then. What are my chances of getting you to help me out of here? I am heartily sick of forests. When I return, I am swearing off hunting and anything else that involves trees. Anything green. I'm going to tear out the royal garden and put in a fishpond when no one is looking.
It occurred to Grigori, as he laughed loud and long, that there were robbers in the forest and he should be quiet – but he could not remember the last time he'd laughed so genuinely. "You are in remarkably good temperament for a man who has been lost in a forest for…at least several days?"
"Six," the man said. "Six miserable, awful days, and all because I saw the finest stag…and he got away from me. Revenge, no doubt, for all the relatives turned into many a fine meal. To which I would gladly treat you, if you would help me out of here."
Grigori smiled faintly. "I would, if you do not mind waiting a time. I've been hired to take care of a robber problem, and I do not want to risk discovery by trekking in and out of the forest. I've been here two nights now, and having to do that much work over again would likely alert the robbers to my presence."
The man nodded. "I will lend my services to your cause, in return from saving me from this mad forest." He made a face. "Though my services are not much."
"Oh? What are your services?"
"Most of my days are spent slaving away in the palace," the man said with a grin that turned almost immediately into a yawn. "My skills are varied, but probably not suited to a forest and robbers. We shall see, I guess."
Grigori grunted and nodded. "For now, I suggest you get some sleep. I will guard our backs."
"Are you certain there is nothing I can do?"
"You can stand the bulk of the watch tomorrow," Grigori said. He smiled. "You might also tell me your name, if you are inclined. I am Grigori."
The man laughed. "That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? My name is Vasili. I thank you for your generosity, Grigori. I promise I shall repay it in full, when I am out of this wretched forest."
"Sleep, Vasili. You will need your strength if you're going to help me hunt robbers."
Nodding, Vasili promptly bundled his cloak around him and fell instantly asleep.
Smiling faintly, amused by the man's reckless trust, his odd cheerfulness, Grigori settled in to play sentry for the night. Somehow, guarding someone else's sleep did not seem nearly so lonely a vigil as protecting only himself.
I post this now, because I do not trust myself to get up on time tomorrow.
Alas, it is only the first five pages, and rough, but I will finish it this week/end goddammit.
A most Happy Birthday tomorrow, my darling Sammie ^__^ I hope it is a good one.
I'm sorry your story is not yet finished.
The Soldier
Grigori stared into his beer and wondered morosely what he was going to do now.
Of course, it was a question he'd been asking himself from the very moment he'd decided to desert. A question he'd asked himself even as his stupid mouth sealed his fate, and his feet had betrayed him to side with his mouth.
So here he was, in a tired looking tavern with barely enough coin to pay for the beer that was failing miserably to drown his sorrows. He looked up to glance around the room. Little had changed in the thirty seconds since his last look around.
Tired and worn out, that's what this place was. The reason he'd chosen it, of course. This was a place for farmers, craftsmen, and otherwise less than well-to-do. No one would notice or care about a sad, lonely soldier hiding away in the corner.
Sad, lonely, pathetic, and in rather deep trouble should he ever be caught.
It occurred to him – again – that deserting the army had not been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Even if…
300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.
His fingers tightened around his tankard, sliding on the wood long worn to slick-softness, and with a rough noise suspiciously close in sound to a sob, he downed the remainder of it in one long swallow. He signaled for another as he slammed the empty tankard back down.
What was done was done, he supposed. His only real problem now was finding work. There was always a need for hard labor, and he had more than a bit of skill with his sword…
That would be the way to go; ten years in the army, more than a few battles to his name. Selling his sword was definitely the best route – but how did one go about becoming a mercenary? He frowned at the table, realizing he was right back where he'd started, feeling utterly lost.
Someone set his beer down for him, and he muttered an absent thanks before falling once more into the bitter memories that had driven him to desert.
"Are you for hire?"
The voice was rough, but firm. Grigori snapped out of his wallowing and looked up.
A farmer, clearly. The heavily lined, sun-dark hair. The dirt. The old before his time appearance, the thin graying hair, heavily patched clothes on a lean but muscled frame. The man could nearly have been his father, right down to the smell of sweat and earth that clung to him.
"Depends on the job and the price," Grigori replied, barely able to hold back his laughter. Surely it was a joke – it could not be this easy to come by a job. If he'd known all it took to become a mercenary was sulking over thin beer in an old tavern, he would have deserted a long time ago.
The old man held a beat up hat close against his chest, the hand clutching it as old and strained as the rest of him, nails dark with the grim that had gotten beneath him. "I need you to get rid of some robbers, they've got a den somewhere in the forest near my farm."
Robbers…nasty type, those. He'd dealt with worse.
"I keep asking," the farmer continued. "No one will do it." His mouth tightened with obvious effort to hold in angry, bitter words. "Obviously I can't pay much, but I'll pay whatever I can. They took something precious from me."
Grigori motioned for him to sit. "If they're robbers, they'll have plenty in their den to cover my fee. If not, that'll teach me to go after robbers with empty dens."
The farmer stared at him. "You're the oddest merc I've encountered yet."
Smiling faintly, Grigori opted for a bit of honesty, liking this man who reminded him of his father. "I'm a hungry merc. Tell me what I need to know."
Nodding, the farmer set his hat down on the table and leaned slightly forward as he began to speak in earnest. "There's seven of them. I've followed their trail to about three miles in the forest, I dare not go farther than that. I think I might know where they go, however. Always they attack at night, so I doubt they return to their hideaway before sunrise."
Grigori nodded. He knew how robbers operated; he'd killed enough while cleaning out dens in the army. A soldier's life was far from the glamorous stories of saving maidens and overthrowing evil kinds. "What is it I'm retrieving for you?"
"My wedding ring," the farmer said quietly, eyes for a moment taking on a faraway look. "They took all the money we had, back then. She's gone now, these past five years. Those rings were precious to us. I want mine back. Simple silver band, but it has the letters K & N engraved."
"I'll get it back," Grigori said. "Show me these woods, and point me in the right direction. It may take me some time, depending on what I have to do to get rid of them and how long it takes me to find your ring. At least a week, I would imagine. Possibly a great deal longer. I'll get it back, though."
The farmer nodded, cautious hope filling his eyes. "Thank you."
"Thank me when I bring you the ring," Grigori said, and finished his ale, throwing down the last of his coin to pay for it. "If you're ready, show me the way."
The forest was one of those he liked to class under Unpleasant. It was one of the really old ones, the type of forest that was as old as time. He felt like an interloper.
Of course, that feeling was most likely because he was sitting alone around a campfire in an area he knew was ridden with robbers. Not that he hadn't been in such infested forests before…but usually he had other soldiers with him, and was much better armed. An old jerkin, a sword, and a dagger were not going to stand up too well if he met all seven bandits at once.
Not to mention he'd have to confront them on little to no sleep – falling asleep out here, with robbers likely to show up literally anywhere…he would like as not wake up with his throat slit. If he'd wanted that sort of wake up, he would have stayed to accept his punishment.
The farmer had taken him three miles into the forest, and told him where to try. An old house, he'd said, that had once belonged to a woodcutter before he went mad and 'did unspeakable things to his children'.
Grigori hadn't asked for clarification on the 'unspeakable'.
Robbers 'earned' their bread and butter by night, which meant they would sleep by day. That meant his best strategy was to lay low at night and travel by day – like a normal person. Grigori snorted and shook his head, amused that working by day seemed so foreign a concept to him.
Perhaps the desertion had not been the dumbest thing he'd ever done.
Something snapped a twig not too far away, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a voice, and Grigori reconsidered his opinion. Company would be nice. Slowly, he lifted his sword from where it lay beside him, then stood up carefully, making as little noise as possible. He'd cleared the area earlier, so there were no twigs to snap or leaves to crunch.
He faded into the shadows and waited, hoping that there was nothing in the shadows behind him. That would be problematic.
Whatever he'd expected to come into the light of his fire – it wasn’t the sorry looking mess that stumbled in and promptly sat down.
Sat down was putting it rather nicely, really. The poor bastard pretty much fell right over.
Grigori watched him a moment more, but if the man was a robber playing poor victim…somehow he didn't think so. Easing his grip on his sword, Grigori stepped back into the light of the fire. "You've dropped in to visit at a strange hour."
The man jumped, head jerking up. "My apologies. I was beginning to think myself entirely alone in this monstrous place."
His accent was clipped; the sharp sounds of the city-bred. Given how stupid it was to simply fall down before a strange fire – Grigori didn't need the accent to know the man was from the city. "You look like you've gotten rather lost, stranger."
"I've gotten so completely lost, I fear I shall never live the tale down, should I ever be foolish enough to tell it honestly," the man said with a tired but genuine laugh. "You haven't killed me yet, so I am hopeful you can help me out of here and not leave dead. I promise if you leave me dead in this forest, I shall haunt you forever."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist the surprisingly cheerful smile the man gave him. "I do not care for ghost, sir, so you not die by my hand."
"Good. Now, then. What are my chances of getting you to help me out of here? I am heartily sick of forests. When I return, I am swearing off hunting and anything else that involves trees. Anything green. I'm going to tear out the royal garden and put in a fishpond when no one is looking.
It occurred to Grigori, as he laughed loud and long, that there were robbers in the forest and he should be quiet – but he could not remember the last time he'd laughed so genuinely. "You are in remarkably good temperament for a man who has been lost in a forest for…at least several days?"
"Six," the man said. "Six miserable, awful days, and all because I saw the finest stag…and he got away from me. Revenge, no doubt, for all the relatives turned into many a fine meal. To which I would gladly treat you, if you would help me out of here."
Grigori smiled faintly. "I would, if you do not mind waiting a time. I've been hired to take care of a robber problem, and I do not want to risk discovery by trekking in and out of the forest. I've been here two nights now, and having to do that much work over again would likely alert the robbers to my presence."
The man nodded. "I will lend my services to your cause, in return from saving me from this mad forest." He made a face. "Though my services are not much."
"Oh? What are your services?"
"Most of my days are spent slaving away in the palace," the man said with a grin that turned almost immediately into a yawn. "My skills are varied, but probably not suited to a forest and robbers. We shall see, I guess."
Grigori grunted and nodded. "For now, I suggest you get some sleep. I will guard our backs."
"Are you certain there is nothing I can do?"
"You can stand the bulk of the watch tomorrow," Grigori said. He smiled. "You might also tell me your name, if you are inclined. I am Grigori."
The man laughed. "That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? My name is Vasili. I thank you for your generosity, Grigori. I promise I shall repay it in full, when I am out of this wretched forest."
"Sleep, Vasili. You will need your strength if you're going to help me hunt robbers."
Nodding, Vasili promptly bundled his cloak around him and fell instantly asleep.
Smiling faintly, amused by the man's reckless trust, his odd cheerfulness, Grigori settled in to play sentry for the night. Somehow, guarding someone else's sleep did not seem nearly so lonely a vigil as protecting only himself.
