Lyndon Thornshield

The Vein, a travelers road, Jorden

LYNDON COULD JUST make out the giant stone towers of the city of Elderstone over the deep green hills and far away. Between the grey city and the grey skies above was the sprawling Red Water Ocean, and the image before him was as if he was staring into the maw of some great grey beast.

So drab and dreary...it's a shame the rest of Jorden isn't like Lions Bay

He left the harbor town nearly four days ago, and had ridden at leisure since then. Ander Granmund had seen him off after declining Lyndon's offer to travel with him. "A captain must stay with his ship," he said, and that orders were orders, the nonsense of a soldier's life. Lyndon could seldom imagine why one would take up service. It was as if asking to spend your life in chains. He romanticized the idea of joining the Arnish Naval Regiment from time to time, but that was more for his love of the ocean rather than his love for listening to people tell him what to do. The idea of joining the Naval Regiment was much like marrying Alayne; he would love the opportunity, but it could never work.

He found himself thinking more of Alayne than his own wife, Bianca as of late. He missed his mistress, her hair red like her lips, and her eyes like little blue lakes he would gladly drown in. He missed her skin, like untouched snow that blanketed a curvy mountaintop. She always knew how to touch him, where to touch him, what to say, and when to say it.

If sex were a woman, she would walk and talk and look and sound much like Alayne

Bianca never could make him feel as alive as Alayne did, and the only times Lyndon felt alive was when he was with Alayne, or counting the king's gold.

Owyn pulled up beside him on his horse. His shoulder-length toffee hair was tied behind his head and the shadow of a beard covered his jaw. He was in a surcoat and mail, and his plate armor was on one of the pack horses behind the rest of their twenty-man guard. "The sooner we reach the capital, the better. Few of the men have been complaining about saddle sores and blisters."

Lyndon smirked, but not rudely. "I'll give them leave to take to the brothels and taverns once we arrive in Elderstone. Give each man five golden talons to spend as they see fit. A reward for their undying loyalty to my family and most of all, my safety."

Owyn nodded. "Very good, my lord. I'm sure that will raise their spirits."

"As long as it is more than their spirits being raised, I'm sure they'll find it hard to complain of their service to House Thornshield." He turned his gaze back to the grey beast of a city and sent his horse into a trot. "Some time today, Owyn, I'd rather reach Elderstone before nightfall!"

Owyn snickered, and set his mare into a trot, as did the rest of his guard behind him.  The cobblestone roads of Elderstone would be beneath their hooves within the hour.

*****

           There was a letter awaiting him when they came to the stables. Lyndon would have beaten the letter to Elderstone, had he gone straight to the Vein and rode day and night, but that was no way to travel. Lyndon always preferred to take in the sights of wherever it was he traveled. The world was full of charm and rarities if one would take the time to simply look. He undid the knot that kept the letter rolled up, and the paper had a familiar smell to him, one he had missed, like lavender and pomegranates

           Like Alayne, he thought as lust seeped into his blood.

           He hurriedly and excitedly read the words of the letter before him, written in her hand, her soft, pale, and perfect hands.

           My Young Thorn,

           I know not when you'll receive this letter, but it has been only two days since you left me, and already, I miss your touch. You were always good with your hands, so very good, and I'm afraid mine own offer me little comfort. I've had no other lords but one in my bed since you've been away, on false account I'm ill, but this one lord in particular could see through my little cough. I'll spare you details, but only know that you are far...bigger than this lord, in places where I prefer my men bigger. No other lord can touch me as you do, or make my heart burn as you do.

           There was the faded mark of a kiss by these words, and Lyndon felt himself near ready to burst in his trousers. He kept reading with eager and ravenous eyes.

           He spoke of news I thought you'd find interesting, my Lord, though I'm not sure if it is safe for the letter, so I will save them for when you return. Another reason for you to come visit me as if you didn't have reason enough. I wait for your return with a fire inside me. Do hurry, my sweet lord. I miss smelling of roses.

           A.D.

           Never before had Lyndon been so aroused by mere words. He had read plenty of words in his time as one of the King's Table, but never words such as hers. Those words were boring, and always had weight to them, the weight of wealth and politics. Hers had a flair to them, and carried her swagger and her scent. Just reading them, it was almost as if he could feel as if her hands were wrapped around his-

           "Lord Thornshield?" asked Owyn from behind him.

Lyndon felt his cheeks flush, as red as the roses of his home. He cleared his throat and wished away the steel in his trousers. "Yes, Owyn, what is it?"

"Pardon my interruption my Lord, but that letter seemed to leave you troubled. If I may ask, is all well?"

Things were not well. Leagues beyond the sea, Alayne managed to leave him hot and bothered. In the presence of twenty men just outside of a stable that stunk of horse shit, Gods damn her. "Um, yes, yes Owyn, all is well. Just news from the court, some new laws regarding taxes, nothing that would interest you, or me for that matter, if I'm perfectly honest. Come, let us make for my brother's manor. That is where my niece told me to meet her."

The ride through the city wasn't eventful, though Lyndon sat uncomfortably, still haunted by the thoughts of sex and Alayne and sex with Alayne. He looked for anything in the city that would rid his mind of her. There were guardsmen everywhere, more so than he had ever seen before, and less city folk than he would have imagined. They had swords at their hips, beards on their chins, and black half-capes draped beneath their pauldrons. Two knights in steel armor waved at him, their red cloaks billowing in the wind. 

Red silk, like her hair, he swooned. He cursed himself, feeling the blood rush between his legs, and looked around again, hoping to find something better suited to wash away Alayne. He couldn't find anything that didn't make him think of her. There were pebbles between the cobblestone roads beneath them, small, pink, and hard.

Like her nipples, when I take them in my mouth...

The roads did him no good. He looked up to the sky instead, hoping the plain blue canvas would aid him better. There were brilliant white clouds in the sky, puffs of porcelain that at one moment, appeared only as clouds, and then at the next, took the shape of her. He could see her curves in the sky, her long slender legs, her ample bosom, her round supple bottom.

Gods damn you, Alayne...

He sighed miserably and wished he had a stirrup on his saddle for the third leg that wouldn't leave him be, so that perhaps then he may ride just a bit more comfortably.

The rest of the ride to Thornshield Manor, as Gallador had named it, was bothersome, as the city of Elderstone did little to ebb his lust. I'm a damn fool...I let myself be aroused by silk, clouds, and rocks. Rocks, for Gods' sake!

He dismounted his horse by the small stables near the manor and awkwardly shifted in his pants as he walked to the door. Owyn was next to him, as he always was, as a captain of one's personal guard should be. Lyndon had half a mind to ask him if his sister Lauryn made him feel the same way, and if he had any remedies to rid himself of his trouser steel, but the door to the manor swung open before the half of his mind could meet with the other. Suddenly, he didn't need Owyn's remedies anymore.

Not one bit of the gaunt old servant before him reminded him of Alayne. The old man was short and hunched over, grey hair around the sides of his head, leaving the top bald and spotted with brown marks. He had a weathered face and droopy eyes, but they certainly seemed alert enough, and it was probably all the youth the old man had left in him. He was dressed in a fine black silk doublet traced in red and green embroidery with a white linen shirt beneath. On his left breast was the sigil of the Thornshields, the single red rose accompanied by two daggers on a field of green. Finally, the steel in Lyndon's trousers turned to dough, and gone was Alayne, though Lyndon was sure she would bother him later again tonight.

The old servant looked the two of them over, and a warm smile spread across his old lips. "Master Lyndon...we've been expecting you. I am Gerald Wellingham, the steward of this fine manor. Come in." He held his arm out to invite them in. Lyndon thanked him and was greeted with the smell of wine, roses, and warm apple pie. Oh, how I do miss the Rosewood...

Gallador had his masons and carpenters fashion his home much in the same vein as had been Thornfelt Manor, though not near as grand or as sprawling. Thornshield Manor was only a residence within the city of Elderstone, with only a stable and a few sheds, the Rosewood was in itself a small kingdom, full of villages, harbors, and enough men to maintain their influence. Though Lyndon called the Rosewood his home, he would never call himself its lord. He wished his eldest brother, Gareth, had lived to one day claim the title. But both he and Gallador saw fit to leave the title to him. Damn the both of them, stupid, stupid men...

           Lyndon and Owyn took their seats on plush, comfy chairs, carved of strong oak and padded with red cushion. The servant was off in the kitchen giving orders to some servant girls, asking for goblets of wine and slices of pie, and if the bed silks were washed and changed. Lyndon would tell him later he had no intent to sleep here. This was his brother's home, and now his niece and her betrothed. He was sure they'd insist he stay, but he had no desire to call yet another man's home his, even if only for a mere fortnight. He would find some warm and cozy tavern in the noble quarter, and find a maiden with fiery red hair to keep him company for the night, and he would call her Alayne while she slept.

           The servant girls came to them with a tray full of pastries and goblets of wine. As they set them down, Lyndon was sure he caught Owyn staring at one of the girl's bosoms. When they left for the kitchen, he gave a grin and leaned in close to his ear. "I thought you only had eyes for my sister."

           Owyn blushed. "Forgive me, I do my Lord, but it's been a long while since we both shared a bed, I-"

           Lyndon laughed before Owyn could continue. "Careful Owyn. Tongues can often dig deeper holes than shovels." He gave him a mockful glance, but it was playful all the same. He loved to tease Owyn, to see his stoic face melt away at the notion of the most innocent of things. Lyndon reached for a goblet of wine and took a sip of the beverage. He was delighted at the taste. Wine from Aldergate, there was no mistaking the flavor. He was thankful his brother had some sense to import his wine from Arnland rather than drink the swill Jordeins attempted to pass off as anything more than piss the color of purple.

           Owyn's cheeks still had red hues to them, and Lyndon smiled. "I jest Owyn, how has it been so long we've been friends and you still don't know when I jest?"

           Owyn scratched at the hint of a beard on his cheeks. He did that when he was nervous, Lyndon noticed. He hadn't done it when he slew Lord Deien's men after that card game took a turn for bloodshed, but he always did it when they spoke of his sister. Steel and blood bother you none, but women and love do? What interesting creatures, you men of war are...

           "I know you jest, Lord Thornshield, but it's never wise to assume. One day, you may seriously mean to scold me, but I would take it as a jest, and I'm sure that would only anger you."

           Lyndon took another sip of his wine. "Trust me Owyn, if the day ever comes you truly anger me, you'll not mistake me for jesting. Now, relax, and have some wine and maybe a pastry. Try the apple ones, they're delicious." He looked over to the serving girl in the kitchen, the one he had caught Owyn staring at. She was a pretty young maid, with rosy cheeks, fine sandy hair and a nice bosom, if he was completely honest. It was no wonder Owyn stared at her. He looked back to Owyn, and nodded at the kitchen maid with a smile on his lips. "You can try her as well later, if you like. You're a comely man, I'm sure she wouldn't object."

           As Owyn stuffed his reddened cheeks with pastries and did his best to ignore the remark, Lyndon heard someone come down the stairs from the bedrooms. He heard the servants say "my Lady" with all the courtesy they could muster. He turned in his chair to see her, his young niece, whom he hadn't seen in nearly four years.

           She was certainly taller than he remembered. She was hardly a girl last time he visited, a maid of only fifteen years. A small and delicate thing, without breasts and certainly without that ring on the third finger of her left hand. But now she was a woman grown, and her breasts had come in, and some man had seen to fit her with a ring. Her blonde hair was done in a braid that went down her back, and her blue eyes matched the silk dress she wore. She smiled as she approached him, and gave him a curtsy. "Lord Thornshield. It is an honor to have you in my home."

           Lyndon only laughed and took her warmly in his arms. "Uncle Lyndon, if you would, though I must insist. Your grandfather is Lord Thornshield." He let her go from his embrace, and she gave him a sweet smile. "It has been a long while since we've last seen each other, my dear. How has womanhood treated you?"

           "Sometimes I find myself wishing I were a girl again, though I find myself too busy as of late to have such thoughts."

Her smile was brave, Lyndon could see, but it was forced. He rubbed her rosy cheek with his thumb. "You've been through much, my dear. With this wedding, the estate, the affairs of your father, I imagine it weighs heavy on you. The world can often time seem so big, and you so small, but just remember, the world is only as big as you let it be."

His father had told him that once, years ago when he left to attend matters in the capital of Arnland, when Lyndon was hardly a man and ruled as Lord of the Rosewood in his father's place. The sentiment had served him well all those years, and he hoped they would serve his niece well also.

Jenna thanked him for the kind words and sat with him and Owyn, eating pastries and drinking wine. They talked of many things, of young Vincent and Bianca back home in Arnland, of the times when Lyndon and Owyn would play games with her in the Rosewood when she would summer there as a girl, and of course, of her wedding and her betrothed.

"He is a handsome man," Jenna said as she nibbled on a blackberry tart. "Handsome and strong, and a ranger like my father. He'll one day be the Arch Ranger as well, should the Gods be kind."

Before she could continue, and as if on cue, there was a knock at the door. The frail old servant answered and ushered in a man with the look of a warrior and a ranger. The sword and the red mantle were dead giveaways. He wore a dress uniform instead of steel though, a grey coat with gold and black embroidery, and black trousers with shiny black leather boots. He had a mop of brown hair and a strong look on his face, a face that had been aged beyond its years. He smiled tiredly at them.  He came over and kissed Jenna on the cheek, and Lyndon and Owyn both rose to shake his hand.

"A pleasure, Sir Stormwell," said Lyndon after they made introductions. A servant girl brought him a horn of ale, and the ranger took a deep sip. Something had been troubling him, Lyndon could see it in his eyes and the way he drank.

"We were just speaking of our wedding, my love," Jenna told him as he sat next to her on the luxurious sofa that centered the living room. She took his hand in hers, and he gave it a soft squeeze.

"Yes, I imagine you were." Cristomir looked to Lyndon. "We've already seen to most of the arrangements, guests, food, and decor. I'm sure my lady has gone over the details with you already, but if there is anything you need of me, do let me know. I can always be found at the Tower."

Lyndon had seen the Tower of Rorden only once when Galldor had given him a tour many years ago. It was an ugly thing, stiff and grey, like the rest of the city. If the city were a great grey beast, the tower would be its prick...

"You do seem a busy man, good Sir, I do imagine Jenna and I can get along without you. But I'll have one of my guards send for you should we require your input."

Cristomir nodded and smiled politely. "Thank you, my Lord."

Lyndon returned his smile and looked towards Jenna. "There is one more thing I should let you both know and sooner than later. My dear...your grandfather would prefer if, after your wedding, you returned to Arnland with me. It would be much safer for you and for your betrotheds peace of mind."

Jenna frowned and furrowed her brow, clearly not in favor of the idea. "Uncle, I do appreciate your concern for my safety, but my place is here, with my betrothed." She took Cristomir's arm in her hands, as if Lyndon meant to snatch her away that moment.

"My dear, it's only temporary. After the elves have been found and the looming war has been finished, you will return to Jorden, and you and your husband will live out your days happily in this wonderful manor. But until then, it is not safe. You must return to the Rosewood with me after you are married."

Jenna still had a look of protest on her face. She looked to Cristomir, hoping he would say something. He was to be her husband, surely his word meant more than her uncles or her grandfathers. "My love, would you say something? Anything?"

Cristomir looked at her with troubled eyes, a look Lyndon knew well. It was clear he was troubled by something. "Your uncle is right, my lady...Jorden isn't safe right now. It would be best if you returned to Arnland for the time being. I will send for you as soon as things are better."

Jenna looked as if he had stabbed her in the heart, and tears welled in her eyes. She looked down to the floor and nodded. "So be it. I'll return to Arnland with you after the wedding, uncle."

They didn't speak of much else that night. Cristomir excused himself, claiming he had another meeting with the new Arch Ranger in the morning. Jenna soon followed after him and left him and Owyn alone with the servants, pastries, and wine, but not before telling them where they could sleep. Lyndon declined her offer, but Jenna didn't seem to care much. It wasn't long after they left as well, and Lyndon insisted on bringing the serving girl with them, the one Owyn had stolen glances at from time to time.

They found a nice and extravagant tavern in the Golden District, as Lyndon had hoped they would. The Golden Griffin, it was named, and it smelled of wine, gold, and sex. Lyndon felt right at home.

"What is your name?" Lyndon asked the serving girl. She seemed shy, but Lyndon hoped he would remedy that with some wine.

She took a nervous sip, gave a nervous smile, and said "My name is Tyla, m'lord."

"Well met, Tyla. Here, drink some wine. It will loosen that tongue of yours. I like my girls to have loose tongues."

Tyla blushed at the comment but did as she was told. When she finished the first goblet, Lyndon poured her another. There was some color in her cheeks, and she had a gleam in her eye. Her smile was more relaxed, and she didn't seem too stiff anymore. "Thank you, m'lord. I hope my tongue does please you so."

Lyndon smiled devilishly at her. Suddenly, he found himself wanting her more than Owyn did. Owyn hadn't looked at or said anything to her since they arrived. Instead, he and some of the guardsmen drank ale and rolled dice in the corner of the tavern. There were plenty of other girls about, however, all beautiful and lovely. Lyndon was sure one of them would catch Owyn's eye.

Lyndon felt himself harden and wasn't much in the mood for wine anymore. He took Tyla by the hand, and led her upstairs. She didn't object, and Lyndon noticed an eagerness in her step. They went to one of the bedrooms, and Lyndon shut and bolted the door behind him. Tyla stood there with her hands by her waist, her gaze upon the floor and her lips turned up in a smile. They were wonderful lips, full and pink, and Lyndon was eager to feel them around him.

As he stepped towards her to undress her, her sandy hair shimmered red in the candlelight, and suddenly, it was Alayne who stood there, not Tyla. Lyndon stopped in his tracks, as if he had seen a ghost. That's what she had been to him lately. A ghost, a very lovely ghost that haunted him. He suddenly wanted her, more than he wanted this servant girl. He sighed. "Pardon me, Tyla...I seem to be feeling ill. You may leave for the night if you wish. My men will see you home."

Tyla looked up from the floor, her lips in a pout now. "Have I angered you, m'lord? Please forgive me if I have, I only wish to-"

Lyndon stopped her. "No, Tyla, I'm not angry. I'm just not...feeling myself, as of late. It is nothing you have said or done. Here," he reached to his belt and yanked away a coin purse. "For your troubles. Have another goblet of wine or some supper, if you so wish. Find Sir Bellerdyn downstairs when you are ready to leave for the night. He will see you home safely."

Tyla looked as if she had more to say, but only said "As it pleases you, m'lord." She left and Lyndon was alone in the room. He sighed and saw to remove his clothes. He should have had Tyla undress him first before he sent her away. He loved watching his women undress him, pulling off his boots and yanking down his trousers. He loved it when Alayne did that. She always seemed to be greeting an old friend when his member would spring free from the confines of his pants. He wished she were there next to him, caressing him, kissing him, doing that thing she did with her mouth.

Lyndon only hoped this wedding would be a quick affair. The sooner he was on a ship back to Arnland, the sooner he was back in her bed, the better.

Gods...in what world is a man more faithful to a whore than his own wife?