2.

muscular arms

I ran my hands over and under the span of his arms. He was a rock to me, a guiding force in the war. Though the skin was torn and bloody, I could still feel the firm muscle of his arms protecting me.

"Honey," I whispered, reaching up with my small frame to press my lips closer to the shell of his ear, "Honey, they're coming. Please, you have to get up. We won't last much longer with you laying here."

The captain of his squad, lined with fur and chain-mail, heavy gilded plates of metal weighing down on me, he took a shuddering breath. I felt something warm and sticky on my face, and burying myself into his arms once more. I encouraged him to move, pressing up against his armor and beginning to panic. I could hear the heavy footfalls of our enemy coming closer to our tent.

I pressed my face into the heavy fur around his collar, breathing deeply of his musk and sweat for what might've been the last time. I had been there, when he had killed this bear. The meat was unusable, but the fur had become his cloak and our blanket.

This man had fought for me. Three villages back, I had been a prostitute, unwillingly. Sold to even out the debt of my father, I had been too young, too vulnerable at the time. Years of work had tempered me, made me sad and unresisting. I was not favored, but neither was I ignored. Not expensive, but not cheap. Average.

Then he came, my captain. Slaughtered all in the village, all of the scum and vermin. All of those who had treated me unkindly. My savior with the giant arms, he caught me looking at him from my second story window with the dirty glass. He did not see fear in my eyes, and took me under his care. Under his attentions, my dull hair became bright, my figure became full and lush once more. I held love for him in my eyes, instead of indifference toward my fate.

I was his lady, plundered and pillaged only by him. The best lover I ever had.

And now, on the floor of our home, he was dying and I was trapped by it. I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.

With a heavy breath, he spoke. His deep baritone rung in my heart, as always. "Dear heart, do you remember what I taught you? How to swing, where to hit? The chinks in their armor?"

I nodded against him, the tears starting to pour out of my face. "I do, my captain. I remember all of the training, and how to wield the sword."

He groaned and pushed himself off of me with his last breath. "Kill them, Isa. Kill them all." His giant sword, jeweled and worked with love and blood, fell from his large hand.

Reaching down, I straightened my plain linen shift. Leaning over, I closed his eyes. "I will, my love, I will." Under his care, I had also learned the art of death. My muscles had grown strong enough to wield his sword, and I lifted it now. Clasping his cloak around my shoulders, I spaced my legs apart and waited.

The first man who opened the tent was leering, expecting the captain's infamous whore. What he got was a warrior queen who killed him with no remorse in her heart.


Time: an hour with breaks.