A/N: Another challenge response for the Men of Tortall forum, March 2010: Dream
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A woman was bent over and old kitchen hearth. The stones were crumbling, the pot she was cooking in was small, and the dress she wore was more patches than cloth with a little toddler clinging to it with his chubby little fingers. She looked up at her husband and she still smiled. The home they lived in had been passed down through his family. Many generations of Gerons had come and gone as Marenite men did when they had small but fertile farms. He made enough to get by, and that was it.
His wife and child were happy.
Bern was not.
He had a touch of the Gift, just enough to light a fire, and add a touch of light here and there. He still wanted more.
That is what led him to where he was now. He went west on a ship as a mercenary, leaving his family behind in search of higher wages, and a new -secret- life.
He had it all planned out. Go to the rebel infested isles, kill some slaves. 'Die' in combat and have part of his pay sent back to the woman he was forced to marry. Live the life of a pillaging mercenary, full of women, wine, and wealth. That was the life he wanted.
He could see it all planned out already; life would be a never ending Beltane.
His night started with escorting his commander to the big Gray Palace with his squad of soldiers. The men would stand guard as he watched the commander's back while the middle aged soldier demanded for the pay of his soldiers, not caring who was regent or king or anything. The man behind the desk would scowl but a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes when he saw Bern standing guard for the commander.
The regent would hand the money, plus bonuses, over the mercenary commander.
The commander led his sergeant out of the palace laughing happily with a bag filled with coins. The commander would slap him on the back while he handed over the pouch of money, heavy with gold. "Don't spend it all in one place y' hear?"
Bern smiled as he trotted off, his belt purse bulging, crooked teeth flashing in the torch lit night.
He went to an inn first, some of the black folks there recognized his tunic as one the mercenaries wore and left. He reached over the bar and pulled three bottles of wine out from behind the counter. The barkeeper went to yell but Bern slapped more than enough coins, paying for a room and the spirits, down onto the table. The barkeeper gave him a key off a ring on his belt as he promises of perfect service.
Without thinking, Bern wrapped one arm around a woman with a very low cut dress murmuring into her ear that "she'll do" as he pulled her up the stairs and once she felt the pouch on his belt, she began to giggle and wrap her arms around him while covering his face with kisses.
He fumbled for a moment while their lips were smashed together so that he could get the key to unlock the room's door. Once inside, he tossed the wench to the bed and set the bottles on the table, pulling the cork out of one before kicking his shoes off and swallowing half the bottle in one draw. Beet red circles formed in cheeks and threw himself onto the bed next to the woman. Laughing he poured some of the drink into her mouth before their lips met again.
The night and the drink overcame him. In his mind he could see the pile of gold getting larger and larger but soon it started to topple, coins falling onto him trying to bury Bern under the massive weight of gold. He pulled himself above the mounds of gold only to find himself in a dark red sea that stung his eyes and nose as he tried to reach the surface. The dark liquid seemed to never end, he wouldn't make it. His lungs were about to burst; his body tried to take in air, only to receive mouthfuls of wine.
He gasped, pulling in air, his chest still felt like it was burning and his face was covered in sweat from the visions and spirits, only a bottle remained. The woman picked up the last bottle of wine and brought it back to him in the bed. She smiled coyly as sat across his lap, removing the cork in the bottle and offered it to the married man beneath her. The woman's hands began tracing the lines of muscles on his chest as wine flowed back down his throat.
He rested his head back, closing his eyes, enjoying the warm feeling the drink had in his belly and the comforting ministrations of his bought woman. Suddenly, gentle caresses became clawing grips. Those lovely red lips were pulled back in a scowl. Her body twisted and jerked into odd angles, but Bern could not get away, her hands were like talons, pinning him to the bed beneath her. Within her mouth sharp teeth began to sprout, grinning above him in hideous scowl.
Shrieks tore out of his throat trying to pull away from the monster, but her back split open and large steel wings unfurled from flesh. The woman was no human. She was a monster, an immortal monster killing him with wings of knives and teeth of daggers.
"Enough!" he cried with tear pouring from his eyes. "Enough! I want no more please," he begged. "Please stop, I've had enough."
Gainel sat back in his chair, sighing in satisfaction. He wrapped his black cloak, twinkling with the stars of night time, around his shoulders. He let his messenger be released for the time being as Bern Geron's body finished the work his messenger started, allowing the sergeant's soulless heart to stop beating, his hand gripping his arm, and the woman he spent his night with, not his wife, carried the pouch of coins away in the predawn light.
"I thought I was the God of Law, Brother?" A dark skinned man in gold armor sat beside the Dream King.
"You are."
Mithros surveyed his fellow God with a critical eye. "And Mynoss is the judge in our other Brother's Realm."
"So he is."
"My wife is the Goddess of protecting women."
"Indeed." Gainel straightened his cloak.
"Yet, I find you killing a mortal."
"But I did not kill him Brother." Gainel stood and bowed his head respectfully and continued confessing his innocence, "I only sent him a dream."