Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money.
Author's note: Thanks again for all your reviews! Here's the promised explanation for the journey of the story so far.
Addressing the issue of Joren and Keladry's relationship, I'll say this: I first wrote the story without any of this sadistic sexual behavior and both characters came off as unbelievable. Keladry is too strong to be passive towards Joren. She's going to hit back. Joren's the same. He has to fight her. When neither of them fought in the original version of this story, they came off as depressed people who wallowed in angst. It wasn't them. So what was there left to do? Just have Joren and Kel fight? Okay, then we just have two people who hate each other and fight a lot.
I reintroduced the element of Cleon and all of a sudden Keladry had this crushing frustration that she didn't know how to properly vent because she was supposed to focus on becoming a knight, not live by her emotions. For that commitment and the duty towards her family, she resigned herself to her promise to her fiancée and backed herself into a corner emotionally. She needed someone to love, even just physically, and Joren was comforted by the idea that someone else was just as miserable as him. Throw in their already boiling hatred and you get two people who hate each other and themselves- but damn it all if they're going to let anyone else know. They've got to keep marching on to knighthood and war. This is their attempt to deal with it.
Hope that makes sense to everyone else.
Now for the third and final part in our story.
Part III. Disestablishment
In the evening, she was a realist. He was a man. When he was a boy, things like hating girls came naturally. With a girl like her in his life, that attitude had been prolonged, but stifled and twisted under the force of duty. He may have learned to sweat it out of him like a fever, but its absence did not equal love. He was a man while she must have been a girl inside to forget somehow that he had needs. That's all it was. Needs.
He knelt on the floor and started to undo a bedroll he had brought along. Keladry stopped him by placing her foot in the way of his unrolling.
"You're not sleeping on the floor. I'm surprised you even considered it. Where's that infuriating Stone Mountain pride?" She started to change into her nightclothes. There were no screens or dressing rooms to afford her privacy, but he had seen her already, as he'd pointed out one night not so long ago.
His eyes roved over her form, but his expression did not change. "You're in charge."
Joren put away the bedroll and took off his shirt. He stripped to his loincloth and put on a pair of loose fitting cotton pants. He got into bed, rolling onto his side to give her room to lie down beside him.
Keladry reluctantly lay down on her back, but her right arm dangled off the bed.
"Turn on your side," Joren advised. He scoffed. "Command of the whole camp and you still give yourself the narrow bed."
"There are families who need bigger beds than me," she replied. Keladry turned her back to him. As she did so, Joren draped an arm over her hip.
"What are you doing?"
"Making sure you stay still. If you still squirm as much as you did a few months ago, then I might be better off sleeping on the floor."
When he spoke, his breath tickled the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She turned her head slightly so she could catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. "I'll keep still." She touched his hand that rested on the mattress in front of her stomach. "Why did you come here?"
"Had to see for myself."
She turned further so she was leaning her weight against him as she twisted around to face him. "See what?"
"See if I could handle this... lesser feeling."
"Lesser than what?"
"No, just feeling... lesser."
"That makes no sense."
He paused to find the words. "Lesser in reputation, in accomplishments, in regard, even though I'm the head of the family." He closed his eyes, remembering how he hunched over his desk in the Ordeal. "I feel old already. Old enough to die."
The slap that caught him on the point of his cheekbone caused him to open his eyes and wrestle down the hand that wanted to strike him again. "What's the matter with you?"
"With me?" Keladry demanded. "I'm not the one who wants to die! When did you start talking like that? Maybe that poison affected you more than you let on."
"Ever since your damn..." He thought of how he'd packed his things, but still watched his party ride off to the border to greet her triumphant return.
He finally spoke. "If you knew what gave me cause to say such things, you would keep quiet."
"Then tell me."
He insistently turned her onto her side again so that she had to look away. "I cannot speak of it."
It was not difficult to deduce what he was not allowed to tell her. So that was his greatest fear? The one the Chamber had hammered away at? If she was uncertain before, she was as sure as the moon in the sky that he hated her. So be it. It wasn't as if they had married for love. She had nothing to be disappointed about, but couldn't stop herself from saying quietly, "You hate me. Being married to me is a fate worse than death."
"We haven't even been married that long."
"But this isn't the life you wanted. At least, if you had to marry me, you didn't expect to be--"
"Don't remind me."
Keladry moved her hand down his arm slowly. His muscles tensed under her touch as if he was restraining himself from pulling away. "I'm not going to live with you like this. You don't need to be reminded that you can best me in a duel. I do a few things and you act as if you've lost your manhood."
The arm over her jerked back, squeezing her. The air rushed out her lungs. Teeth softly bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder before lips soothed the area with an opened mouth kiss. Keladry could not think straight for all tingling that went down her spine straight to her gut to some vague area she didn't like to think about. She felt her husband smirk against her skin.
"I know I'm a man and you're my wife. I suppose I should assert that more often." He squeezed her again. "Don't worry. I have no designs on you tonight. Though if nearly dying has taught me anything, we ought to think of having a son soon."
"A son?" Keladry echoed, mouth dry. "What about a girl?"
"An heir," Joren continued. "My late cousin was not the only one waiting for something unfortunate to happen to me."
"I'm not ready to have children yet."
"Doesn't matter. I might die. You might die. We're constantly this close to death and I daresay my mother might outlive us both. We need an heir."
She was perfectly aware that they had steered the conversation away from how Joren felt, but she let the words stand. There would always be tomorrow. She squirmed to get into a more comfortable position without her hip jammed on the hard part of the bed. Joren sighed behind her as he moved to resettle himself as well. He whispered some of his favorite vulgar names for her, which Keladry replied to in kind, much to his surprise.
-----
In September, they went to Fort Steadfast for Raoul and Buri's wedding. There had been neither a repeat of their conversation nor Joren's kissing her since he had arrived at New Hope. The physical tension went on. At least, it went on for Keladry. Husband nor wife revealed if they were bothered by the other person's presence. Keladry almost considered it a victory on his part. If he was moody that her exploits had only grown more heroic since knighthood, he could always boast that he was the only man in the whole world that still frightened her--if only for reasons no other conventional hero would have problems facing.
On the entire ride to Steadfast, she could only think, I'm anxious about being bedded by my husband when I've already lain with him. I'm pathetic.
The residents of New Hope eventually grew accustomed to Joren. With respect to Keladry, if any of them questioned Joren's masculinity being subordinate to his wife, none of them showed it. He went on patrol and otherwise kept to himself. Sometimes he helped train the more promising refugees in defense with common weapons against that of a sword. The refugees appreciated his skill and his willingness to teach them. He was thought of on the whole as a practical and useful person, though he was not someone with whom they could joke or share stories.
Near the end of autumn, Wyldon had found more work for Joren. He was listed in the guard detail that carpenters and other craftsmen would need as they went back to their villages to assess what could be rebuilt before the winter. With the war coming to a close and the colder winds already blowing in, more knights and soldiers would be available for such a task. Joren would be able to go home for winter and so would Keladry, though she loathed the idea of leaving her people behind again, even if the biggest threats had passed. He arrived home at Stone Mountain in time to meet Keladry for Midwinter festivities. Merric, young and unmarried, would take charge while she was absent to work on his own leadership skills.
Winter at Stone Mountain was much less festive than the Palace, but no less ritualized. They had missed the harvest celebrations, but there were still plenty of lavish dinners attended by more distant relatives that Keladry remembered vaguely from her wedding. Back in the bigger bed, the couple was no longer required to hold each other out of necessity. Still she found herself scooting over to his side of the bed. Keladry reasoned that it was cold and the fire was never warm enough for her. From time to time, she squirmed on purpose so he would wake slightly and move, allowing her to invade the spot he was just lying in and bask in its warmth.
Winter at Stone Mountain also meant that Einsrell was back on her mission to make Keladry's life utter torment. There were no lessons in keeping inventory of their guests' bedsheets and fresh drying cloths, but her mother-in-law found a larger weapon that she could throw all her time and strength into in order to make Keladry as uncomfortable as possible.
"It's your duty, daughter, to bear me a grandchild."
Not her too, she thought. Joren had only mentioned the idea before. He never pushed it. He probably did not look forward to it just like her. But the way Einsrell stared her down conjured images of the woman listening in at their door or, gods forbid, locking them in their chambers until Keladry was with child.
"Mother, I'm still young. I have many years yet to bear you a grandchild and I need to be fit for service come the spring."
It was a small thing to surrender and refer to Einsrell as 'mother'; only Ilane was "Mama." Keladry bowed to her and started to leave.
Einsrell's voice followed her. "This conversation is not over!"
True to her vow, Einsrell pestered the two of them with bold mentions of grandchildren and the children of Joren's other kin.
Raille has two sons and a daughter by now! If he were Lord of Stone Mountain, our future would be secure. Look at those hips. Those are birthing hips, do you not see? Even better that she is a knight. Her body is strong enough to handle many children. They'll be strong children, too. I suppose we'll have to hope they inherit their father's features, but at least they'll be strong-boys and girls alike. Even if they're a whole herd of bulls, they'll still be grandchildren!
At last, Joren turned to Keladry in bed and announced, "We can't go on like this. My ears are bleeding from all of mother's talk. Let's give her cause to hold her tongue already."
"You're not serious," she said over her shoulder.
He moved closer to her until he was spooned against her back like they used to be at New Hope. "About the ear bleeding, no, but about what we have to do, yes."
Keladry stared at the wall. "I'm not ready."
"When will you be ready? Ten years from now?"
His hand traced a line up her forearm and down her shoulder to her neck where his fingers pinched the chain holding the anti-pregnancy charm. She grabbed it before he could tug it off.
"No."
His lips were wet against her neck again, doing the same thing he had done months ago and had not done since. How long had it been?
"I mean it," she continued.
His hand was up her nightgown and skating against the front of her thigh straight up to her hip.
"And now?" he whispered.
Keladry closed her eyes and shuddered.
To be honest, she had expected the normal fight. She expected limbs tangled and chests heaving, biting and scratching and bruising. Instead, he was very gentle. He ran his hands over her like he was outlining her figure in the air. He kicked off his pants and helped peel off her nightgown. She shivered from the cold air, so he pulled the blanket over them. Suddenly they were a secret and she concentrated on staying quiet, though as he started to press between her legs her gasps became fractionally louder. Then he was against her and she gritted her teeth. But the moment he was in, the ball of tension inside her relaxed. She thought of how he must have known to do this gently all along and just not bothered. Another moment and Keladry couldn't care less because at least he was rocking his hips.
He abruptly changed his angle, brushing a spot inside her that caused her to bite his tunic and dig her nails into his scalp. He gasped, cursed, and did it again.
A strange frustration welled up within her. Keladry hated him. She always had, but this was worse. He made her feel like this. Him. Without thinking, she reached for him and scratched her nails down his chest. He hissed sharply and pulled back. She moved in tandem with him, rising up and battling for dominance. Without warning he crashed his lips against hers, biting and pressing her down again. A rumble deep in his chest made her pulse quicken. Yes, she hated him. It made her feel more than she expected she ever would. Hate was stronger, he had taught her. It had pulled her out of her own skin. No shields, no schooled expressions of indifference, just flesh and vulnerability. Look where they were. Here far above the world. And far below it.
Later when she woke up and he was swirling his tongue behind her ear, they fought again. He bit her; she bit him back. Their scratches swelled furious pink and red lines across their bodies. But they soothed the marks with their lips, painting each other in moist trails and goosebumps. They wrestled and rolled over, trying to pin each other while entangling themselves in the sheets. She slapped him twice. He pulled her hair. At some point he was behind her, restraining her hands behind her back while he kissed her spine, but he shifted his hips in such a way that she whimpered and forgave him everything he had ever done.
Was this what she had feared? This joined feeling that ebbed and swelled like the entire ocean was washing over her body? The last wave crested and she could feel the sweat on his back through her thrumming fingertips. They went to sleep again, but by the morning he was awake again and gently rubbing his nose against her shoulderblades. Keladry felt the soreness and ache in her body and rolled over to face him.
"Tired," she whispered hoarsely.
He shrugged. "Need a son."
"Just stay here," she told him. She didn't dare open her eyes to see whether he cared or whether he merely lusted. They were naked and sticky for a reason. She pressed her face against his chest and tucked her arms in between their bodies, her fists at the swell of her breasts.
"Sooner, not later," he demanded and she was aware that he was pressed against her belly already half aroused.
"Maybe. Sleep now."
For once, he didn't argue with her but settled against her so they could go back to sleep.
Outside of their bedchambers, it was business as usual. Joren and Keladry performed their separate duties and met sometime in the afternoon to practice swordplay. She frequently debated asking him if this changed anything between them. It was hard to ascertain if his ardent bedroom behavior was an act for the act itself or if he had actually grown to like her enough to let himself do that. Keladry knew it was not her fault if he was miserable, but she thought they might benefit if their truce actually transformed into something else. She still heard the way his voice dropped, talking about his own death. It terrified her that someone like him could fall that far.
Keladry decided to brood over motherhood. It would hurt a lot and put off her career, but it was far less likely to drive her insane.
Stone Mountain had no skilled healers who specialized in women's bodies, though there were two midwives in the town. Keladry would know she was pregnant when she started putting on weight and becoming ill in the morning. Some of the women who waited on her insisted they had their own superstitious ways of knowing if she had conceived: sneeze under a doorway twice in one day, if the cows liked the smell of her and followed her around for at least twenty paces, and so on.
Until then to be on the safe side, the lord and lady made a routine out of their nighttime activities. The shock that he was touching her with no harm intended wore off as did her nervousness. They even mastered the knowledge of their inarticulate noises and half-sentences. All this went on until they lay spent underneath the covers with the excuse of winter and drafty rooms to keep them pressed against each other. In the morning, they dressed and occupied themselves the entire day until it was time for them to meet again.
The worst of winter passed. Toward muddy spring, Joren left for Mastiff to meet Lord Wyldon and receive his next assignment. Before he left he arranged to meet with her as soon as she found out if she was pregnant. There was a midwife at New Hope. When she returned there, she would ask the woman if she thought Keladry would have a child yet.
At New Hope, she discovered that she was still not pregnant. The woman asked her when her monthlies tended to come around and was able to pinpoint her more fertile times of the month. She could have easily asked Neal (for Burchard had insisted on as complete a healing education as possible), but found that would simply be too awkward a situation for her to even consider it. Keladry jotted the fertile dates down and sent them quickly to Mastiff, hoping Joren could see her during this month or else they would have to wait for the next. Keladry looked at her sword and wondered why she was so eager to do this and lose months of work. She would be able to spend the first few weeks of pregnancy putting affairs in order at New Hope, but then she would have to go back to Stone Mountain and spend more quality time with Lady Einsrell. Why would anyone rush into that?
It's not what I'm rushing towards, she thought when she looked at her husband's name at the head of the letter. Keladry convinced herself she wouldn't feel this way if he had just approached it in some minimal functional, like she had heard tales of other husbands. But he had to touch and taste her all over like he had been planning this all along, planning this domination of her senses and thoughts in return for the "lesser" feeling he harbored deep inside. It was still the same fight, just a different method of defeating her. And he had defeated her.
Apparently he left so soon after receiving her letter that he did not even bother with an answer. He had hopped right on the back of his horse with Neal in tow so that the scout sparrows suddenly reported that he was an hour away. Neal was returning from his own home where arrangements were underway for his wedding to Yuki noh Daimoru. The healer had stopped at Mastiff to consult with his father Duke Baird, who was there on a medical consult of his own. She thought she might ask the cook for a favor: prepare Joren's favorite meal. With Neal beside him for the entire journey, her husband was bound to be in a colicky disposition.
When they arrived, he dragged her straight to her room where a woman on cleaning detail was changing out the sheets and sweeping the floor. Keladry had hoped the woman would have come earlier. Joren didn't say a word but turned around and pulled her along until they were at the stables. She ignored the knowing looks of a few people they passed. They must have been starved for some news about her relationship with her husband since the last time he was there and nothing seemed to happen.
They stopped in an unoccupied stall at the end of the stables.
Keladry looked around her. "What are we doing here?"
"Your room is compromised. I didn't ride all the way here in the rain and mud, relinquishing my own leave time, just to walk around and chat with you. You said the midwife designated this as the optimal time, didn't you?"
Keladry studied the hay and the sawdust, smelled the horses down the stalls, and cringed. "You must be joking."
Her husband gave her a cool level look. "Might I add, in the rain and mud with Queenscove. I'm sure you're familiar with his fondness for conversation." He paused. "Or at least his attempt. And his whining. Gods!"
She slapped him on the arm lightly. "You know that's not true."
"Isn't it?"
Keladry was ready with another rebuke, but Joren had already grabbed a fistful of tunic and yanked her against his body. His lips crashed into hers violently. Their teeth collided with a clack that echoed in their heads. Joren leaned back slightly, hissing. Then there was balance in their bodily contact so they were not hurting each other though they were quickly losing their standing balance. They pitched backwards into the hay. Keladry landed on top, pressed her hands down just above the crooks of her husband's elbows, and propped herself up.
"What is wrong with you?" she cried angrily. She could already feel her lips swelling."Can't you give me a little warning?"
Joren drummed his fingers against her biceps, reminding her that he could throw her off. He'd always been good at that, she noted distractedly with a flush of warmth in her belly. "We're wasting time. I'm only here for two days."
The couple engaged in a staring contest during which time the horses down the way had pulled their heads back from over their stalls. Nothing good could come of it. The animals knew better than to get in the way of two dueling humans, especially if it wasn't their own masters who compensated them with oats and apples to do so.
"Fine," Keladry huffed, rolling off. She sat up and folded her arms.
Joren began casually undoing his belt. "Thought you'd see it my way."
"I could kill you," she muttered. She used her anger as a pretense for looking away.
"Wait until after the second child comes along. I'll need at least two heirs before I die, thank you very much."
They started out in the hay, though that didn't last for long as Keladry could not stand the feel of the hay getting up the back of her shirt and her rear. So they moved to standing where Keladry was gripping the top of the stall behind her head and biting her lip.
Afterward they shook the hay off their clothes and limped slowly back towards her meeting room.
"Let's not try that again," Keladry muttered.
Joren rubbed the lower part of his back where her heels had dug in to keep hold of him. "Don't have to tell me twice."
She thought about it for a moment. "It was worth it at the time."
"It will always feel worth it at the time."
"Here. I'll rub your back if you rub mine."
He considered for a moment. "Deal."
-----
At Neal's wedding, they were more discreet. By that summer, New Hope had become almost self-sufficient as a fledgling town under the protection of the lord of those borderlands. The forts continued to stand with less force than they did during wartime, sending Joren and Keladry on odd assignments away to assist the Bazhir and the Own respectively. By the middle of summer that Neal was finally able to have his wedding, Keladry and Joren had been separated again for a long while with the obvious failure of Keladry's pregnancy hanging over their heads. Keladry had put away her anti-pregnancy charm which had been lying on her desk all these months. She thought she might give it away to some woman who could put it to use, but she was sure to need it after this heir business was over. That was a difficult thought in itself. She would be a mother then.
The thoughts were filed away like old paperwork until she saw him again. At Neal's wedding, they dined and celebrated with everyone else. She glanced at him to see if he was eager to pull her away to get the duty done, but he let her stay and dance with Neal (who insisted saying that he did not get to dance with her at her wedding and she had not even danced at her own wedding and by all the gods he could name he was going to see the sight before he died). One dance turned into another as her other acquaintances found they could coerce her into dancing in her merry state. At last, Joren replaced her current partner and led her through a stately waltz, though it was probably because he did not want to be shown up.
Late in the evening, they went to bed heady with too much wine. As soon as the door was shut, he was on her all hands and lips and hips pressed against her. They managed to tumble into bed half clothed. He peeled her dress down underneath her breasts and kissed her collarbone. Keladry moved backward, bringing him with her as she fell onto the bed. He pushed up her skirts while she tried to hook the waist of his leggings and drag them down with just her toes. His skin was flushed and warm. Rosy-cheeked, like he was when she first saw him as a boy.
"What are you giggling about?" he whispered into her ear. His tongue darted out to touch her earlobe.
She laughed. "Am I?"
"Mmhmm," he hummed, right against the shell of her ear.
Her eyelashes fluttered. Too much feeling. Too much everything everywhere. He kissed the corner of her eyes, her cheek, her lips. She pushed his hair back and yanked him down against her and thrust her hips up. He groaned. The rest of their clothing came off quickly after that. For a brief moment they strained against each other, wrestling for the top position until Joren cursed at her. He slid between her legs as if it was where he belonged, the hairs on his thighs tickling her as he went.
With the ease of practice, he pressed forward and in, parting her and filling her. The room was spinning. She arched her back. Her body thrummed like the strings of a fiddle while he was the bow sliding back and forth to make her sing. The trail of hair underneath his bellybutton scratched her and she could feel the bones of his hips pressing into her. Then he started to slow down, taking his time pulling back and thrusting in hard and fast. He looked down at her with a wild gleam in his eyes. He bit his lip as he watched her pant, watched her move because he moved her.
He leaned down and slipped his sweaty hands underneath her body, squeezing her tight while pressing his forehead to her cheekbone. In response, she seemed to get tighter, that hot wet part of her that made him groan. She kissed his temple and folded her leg back farther toward her chest so her knee was almost at the back of his shoulder. He started muttering her name. She panted harder and rolled her hips to meet him as his thrusts became faster without losing force. It felt as if she were a bird flying straight up into the blinding sun so hot she wanted to burst into a million stars.
She arched her back as he bowed into her and pressed his pelvis so hard forward that she had to stifle a loud cry. Their minds blanked from the sensations buzzing through them.
They floated down.
He buried his nose into her hair and exhaled. They lay there with Joren still slumped against her. Keladry felt herself drift asleep, sated and wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. But something still stood at attention in her mind. Keladry licked her lips.
"What did that man say to you earlier?"
Joren gently mouthed her neck, letting her feel his teeth. It meant he would probably be awake later and waking her up as well. "What man?"
She tried to ignore his teasing. "The one in blue and brown. He pulled you aside when I was dancing with Dom."
"He was a friend of my father's. He had some advice to give to me."
She perked up. "What advice?"
"Doesn't matter. I didn't take it."
"No, really, what did he say?"
He raised his head suddenly and glared at her. "I don't have to tell you everything. I tell you what I choose."
Had he been born a wolf, he would be baring his teeth and growling.
Keladry returned the look. "Well, it would be courteous to tell your wife what goes on with you. It would be a step above not knowing how you've been, then having you in bed and gone in the morning back to whatever it is you need to do."
"I knew it!" Her husband poked her in the chest. "I knew you would start in eventually becoming like every other wife there ever was who insists on having a leash on their husbands. I don't boss you around like some husbands do to their wives, do I? I leave you bloody well alone, don't I?"
She shoved him off her and almost off the bed. Keladry turned her back to him. She dragged the blankets over the cooling sweat on her body. "Forget I asked then. I'll leave you alone."
It would bother her later that she couldn't tell if he was suddenly regretful because he was losing his chance at later activities or because she was actually offended. He folded his hands behind his head and huffed.
"For your information, he advised me to take a prettier mistress and just make sure the whore and the bastards had enough money not to try and grab more. Apparently my father and his friends had their hands full in offspring from stupidly forgetting to buy charms against it, which explains why the more 'distant' members of my family feel they have a greater right to my title than I do."
Disgust for the late Burchard of Stone Mountain had her stomach roiling. Was Joren lying to pacify her curiosity? She mulled it over, her anger dissipating. He wasn't known to lie. If he could tell the truth and anger her, he probably would. Keladry glanced over her shoulder. "That true?"
"Want to get your silly griffin feathers to find out?"
"No." She rolled towards him again and let him have some of the blanket she had stolen for herself. "You don't have to tell me any more."
"Good."
"Fine."
His arm reached around her back and hauled her up against him. She sighed, "You're impossible."
"Just stop talking already."
Despite her efforts, she discovered that the truce they had struck up wasn't enough for her. Trying to have a child and being physically intimate just made her want emotional as well as physical intimacy. But apparently that was not in the cards for them. How did he do it? He was right there pressed against her with his hand rubbing her arm as if he cared that she was unhappy. And she was not completely unhappy. She had found a basic companionship in him that she had developed with few else. And then there was the fact that he admitted to not wanting a mistress to his father's friend. But perhaps she was reading that wrong. He despised his family. Refusing to have a mistress was perhaps his way of dealing with the volatile situation with succession disputes. There was no way to know.
"Don't think about it," he repeated as if he could read her mind.
She wished he could. He would see thoughts like ropes in knots of every kind.
