Niara's Tales: Bow of the Righteous

A follow on from the previous chapter.  Tagging for borderline NC, of the kind that's, strictly speaking, not.

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A Hunter's Focus

Matt sneered at her again as she left the building, but she ignored him, making her way up the hill towards the Pony instead.  She didn't look across to where Flint was working as she passed, just as he never glanced at her.  It struck her how used to the process she'd become, even if all the men she had done this for were more or less the same.  The first time the proposition had come up had been very different for her, when she had still had the remnants of a different woman clinging to her.

She'd still been finding her feet back then, ending up a refugee in Bree, with nothing but her bow and the clothes on her back, and the grim desire never to be a victim again.  A watcher at the gate had asked her her business, and she'd told him she didn't know.  In the end, she'd signed up to fight for the Free-People's Army, since they were taking every sword and bow would would fight for the cause, and at the time she hadn't been able to think of a better cause than killing more orcs.

The payment they offered, though, was less than comfortable, and so it had been with expensive equipment needs and an empty pouch that she'd first found herself at the mercy of Ollie Redbrush.  She'd only been in town a couple of months, then, and still adjusting to the idea of being a mercenary for coin.  It had been a number of things that day that had led to her accepting his demands, not the least of which had been the letter.

She'd been coming back from a posting.  A simple job, really, thinning the wolves in the surrounding land.  She'd been at the Comb gatehouse, twelve tails on a string over one shoulder when the watcher there had stopped her.

“Hunter, hold a moment.” His call caught her by surprised as she hesitated, glancing to him to see if she was the one he meant.  “Are you Niara of Foregate?  Someone left a message for that name, and a description that matches you.”  Her brow furrowed.  How could anyone have known that she was here, of all places?  She walked over to him.

“Who was it, what did they look like?”  The intent tone of her question didn't seem to surprise him and he thought for a moment.

“Young boy, seemed strange to be travelling alone, but I assumed he was a messenger.  Light hair, had a pair of knives on his belt, and seemed eager to find an excuse to draw them.”  He raised one eyebrow at her, puling a folded letter out from a notch on the inside of his shield.  Niara bit her lip.  Thamas, it had to be.  She held out her hand, but the watcher held the letter back. 

“Sorry, miss, but answer me first, I'd prefer to hear it.  Are you Niara of Foregate?”  He smiled to her, though his voice was serious.  She sighed, closing her eyes..

“That girl is dead.  I just take her mail.  Now can I have Tham's letter please?”  Perhaps it was some weight in her voice that she herself couldn't even hear any more, but the man's jovial front dissipated and he handed her the letter.

“I'm sorry.  Here, I hope it's good news.”  She nodded as she took it and kept walking.  Her curiosity and dread won over before she was more than a few paces down the road, and she unfolded the thick paper.  The hand was rough.  Harsh lines formed with much concentration behind them, and shaky in places all the same.  She noticed that each case of the letter 'e' was backwards.  Her walking slowed to a stop as she read.

“Niara,

  It's Thamas.  Knew you headed this way, hunting your revenge.  Managed to hear some stories about a mercenary that sounded a bit like you.  Maybe you don't want to hear, but there are some things I think you need to know.

  The farm has shut down, Niara.  We patched everyone up, after the attack, and we tried to get things in order again.  None of us could run the place.  No-one knew all the little things that you and your father knew.  There was no-one there to see to everything, like before.  We needed someone to lead us, and to run the farm.  We needed you.  You weren't there, and I know you had your reasons, but Foregate is gone now. 

  Most of us have moved to Edoras for now, refugees.  The remaining livestock were sold to others who could care for them properly.  I'm on the road.  Moving around a lot.  It's only been a few months since you left, but at the end, it felt to most of us like the whole world had changed.  It had, I guess.

  I hope you do read this, Niara.  Wherever your vengeance takes you, whoever you become, remember the home that so many of us fought for, that too many of us died for.  We all wanted you there with us, but none of us ever blamed you.  Wherever you go, you will always be Niara Af'Foregate to us.

   -Tham”

Niara could feel her eyes burning as she read, and scrubbed at her face for a moment before folding the letter again.  A sense of cold finality settled onto her, sapping away any though of tears and she sighed, tucking the message away.  Unbidden she remembered what she'd said to the watcher, only moments ago.

“That girl is dead...” She murmured to herself again, and walked on.

It didn't matter if the farm closed, the thoughts in her mind circled.  That wasn't who she was any more, and it was a life she hadn't wanted to lead in the first place.  She couldn't recall exactly what she had wanted, back then, but her thoughts answered just as quickly that 'back then' was only a few months ago.  The truth was she hadn't wanted either of the fates planned for her, and yet, hadn't had a clear idea at all of what she did want.  Now this; a mercenary, hired for barely enough coin to survive.  Maybe she was fighting on the side of the good, and freedom from fear, but really, it wasn't so clear cut.  Many of those she had fought alongside in the past two months were barely any more savoury than those she had killed.

She had reached the fountain square now and paused, leaning against the stone fence while her thoughts warred, arms folded across her chest.  That problem aside, living like this was far from easy anyway.  She wasn't likely to starve, but the formal pay certainly didn't cover maintaining her equipment, or several other necessary expenses.  She had yet to work out how others in her position were making the extra profit needed to get by.

After a moment she shook her head, standing upright again and took a deep breath.  No sense brooding.  Somehow, they did it, and somehow she would too.  If this was to be her life now, then she would do whatever it took to make sure it worked in her favour.  She nodded to herself once more.  The first step would be to report her work done, and then resupply for next time.  She walked forward with a firm pace again.

The first challenge to her resolution came with the pitifully small payment for the job, the second as she took stock of what her expenses would be.  Arrows was the big problem.  Her other equipment she cold more or less maintain herself, saving any real damage to it, but arrows broke, or the fletchings got damaged, or they couldn't always be reclaimed, and that meant replacing them.  As she made her way back up the hill towards Olie's shop, she insisted to herself that she would need to find some other source of income, somehow.

It was coming on evening as she opened the door and stepped inside.  Most trade was done for the day, or near enough, and the empty front room told her that he had more or less stopped business for the day.  There was a glow from down the stairwell at the back, and she could hear the sounds of him working his small forge.  She hesitated for a moment, then called out.

“Still taking business this evening, master Redbrush?”  The light, slightly delicate sound of the hammer stopped and she heard him call back.

“If you're quick about it.  Come down here.”  She would have said that he sounded put out, but at the same time, he'd sounded that way every time she'd done business with him so far, so maybe it was normal.  She descended the steps quickly, glancing about his back room as she reached the bottom.  It was quite a simple, neat quarters, the near side of the room remained in smooth, uncovered stone, where his small forge was set up, along with a variety of tools.  Ollie specialised in more intricate smith work, rather than arms or armour, but he also made arrow-heads, and worked as a fletcher on the side.  The other half of the room was clearly his small living space, a bookshelf with several books, a small table and a dresser, and behind a wooden screen, a neat bed.  The man himself was at his forge still, though he'd stood away to look at her, now that she'd interrupted his work.  He'd stripped off his usual red over-tunic and belt, much fancier garb that he wore when fronting his wares, and now simply wore a light, long under-shirt above his leggings.

“Ah, you.  I'd ask what I can do for you, but it's more arrows, I take it?  How many you need?”  He set the tool in his left hand down and scrubbed as his beard briefly, moving to open a crate by the wall that contained bundles of finished arrows.  She ducked her head to him, as an apology for interrupting and handed him her partially full quiver.  The man took it with one hand and squinted for a moment, then selected a selected a handful of arrows that seemed to be a rough grab, yet turned out to be the exact amount needed to fill the quiver neatly without compacting the shafts.  He'd done the same each other time as well, and always seemed to know exactly how many arrows he had put in.

She was reaching for her coin purse, but flinched when he told her the sum, looking up at him in surprise.

“Your price has gone up since last week.”  If he heard the surprise in her voice, he gave no sign, simply shrugging his shoulders.

“It certainly has.  Times are tough, young lady, nothing for it.”  He waited while she checked her pouch, gritting her teeth.

“I don't have that much to spare.  I came expecting the same rate as usual.”  At her comment, Ollie's brow furrowed slightly.

“You ain't been around here long enough to call anything 'usual' yet girl, and it's because of that I don't strike you for trying a trick like that.  You're too green to be anything but honest.  The price is as it is, and I won't be changing it.”  They stood facing each other for a moment while Niara struggled in silence to work out how to continue.  After a few more seconds, Ollie sighed, making a sound as though a terrible weight was being place upon him.

“If you can't pay in coin, girl, there are alternatives for a pretty one like yourself, or are you too green to understand even that?”  his tone was bordering on impatient now, but even so it took a moment for understanding to reach her.  She suppressed the urge to flinch back from him, or make an incredulous expression, keeping her features as smooth as she could.

“You mean...”

“On the bed, girl, if you want your goods.”  He was setting his hammer down and reaching for the buttons of his tunic already and Niara ruthlessly shoved away the sense of panic threatening to overtake her.  Instead she thought of the things she'd already decided.  The naïve girl died at the hands of bandits, and Niara the hunter would do what was needed.  She nodded, mutely, and moved over to the neatly made bed, beginning to strip off her own tunic and pants.  She was painfully aware of the merchant's eyes on her, and of his presence as he stepped closer behind her.  It didn't matter.  Nothing he might want or do could possibly be worse than what she had already lived through, and this was for a purpose as well.

When the last of her clothes fell away, she felt his hands reach around from behind her, gentle and surprisingly soft.  Her breath caught as one dipped down to push fingers through the soft hair at her groin.  In truth, as much as her body had craved it, she hadn't even thought about pursuing anything intimate since her escape.  A part of her even resented that her body did, in fact, desire it at regular intervals, and she had always staved it off on her own, until now.

“Relax, girl.  Tight might be nice, but you're tense as a harp string.  I ain't going to hurt you; this is fair payment and I'm an honourable man, after all.”  His voice was as gentle as she'd ever heard it, which still wasn't saying too much, and she could feel the bristles of his beard.  His lips pressed against her neck and she tried to stop her fingers clenching tightly at her sides.  “Let's start simple, eh?”  She felt him move around her, and as he took a seat on the edge of the bed she could see that he'd slipped off his tunic, and dropped his lower garments down to his boots.  He made a small gesture to his crotch.  “On your knees then, girl.”

She swallowed, the implication dragging up memories she'd prefer to forget, but nodded softly again.  Whatever it took, this would cost her nothing.  Bracing herself, she knelt down on the floor in front of him, glad that the floor on this side of the room was wood, rather than stone.  Still hesitant, she took his length in one hand and began to rub along the shaft with her fingers.  He was beginning to harden distinctly, but wasn't there yet.  With a another moment to swallow the last of her revulsion she closed her eyes and bent her head in closer, letting her lips brush and tug at his head, licking softly with her tongue as well.  It didn't take him long to reach his full hardness, and once he had she opened her mouth wider, beginning to press herself down over his length.  Her hand around the shaft stroked and pumped in time with the  more delicate motions of her head as she moved her tongue back and forth over him inside her mouth.  The memories of her torture assailed her as she worked, and she could feel heat in her cheeks and the prickling of tears at the corners of her eyes but she pushed on, gradually increasing her pace as he groaned.

“That's the way, girl, mmmm...” She felt his hand rest on the back of her head, and the similarity was too much for a moment, making her freeze still.  Ollie seemed to interpret it as an invitation to guide her though, and the hand gripped more firmly, beginning to bob her head against him more forcefully, making her take deeper and longer strokes until she could feel his head pressing against the back of her throat.  A part of her wanted to scream, and she could feel the tears beginning to escape onto her cheeks, but she held her ground, gripping the edges of the bed either side of him with her hands to hide the way they tried to clench desperately into fists.

At last he seemed to slow, and gripped her hair enough to pull her away from him.  She tried not to let herself drool as he pulled free of her mouth, wiping quickly at her mouth and eyes.  He glanced down at her flushed and tear-marked face, grinning.

“Got you a bit out of breath there, eh?  Sorry about that.  Not to worry, up you hop.”  He patted the bed and she suppressed a shudder, understanding his meaning.  As she stood, he positioned her on the bed kneeling, facing the head-board, and knelt in behind her.  He was breathing quite heavily, and she could smell his sweat in the air as he took a hold of her hips.  His length rubbed against her, thick and pulsing, still slimy with her own saliva.  He rubbed back and forth a few times before pulling back far enough to press his head to her entrance and push in all the way.  Niara winced, her fingers digging into the bedclothes as he took her.  Her body was far from aroused, and her earlier attentions weren't nearly enough to ease is his entry into her.  Unbidden she let out a rough gasp at the overly tight sensation.  Ollie himself grunted and exclaimed as he pulled back and thrust again, then a third time, forcing himself in all the way each time.  At the third she gasped again and he paused, settling inside her for a few moments, before beginning to thrust his hips more rhythmically.

Soft as his hands were, they were still very strong, and she could feel him pulling back hard on her hips each thrust, making sure to take her to the hilt each time.  The discomfort faded quickly and she gradually forced herself to relax while he had his way.  Soon she felt one of his hands lift from her hips and slip under the nape of her neck, bunching up her hair in his grip.  She felt him pull tightly a moment later and on instinct resists, pushing her head down and away from him as he pulled.  To her surprise it seemed to be exactly what he wanted and his growing moans and exclamations continued to rise along with his pace.

He paused for when she thought he might be approaching his peak and shifted his position slightly, bearing over her further with his legs outside her own now.  She could feel his weight press down from above her now as he started again, faster than before and with more fervour than ever.  His hands gripped her shoulders hard, as much holding her in place against the pounding of his hips, as supporting his weight.  She could hear him grunting and moaning above her until he jerked hard, pressing as deeply as he could and holding her still as he came with an intense silence, hissing a breath between his teeth at the last.

As she felt his seed flood her in bursts, her fingers gripped at the bedding again, in equal parts anger and distress.  She wasn't safe.  He hadn't asked, but neither had she said anything about it.  Another worry.  His grip on her didn't relax for many more seconds as he made absolutely sure he was finished before slipping out of her and dropping back to his knees.  She could hear him breathing deeply, catching his breath and felt his eyes watching her keenly, revelling in her exposed and used state.  She crawled from the bed to reclaim her clothes and began to pull them on as quickly as she could.  She had barely pulled on her leggings and tunic when Ollie, with his pants pulled up again and reclining on the bed now, made a wide, dismissive gesture at her.

“Now get out of my shop, you free-loader.  And bring money next time, you hear?”  She grabbed the remainder of her gear and fled.

She hadn't stopped her flight until she was a few buildings away, when she had finally ducked into a side alley and seen about straightening herself out properly.  It was only as she had calmed down that her rational mind began to pick up the pieces.  In the end she had lost nothing, and, despite everything, had gotten what she wanted, and for free.  It had still taken a while for it to sink in, but the disillusionment then of discovering that all men were more or less the same when it came to sex had now turned into mere surprises, these days, at how much some men were willing to trade for the use of her body.  It was also then that she had first discovered that the abuses of Cameron's gang had left her womb barren, or more practically speaking, safe, regardless of where in her cycle she was.  It was just one more thing that had helped confirm in her mind that her body was simply a tool to be used.

Niara watched the evening sun setting from the courtyard outside the Pony, content to reflect for a moment longer before continuing.  It hadn't even taken her very long to learn many of the things that helped her partners both enjoy themselves, and think that she had too, and that always make them more likely to accept such trades in the future.  One of Butterburr's workers, Nob, they called him, called out a cheery greeting to her and waved as he carried a large pail of something or other towards one of the building's side entrances.  Niara waved back with a small smile for him, and wondered to herself how much he would blush if he knew just what she had been reflecting on.  She shook her head and kept walking.

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