Den Asaan's Birthday: Part 7 of the holiday series

Den Asaan’s Birthday

                After a few moments to recollect himself over the momentous gift he was given, Alasdair retuned to everyone in the party to express his warmest wishes for the remainder of the day. He made certain everyone was well situated and thought of with their baskets, noting how the Den Asaan was already enjoying his, and give one more bout of profuse thanks to Tomas for the mindful ring he had accorded him. He was assured it was nothing in comparison to the gift the king had given. A blessed shelter, a large double apartment in the keep, his own smith in the yeoman’s quarters, all these things were deemed unparalleled by the contrivance of one small ring. Alasdair pronounced the blacksmith mistaken and as he left his quarters to attend a small end of the year celebration being given by one of the royal houses, he alternated glances between the ring on his hand and the considerate blacksmith behind him. He was meant to understand that Tomas was a great deal older than himself but he made the solemn wish that Tomas would not be diffident enough to accept his brotherly company. He wished them to be friends, though he acknowledged that the blacksmith felt so decidedly lower when beside the king, but where Alasdair was deficient of companions in his earlier years, he resolved this would be no longer. He looked back at his small circle of intimates and deemed they were a fine family and though they could never seek to supplant Dorrin’s affections, their kindly compassion and continued fellowship toward him was all the felicity a king required.

                Only a few years as king and Alasdair had already succeeded. A woman as an estimated queen, a faithful commander as the greatest confidant, a blacksmith who treated him with a more favorable humour than that of any brother, a caring crone for a mother, and now a giant for possible friend. This was more a gift than Alasdair had ever hoped to receive on such a holiday. The evening came to its close. Alasdair watched his party return to their given quarters with cheerful smiles and exultations of gratitude and his heart was full. Even the dour and unappreciative royals of Frewyn could not dampen his spirits.

                Everyone went their separate ways for the night, but the commander requested a moment alone to visit the barracks where Captain Connors had spent the chief of the day. She found the captain sharpening the weapons gracing the racks along the wall and when he recognized her presence, Connors stood at attention. She smiled at his formality on under the auspices of such an informal day and told him to remain at ease, as she had only come to give him his gift. He gave forth much repudiation, admitting that he had nothing himself to give to her, but she waved away all his commentary and presented him with a silver earring, marked with the crest of Frewyn on the width of the band.     

                Captain Connors treated the gift with some confusion and circumspection for the significance of the particular earring implied. “Thank you, commander,” he said with a bemused sense of gratitude, “but I’m Second Captain, not First.”

                “Of course you are, Connors,” she scoffed. “I don’t require a letter from your relations telling me why you would rather clean the barracks on the holiday than visit them.”

                There was a pause and a look of dawning realization on the part of the captain. He stared at the silver ring and his shoulders wilted with overwhelming sentiment. “Commander,” he murmured.

                “First Captain Connors,” the commander said with a smirk.

                Connors surrendered to unabashed and fleeting smiles. “This . . .” He left the statement there. He marveled at the earring and then stood at attention to accept the fullness of his promotion. “It is an honour to serve in your company, commander.”

                “Honestly, you deserved this long ago. We simply didn’t have enough recruits for you to torment at the time of our return from the Plains. Now you shall torture our infantrymen and transform the weak and pathetic into shining examples of excellence.”

                “Yes, ma’am,” the captain said, all appreciation and delight.

                “I’ll give you your regiment’s assignment when you return in two days.”

                “Return, commander?”

                “Well, you are going to tell your family, aren’t you? I daresay such a promotion will not be kept secret for long. You bring them the news them before they discover it for themselves.”

                The commander express her wish for him to return to the mother and numerous cousins she knew he possessed and spend a belated holiday with them to share his good fortune. The captain opened his mouth to refute, wishing to proclaim his desire to begin his new role immediately, but a lifting of the brow on the commander’s side had convinced him she would not be persuaded and he set off with great celerity to convey his promotion in the ranks.

                The commander, quite pleased with herself, return to the commons, but as she opened the door, she found her mate standing beside the oddest article she had ever seen. She advanced a little into the room, remarking the item with severe bewilderment, and when she neared it, she perceived her assumption of what it was to be correct. It was a dress, which was an odd notion in itself for such a garment to be in her quarters, that was delivered to the commons in her short absence. The bodice of the gown was made of a standard corset with plastron front to accentuate the breast but the skirts were fashioned from wrapped chocolate truffles that were tied together to form and overlaying petticoat.      

                The commander fleered and shook her head. “Iimon Ghaala,” she said, looking at her mate’s pleased expression. “I suppose the gift to me is the bodice and my gift to you is the skirt of truffles?”

                The giant grunted his approval of her observation.

                “Will I be permitted to have any of the chocolates I’ll be made to wear?”

                “You may have a few.”

                “Your generosity on such a day is tremendous.”  

                The Den Asaan humphed in a triumphant manner and urged his mate to wear the gift so that he may see her large breasts plump over the dress’ edges before he ravished it from her form.

                “Very well,” she said in a defeated tenor. “I shall try it on, but first I have a gift for you.” The commander reached into the large valley of her breasts to torment her mate and produced from the inside of her armour a small copper coil. It was a cuff meant to adorn the giant’s locks and before the giant could protest to the receiving of it, the commander wound it into his hair and grinned at how well it looked on him.

                “I do not celebrate this observance,” Rautu half-heartedly declared, eyeing the gift as it dangled in his hair.  

                “This is not for Ailineighdaeth. Have you forgotten what day it is?”

                The giant gave no indication he understood the meaning in her speech. He thought for a moment of what day other than the Frewyn winter holiday it could be but returned with only a misgiving appearance.

                The commander simpered and tugged her mate’s draping locks. “You are fifty years old today, Iimon Ghaala,” she gently reminded him.

                The Den Asaan’s eyes widened with the realization. The difference between the Frewyn and Haanta calendar year had been so great that he had not been able to track any of his people’s observances and was therefore inclined to relinquish all attempts at making sense of the disparity in calculations. He supposed, however, that the commander had learned of the correct computation in days from Unghaahi and was desirous of celebrating his fiftieth year regardless of what his people believed on the notion of birthdays.     

                “My people do not celebrate arbitrary days,” the giant argued with barely any meaning in his words as he watched the copper coil sway.

                “Perhaps, but you’ll give me some allowances if you want every chocolate on the bottom of the dress.”

                The Den Asaan’s stern countenance melted away and he became serene by the commander’s closeness and the sentiment she wished to share in her gift to him. He wrapped his arm about her waist and drew her forward, pressing her against him firmly. “You are my woman,” he purred at her, expressing his heartfelt gratitude. “Traala Ashtihaa. Traala Anonnaa Yonaa. Traala Bhaasta Gondhaahi. Iim Anaalon Antaa.” The giant leaned down and kissed his mate. He held her close and pressed his forehead against hers as he closed his eyes.  

                “That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me,” the commander said, eyeing him with fondness.

                Rautu hummed and then was silent. After a few moments, he added, “Now you will allow me to eat that dress from your body and you will permit me Khopra as long as I wish.”

                “Shall I?’ the commander fleered.

                The Den Asaan narrowed his gaze. “It is my day of birth, woman.”

                “Ah, so this observance only matters in relation to Khopra?”

                “Iim ghet ora khophredan antaa,” he said, growling the vulgar parlance in her ear.  

                “I daresay that’s a yes,” the commander laughed, and she submitted to her mate’s aspirations, attempting to fit her large chest into the bodice and enjoying Rautu tearing it from her.