Story for the day: Worried
The commander had returned to the aegis of commons after a particularly trying day in the courts. It has been one of those sessions in which there was much bustle and little of anything else. She had attempted with all civility to draw the attention of the court to the matters of state but the nobility were determined to quarrel amongst themselves and eager for excitement to rouse their languid spirits. Not being accustomed to such strident rabble in the courts, the commander’s patience was overextended. By midday, she had done with her usual courtesies and passive aspersions and rather favoured the used of her mate’s tactics to quiet the crowd’s conjectures against the king’s rulings. She had not said a few words in opposition to their claims when her sword was drawn and her voice raised several tones.
The exertion of the day besieged her. She had become abnormally agitated and where she would be immune to such unpleasantness, the absence of her mate during the day and the unjustness of the nobility’s resistance had ruined her composure. She stood in the main room of the commons and took a few breaths to regain herself. She believed her sense of self-governance had returned but when she walked into the bedchamber and observed the Den Asaan’s pelts draped across their bed, all the ill sentiment of the day rush on her. She exhaled in disdain as she recollected the poor conduct of the courts, felt rueful on Alasdair’s part for his having to assuage every temper in the room, and sighed with the consciousness that the day was over.
She undressed and leapt upon Rautu’s trappings, wrapping herself within the blanket’s heavy folds. She moaned for the notion of having to resume her session in the courts tomorrow and said many things on the subjects of offensive royals and wanting their timely deaths by a certain giant. Upon making such a pleasurable wish, the commander heard the telling sounds of the Den Asaan returning from his duties. She smiled and hummed, taking in the trace of his scent left behind on the furs, and she opened her eyes to see Rautu standing in the entrance of the chamber. She sighed happily and bid him to join her.
The Den Asaan crept between the folds of the pelts and tucked beside his mate. Though her warmth and aroma were the same, he observed that her sensible character had been altered. Her shoulders were tense, her countenance was grim and her body curled against him. Her normal state of immoveable complacency had been disrupted and he made it his object to appease her. Rautu gripped her arms and molded them about him, resting her head upon his chest. He inhaled slowly, attempting to match the consoling breaths of his mate to soothe her. His calloused fingers browsed her long hair and he bad her with quiet words to be eased.
They remained in their pleasing embrace for a time, the commander caught between the giant’s crushing arms and Rautu content to feel his mate against him. They huddled beneath the blankets, the commander fidgeting about in unshakeable anxiety and the Den Asaan continually holding her to him to quiet her.
“You are too worried, woman,” Rautu growled at his mate as his palmed rubbed her tender flesh.
“I know,” the commander sighed in defeat.
“Haakhas will calm you as if does for our men.”
“Will it have the same effect if we are lying down?”
“Our meditations are successful in every condition, Traala,” Rautu asserted. “I will repeat them to you and you will follow.” The giant inhaled once, and then he began to drone in a low, deep tone, “Bhurbhaas svaa, thaat saavhitur pravhenhi yaam. Nhaara Ghios dhinaas yadhimhi, ohyiighnaa phirhakh thiyo dhiaat.” He reiterated the long phrase in a thrum and bid his mate to recur his chant.
The commander followed Rautu’s command and hummed the phrase to the repetitive melody, pursuing the ups and downs of the mantra, and though he possessed little harmonious prowess, she was surprised to find that her mate did. She stopped repeating the Haanta words after a few iterations and smiled, listening to the giant’s bellowing tune. The vibrations from his profound voice resonated in his chest and conveyed to her all the tranquility the ancient air could accord. When Rautu had done, they took a few measured breaths together and the commander had felt wholly restored.
“Thank you, Iimon Ghaala, for singing to me,” she said smilingly.
“That was not singing,” the Den Asaan contended.
“No, I should say not. How could I have mistaken such melodic speech for singing?” She laughed at her stolid mate’s disgruntled expression and declared herself worried no longer.