Fresh Air

Argon's days were a collage of pain and monotony as he lay confined to his bed, the wound from Ser Bornmowe's spear a constant reminder of the cost of his victory. The healing artefact would hum with soft luminescence every morning, its feeble light washing over the ghastly wound. But, as miraculous as it was, the artefact was no panacea, and Argon's recovery was slow and laborious.

He had been reduced to an invalid, but it didn't stop him from ruling. His room became a makeshift council chamber. Brolan would be there daily, delivering reports, taking orders, and managing the village affairs under Argon's close supervision. Brolan's loyalty was a source of great comfort, and Argon came to rely on him even more during these difficult days.

Melvin was another frequent visitor; his kindly face was a welcome sight amidst the routine. Trained as a doctor, Melvin did his best to keep Argon comfortable and assist in his recovery. He would also provide Argon with updates about the village's progress and his various ongoing projects.

Lyra and Saera were Argon's constant companions. They fed, bathed, and cared for him as best they could. Their company brought a semblance of warmth and normalcy into the oppressive silence of his sick room. Yet, for all their care and attention, Argon noticed a new edge of fear in their eyes. They had seen his ruthlessness firsthand, leaving an indelible mark.

Argon's time in bed also provided him with an unexpected opportunity. He had more time to think, to strategise, to plan. He had always been a practical man who understood the importance of making the best of one's circumstances. So he took advantage of this enforced isolation to reflect on his plans and ambitions.

The slaves from Oakshade were integrated into Blackwood's workforce. Construction on workshops for the blacksmith and tailor was started. The other slaves were divided among military, farm work, and house service.

All the while, Argon kept his focus on the future. His mind was a whirl of schemes and stratagems as he plotted his next moves. The wound on his side was healing, but the scar it would leave behind vividly symbolised his determination. He was Argon, the ruler of Blackwood, and he would stop at nothing to secure his place in the world. His recovery was not just physical but a reaffirmation of his unyielding will and ambition. His path was perilous, but he was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Argon awoke one morning to a revelation - the relentless pain that had clung to him for days had significantly abated, a sign of the healing artefact's efficacy and Melvin's tireless ministrations. The wound was far from fully healed, but it was a considerable improvement; he could now move his arm with only a bearable amount of discomfort. It was a welcome reprieve, a testament to his body's resilience.

Along with the reduced pain, Argon was greeted by a familiar stirring within him. His vitality had returned, a physiological assurance that his strength was on the mend. Looking at his two slumbering companions, he couldn't help but grin, his spirits buoyed by this development.

Gently, he nudged Saera and Lyra, rousing them from their sleep. The women blinked, their eyes heavy with sleep, but quickly turned attentive at Argon's words.

"Ladies, it seems I'm finally on the mend," Argon murmured, his voice laced with mirth. "And as it happens, I find myself in need of your tender care."

A spark of surprise flickered in their eyes, but it was quickly replaced with understanding. Argon had managed to retain his characteristic bravado despite his weakened state, his bold request leaving no room for doubt.

With a smirk, he laid back against his pillows, allowing the women to fulfil his request. Their skilled hands, soft lips, and willingness to please were a welcome distraction from the lingering discomfort of his injury. Argon could set aside the constant reminders of his wound for the first time in weeks and simply enjoy the moment, a small victory in the face of adversity.

With a knowing smile, Saera moved to fulfil her master's request, her hands delicately exploring his form. Her every touch was electric, igniting his senses and stoking the heat within him. Meanwhile, Lyra turned her attention to his thigh, peppering it with soft kisses, each tender and filled with an intimate warmth.

As Saera took his arousal into her hands, her touch was both firm and gentle, a paradoxical combination that had Argon fighting to keep his composure. The rhythm she set was tortuously slow, each stroke purposeful and coaxing.

On the other hand, Lyra's lips danced along his thigh, her kisses growing gradually daring, each one a step closer to his centre. The juxtaposition of her soft lips against his hardened muscles was tantalising, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through his veins.

It was a dance of sensual pleasure, each woman playing her part impeccably. As Saera's hands and mouth worked their magic and Lyra's lips traced an intimate path, Argon was reminded why he was so fond of these two women. They understood his needs, their skills perfectly tailored to appease his desires. At that moment, his chamber became a sanctuary, the outside world fading away under the skilful ministrations of Saera and Lyra.

In the quiet intimacy of his chamber, Argon felt his release approach like an unstoppable force, a culmination of the exquisite pleasure that had been building within him. With a guttural groan, he surrendered to the wave of pleasure, his body shuddering in the throes of climax. As his seed spilt into Saera's mouth, she swallowed, maintaining eye contact with him, intensifying the moment's intimacy. His breaths came out in ragged pants as the pleasure ebbed away, leaving him sated and content in the comforting presence of his companions.

In a moment of post-coital clarity, Argon felt a renewed interest in the affairs of his village. He nudged the girls, instructing them to summon Brolan. Saera, always the worrier, protested, arguing that pushing himself too hard could exacerbate his injuries. But Argon brushed off her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Enough, Saera. I can't be bedridden forever. Stop smothering me," he rebuked, a hint of irritation in his voice. Saera fell silent, her face etched with concern as she and Lyra left the room to find Brolan.

Brolan made his entrance, donned in the impressive black Dayless armour. "Master, are you sure you want to tour the village? Is that wise in your current condition?" He questioned, concern lining his face.

In response, Argon scoffed, his impatience evident. "Who gives a damn about what's wise? Stop treating me like an invalid. I can still crush your skull in this state." Argon positioned his injured arm in a sling to minimise movement and potential pain.

Dressed only in his helmet, he cut his finger and smeared the blood over his healing artefact, desperate to dull the pain for the forthcoming journey. Turning to Brolan, he asked, "Have you inserted your artefacts into the Dayless armor yet?"

Brolan nodded in affirmation. "Yes, master. But there is still one attribute artefact left over." His tone hinted at a question, wondering what Argon intended for the remaining artefact.

"Hmm, I'll have to think about what to do with it. And also the other set of Dayless armor," Argon mused, the possibilities swirling in his mind.

With Brolan at his side, Argon embarked on a village tour, his gaze taking in every detail. Saera and Lyra followed a few meters behind, their eyes attentively watching their lord's every move, ready to respond immediately. The village was lively, with men and women going about their daily tasks and children playing under the watchful eyes of their parents. The village had grown and changed since Argon last saw it, and he was eager to immerse himself in its bustling energy again.

The village hadn't changed much since Argon's last visit. The defensive structures had seen slight improvements, but the layout and general vibe of the village remained the same. The familiarity was both comforting and a little disappointing. He had hoped for more drastic improvements, but, considering the circumstances, he had to be patient.

He saw the villagers doing their daily chores, some tending to their small gardens, others busy with construction work or household chores. Children ran around, their laughter filling the air, blissfully ignorant of the dangers beyond the village's boundaries.

As they walked, they came across Melvin, leading a group of villagers towards the outskirts of the village. Upon seeing Argon, Melvin seemed startled. "My lord, you're out of bed," he said, surprise colouring his tone.

"Yes, I'm aware, Melvin," Argon retorted dryly. "What are you up to?"

"I was just about to check on the yield in my field, my lord," Melvin explained, gesturing to the group following him. "And Brom is training the new male slaves on how to handle spears and formations. There is also something else I wished to discuss with you, my lord."

Curiosity piqued, Argon encouraged Melvin to continue. "Go on then," he urged, looking at the elderly man with a hint of impatience.

Melvin nodded, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Well, my lord," he began, his gaze fixed on Argon, "as I've been surveying the land around the village, I've come across a rather interesting discovery. There's a rocky outcrop located within the forest, just a short walk away from the village boundaries."

Argon arched a brow, waiting for Melvin to get to the point. The anticipation in the air was palpable.

"Well, upon closer inspection, it appears this outcrop is rich in valuable ores," Melvin finally revealed, looking at Argon with an expectant gleam. His discovery could drastically change their circumstances, and he hoped Argon would see its potential.

"Absolutely fantastic, Melvin," Argon declared, his words echoing his delight at the prospect. "Make some small trips to verify your findings. Take Edrik along, and perhaps some of the more able-bodied surfs. If there is indeed a good amount of ore, we can set up a mine. This could be a turning point for us."

"Indeed, my lord, as you wish," Melvin nodded in understanding, grateful that his lord was as enthusiastic as he was about the potential discovery.

As Argon and Brolan continued their journey around the village, they chanced upon Brom, the hefty, burly man, training 17 of the surf men in the fields outside the village. The sight of men learning the way of the spear was satisfying for Argon. Seeing their training, growing stronger and becoming a more unified force brought a rare smile to his face.

Their tour of the village completed, and satisfied with what he had seen, Argon decided it was time to return to the manor house. Despite the temporary respite that the healing artefact had provided, he could feel the nagging pain returning, signalling that it was time for rest. As the grand manor house came into view, Argon looked forward to the comfort of his bed and to the continuous rise of his growing power in Blackwood.