Defences

Walking out of the village gates, Argon, still gripping Eldrin's neck, strides up to the nearest sound to where Dael is overseeing the construction. It was his gruff voice that echoed across the field. His tongue was as sharp as a whip, spewing curses at the villagers who were stumbling over their tasks with the trench, moving too slowly for his liking.

"Dael!" Argon calls out, attracting the man's attention. He shoves Eldrin forward, releasing his hold. "Got a fresh pair of hands here."

A toothy grin splits Dael's face as he sizes up the boy. "Bloody hell! Missed this one, did I? Thanks, my Lord. We could use every damn hand we can get on this project." He claps Eldrin on the shoulder unkindly and shoves a tool into his hand. "Get to work, lad. And don't you dare slack off."

Argon carries on with his patrol, his boots crunching on the dirt-packed path that meanders around the periphery of the village. Coming to the far end of the settlement, he observes Brom supervising the peasants as they sweat and strain, digging a new trench under the harsh midday sun.

"Ser Argon," Brom greets with a nod and a slight bow. Argon responds in kind, a nod of acknowledgement, his gaze scanning the labourers in the ditch.

His eyes land on the Doctor, Melvin, who is mired in work along with the others. A pang of irritation twinges in Argon's chest; a man of such learning shouldn't be waist-deep in mud.

"Melvin," Argon calls, beckoning the man to climb out of the trench. Melvin complies, his breaths heavy and laboured as he hauls himself out of the hole. His coat, once pristine, is now soiled and speckled with muck.

"Yes, my lord?" Melvin inquires, wringing the sweat from his brow with a dirt-smeared hand.

Argon shakes his head in mild frustration. "You shouldn't be wasting your intellect on this kind of work," he states plainly. "From this moment on, you're my steward."

A look of surprise crosses Melvin's face. "I--I'm honoured, my lord". Argon says, "I don't know the first thing about this village or the people here."

"You'll speak frankly to me about the issues that need addressing and propose solutions. I expect progress. Now, get cleaned up and start. You're no use to me in that ditch."

Dr Melvin, wiping the remaining grime from his hands onto his already soiled tunic, gives a firm nod. "I've noted the food problem, my Lord. It's the water, mostly. Without it, our crops won't grow."

"Indeed," Argon grunts, turning to face the village, "The drought has taken its toll. Everywhere, not just here. The entire region is parched. Hunting can only get us so far, and it's not a sustainable solution."

Argon beckons Melvin to follow him, leading him through the village to a small, babbling brook at the outskirts of the settlement. "Do you see that stream there, Melvin?"

Melvin squints at the narrow body of water, his brow furrowing. "Yes, my lord, I see it."

"That's your task, Melvin," Argon states, his gaze focused on the stream. "Find a way to utilize this water source. Ask Brom to spare you a few villagers. If we can manage to irrigate the land around it, perhaps we can salvage a small crop field."

Melvin nods, looking from the stream to the dry, parched land surrounding it. It's a daunting task, but he's up to the challenge. "I'll do my best, my lord," he responds, determination etched on his face. "I'll start planning right away."

Argon casually throws in another request, his tone turning lighter, "While you're at it, compile a list of willing girls in the village for my men. They deserve a bit of cheer amidst the labor."

Melvin choked a bit at the blunt proposition, his eyes widening. His calm exterior fades, replaced by a visible unease. "My Lord... I, uh... I'm not sure that's quite the approach to take. The villagers... they've seen your... interactions with Lyra and her boy. Chuck was a highly respected man here and his... absence, well it has caused some unrest. I fear this move may further fan the flames of their discontent."

Argon's easy smile fades into a grim line, his eyes hardening at the hesitant response. "Are you questioning my orders, Melvin?" His voice is cold, and all trace of casual joviality evaporated. The Doctor quickly backpedals, "No, my Lord, I merely wanted to ensure we are... sensitive to the sentiments of the people we're ruling over. I'll, uh, get started on that list then."

Argon fixes Melvin with a hard, unyielding stare, his voice deep and commanding as he replies. "Melvin, I'm not interested in the sentiment of the peasants. They are not my equals; they are my subjects. There's no one left among them who can fight back, so I rule by fear, not by favor."

He steps forward, imposing his presence over the slightly smaller man. "And let me make it clear, they should be thanking me. If I hadn't come along, those damned beasts from the forest would have feasted on them within a month, what with the gap in their wall. So do your tasks, Doctor, and let me deal with the hard realities of ruling."

"I'm not a complete brute, Melvin," Argon adds, a hint of concession in his voice. "The girls should be willing participants. There will be compensation for them. And if they happen to bear children, the children will be taken care of."

His assurance seems to alleviate some of Melvin's concerns. While his methods are harsh, there is a semblance of justice and order in them. Argon's dominance comes not just from physical might but also from his ability to ensure the provision and safety of his subjects, albeit in his own stern way.

Melvin nods reluctantly, understanding the gravity of the situation. Argon's rule may be draconian, but it's a harsh reality they must face for survival. The compromise of a little dignity for the greater good is a difficult but necessary pill to swallow.

Argon's proclamation hangs heavy in the air, leaving no room for argument. His decisions, harsh as they may seem, are underscored by an unwavering sense of control and authority. It's a clear statement that his reign will be one of absolute dominance.

Cursing under his breath, Argon trudges towards the outskirts of the forest. From a distance, he spots a heap of carcasses - deer and other small woodland creatures - signs of a successful hunt. The stench of fresh blood mixed with the earthy scent of the wilderness creates a pungent atmosphere around the kill pile.

He squints into the thick trees, trying to discern any movement. But Brolan and the hunting party are well-versed in the art of stealth and tracking; they blend into their surroundings like phantoms, leaving behind only the faintest traces of their presence.

Argon decides it's best to wait for their return rather than risk becoming an unintended target of a wayward spear. Taking a seat on a fallen log, he keeps his eyes peeled on the forest's edge, silently praising the effectiveness of his men while awaiting their return.

The forest rustles, giving way to Brolan and the others, their faces smudged with dirt and sweat. They haul behind them a group of beasts - four-mole rats each - bulky and cumbersome. Even in their weariness, there is a spark of achievement in their eyes.

However, Argon, with a grimace that's half admiration, half concern, acknowledges their efforts. "Nice work, boys, but this won't even make a dent in the food shortages we're facing," he grunts, his voice carrying a note of harsh realism.

Brolan, his hands stained with the animals' blood, nods in agreement. "We need something big, like the trolls we got at Norenway."

Argon, inspired by Brolan's determination, claps him on the shoulder. "You're right, Brolan. You three get these critters back to the village for processing. We've got bigger game to hunt."

Like a couple of seasoned old-timers, Argon and Brolan slip into the thick of the forest, their eyes glinting with anticipation and their hands steady on their weapons. "Just like the good old days, eh?" Argon muses, a hint of nostalgia threading his voice. Brolan's hearty laugh echoes in response, "Haha, let's do this!"

The forest, dense and hushed, welcome them like an old friend. The undergrowth crunches beneath their boots, the overgrown branches reach out to them, and the echoes of distant creatures float in the air. They delve deeper, their eyes scanning the green vastness for signs of larger beasts. The air is filled with the earthy scent of damp foliage, the faint rustling of leaves, and the quiet camaraderie between two seasoned warriors.

But luck doesn't favour them this time. As the day wanes, the forest shifts from vibrant greens to a canvas of gloaming blues. The chirping of the birds fades away, and the nocturnal life stirs awake. Despite their efforts, they find no prey of note, their ambitious hunt falling short of their hopes.

With the last light of the day fading away, they settle for two additional mole rats, their disappointment tangible but unspoken. "Not quite the bounty we hoped for," Argon grumbles, but they gather their meagre catch and return to the village, their silhouettes swallowed by the encroaching darkness of the night.

Upon their return, Argon and Brolan are greeted by the heartening sight of activity within the village. Amid the smoky tendrils rising towards the star-studded sky, Brom, Dael, and Edrik are seen overseeing a bustling scene. The villagers, looking weary but gratified, are busy gutting and smoking the meats. The tantalizing smell of smoked meat fills the air, creating an atmosphere of shared toil and unity.

Argon approaches them, the crunch of his boots on the gravel drawing their attention. "Every peasant who worked on the defenses today gets a piece," he declares loudly, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. "Hard work gets rewarded." A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd, their faces brightening under the flickering firelight.

He then turns to his men, his tone dropping to a more commanding one. "Also, find Melvin for me," he orders. As they nod in acknowledgement, Argon surveys the scene again - his village, his people. Despite the day's challenges, there is progress and hope - a fledgling sense of order and purpose rising from the ashes of the former regime.

Melvin appears, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. His clothes are dusted with dirt, hinting at a day spent in hard labour. He bows his head respectfully, "What can I do for you, my lord?"

"Ah, Melvin. Firstly, how'd your task go?" Argon asks, curiosity lining his voice.

Melvin's face brightens at the question. Clearly, this is something he had been eagerly waiting to discuss. He starts to explain enthusiastically, "Well, my Lord, we've made progress. The stream you pointed out was small, but it held potential. We've started by digging out a simple irrigation system to direct water towards a plot of land. The soil there is fertile and should respond well to the moisture."

He motions with his hands, mimicking the path of the waterway. "We've divided the stream into several smaller canals, each leading to a different part of the field. This way, we can ensure that water is evenly distributed across the entire plot."

Melvin pauses to catch his breath, excitement shining in his eyes. He seems proud of his efforts, eager to show that he's risen to the challenge Argon set for him. "With any luck, and given time, we should be able to see some crops starting to grow soon. We've planted several varieties of grains and vegetables. The villagers, once hesitant, are now hopeful and have started to assist eagerly."

"That's great work, Melvin," Argon praises, nodding at his efforts. "But, will it be enough to sustain the whole village?"

Melvin hesitates before answering, clearly measuring his words carefully. "Unfortunately, my lord, I don't think it will be enough for everyone," he admits, his enthusiasm fading slightly. "The area we're working with is too small to fully meet the needs of the village, especially if the drought continues."

Seeing the stern look on Argon's face, he rushes to add, "However, it's definitely better than nothing. With proper rationing, it could provide sustenance for around thirty individuals, perhaps a bit more."

While it isn't the answer Argon was hoping for, it's clear that Melvin has put in his best effort, given the dire circumstances. The beginnings of a solution have been planted, and now they could only hope for the best.

"What about the second task I gave you?".

Melvin, understanding Argon's inquiry, nods slightly before speaking up. "Ah, yes, my Lord. Actually, quite a number of women have agreed. They see it as a means of securing food for their families," he explains, his voice holding a touch of unease.

This brings a smirk to Argon's lips, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. This was precisely the kind of control he needed over the village. And if these women were willing to accommodate his men for the promise of food, then he wasn't going to object.

Argon, nodding along as Melvin explains the situation with the village women, grunts his approval. "Brolan can have first pick then," he dismisses, not really invested in the matter himself. "As for the rest, I don't give a damn who they choose."

"Perhaps another for you, my Lord", Melvin said.

Argon smirks and takes a moment to consider the question. "Well, I might take a second if one happens to catch my eye. But that will be it. For now, anyway," he replies, dismissing the topic. He feels his tiredness sinking in, the long day of work taking its toll.

"Alright, you can go have fun Brolan," Argon says, slapping his companion on the back. "Pick any woman you want, but remember the biggest bed in the chieftain's house is mine." Brolan grins and nods, heading off to follow the instructions.

"Goodnight, Melvin. It's been a shit day and I'm off to bed," Argon says, stifling a yawn as he makes his way back to the chieftain's house, ready to finally get some much-needed rest after a taxing day.

As he strolls back to the chieftain's house, his attention is drawn by a figure seated patiently on the steps. Lyra. A smirk curls up at the corners of his mouth at the sight of her waiting for him. "Ah, look who it is," he greets her, his voice laden with smug satisfaction. "A visitor at my doorstep. What brings you here, my dear?"

Lyra's voice is quiet and submissive. "I thought you might be upset if I didn't come," she murmurs. Argon simply nods, his expression unreadable.

Argon leads Lyra to the luxurious room, the former chief's chambers. The flickering candlelight creates a captivating play of shadows and light on her form, accentuating the curves of her body. Argon's pace quickens - a reflection of his fatigue, as well as his need to reaffirm his dominance and control. Her body moves in rhythm with his, her hips pushing back to meet his, her breath hitching with each thrust. His hands run down her sides, appreciating the softness of her skin and the dip of her waist before resting on the swell of her hips. The sight of her backside beneath him is like an enticing promise, pushing him to release his fatigue and tensions of the day into the night. After a few moments of recovery, Argon collapses on the bed, his breathing heavy and his thoughts a whirlwind of satisfaction and fleeting tenderness for the woman next to him.