It was expected of each of the Warlord's wives to prepare a meal each day. He would visit them all and taste a little of their food and ultimately choose to stay with one for the remainder of the night. Maite found the situation a little unfair. With Jokin she had been able to take pleasure in cooking well for him because she loved him; but with Ekain, she had to go through elaborate preparations for a meal he didn't even eat, since he usually seemed to prefer his arreba-emazte's* company. But now the alab'zakur* of a Shamaness was gone, and he'd begun to come to her more frequently.

He had given her rich gifts, like the copper earrings and necklace she wore now. Never mind that the weight of the copper spools tugged on her earlobes; she looked elegant, very much the Warlord's wife. And she was the youngest of the three so far.

She brushed off her green cotton tunic, embroidered with beads on the front--the dye had been hard to make, but she was glad, because it seemed none of the woman in the Central Camp seemed to bother with interesting dyes. She stood out for it. Dinner tonight would be rabbit, though her husband would go on a hunt soon, she knew, and there would be venison for the next few meals. For now she'd snared a couple of rabbits herself, skinned them (rabbit fur made lovely mittens for children, she recalled, thinking wistfully of Ekaitz) and now they turned on a spit over the fire in her corner of the longhouse.

It had taken time to get used to the longhouse, too, with its many smokeholes that nonetheless never seemed to disperse the stinging blur of a hundred cooking fires under one roof. At least she had a spacious living area, cordoned off by hanging skins and a curtain of wooden beads for an entrance.

She shook her head and concentrated on not smearing ash on herself as she wiped her hands carefully on a cloth, then turned to baste the rabbits with butter from the horses. She would serve the usual ogi* and gazta* of course, the milk for the cheese fresh from the horses and crumbling and soft, not hard and aged. She would let Ekain spread it on the warm flat bread to eat, as he was accustomed to doing. She had stuffed the rabbits with wild carrots harvested earlier in the day, and she had peaces for afterwards, as well as some light wine and a skin of water. It would be a good meal. Maybe he'd stay.

When the food was almost ready, the rabbits crackling on the spit and dripping with juice, the bread warming on a flat stone by the firepit and the cheese set out in a bowl, she heard him approach, and hastened to set a helping of everything out in an eating-bowl.

"Here, husband," she said, serving him before even thinking of getting food for herself. The men always ate first. "Did you have a good day?"






*arreba-emazte = sister-wife
*alab'zakur = daughter of a dog, insult
*odi = flat bread
*gazta = cheese

There was no denying it. He missed his arreba-emazte. He knew as the rightful Warlord of the Ekaini people he really shouldn't play favorites, but it was true, she was. He remembered conversations they'd had when they were younger; the way she laughed at his jokes even when they weren't very funny. The way she would cover for him when he got into trouble. The way she blushed when she was told she was to become his bride one day. The look in her eyes when they first realized the attraction between them was greater then that of siblings. The way she shivered and trembled during their first lovemaking. He remembered it all, and he missed her passionately.

She was not here, however, and at the moment retrieving her was neigh impossible. Instead he decided to make do where he could with his two other wives. His first wife was of course his most memorable; she'd been his first in so many things in life. His sister-wife had been his second, his most beloved, but she was gone. His third was newly acquired, and she was different from the others. Arguably the youngest, she had already proved her fertility with her previous husband before he passed. Their marriage, unlike his others, was an arranged one that, thusfar, was mainly without love just yet, for they did not know each other well enough to love. That could easily change with time, however.

She was certainly beautiful, and had proven herself capable as of recent, especially with his arreba-emazte absent. He appreciated the effort she was putting into it, though admittedly, sometimes he was concerned that she intentionally caught the eyes of other males as well.

As he arrived, the food offered to him, he smiled kindly. He'd already tried Miren's offering, and now it was Maite's turn. He was lucky. All three of his wives were talented at creating tasty dishes, so it was very frequently hard to choose, based solely on meals...instead he usually based it on company as well, which was why he so frequently chose Nekane's.

Fully expecting to be served before she could eat, he took the offered food and as he bit into the tender rabbit meat, the juices from it slipped free and began to trickle down his chin, but it was no matter. Juicy meat was good meat, in the Warlord's point of view. He felt he deserved to give some more time to Maite as of late, especially considering the two hardly knew one another. His words, when they came out between bites, were soft and kind, his sonorous voice gentle.

"As good as can be expected, emazte. Mostly untroubled, though there was a minor dispute over the faithfulness of a wife. Once that was resolved, the rest of the day seemed to go well enough, as had the time before it, though I will admit I am pleased to be able to rest myself for the day. For some reason I feel...unusually wearied." It was true, and he suspected that it was due in no small part to his missing of Nekane, not only as his beloved wife, but as a shamaness as well. She was a highly prized and valued member of his tribe.

"And how was your day, emazte?"

Maite smiled and felt her body relax when he dug into his food. He had liked her offering, then! It pleased her, because she did enjoy the physical aspects of having a husband. Lovemaking wasn't the same with someone other than Jokin, but it satisfied that deepest urge, and maybe she would give him a son and become the favored wife. His sister-wife might be a powerful shaman, but she was gone for now, and she had given him no sons anyway.

"My day was very good, emaita*," she said, sitting down on the ground with her legs tucked under, her knees facing forward, and her hand in her lap. "I set snares out for the rabbits and I began to weave you a new tunic, with a strand from one of your horse's tails in it for luck." Keeping a bit of your jainko with you was good luck, and if it was a jainko as strong as the horse--then it was doubly protective. She kept a small dried bee in the pouch at her waist, and it comforted her to know that her jainko looked out for her... but really, the bee was not such a very strong spirit. Maybe it was meant to make her rely on herself more--so she had sometimes thought. "I hardly think of my home camp at all." That was a lie, of course, but she forced a little smile while she watched him enjoy her food.

She waited for him to finish eating before she filled her own bowl, and tried to eat more delicately than he had. In particular she savored the bread on cheese, partly because she feared dripping grease from the rabbit on her best green tunic. She ate bending forward at the waist, her knees still neatly tucked together, though as she finished a bite of bread and cheese and licked her fingers, she let her knees spread apart a little in an invitation to her husband.

"I hope you are not too tired, emaita," she said softly, looking up at him through her fall of hair. Her hair was shorter than some women's--it simply refused to grow--but she could use it skilfully in any case to draw attention to her expression, her body...

"Would you like some mahatsur*? It can be very stimulating." She reached down before he could reply to pour a cupful, first for him and then for herself. They were allowed to share the after-dinner glass of wine, as a ritual preparation for the bed. Of course it was terribly unsubtle of her to simply pour, but his staying here did mean that he would stay the night. She leaned down to pick up her cup, letting the neckline of her tunic fall to expose the tops of her breasts, grown full from her days suckling her son.


*emaita = husband
*mahatsur = wine

As he settled in for his meal with the widow-turned-wife, he knew he wasn't eating daintily...but he was not exactly a dainty eater. He knew he tore into his meat, crunched his odi and his lips smacked when he chewed his gazta. Meal manners weren't something highly prized by the Beskar, though he knew to appreciate it when he found it...such as Maite was to display during her own meal.

He listened patiently to her story of her day, smiling kindly throughout. At mention of the tunic she was making for him, the kind smile blossomed into a more full, appreciative smile. "A new tunic would be much appreciated, doubly so one protected by my jainko. I've been in need of a favored tunic since my last one was shredded last several days ago." He remembered vividly that incident; a skirmish with a bear to protect two children of his tribe. That had earned him a new scar on his chest, though admittedly not nearly as damaging as ones he'd received previous. It had, however, been in tatters by the time the encounter was through...though afterwards, the entire gathered encampment feasted well on bear meat.

That was not all that was said in that statement, however. If her new tunic became his favored...to have something he wore so frequently be of her said a lot about favor within the marriages, as well. If her handiwork was recognized, any who recognized it would understand that it meant she had gained a fair amount of favor with him as a wife.

"I am glad to hear you're adjusting to life here so well, emazte. If you have any troubles or concerns, please do not hesitate to bring them to me." He watched her eat, admiring her form quietly, and did not miss the not-entirely-subtle sign of the parting of her legs. At her following words, his smile widened a bit, becoming slightly suggestive itself, eying her appreciatively, tousled hair and all.

"Of course I'm not depleted just yet..." he responded, accepting the proffered cup. As she bent to retrieve her own, his eyes grazed appreciatively over the tops of her breasts, not missing the subtle--and not-so-subtle--signs she was gifting him with. Virile a man as he was, even the barest hints seemed to arouse his own passion, and he felt his body stir, but forced it still. His eyes never left hers as he raised it to his lips and took a long, slow sip, his eyes already faintly registering the subtle dance that was occurring; his dark eyes meeting hers with a quiet hunger. Only after the cup departed his lips did he, quite blatantly, let his eyes slide down her form to admire her voluptuous shape. Having borne child, she already had full breasts and wide hips, both points he found quite attractive. While at times he questioned the honesty of her personality, he at least could not question the beauty of her physical form.

"Indeed, dear wife...it is quite stimulating." He was, of course, not referring to the drink at all, though it had its good effects as well. He would bed her this night, they both knew it, but that didn't make this dance, somewhat remarkably like a hunt in and of itself--despite both hunter and prey knowing the result--any less enjoyable. However, based on her forwardness, in this situation he couldn't help but wonder who was the hunter and who the prey...

"Oh, no concerned, emaita," she demurred, lowering her eyes and taking a slow sip of wine. The grape harvest had been good this year, and the wine was thick and sweet. She remained carefully upright, sitting so that she was more the figure of an upright flower still closed in its bud than an open bloom. She had invited him already, and he had accepted, and now she was tantalizing him further with her demureness and grace.

She took another sip of wine and let her tongue dart out to moisten her lips. Once this sort of flirtation had been a private game between herself and Jokin, something they had done even in public. But there had been real affection behind it, whereas now she felt like a whore, calculating her every movement. But Ekain was a kind man, and a good leader... and he was the Warlord, the avatar of their people. It would be an honor to bear him children, and if she had a son before Miren, he would be the next Warlord.

It was troubling to think of her marriage in such stark political terms, but then, many a woman with a father less kind than her own had married only for such an advantage, and sometimes to a cruel or brutal man. And she'd had the chance to make a match for love once. That was really all that could be expected.

Besides, he Warlord was a very handsome man, and it wasn't only for his sake that she'd responded with such overt signs of interest. She really had missed a man's touch. Some women claimed not to enjoy the act, but she always had...

She set down her now-empty cup of wine and licked her lips again as she reached over to clear away their dirty bowls. Maite stood, emphasizing the movement of her hips and legs and keeping her body very upright as she went about cleaning up from their dinner, letting Ekain lounge at his ease. She stacked the bowls and cups by the hearth and wrapped the remaining bread in a cloth, then set another cloth over the unfinished cheese. She could wash the bowls tomorrow morning; they had both wiped them practically clean with bread in any case.

When she was done, she turned toward the curtain of beads that separating her sleeping place from the eating place, and cast a look at her husband over her shoulder; the only over encouragement she would give, as now it was up to him to follow.

Every subtle move spoke of teasing seduction; every word almost like a double entendre with the tone she was using. This was no longer a conversation, but a convoluted mating ritual. As he drained his cup, a small part of him on the inside sighed. He knew she did not love him, not like she had her late husband. He was not a vile man, and while he hardly wished to force her affections, he would be content if she came to love him naturally. He tried to show his love through his kindness, but he suspected the wound of her dead husband was still too fresh.

However, he could not deny she was beautiful, and her enticements stirred his loins despite whatever his head might have tried to convince him of. All three of his wives were beautiful, and each in different ways. The one thing Maite had that the others did not was the allure of the sexy seductress. She could make even the slightest movements absolutely intoxicating, and stoke a fire in him even should he not wish for it.

It was the licking of her lips that almost made him take her right there, but he refrained, ever the kind man he was known for being. Just by watching her move he could feel his body responding to her, his breathing starting to quicken at the thought of her. As she glanced at the beads that separated the two areas, he stood, sure his arousal was already somewhat apparent even as he moved towards the beaded curtain, taking his hand in hers and bringing her back there.

Once they had entered, he came behind her and encircled his arms around her. His arms pulled her back against him, sure his manhood was pressing against her but not caring as he bent down slightly to let his lips gently touch her neck. He could be a wild, animalistic lover; he could be a tender, sweet lover; he could be a passionate, hungry lover. Al was up to her. He might set the pace with his other wives, but he didn't want to come off as too harsh nor too gentle to his newer wife, so he would let her decide. He decided to let her set the pace for how their lovemaking would go, but he at least made it clear that he wanted her.

How they proceeded past that was up to her.

At that moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted her. Guiltily, in those brief moments of lust, even his sorrow over Nekane fled, if only very temporarily.

He followed her back toward their bed, his hand in hers, and she almost smiled with satisfaction to see his obvious arousal. Of course, she had expected no differently. She had a fleeting, melancholy thought--was satisfaction all she felt? Did she view him as a mere object of manipulation? But maybe, in time...

Behind the curtain of beads lay the neat pile of her sleeping furs, and she stepped backwards toward them, her bare feet brushing the bearskin. His arms were around her waist, and he bent low enough to kiss her neck, which she had always enjoyed. Throwing back her head against his shoulder, she let out a sigh of pleasure that wasn't wholly faked. She slid her hands up, to grasp him by one of his braids, and twisted her body in his arms so she was facing him. Slowly, she pushed up on his tunic, forcing him to remove it. When it was off she ran her hands up his sides and pulled him down toward her.

"Emaita," she said softly, reaching up on tiptoe to return the favor of his kiss, licking at the skin of his neck. The shock of her tongue's coldness against warm skin had always made Jokin shiver, but this wasn't the time to think of that. Jokin's spirit was with Eguzki, and they would be one again one day--and in the meantime she was here, and enjoying her new husband as much as she could. She slid her hands up the smooth skin of his back, her fingers tight against the hard muscle of it, and took a step back, pulling him down with her gradually onto the furs.

She kissed him again, now on the lips, which tasted pleasantly enough of the wine they'd just been drinking. Another reason for that custom, she thought idly--who wanted to kiss a man with greasy lips? Her hands, meanwhile, roved over his body, one sliding down his torso slowly toward the tie of his trousers, which she deftly undid before sliding her hand down to touch the cool, smooth skin of him.

"So you do want me," she whispered, though she'd known it all along. Still, pretending to pleasure and surprise at his desire would flatter him, and make him want to prove it to her.

She wound a leg around both of his, her own tunic riding up to her hips, and kissed him again. "That makes me happy," she said, her voice a sigh, her eyes closed, her mind far away.

It was sad but true that Maite had been wed to him because of her fertility. The hope was that she would bear him an heir, as his other wives had not. He loved her in his own way, as he loved all his wives. But something about Maite just felt...different. He understood that she was emotionally distant, and he wanted her to care for him, but being forceful would only push her farther away.

As she turned in his arms, concerns of her melted away as she forced his tunic off and her tongue met his flesh, making him shiver in delight. At the very least, he could say that Maite was good in bed. As she pulled him down into their marriage bed, he felt her lean up to kiss him, and he kissed her back. There was the passion of desire there, yes, but also a gentleness that only kind men could display. Her hands slid to his trousers, and with deft fingers that made him wonder a bit too much at how skilled she was, and her fingers were upon him. The simple act of her touching him made his entire body throb, and a small part of him hated her for that...that she could arouse him so with so little effort.

As she whispered to him he sighed in appreciation, and reached up to peel her own tunic off over her head. Now that he'd removed the barriers of clothing, he paused a moment to take in the beautiful sight of her naked form before pulling her to him, kissing her in return. His lips trailed down from hers to her throat and neck to suck and lick gently, even as his body pressed against hers, one of his hands peeling his breeches off entirely.

Then, just as his body was pressed against hers, his mouth on her warm skin, he whispered the unthinkable.

"Nekane..."

...oops.

Maite pulled back sharply at the sound of the detested name, her body going still in Ekain's arms. But she knew that showing too much displeasure would ostracize him, maybe forever, and she might become a cast-aside wife, never visited, untouchable, as bad as barren. But still, she couldn't restrain the urge from her jainko to sting him, just a little.

"I'm not your sister," she said, being blunt and a little cruel (for few but the Warlord could marry a sibling, and some considered it bad luck), her hand tightening on his shoulder where moments before her touch had been light, caressing. "I'm Maite alab'Unai, and for tonight I'm your chosen wife!" The whining hum of the erle* thrummed in her voice, and she knew it was unpleasant to hear, so she quickly smoothed it away. "But it's all right." She slowly let her body relax against his, though she had lost the readiness she'd been cultivating, and most of her desire was now stifled. "You have much on your mind..." And though she couldn't politely mention a former husband, she had lost someone too.

She kissed him again, this time at the corner of his mouth, trying to soften the comment she had just made, and tugged idly at the tie on the end of one of his braids. "It's all right." The words were more to convince herself than they were to offer him forgiveness. What forgiveness did he need? He was the Warlord.

*erle = bee

Maite's recoil was not difficult to miss. It was as though he'd held her hand into a fire the way she reacted. He had no idea why, but her envenomed reply had caught him so much off-guard that he pulled completely back. Where he had been growing passionate before, now his face was deadpan. She tried to be sweet and pull him back in, but somehow, something was different. Not only for her, but for him too.

"Yes...you are Maite. My apologies." When he said it he really did look apologetic, but as she pulled him against her he was much stiffer and less passionate. As she tugged on his braid, repeating her acceptance of what he'd said, he smiled softly, but his eyes were distant. Something had just changed. Not even just in that intimate moment, but within himself as well. The worst part of it was that he was not really all that sorry.

Am I a bad man? A bad husband? he ignored the thought and began to feel his body become aroused once more as both lay on the pile of furs naked and pressed against each other, but it was not out of passion this time, it was a purely physical reaction. It was in that moment, with Maite crooning to him and lulling him with her sickly sweet tone that he felt slightly disgusted. He wanted to stand and leave, but refrained. No, though he usually took great pleasure in the act, these acts were not simply for pleasure alone.

Without any real preamble he slipped between her legs, and could feel himself pressing against her opening. The passion was gone, but that didn't mean he could try and use her fertile womb to make an heir. The act would be mechanical and somewhat dispassionate, and he knew she probably deserved better then that, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. While his thoughts--unspoken this time--dwelt on Nekane, he went about using his third wife's womb in hopes it would bear child. That was the main reason she had been married off to him, was it not? Yes, he loved her in some small way, but not as he loved Nekane or Miren. Those two he had honestly loved with all his heart; Maite was for child-bearing.

So, even now when he wished nothing more then to simply rise and leave, that's what he would use her for.

Maite sighed and closed her eyes, trying to ready herself for him again, but it wasn't easy. Wrapping her legs around him, she drew him in, letting the rhythm of copulation build--but it was not pleasurable for her now, and even a little painful. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and bit her lip, flinging her head back as they moved together.

She had just as much interest in conceiving a child as he did. After all, he could then leave her alone and dream of Nekane as he wished, and she wouldn't be put aside. She'd be left alone, as she wished. If only it weren't so lonely here in the new camp, with people she didn't know, and high-ranking chiefs she felt afraid to talk to even though she was now the wife of the Warlord. And she thought that Miren hated her; and she wasn't a little jealous of the first wife, herself.

It was all too clear what her role was, and she would have hated herself too if she were the barren first wife in this situation. But there wasn't anything to be done about it. She kept her eyes squeezed shut and forced herself to give little moans of pretended pleasure, clenching her muscles around him to speed things along.

"Emaita, faster, please--" There was a merit to speed, that being, she could relax sooner, but her voice was that of a woman asking more from her man. She felt the sudden, vicious urge to call him by the name of her dead husband, but did not. He could have her killed or cast her aside; she could do nothing.

As the moved together, her making her little movements, he noticed something. Normally he was so taken by passion that he didn't notice. This time, since things were different, he could clearly see it in her. Things that before he'd thought part of enjoyment now seemed so...fabricated. Her fake pleasure only disgusted him further, but instead of departing, as he wished to do further still, he increased his pace. She didn't want him to be there, and he didn't want to be there. Both were only together in hopes of what it might bring about, not out of a desire for each other.

He said nothing of her false pleasure, however, speeding up as she requested. He felt nothing for her at that moment, horrible as he would feel afterwards, and instead simply allowed his physical responses to dictate his actions. Wishing to speed things up, he pictured Nekane in his mind. She was smiling sweetly, laughing at him gently, She touched his arm as she knelt beside him, spreading her thighs slightly. He looked into her eyes, and the look they shared...it was as though a team of wild horses couldn't have torn them apart in that moment. She had been so passionate, so giving, her lovemaking so so tender and so endearing...yet so hungry and raw...

He felt himself drawing closer as in his mind he envisioned his favored wife, and their amazing lovemaking...the way she would call out his name...

After much longer then either of them would have liked he peaked, and as his seed spilled inside of her, he panted at the exertion both of them had spent. He rolled over onto another portion of the furs, currently unused, and simply lay there, staring up at the roofing of the longhouse, one arm resting over his forehead.

I'm a bad husband...

Disgusted both with her and himself, he brought himself to his feet and pulled his breeches back on, slipping on his moccasins too.

"I find myself restless. I'm going for a walk." He suspected they both wanted to be alone then with each other anyway, so he would grant her that wish gladly. He needed to consult with his jainko...to draw courage from it. But most of all he needed to be away from her, for fear he would say or do something he would later regret, or worse still...that he wouldn't regret.

When he was finished, even though she hadn't experienced a climax nor any pleasure, Maite sighed with something like satisfaction. She didn't move at first, only curled up in a ball, drawing her knees to her chest and clenching the muscles deep inside of her, willing them to hold his seed so she could have a son--the next Warlord. She wondered if the Ekaini would someday hold the name of her son. It almost made up for the loss of her first son to Jokin's father. But that couldn't be helped. The next time she saw him would be when her tribe came to the da'Ekain Central Camp for the summer meeting. That was not so very far off. A few months only.

"I find myself restless. I'm going for a walk."

"Very good, emaita," she said, a little tiredly, though it was in fact a blow to her ego that he didn't want to stay and lie with her--and it would be a sign to everyone who saw him that things between them were not at their best. But so... the people here already disliked her for taking the place of the Warlord's third wife instead of one of their daughters. As if it had been her fault... the bargain had been her father's. And if she wasn't the warmest, friendliest person, well. It was hard being in a new place. It was hard having a new husband. And it was so big here, and so much smellier when everyone was crowded together inside, and all the smells from their cookfires and bodies mingled.

She buried her face in the bearskin, though it was already very warm this late in the spring season, and sighed. She hated living in a longhouse instead of in her own tent. She hated making love to this man she barely knew, who never thought of her but only Nekane or Miren. While she waited for him to return, she held herself back from crying only by thinking of the aspect of her jainko that emphasized industry and duty. She would live up to the spirit of the bee. She would do what she had to do and save her stings for intruders, like the hated Zerui or the white, hairy-faced interlopers she had heard of, but never seen.

He remained out and about for several long moments. He saw the warriors guarding the camp eying him curiously--knowing he'd already gone to his longhouse--and quietly wondering if there were problems with one of the Warlord's wives. He remained out for the better part of the eve, joking and building camaraderie with his warriors--some of them still very young and very new--greeting passersby, and just in general being thoughtful On his way back he swung by the surround and visited the horses. One, his favored steed, was Sendoa, a big and strong breed. He was great of strength and fleet of foot, and he had never once failed the Warlord. With his own jainko being that of the horse he felt a special kinship with them, and suspected they with him.

He gently stroked Sendoa's flank, and felt the equine respond positively to his presence and his affection. He gave a very soft whinny, tossing his head and mane slightly, and edged closer to Ekain. He smiled, laughing quietly to himself at how in that way Sendoa was almost like a canine, moving closer to those that would stroke his coat and display affection.

The odd thing about Sendoa was that he would let only the strongest and fiercest warriors ride him. How Sendoa knew was unknown, but it was uncanny. Some had even joked that it should be used as a trial to gauge who among the Ekaini were the best warriors.

"We both know what I must do...but that does not make it any easier, does it my friend?" he crooned softly. The horse turned its head and gazed back at Ekain, as though staring him directly in the eye, and a moment of understanding passed between the two, something that didn't need words to be expressed.

"You're right, as always," he chuckled softly, nodding. "Very well. I'll tell her. Thank you, my friend, for helping me find the courage to do what I know I should have some time ago." One last stroke then he patted the flank before departing the surround, headed back to his longhouse.

As he arrived, he stepped into the sleeping area given her, and gazed to Maite. He was much more at peace now...he had an answer. He knew what he had to do, and spoke quietly and completely calm.

"Maite...I will tell you this now. I could have waited to perform the public announcement that makes it official, but I felt I owed it to you to hear it first. On the morrow I will finalize the annulment. You do not wish to be here, I see that now, and I have tried to be open and welcoming, but instead of honesty I feel all I get back is a false sheen. Some may marry for single sake of fertility, but I do not. I had due to my advisor's pressure, but it was a mistake. I thought we could love each other...but after seeing the truth tonight..." He shook his head sadly, sighing quietly.

"It's over. Tomorrow I shall release you from your bonds of marriage to me, and you will be free to choose a husband you love, not one you've been promised to." He knew that annulment was a mild social stigma, but he also knew many other former wives among the tribe had overcome it to marry for love and lived a very happy and content life. He hoped the deceitful Maite could do the same. Not because she was his wife--already he'd stopped thinking of her in those terms--but because she was one of his people, and he wished only the best for them.

When he came back, Maite uncurled herself and looked up at him, trying to keep her expression blank. His was admirably so, but... his words... they were far from it. Her father would be horribly angry at her--that was her first thought. Her second thought was that she might get to see Ekaitz sooner than she'd thought. And her third thought, more of a impulse than anything else, was that she was offended. Yes, she did not love Ekain, and she knew he didn't love her, but he got to keep as many women as he wanted. She wasn't even acceptable as one of them?

She realized it had been too long that she'd paused, looking for something to say. "What have I done wrong, Warlord?" She pulled herself up to a sitting position, suddenly modest, and let her hair hang forward to hide her breasts. "I've been trying to please you, but I don't--there's only so much I can do--will you let me go back to my tribe?" That was the first thing to establish. "Please, if you let me go, let me go back to my family. But I still don't understand what I've done wrong."

The expression on his face, though, told her clearly... he didn't appreciate the kind of dishonesty she had practiced on him. It wasn't anything terrible, either. Faking sexual pleasure was surely not a punishable act, and she'd even done it with Jokin a few times, and she'd loved him.

"They'll all think I'm a terrible wife," she said blankly, just realizing it. She looked up at him, waiting for a reaction; it was hardly as though she could expect him to fix that. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you."

Her words were as thick and clumsy as clay. She wanted to yell at him, and at herself, for being so deceitful, for keeping all of herself back from him, but she felt hemmed in by convention--not true to yourself, her jainko hummed. Hemmed in by the need to insist she had done nothing wrong, because what she had done wrong cut at her as breaking the laws of the tribe wouldn't have. She'd been selfish and silly, nothing more. Or--she didn't even understand what she'd been, but now, chiefly, her feeling was one of humiliation... and relief.

She spoke and he heard her words, and her blank expression and blank tone was perhaps the most honest she'd been with him this entire time. Not the emotion she was feeling, but at least not falsely portraying another one. Her words spoke of someone who didn't understand...and either she was lying to herself and wouldn't listen to what he had to say, or she honestly didn't know, in which case she wouldn't be able to grasp what he had to say. Either way telling her the full and honest truth would gain nothing but her anger and likely her denial. Regardless...

"You may return to your village; to your tribe. I have no quarrel with that. It was unfair for you to be forced into a marriage you didn't want. Because of it you felt you had to make me think you were happy. Honesty I can deal with. I never expected this transition to be easy for you. Your true emotions, if you'd shown them, we could have worked on. Deceit towards me, however, I can never forgive. Not among my warriors, not among my advisers, not among my people, and especially not among my wives." Her reactions were blank, and yet she looked at him as though she expected one from him. He'd never lost his serenity, but in those peaceful eyes, there was a tinge of sorrow; of sadness.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, but I would sooner have painful honesty then flowery falsehoods. If you didn't understand that about me after a small handful of meetings, then I suspect you never will." He sighed and pulled himself to his feet. It seemed there was little left to say, unless there were things she wished to expound upon further.

"I'm going to take Sendoa for a ride; take the next patrol myself to make sure the borders with the Zerui are quiet. It's good for the men on the borders to see their leader taking the lead personally every once in a while. I'll probably be out a few days. Give you time to square things away. When I come back I'll make the announcement, and you'll have times to square things away. I'll go inform Miren shortly." He stood at his full height, gazing at her from above.

"If you have anything further you wish to say, then please say it, otherwise, I'll see you in a few days, Maite." He'd not even called her emazte, because to him, she already no longer was.

She felt hot rage flush her face, and had to bite her lip, drawing in on herself like a cat about to scratch, in order to control her temper. He spoke as though honesty were easy in the face of a Warlord. But her father had told her, in no uncertain terms, what a refusal to him would have meant. And besides... her dislike of him had been none so great, until he showed such a clear habit of thinking only of Nekane, or of Miren.

Fairness? But then, what right did she have to expect fairness from the Warlord. Still, she refused to be blamed, and in her heart, she told herself that this was no more than his own fault. Again, though--however the prompting of her vicious side told her to fling it at him in the name of honesty--she held her peace.

"Nothing I want to add," she whispered, lying back down and looking away from him, drawing the furs up over her naked body. Their soft envelopment reminded her of her childhood, snuggled in a heap beside her brothers, safe as an animal in its burrow. "I'll leave as soon as you'll permit me. If it pleases you" and it would please her if this whole thing had never happened "it will be as though none of this ever took place." She couldn't look at him, but kept her gaze on the tightly curled fingers of her hand, held close to her face. She was beautiful, and desirable. The Warlord was only finnicky--unable to look beyond his sister-wife. And she'd been homesick and resentful. She was lucky, really, to be sent home.

So why did she feel as though he had ripped something from her?

There.

He saw it clearly. The hot rage that flushed her face. The anger, the furious, prideful anger at his words. But she held her tongue and said nothing, figuratively dismissing him after looking away.

That right there was the reason why she would never work with him. He hadn't told her...but this confrontation had been her last chance. He hadn't wanted her to act in a certain manner just to curry favor and keep her position. He didn't want her to do it because it would be what he wanted. He just wanted honesty. And, in that moment, had she provided it, they might have still had a chance. A chance to start over and rebuild from the ground up, setting the relationship up properly this time. But yet again honesty was tossed aside.

It was true, she was beautiful, and she was desirable...until someone saw her false emotions and heard her words spoken sheerly because it was what they wished to hear. Once that side was revealed, a much uglier and much less desirable layer that lay underneath would come to light, killing the remainder of the desire. Ekain had been distracted by Nekane's being taken prisoner, certainly, and it was true he did love Miren as his first, most perfect wife. But that did not mean there was no room in his heart to love others. He had tried with her, honestly he had...it had just come at a bad time with the troubles with Miren and with Nekane's capture. He had been upsetting Miren too, he knew by paying her little attention in lieu of being with Maite to help her adjust...and yet Maite had not looked any further into that fact aside from her feeling she was more desirable then the others.

The Warlord was indeed finnicky. He refused to keep a wife based on lustful attraction alone, and that she could not grasp that concept was exactly why she couldn't stay.

As she remained there, quietly angry, he sighed and shook his head. No...she would never truly understand. Not him, nor his decision, nor why he was as he was. And it was that lack of understanding that spoke the clearest to him exactly how right he was in making this decision.

He stood, sadness and perhaps even a mild note of pity in his eyes. He hoped she could find someone she could truly love, and that would truly love her back...but as sad as it was, he doubted it.

Secure in his knowledge that he was doing the right thing based on this last interaction, he bundled up his things and left, going to speak with Miren before heading to the border. He paused only briefly at the entry way and glanced at her one last time, smiling softly, but humorlessly.

"Good-bye, Maite," he whispered in reply with a sense of finality, and it had so many meanings that she would never know.