awell. this is my submission for the monthly prompt, resistance, at self-induced disease...two months ago. been working on this for ages and finally finished it. this will be in several parts, probably three. i'll post one chapter a week. this story does include mentions of a young man not of age, as well as war and death.

there is no real set place for this, at no determinable time setting.

hope you enjoy!

friday, 5 april, 2013. 7:31 pm.


I hate the city. I really do. Towns and villages and cities. They're all the same on different scales. They smell, for the most part, of unwashed human and horse dung and the rubbish thrown out into the street. Oh, sometimes there's a bit of something nice, like baking bread and vendors selling meat pies, but those are usually bombarded by everything else until there's only scraps of decent remaining.

Of course, cities do have a larger population of lovelies to dally with, men used to working hard at anvils or with timber, stone masons with big, rough hands and dark eyes. There are plenty of others, I suppose, slim boys with pouting lips and dewy complexions, but I never went for that type. I prefer a man who can keep up.

Anyway. The city.

Puddles sat atop packed hard earthen streets as I made my way down an avenue someone had promised housed a healer to deal with the half-infected wound in my flank nobody was privy to know about. Not yet, anyway. Not until I got the maggots back out and it'd closed up some.

I found the shop I was looking for from a hand-lettered bill in the window, the penmanship sharp and exacting. Good. I performed a perfunctory knock before letting myself inside, where I found a neatly-cluttered work space devoid of any human accompaniment.

Well.

At least a fire was banked low in the space at the back, the smell of smoke and sharp astringent comforting in its own right. Dripping a bit from the drizzling rain that'd been hanging around the past few days, I set aside my rifle and pack and pushed back my hood, heading about the room turning up lamps until there was better light to see by. I also took the liberty of adding another log to the fire, further heat spreading through the room and enticing me to take off my outer robe and hang it closer to the flames, steam wafting up from its damp fibers.

I had only dried about half-through by the time the healer returned, a stocky individual I mistook for a man until she removed her hat and spoke to the room at large.

"Made yourself at home, I see."

"Almost, ma'am. I drew the line at fishing for something to fix it up myself."

She grunted, pulling on an apron over her dark clothing and absently directing me to sit on a stool closest to the fire.

"So, what's broken, because if you're here for impotency I'm going to sock you in the mouth and toss you the fuck out."

"Nothing broken, but I've got a hole in me where ain't nobody would want one."

She flipped a hand in an order to expose the area even as she went through the apparent-mess, efficient as she pulled forth bottles and various instruments.

"Bullet or knife?"

Her voice was muffled as I pulled my shirt over my head, wincing at the pull in my side, and I waited until free of the article before saying, "Cannon, mostly."

That drew her attention from her busy activity, her face slightly intrigued as she walked over to inspect the wound beneath the makeshift field dressing I'd slapped on. The hole wasn't the worst I'd ever dealt with, but it was fairly sizable, caused more from shrapnel from a cannon ball than from a direct hit itself.

"Hm."

That was the extent of her commentary before she turned back to her supplies, putting back a bottle and pulling out something different instead. She then transferred everything over to a flat surface she cleared by sweeping her arm to knock various implements aside.

"What backwater med did you see before me?"

"None. This was the best I could do until I could find someone worth anything."

She snorted, using tweezers to begin removing the maggots I'd put in once the infection had set in, her treatment giving away her nature in ways her words did not. I sat still and quiet while she worked, though the astringent she used made me want to find a corner somewhere to puke and pass out, and I was only too glad when she finally fixed a covering in place and nodded for me to put my shirt back on.

"You're an odd one, I'll give you that, and no stranger to patching up I'd wager. At any rate, you should stop at an apothecary and get something to keep infection from setting in until it's closed over. There's a decent fellow near the finance district-don't use the one two blocks hence, he's a shark."

"Yes, ma'am. How much do I owe you?"

She washed her hands in a bowl of boiled water taken from the fire, the steam rising even as she plunged and scrubbed like it was water from a stream.

"That depends, really. How much have you got?"

I had enough for a week's stay in a moderately priced inn, and told her as much, her eyes taking me in as though to say she'd underestimated me once again. After a moment's pause, she quoted me a price I felt was fair, and coin exchanged hands, her eyebrows raising a bit at the mixture of currency-I've coin from just about everywhere in the region, and a fair bit elsewhere. Most of it was legal tender regardless the territory, as most places still made their coin of comparable weight of silver and gold. It was the paper money that proved trickier, and I usually made it a point to exchange most of what I had into coinage before moving on to save myself time and trouble.

I bid the healer good day and set back out into the drizzle that had not ceased in my absence. I forwent the apothecary shop, feeling lodging and food would do more for healing than whatever salve the few coins I could spare might buy. Asking around directed me toward a somewhat reputable inn, where I haggled the owner down to a private room for the price of one typically shared.

The room itself wasn't overly remarkable, but it had a bolt on the door and the sheets were aired, if not particularly clean. Considering the ditches and barns I'd slept in since the last bed I paid for, nearly anything was better than nothing.

At least it wasn't littered with louse.

So, all in all, I've definitely stayed in worse.

I bolted the door and made use of a pitcher and bowl of water sitting on the small table near the bed-the water quickly became gray, and I made a note to visit a bathhouse as soon as I'd gained some well-deserved rest. I then stripped completely and plaited back my damp hair before crawling into bed, pulling the cover over my head to block out the dim light spilling from the rare window.

It was dark when I next woke, the sound of honest rain against the glass pane stirring me into half sitting up. It was too dark to fumble about for a candle or lamp, and my flank hurt like half my innards were liquefying out the hole, so I swallowed down my need for a drink and rolled back into sleep.

It was still raining when my bladder slapped me awake with cruel urgency, and there was just enough light to fumble with the chamber pot before something exploded and I had further need of a competent healer. Preferably one who had seen combat of some sort, because I was pretty certain that a combustion of that sort would not be a sight for the squeamish. Bladder appeased, I went about digging out some clothing that only half-smelled like I'd been rolling in manure for the past six months or so and collected anything I would miss were someone to riffle through my belongings in my absence before I unbolted the door and went in search of breakfast.

The kitchen crew was already well into the morning meal, but as most start long before dawn, I was not surprised. The cook allowed me to exchange some bread and salted pork for a few coppers, and I ate before the large fire, talking a bit about the regional gossip I'd picked up here and there and gaining a few scraps of things more local.

My stomach satisfied for the moment, I set off into the rain for supplies and tuned my ear to the possibility of work; there's almost always a need for a hired gun in cities like this.

I returned to the inn a bit lighter of coin but heavier with parcels, the pain in my side almost eclipsing the euphoria I felt for the various employment prospects I'd managed to dredge up from naming various skirmishes I'd been involved with in the past year. All I need do was soak off the layers of grit and grime from my person and salvage what little of my clothing I could, though I'd bought a bit to last me until the next lucrative moment.

Inquiring of the innkeeper for an all-inclusive bathhouse, he directed me two blocks north for a place that offered all the amenities a man of limited coin could buy.

I was greeted by a moderately attractive woman just inside the door, her dress vaguely immodest, and I began to understand the range of amenities offered at this establishment.

"How may we help you, traveler?"

I smiled a bit, knowing I looked the part far too well, a dark patch amongst a sea of lighter-skinned city folk; "A private bath, if one is available. I also require a shave and haircut, if that is not asking too much?"

Her smile was sweet, and though I generally prefer men to smile at me so, I would be hard pressed to refuse such a lady.

"This way, sir."

She led me past the more open public baths to enclosed rooms toward the back; closed doors indicated those rooms currently in use, a few of them emanating sounds that made my loins abruptly ache with envious greed. If the sounds registered to my escort, her face did not betray it, remaining polite and very sweet as she directed me to a room and informed me that someone would be in shortly to assist me.

I was just beginning the process of disrobing when a young lad slipped in and began drawing water into a fairly roomy wood basin, cold until he slipped in heated rocks with big tongs from a fire in the corner to keep the room warm. When he finished, he watched me bend around the bandage on my side, his voice rough with bourgeoning puberty but still as sweet as only young lads seem to be; a different sort of sweet than my previous escort entirely; as he offered his assistance.

I nodded, grateful when he rushed over and helped me remove the covering from the wound, only just beginning the stages of honest healing; his eyes were bright with curiosity and awe when he glanced up briefly, pale cheeks reddening when I chuckled. Ducking his head, he finished helping me disrobe before leaving me to get myself into the water, busy instead with gathering various soaps from a box set off to the side.

The water was hot, almost unbearably so at first, and I hissed as I lowered myself down, mindful of any errant stones the lad might have missed before I got in. Within moments, he was there offering aid, and I allowed him to wash my unruly dark hair and back and chest. With an amused glance, I washed the rest of me, quirked by the disappointment on his face that I would do such a thing when he was there.

He brought out a straight razor afterward, his expression set just so, and though I laughed, I allowed him to soap up my face and scrape off the months-worth of beard and scruff.

I didn't linger much in the water afterward, allowing the boy to direct me to the stool nearest the fire to dry. He produced shears, and though I raised my eyebrows a bit, I didn't protest when he went about chopping off the unfashionably-long lengths of shag on my head, his face unusually earnest. When he finished, I ran fingers through the length, not finding anything to complain about and thus giving him a nod that had him breaking into a bright grin.

Once I was relatively dry, I redressed, the boy more somber now until I pressed a gold piece into his hand, his eyes round even as I warmly tousled dark blond hair.

"Keep that to yourself, lad, you earned every cent."

And with that, I was on my way, passing off some coins at the agent nearest the door and setting out into the muddy streets once more.

"Keep an eye on tha' tail we got, Ash. I doubt he's a workin' alone."

I'd noticed the man a block back, but nodded at the brawny merc acting guard with me for the somewhat-involuntary transfer of a proper nest of jewels from one noble to another. We had one other working the job with us, smaller but quick with a knife; he flashed a sign signaling we'd gained two more tails, up along the rooftops, and Larsen shifted slightly in his saddle, looking all the world a lazy tub of guts when he was anything but.

A faint cry of a hawk overhead made me flash eyes with Larsen, his mouth grim and his hand already on his sword, just in time for six men to jump down from the rooftops and into the street, surrounding us and the carriage. If they expected us to be rattled, they didn't show their disappointment, already brandishing swords or clubs and closing in.

I slid from my perch, hearing Larsen snort, but it's harder not to kill a man when atop of a horse. For the price of this job, I wasn't willing to end any of these men if I didn't have to, a creed most mercs found amusing at best. In war, it's something different, but for jewels? Nah. Just not my style.

Jos killed the first one what tried to slice the artery in his thigh, the rest of them pulling back a moment before surging forward.

It took everything I had not to cut them through, my body aching to run on the killing-instinct; instead, I used the hilt of my dagger to give them headaches, my fist and knees knocking the breath out of them where I could.

Within minutes, the group was incapacitated, only one of them dead and none of the rest very much worse for wear. We left them in the street and continued on our way, wary for further hindrance.

A man's horse shied at one point, upsetting his cart and forcing us to make a slight detour, but we made it to our destination in one piece and received our pay in gold coins. Which was good, because I had a powerful thirst and the shlop I've been eating lately has been wearing me pretty thin.

"Ash!"

Even though it was late, the bathhouse was fairly busy, attendants bustling to and fro; the kid greeted me at the door, his face flushed with activity even as he near knocked me over with his grin alone.

"Hey, kid."

I was just a little bit drunk, so I asked for the public bath instead of a private room, knowing that if he stripped down to the skin like he'd done last time, I'd do things no man should do to a boy, even if I was sure I wasn't his first. His disappointment made me laugh a bit, my hand tousling his hair, but he left me to wander over to the public bath on my own, as he was already called away to assist someone else.

I settled into the water with a groan, feeling that afternoon's fight and the four ales I'd had at supper. Closing my eyes after a cursory wash, I settled back and relaxed for a bit, easing the ache from my muscles until I felt the eyes that just wouldn't quit. I was languid in looking, taking in the man so obviously staring; he was thinner than I would like, a bit young, but the build of him spoke for a man used to hard work.

Catching his eye, I allowed myself a smirk, seeing him grin.

At his silent request, I gave a small nod, watching as he called an attendant over and murmured something in her ear. She nodded and he slipped from the water, my eyes running the length of him even as I forced myself up and out as well. The woman escorted him to a private room, coin exchanging hands, and her smile was amused when I passed her a coin as well.

We took a moment sizing each other up, heated glances and slight smiles, before he was bold enough to touch, his fingers calloused like a blacksmith or tanner, old burns making the skin of his knuckles shiny. I dragged him in for a kiss, moaning softly against his mouth and pleased when he opened, the kiss growing hotter and more intense.

We made our way to the tub, the water lukewarm at best but we didn't mind, the man straddling my lap and kissing me with a fire I hadn't had in a lover in a very long time.

"Isn' this the par' where you fuck me, man, or do they all was'e time wi' a'lookin' where you come from?"

His tease was offset by the grin on his face, and I rolled my eyes. "If you'd let a man breath he'd be more inclined to get to th' fuckin', regardless where he come from."

His laughter was full of gravel, a pulse setting off in my cock, not helped by the way he squirmed and rubbed his erection against my slick lower belly. Soon, too slow for my taste, I pushed up inside him, his eyes going soft even as he let out soft moans, his hands gripping the rim of the tub to help keep his balance.

Torture. Sheer torture.

We kept the movement simple, water only slightly sloshing against the wooden sides and over the edge, drowned by our low grunts of approval, and by all the cocking hells, it had been far too long.

Neither of us lasted long, my hand bringing him to climax soon after my own, and we took a moment to come down, feeling the chill of the water now that we weren't moving. With a faint grimace, he removed himself from the tub before holding a hand out for me to lift myself up and out.

Callused fingers against my shoulder, he leaned in for a friendly buss and then saw himself out, leaving me to yawn and see to leaving as well.

The main bath had quieted down quite a bit in the meantime, and though I looked around for the kid, he was nowhere in sight. A bit put out, having saved him a coin like usual, I nonetheless got my kit together and set off into the night, humming softly because of the ale and fresh sex still buzzing through my system.

Even sloppy as I was, I couldn't miss the tail I gained not long after, the footfalls sounding light and furtive, making my hand itch for the dagger at my hip. I refrained from giving my attention away, choosing instead to wander down a darker alley and listening for the footfalls to follow me, the steps slower as they'd lost me in the shadows.

The figure was slim, movements clumsy as they finally came to a halt, bewildered or frustrated; a very inexperienced thief, to be sure. Just as they turned to find themselves a better mark, I melted from the dark and pulled the figure in toward my chest, their gasp young and full of fright, causing me to ease up my grip only slightly.

They froze up before giving into fight, squirming with surprising force and dexterity, almost giving me trouble.

"Not gonna hurt ya', ya ken? Stop yer wrigglin' about."

The boy, or very young girl, perhaps, abruptly quit, breathing hard but gradually relaxing.

"Now, if I let ya go, ya won't bolt?"

After a moment's hesitation, I felt a slight head shake and chanced loosing my hold to take a step back. True to their word, they didn't take off, and we stood at a bit of an impasse until I finally shook my head a bit.

"There are more hones' ways of getting coin, you know, than trying to put one over on a merc."

A slight sniffle made me feel terrible, my voice gruff as I asked what they were on about, stealing from folk, and prepared for some heart-wrenching story that would make a sap like me hand over what the bastard couldn't lift.

"Weren't stealing."

"…Grayson?"

Another sniffle made me jerk him closer to the street lamp in the main lane, the kid's face now miserable and streaked with tears.

He was still in the shift and trousers he wears in the bathhouse, the material thin and causing him to shiver now that he'd calmed down some.

"Kid, what are you doing out here?"

A different kind of misery spread over his face, mixed with a strange sort of anger, something in my gut giving a lazy twist of undeserved guilt even as he launched himself at me, fists flying about and actually managing to hit some relatively sensitive areas. I fended him off as best I could without deliberately striking back, allowing him to work through the steam, rough expletives tumbling out of the boy with surprising regularity; he must have come across a lot more soldiers and mercs in his time, because some of them were particularly inventive.

"Grace, what's got ya in a twist, anyhow?"

A snarl left him hoarse, anger flashing brighter; "Fucking never call me that!"

Fed up, I grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard enough to make his teeth click, his eyes wide and showing a slip of more sense.

"Talk sense, brat, before I drag you back to your masters by your ankles. You are trying my patience twice over."

"You fucked him! Fucked him for nothin' an' all 'e wanted was someone foreign!"

"…Aye, lad."

Tears broke anew, and I sighed, pulling him in to my chest and feeling his arms curl around me tight, one of his hands jumbled around the strap to my rifle. I gently disengaged his hand and placed it better against my side, and his grip near about took my breath away; he was a young lad, sure, but he was fair strong in his own right. Still too young to realize that my being foreign was always a factor in my liaisons; there was always someone wanting a taste because I was different, my skin dark from heritage and sun.

Once his tears had slacked some, I ruffled his hair and pushed away from the embrace; he appeared less angry than before but twice as miserable, which wasn't much better for my bleeding heart.

Clearing my throat, I put a hand to his shoulder, squeezing in emphasis as I said, "Go back to the bathhouse, Grayson, before they whip you for desertion."

He wiped an arm over an eye, a bitter sort of smile twisting his lips; "They can't."

I felt myself frown, knowing he meant they couldn't damage him physically, and he looked away, hugging his arms to his chest for warmth. And shame, I guess, for which I felt like a twice-over heel. Heel or not, I gruffly told him to get back, pressing the gold piece I'd saved for him earlier into his hand.

Face conflicted, he nonetheless leaned up and pressed a light kiss to my stubbled cheek, his voice husky as he said, "I'd do anything for you."

I knew that, knew it far too well, but at least he finally pulled away to head back to the bathhouse.

Chest heavier than when I'd first began heading back to the inn, I set out once again, reaching my destination without further mishap. Once my door was bolted and I'd shed my outer layers to the dim light of the lamp on the rickety table placed off to the side of the bed, I weighed my options.

Clearly, I'd stayed in one place too long, capturing the fool heart of a young lad too used to men having leave at his backside and not enough kindness. And maybe a lesser man would have fucked that boy, would have added his cock to the list of those in a body not in the position to say no, but I could never.

Not if I ever wanted to look at my reflection without shame.

Didn't keep me from imagining, though, despite that he was completely opposite my normal type.

Shuddering, I forced myself to further undress, the healed wound in my side pulling at newly formed flesh, but it was a clean heal. Obviously, it was time to move on, even if it would break that boy's heart into pieces.

"Fucker."

My dark mutter made me scowl, tossing my shirt aside and turning out the lamp, darkness overtaking the small room even as I climbed beneath the blankets on the bed and proceeded to pretend I wasn't brooding myself to sleep.

"Two cases of rounds and a whet stone? That'll be two gold."

I clinked the necessary coins onto the scarred wooden counter, taking the ammunition as he presented it and tucking it away in my rucksack, the whetstone to replace the one I'd lost sometime in the week following my mishap with a cannon.

"I suspect you'll be heading out soon, what with that fight starting up?"

The shopkeeper leaned on his counter, eyes sharp with veiled envy; some men always look at me like that, like they are missing out on something grand. Doubt many of them would last past the sight of their friends' bodies twisted into unnatural positions from a mine, the sight of children caught by gunfire. Of going into battle with men you knew were never going to make it back to their wives, never going to share space at a fire with you again.

They thought death was glamorous, but it is not. I'm good at it, though. Far too good.

"Fight?"

"War's coming. Haven't you 'eard? They've been announcing it from every corner!"

I hummed, not surprised; war was always coming. It's why men like me manage to make a living better than most. I tapped fingers to my temple in farewell and pushed through the door of his shop, a bell tinkling my departure as I merged with the fairly brisk foot traffic on the main.

Guess I had a few more stops to make.

The bathhouse was practically deserted when I showed up, the woman standing near the door unknown to me.

She smiled, as sweet as they always were; "How may we help you, sir?"

"Is Grayson available?"

This made her pause, looking me over a moment before confessing; "He's resting, sir, but if you'd wish for his assistance personally, I may ring for him to join you momentarily."

"It's something of a personal matter. I don't suppose it's possible for me to go to him?"

She smiled; "No, sir, I'm afraid that the worker's dorm is off-limits to clientele. I will ring him for you."

She waved me to wait on one of the few benches lining the front wall before walking off with practiced grace. She returned to her station a few moments later, and I waited, almost numb with impatience by the time Grayson stumbled up from somewhere, his cheeks flushed and hair haphazardly smoothed into place.

When he saw his 'caller' was me, his face broke into bright relief, tension easing in his shoulders and allowing more of his learned subservience to come through. As happy as he was to see me, puzzlement marred his brow, especially when I motioned for someplace a bit more private.

Nodding at the woman, he led me toward one of the back rooms, the fire unlit and tub empty. He fiddled with a lamp attached to the wall, movements sure and steady as he quickly had enough light to see by so I could shut the door behind us. I'd been avoiding the bathhouse since my last visit, my absence no doubt noticed, as his reluctance to stay still gave him away.

"…War's comin'."

My words had him nodding, refusing to look at me, and I sighed.

"I go where the fightin' is, Grace. S'what I do."

"There's work in the city," he mumbled, and I snorted, causing him to finally look up.

There was misery in his face, yes, but resignation was there too. Maybe he was already growing up.

"War's comin' on quick. Going to be everywhere soon. Maybe this town will be lucky, but probably not. Too big for that. Going to be volunteers, first, but after? They'll start rounding lads up, and you better be the last they find because where I'm going ain't no place for boys."

"I can handle myself."

Sullen now, stubborn, and it made me smile, bittersweet because this boy could probably own a man through his prick, but give him a gun and he'd be dead within hours.

"Not where I'm going. I don't want you to."

Anger, sharp and hot, burned in his eyes, burned me alive but I've been burned that way before. Always leaving, me, and it seems I'm always leaving someone behind.

"You don't get a say, Ash."

"Oh, aye, I know I don't. But losing you t'would be a terrible waste in this world, Grace."

He opened his mouth to tell me off, for presuming too much or for using that name he hates, to argue some more, but I found myself doing what I'd sworn I'd never do. I stepped close and pulled him in closer, covering his mouth with my own before he even knew my intention, his body frozen in shock before he abruptly gave in. I kept the touch superficial but by no means chaste, feeling the strength in him that was only going to get better in time.

His lips were kiss-swollen when I pulled away, those pale cheeks splotched with color and his eyes dark. From the sheath for the dagger at my hip I pulled a length of leather cord, a crudely carved stone token hanging from my fingers as I passed it over to him.

"Ma gave me this when I first set out, and it's brought me a fair amount of luck, if you don't count the scars too close. Keep it safe, Grace, and it might keep you safe with it."

He fought back his tears now, scrubbing a wrist over his face, and this was more of what I was used to.

"Chin up, lad."

He laughed despite himself, choking a bit; "Fuck you, Ash."

Grinning a bit myself, I reached out and ruffled his hair, feeling better for coming than if I'd skipped out on him like I'd meant to. Would have been easier, yes, but I never did care to go the easy route. Our farewell exhausted, I saw myself out, looking up at the overcast sky with a weathered eye.

Was as good a time to set out as any.


a/n: until next time.