The Tale of Alar

3

When he arrived home, Alar found Ruskin already sitting at the table, a hardy supper laid out before him.

“What’s all this?” he asked, taken completely off guard.

“Can’t go off adventuring on an empty stomach, can you?” said the old blacksmith as Alar approached.

“You shouldn’t have. It must have cost a fortune.”

Ruskin shrugged. “I had a little extra change in my pocket. Besides, what’s the good in living if a father can’t even indulge his only son now and then, eh?”

Alar restrained himself from questioning his father’s judgment any further. Ruskin had done this for his sake after all.

“But how did you know I’d be going?”

“Just a father’s foresight. I knew how much you wanted to go, and sensed that even Adam wouldn’t be able to stand in your way.”

“He didn’t,” said Alar, taking his seat. “He agreed with me in the end.”

“There you are, then. Now, assuming you’re as starved as me, let’s dig in, shall we?”

They said a quick prayer of thanks and settled in to dine. The bread was a couple days old, the soup was little more than broth, and the lettuce in the salad had a fine line of rust around the edges. But to Alar it was a feast such as he had never seen before, and he wolfed it down as though it might disappear at any second.

“He’s a good one, your Adam,” remarked Ruskin. “You’re lucky to have him.”

“I know it,” said Alar with a slight embarrassed flick of the tail. And to himself he thought just how lucky he was to have such an understanding guardian. He knew many in this town who would send their sons into exile or worse if they had found out they had one like him. But from the day he had found out about Alar and Adam’s feelings for each other, Ruskin had never treated him any differently. “It’s just the way the good Lord made you two,” he had often said, and he meant every word.

Alar remembered those early days less than fondly. He and Adam had tried to keep their attraction discreet at first, fearing what others might do or say if they found out. But no one could keep a secret for long in their neighborhood, and news of their peculiarity had soon spread like wildfire. That first week of shock at best and outright condemnation at worst had been sheer hell for the both of them. It had been so bad that Adam had very strongly considered taking his own life. Grant had even actively urged him to do so, a thing for which Alar still refused to forgive him. But in the end, Alar and Father Rufus had talked him out of it, and after a while, the neighborhood gossips had found other topics to fulfill their need to criticize and complain. Some still shook their heads or shunned them for it, of course, but many more like Ruskin and Rufus had come to accept or even support them in time, so that nowadays they saw no point in pretending to be “just friends.”

Yes, Alar was grateful no end to his foster father and mentor for all the love and support he had given him throughout the years. Suddenly he felt just a tad guilty about leaving him behind after all he had done. He knew Ruskin was right, and that the time had come for him to make his own way in the world. But he felt a pang of regret nonetheless. He wished he could express just how grateful he was, yet the words would not come. Thus, an awkward silence developed between them as they ate. It was almost unbearable to Alar when he thought about how many lively discussions they had had at this table over the years. And during this, possibly their last supper together, neither quite knew how to go about expressing what was on his mind. Finally, as soon as he had finished eating, Ruskin leaned back in his chair and asked, “Have you chosen your sword yet?”

“Well, I figured I’d bring Lightning.”

“Aah yes, the one I gave you for your twelfth birthday.” He nodded sagely. “She’s a good one to be sure, but I think you might need one a bit wieldier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s just say, special occasions call for specialized tools.”

Alar’s eyes widened.

“You can’t mean...”

Ruskin nodded, then stood up. “You’re not a kit anymore, Alar. It’s time you had the weapon of a real warrior.”

He walked over to a big cabinet—the only sizeable piece of furniture in the cramped little house—and opened it up. There, mounted on a rack and shining as brightly as the day it had been forged, was the most magnificent blade Alar had ever laid eyes on. It was straight, double-edged, and tapered to a needle-like point. The basket hilt was inlaid with thin strips of gold and the pommel embedded with a polished ruby. Ruskin took hold of it gingerly with one paw and its adjacent sheath with the other.

“Flametongue has been in my family for six generations now. My father gave it to me when I was only a couple years older than you. I doubt I’ll be making any more use of it at this point, so the time has come for me to pass it on to my son.”

He sheathed the sword and held it out to Alar, who fought and failed to control the excited twitching of his tail. This was easily the most valuable item in the house, worth more than the structure and everything within combined. And he was being given it freely! Alar received the weapon with extreme reverence, his heartbeat quickening at the touch of the solid steel. He could not help running his paw over the hilt, feeling every intricate detail to its fullest. All his life he had longed to wield this sword. He had touched it once many years ago on the day Ruskin had promised it would be his. Now, to at last have achieved that fondest wish...

Alar wrapped his guardian in the firmest embrace he had ever given, which might have cracked the spine of a less robust squirrel. Ruskin returned the gesture in a show of fatherly affection.

“Thank you so much, dad,” Alar said, fighting hard to keep his voice from breaking. “I promise to take care of her always.”

“I know you will. And I’ve no doubt she will return the favor.”

Alar stepped back, looking once more at the heirloom in his right paw.

“With this by my side, I know I can’t fail.”

“Aye, she is a fine blade. But you mustn’t let it go to your head, Alar. A weapon is only as good as its wielder. There’s no spell within the metal that will guarantee victory. I know you are skilled, but there may be others on your road more skilled yet. Protect yourself and your companions should you have any upon the road, but do not be too proud to back down from a fight or to run away if you must. And should you encounter those willing to teach you, do not be too proud to let them.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“And when you must strike, strike fast and clean, and never out of anger.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And finally, while you have good instincts, and should always trust them, place your trust first and foremost in the Lord. For it is only by His will that you will come through victorious.”

“I will. Always.”

“Good. Very good. Then I have no more to say. I imagine you’ll be in a bit of a rush tomorrow morning, so I wanted to get that out of the way now. I’ll be up early to see you off, but otherwise, I’ll leave you to prepare yourself and rest up for your journey. Sleep well, my dear son.”

“Thanks, dad. And good night.”

“Good night, Alar.”

Without further ado, Alar ran upstairs to his tiny loft. It was really just a hollow storage niche beneath the roof with a ceiling so low that he had to bend over or crawl to fit. But it was his little corner of the world, and he loved it with all his heart.

He added the sword to his collection of provisions and tools for the road, then undressed and knelt beside the messy mound of straw and tatty blankets he called a bed to say his evening prayers. Afterward he nestled down into the makeshift drey and sighed. Such an eventful day! And no doubt tomorrow would be more so. He would need a good night’s sleep, like Ruskin had said.

He could scarcely believe that in the matter of but two days the course of his life had changed so dramatically. No longer was he simply continuing down an endless tunnel of mere existence. Nay, there was now a ray of light shining down through a hole in the ceiling. A way out into something else. Whether that something else was better or worse did not matter: only the freedom he now had to choose his path for himself. The very idea was mind-boggling to the young buck. Yet, here he was.

Yes, he would definitely need his sleep. But first, he had to keep his promise to Adam. He closed his eyes, envisioned the face of his life’s love with all its delicate curves and beautiful green eyes, and smiled to himself. He rested one paw on his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his fur with satisfaction. With the other, he reached down and gently fondled his sheath. He tried to imagine his big, calloused paw as the slender, dexterous paw of Adam giving him comfort after a hard day’s work.

It did not take long for his tip to emerge from the sheath, pent up as he was. He rubbed and stroked this most sensitive area gently for a minute until his full length had emerged. He then took it firmly in his paw, moving the other down to tease his tailhole. He sucked in his breath sharply, letting it out slowly as he continued to imagine his gorgeous buck leaning over him, grinning mischievously as he stroked and whispered words of love softly in his ear. His erection grew hotter and hotter. His paw automatically moved faster and faster. He gasped, then moaned aloud, “Oh, Adam! Ohhh, f**k!”

The first wave of pleasure struck like a thunderbolt. He let out his breath in a staccato sigh. Then came the wetness. Wave after wave of warmth spurted forth from his burning loins, soaking his rock-hard abdomen in a small musky lake. Several muffled groans emitted from his throat as he thrust hard into his trembling paw with all his might. Then, when at last he was all tapped out and his member too sensitive to touch, he let go, giving one more sigh of satisfaction as his consciousness drifted lazily back down to earth.

He opened his eyes. Adam was gone. But he had done his bit. And he liked to think that just maybe he had helped Adam out too. Feeling even dozier after his extra exertions, his thoughts once more returned to reality. He peered through the largest of several crevices in the crude plank roof above at the stars.

“Good night, my love,” he whispered softly.

With a deep sigh, he wiped himself off with his unneeded cover, cast it aside, then turned onto his side and fell fast asleep.