Far From Home One: The Warlord's Chosen-- A M/M Fantasy Romance

18- Names and Titles

** Hi all, I hope you like reading about Amer & Geir as much as I love writing about them :)

Just a super random bit of info, but they sort of have a theme song (at least, I feel like it fits them really well?). Go give War of Hearts by Ruelle a listen while you're reading. It was on repeat while I wrote this haha :)**

AMER—

For three days, we travelled as we did that first day; for the most part. I no longer shared the Warlord's horse. I was given my own— a stunning, sturdy roan mare. But I travelled by his side, and we rode all day, from before the sun rose to long after it had set.

With my basic understanding of Akari grammar, and my beginner's knowledge of common phrases and words, I was quick to pick up the rest of the language. A few of the men around me seemed to almost make it into a game, pointing out things that we passed and naming them for me. I had always had a great memory, so it wasn't long before I understood the basic commands I was given. Although there were definitely still things I didn't understand— and I knew to blame that on the cultural differences, rather than just a language barrier.

The Warlord continued to call me a word I had been unable to understand or translate. When I had finally gathered the courage to ask Briggs,— the man who the Warlord had left to guard me after he had claimed me as his Warprize— in fumbling Akari, he had only grunted, pointed from me to the Warlord, and repeated the word back to me. It could mean slave, or any other variation thereof. But the way the Warlord said it was almost... affectionate. Like a term of endearment, so I didn't think it meant slave.

Also, I had never heard anyone else call the Warlord Geir, so I was thinking it meant something more like "Master" than the title "Warlord" I had initially guessed. When I was able to pick up their word for Warlord, and I tried to use it to call Geir, he huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. He pointed at himself, then me, then back at himself.

"You are Amer. I am Geir. Not Warlord for you," he muttered, finishing the sentence with that word I still couldn't translate.

He was the only one to call me Amer, when he so rarely did, rather than that word. All the others called me what I had guessed to mean Warprize.

Did that mean... his name was Geir? That he was having me call him by his given name...?

I pushed the thought away. I needed to focus on what I could. I couldn't worry about things I didn't fully understand.

The Warlord and I, though I rarely left his side, spoke only a few words to each other over the next few days. I took him at face value— guessing he was just a quiet man. I saw him laughing and speaking with a few men, but for the most part he was silent, watching.

And touching me. Gods, the man was like a puppy sometimes. When we rode side-by-side, his hand was on my knee, my thigh, holding my hand. When we dismounted for breaks, or at the end of the day, he was always by my side within seconds to lift me down to my feet by my waist. His fingers brushed against the back of my neck as I spoke to the other men, trying to learn as quickly as I could so I would no longer feel like I was the only one not understanding some great secret. He often would reposition me so I was closer to him, bodily moving me, especially if I was talking to any of the men besides him and Briggs. And they just took in my being manhandled to his side, with him now between me and the man I was speaking to, with a smile and sometimes even teased him.

Every once in a while, he would rub his hand up and down my back, reach in to press a gentle kiss against the back of my neck, and hold me against his body. His kisses were almost as frequent as his touches, softly pressed against my lips, my eyes as we lay wrapped in each others arms each night, wetly claiming my mouth when I woke to him staring at my naked body, bared for him.