June POV: How your fathers first met... (Patreon)

*This POV is written as if the reader is Dov so you can better see in his head and heart and experience this from his eyes. I'm also trying it out to see if it's well-received. So let me know how you feel about using second-person for POVs like this.*

If you're curious what Dov and Kip's love story was like, I'll be posting a series of it starting this month! I was going to condense this into just one POV, but there's a lot of feelings and some interactions I really wanted to showcase, so I felt it was better suited to being longer. I think it will be at least 3 parts, but I may decide to do more!

You take a deep breath once you finally get your seat. The best the barkeep could manage was an overturned barrel and two rickety chairs in the corner by the larder and kitchen. Not that it matters much to you and your mother, typically, you sit on a stump next to a fire for your meals. This may as well be luxury. Though…the chairs feel a bit fragile.

It was another long, hard day, and your mother wanted to treat you to a meal that neither of you had to cook. Tallulah is huge. The biggest and busiest city you've ever seen, and with it, more work than either of you bargained for. But you're not about to turn it down. Half a season here will set you up with enough gold to get through the entire winter more easily as you head further south.

Some of the people here are rude or oddly blunt, but most are nicer than you anticipated.

Mother comes back to the "table" and sets a tankard down for each of you. "Got drinks. Food’ll be another wait." She looks irritated.

You look around. "Busy, but not that busy," you say with a question in your tone.

She nods. "Somethin' 'bout some rich brat comin'. Cook is makin' their food. Party nonsense."

Dov grunts an affirmation as he takes a drink of his mead. You've not had much interaction with rich folk like you've had here before. They're…different, most of them, from you. The way they see things looks crooked or upside down from where you stand. Still, it's those same noble people who referred you and Mother on, and earned you the job at the king's castle. Well…the grounds around the castle, but you can still see it from where you're working.

Mother clearly doesn't like it here very much, but that hasn't stopped her from knowing several people. Still, she gets anxious while in the city, and you know she's eager to move on. She's only truly calm and herself when on the road and out in a forest.

Your attention turns to the barkeep who is shooing a few patrons out the door for some reason. They don't seem disorderly, and they're pleading with him to stay longer. You hear one remark that they 'just want to get a glimpse of him.'

You can't help but wonder who.

Settling in, you lapse into easy silence with your mother. The mead is quite good, and the tankard is generous. The tavern grows more lively, and it's nice to watch the people going about their everyday lives. A few of them are celebrating something, a reunion of old friends, and there's a blossoming romance in the far corner. You smile at that, wondering what brought them together.

Such things haven't been a reality for you, not that you've been wanting or looking for them. When you really think about it, you'd like someone to smile at you like that, to seek your eyes out in a crowd, to look forward to each day. But you also enjoy your life on the path. It's the same path, for the most part at least, that your people have walked since before Iroda was even named. It's sacred, especially to your mother. And there's no one left to walk it except for you both.

Your ma takes a drink of her mead. She doesn't smile much, but you know she feels pretty content. It's hard to imagine her ever giving up her family's way of life. She probably wouldn't. If you wanted to romance someone, it wouldn't be easy on the road, and who in their right mind would take off with the two of you? You rarely stop in one place for long. It's a laughable notion to expect anyone to understand. Though… sometimes you catch yourself wondering if you want to do this for the rest of your life. You love it. You love your mother dearly, but maybe there’s more that you want.

But you're content, at least for now. Sure, it's a nice thought, but when you think of it in practice, you just don't feel the pull.

There's a loud series of thumps from the other side of the room, and some of the patrons begin to crane their necks to see. A torrent of laughter follows as a group of people stumbles in from the back. Perhaps this is the special company the keeper expected.

It's a large group, and you can tell by their clothing that they are quite wealthy. They all seem centered on a hooded figure in the middle, where most of the sound seems to be coming from…

They drag the empty tables together, and the kitchen staff rushes out with drinks and several large bottles of wine, followed soon after by trays of food. The people laugh uproariously every so often. The figure from before centered in on it, never removing his hood, though you get a glimpse since he doesn't seem able to sit still. It appears to be a younger man, a tall and handsome one at that.

He laughs with his entire body and smiles so beautifully. Even though a loud and rowdy tavern isn't your idea of a good evening, the atmosphere feels more…joyful. The patrons who aren't a part of the large group keep whispering, smiling, and pointing at the hooded man. It makes you more curious about who he is. You don't really care about things like that, important people or titles, but you do like his smile.

Finally, food arrives for you. Not the lavish meal that was served to the others, but a nicely roasted chicken with rosemary and butter potatoes with sweet carrots. Mother seems a bit happier now that food is on the table, and you eat in silence, sharing only a few words about how good the food is.

The group loudly, and badly, begins to sing, the hooded stranger getting up on the table to, you think, dance. He's a little drunk, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. A few of his friends try to get him down, but he slips from their grasp. Shockingly, he manages to avoid kicking over any of the food. Quite agile for a drunk man.

You catch yourself wanting to see his eyes. Do they light up when he smiles like that?

You turn to look, feeling like you're breaking some sort of rule even though several of the other patrons have been watching as well. He's too far away, but his smile is bright, though he doesn't seem like much of a dancer. You smile.

And then his eyes meet yours.

You freeze for a moment, and so does he.

It's a funny feeling that slides down your back. You feel like you've been caught doing something bad, but you're not about to take it back or apologize. From here, you can't tell the color of his eyes, but you can tell that they're bright and big. The stranger tilts his head at you, and you're a little surprised that, of all the others who have been looking, it's you whom he looks back at.

The moment is broken when one of his friends snatches his wine bottle away from him, taunting him with it until he's lured off the table. They go back to the same revelry – laughing and jostling each other around. You wonder a bit what it's like to have that much going on around you. You've never been one to socialize much, especially in groups. You settle for quiet conversations around a shared fire when you cross paths with others on your routes. Sometimes, like now, you work with other groups, and you chat a bit on the job, but nothing like that. It's sort of interesting to simply observe, but you don't think such excitement would suit you.

You finally notice your mother eyeing you, one brow raised. Sheepishly, you return her gaze before returning to your meal.

"That one's trouble. Mind yerself 'round 'im," she says.

You nod. "What makes ya think that?"

"Lookin'," she answers as she begins to drink from her tankard.

"Ya think he's a bad person? Just by lookin'?" you ask, feeling a little defensive of the stranger.

She shrugs. "Did'n say bad. Just trouble. Bad crowd, needs attention, drinkin' – lots uh drinkin'."

You nod. He is a bit drunk. Maybe a bit past drunk at this point… You're not ignorant of what alcohol does to people sometimes. But now you can't help but wonder why he's drinking. Is this a celebration or is it simple drunkenness, an indulgence for the sake of it? 

Mama pats your hand. "Ya gotta soft heart. Why I said all that. Not everyone deserves yer softness. They'll try tuh use it up, take it from ya."

You nod again; you're not ignorant of that either. "I'll be careful," you say.

She smiles at you. "Finish up. I need tuh step outside, and I'll see if the kitchen is sellin' any ol’ bread before we leave."

"Sure. Do ya want any more mead?"

She shakes her head, stands, and then heads out towards the back of the tavern.

You think about what she said. Obviously, there's some truth to it, but it's not true for everyone. So the question remains – how do you know who it's true for? How do you know if someone just wants to use up what's good inside of you?

There's a rap on your table, and you look up to see the stranger standing there. Your eyes go wide.

He sits, sharing his wide smile with you as he pushes your mother's dish away so he can rest an arm on the makeshift table while the other props his head up. "What are you thinking about, handsome?"

You blink, unsure of what to say.

He smirks. "Mm, big, strong, silent type? It's my lucky night."

Your face feels hot. You clear your throat. "I…I, uh, talk."

The man's eyes widen. "Oh? Well, maybe you should do it more because even your voice is good-looking."

You chuckle. You know he's just drunk, but it's still a bit cute, and he’s still pretty articulate, all things considered. Drumming up some courage, you look him fully in the eyes. They're a strange sort of hazel, you think. They're a little green and a little golden as well. His hair is light brown, short, and smoothed over with several strands pulling away, making him look extra roguish with his hood up. Swallowing your nerves, you feel compelled to compliment him. "Y-…ya look lovely."

He seems to almost startle, glancing away for a moment, and you think his cheeks turn a shade darker. "Lovely? Now that's a first." He laughs.

You shake your head. "Surely not. Ya must get compliments. Lots."

A big smile spreads on his lips. "Well, yeah, of course. Never anything…nothing that sweet, I'd say."

You're not sure how to respond, so you don't.

The man looks at the plate in front of him, which is mostly picked clean. He begins to fish around for bits of chicken, even dipping his finger in some leftover potato and bringing it to his lips. "So…the woman who was sitting here?"

"My mother," you answer.

He nods. "Thought she looked a little old to be your lover or something." 

You snort a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand.

"You never know," he adds. "Some people like the age gap thing. I don't judge, and I'm also not exactly picky." His eyes go heavily lidded, and he reaches over and touches your arm. "What's your name, handsome?"

You feel warm in ways you never have before. "D-Dov," you say quietly.

"Cute. Just call me Al."

"Good…good tuh meet ya."

His hand begins to rub along your arm. "I like new faces. Wouldn't mind getting to know yours a little more…get a little closer perhaps?"

Your eyes move to the crowd that came with him. "Ya have lots o’friends, though." And some are watching you with poorly-veiled amusement.

Al scoffs. "Don't throw a word like friend around so carelessly now, they'll get ideas."

Your brow furrows. "But ya were laughin' s’much…I just thought…"

"They're good for a laugh and some noise, but they're not the types you can turn your back on…or leave your money with."

That seems rather sad to you. "You deserve friends who ya can do all that with."

He sighs. "You are too sweet. Probably a bit naive, but fortunately for you, I like that. So, I'll get right to it. You're not the only one who has been sneaking peeks all night. Even though they tucked you back here, you're hard to miss, and I like what I see. How would you like to be the lucky man I take to bed tonight?"

You nearly swallow your tongue. He wants to do what? With you? You've never…

The grin on Al's lips spreads wider. "No need to go all…gooy or anything. There's no need to be coy, I know just what you want." He shrugs. "I have a room and everything."

You shake your head. "No…no, thank you."

He sits back with a jerk. "What?"

"No, thank you. I 'preciate the…uh, offer, but that's not what I want."

Al looks around like he's suddenly not sure where he is. "Then what could you possibly want after looking at me like that all night?" He pats your hand. "Listen, you really don't have to spin any games to save face. It's a…let's call it an open secret that I do this. You can live out whatever fantasy you want with me, and I get a night with a large, handsome stranger. You can brag about it after, I don't care."

The way he talks makes your heart hurt. You shake your head. "Not playin' a game, and yer drunk."

"So what?" Al sits back, looking offended. "Maybe I'm a bit…intoxicated, but I had already decided this before I had any wine." He pouts.

"Sorry," you offer. "I just wanted tuh get to know ya a little, I think. Other stuff didn' cross my mind."

Al's brow scrunches. "Is this a…’hard to get’ kind of thing?"

You shake your head.

"Hm." He scratches his cheek. "What an odd thing you are. Still cute, though I'm not sure I believe you." With a laugh, he leans forward again. "Okay then, if you want to know me, I can be patient."

You smile. "Okay. Um…what are ya celebratin' tonight?"

"Nothin' really," he says with a smirk. "This is a pretty normal night for us. Every so many days, we slip out from our homes and gather in one of the taverns. Anyway, you don’t need to know any more about me; I’m not the interesting one here. Tell me about you. Like…the way you talk is a little different…tell me about that."

Not a question you've received before. You've met a lot of people who speak like you, though perhaps fewer in the cities. "It's, well, sorta like short-speech ya get up north. Me 'n' my ma hail from the nomads. My kin helped settle the north, 'n' our way of talk sorta caught on, but it's fadin' now-days."

"Oh, that's something I do remember from my lectures. Never met a nomad before, I thought they were long gone."

You shake your head. "Still goin', just spread 'n' settled. Most went north. Me 'n' Ma still travel. Only two we know of that still take the ol' paths."

"So, you're not living in Tallulah? What are you in the city for then?"

"No, here fer work. Clearin' the wood by the castle, buildin' fer the king."

His face lights up. "Really? No wonder you're shaped like a bear… Maybe I'll see you around then…"

"Do ya work there too?"

He laughs and slaps the table. "You're cute, Dov."

You're more confused than cute, you think.

Suddenly, the front door to the tavern bursts open. In walks a man of slighter stature wearing a deep blue robe with a white sash, long gold necklaces draped from his neck. He has pale orange hair, strangely bright blue eyes, and a very angry expression, dappled with a weak attempt at a mustache. Every patron goes quieter and turns away as he strides in, heading right to your table.

"Shit," Al curses. "Well, looks like the fun is over…"

The stranger reaches the table and grabs the back of Al's cloak, skewing the hood as he yanks it. You stand, affronted by the aggression and ready to protect your new friend. The man flinches, but doesn't let go.

"It's okay," Al says, waving a hand at you to sit back down. "This angry chipmunk is my dearest friend, and jester to the crown." He laughs.

"Chipmunk!?" The man shakes Al by the cloak. "Jester!? You idiot, you should be calling me your savior!"

"Don't be rude," Al insists, removing the man's grip. "This is my new friend, Dov. Dov, this is Ansar."

You nod your head.

"Charming," Ansar replies, sounding fully disinterested. "New conquest, my dear friend?"

"We're getting to know each other, if you must know. He's very sweet, this one."

"Sure. Well then, that's enough of that. It's time to go, idiot. I swear, I'm not saving your ass again this season. You owe me for covering your ass. I'm so tired of doing damage control for you. The entire city is whispering about your escapades. At least try to keep up appearances, your betrothed will end up hearing about it at this rate."

It feels like a rock sinks in your gut. He's promised to another?

All at once, Al seems to sour completely. "Don't lecture me about that. You know how I feel already." He looks at you. "Don't look so heartbroken, it's little more than a business transaction."

"Now, come along, you drunkard," Ansar commands. "There's a carriage outside, get in, sit down, and keep your mouth shut. I'll be there once I take care of your new friend."

You're a little surprised to see Al acquiesce. He gives you a small smile and a nod before he makes his way to the door, snatching a bottle of wine off the bar before he does. Ansar remains, staring at you, looking you up and down. He fishes around in the folds of his robes for a moment before procuring a small pouch.

He sets it on the table, the clink of gold unmistakable. "You didn't see him. You didn't speak with him. And you most certainly didn't sleep with him."

You shake your head and push the pouch away. "I refuse, but I didn' sleep with 'im anyway."

"Sure," he says with a huff, pushing the pouch toward you again. "This is for your safety as well as his. You. Did. Not. See. Him." He turns in place and marches toward the door.

You eye the pouch. The sight of it makes you feel…sad somehow. Certainly, you don't want it, but you can't just leave it here. Maybe you could find a way to return it. You refuse to forget your meeting with Al; you think you like him and want to be friendly. You're curious about him, worried…

You feel eyes on you and look up. Your mother stands, shadowed in an alcove by the kitchen, her axe out of its holster and in her hand. She was ready to defend you from Ansar… Stowing the tool away, she grabs a cloth bag from a nearby basket and comes back to the table. The cloth sack has something in it, the bread you assume.

"You okay, boy?" she asks quietly.

You nod.

She grabs the pouch and slips it away. "I'll hold on'tuh it until ya can return it.”

You look towards the door, still curious and still worried. When will you see him again?

Now, after reading the June POV for Dov, did you like it being written from second person as if you the reader are experiencing the moment as the character?