He-Man Masters of the Universe!

[Sam]

Strut. Strut. Strut. He flowed as liquid metal, feet clacking fox trot rhythms, head tossing from side to side, eyes and teeth flashing. He greeted everyone he met; tasted the fresh Tar Valon air as he breathed. It was a good day. Everything seemed more, well, more manly. The Trees were manly, the streets—manly—and Braxton . . . ? You guessed it.

 

Freshly returned to Tar Valon from his survival training (he hated that, since you asked), Braxton was going to make some alterations. His boyish habits were not in keeping with his new, adult, outlook on life. Some things had simply changed in that moment. Nay, everything had changed . . . . (Wait. No. That is all wrong. Let me try again. Ahem): It was a time of change. (Much better.) The experience had left him unconscious and with a small knot of bruised flesh on the back of his head (was she a wildcat, or what!); he was finally a man.

 

He pictured the door to the barracks opening before him—it didn’t—not even the blood and dizziness could disrupt the heroic anthem playing over and over in his head. He strolled into his quarters, face split like a Halloween pumpkin. He fancied that people who saw him go by stopped and said to one another: “hey, there is something different about him. He’s more . . . manly.” Aran would never mock him no more. After this moment, they were “equals,” members of an ancient and sacred brotherhood. Yes. It would be a fine day.

 

His trainee uniform bespoke of his manliness. Manly black breeches, manly white tunic. Manly boots. To accentuate his manliness, Braxton cut his hair short and groomed the whispy beginnings of a manly beard. Outfitted, Braxton marched off in search of Aran, as he moved his new found manliness bathed him in a radiant glow. Trainees and tower guards sensed this, breaking into impromptu dances and catchy little jingles (well not really). Braxton found Aran under a tree, napping. Expecting the sheer raw power of his new masculinity (which was currently glowing with the incandescence of a flood-light) to wake him, Braxton was rather disappointed when he had to clear his throat and prod a little with his foot. "Aran!" His smile required SPF 15+, "I'm a man!"

[Wayfarer]

Having been blissfully embraced by the warm cocoon of a midday nap, there was a certain amount of discontent to be experienced at being nudged to wakefulness by the toe of a manly boot. Opening his eyes, Aran was forced to shield them with his hand as they were almost blinded by the fiery light that struck them. The glimpse he managed to take had only allowed him to see one thing, a man whose silhouette could have been described as imposing. He was standing over Aran, hands were on hips and one could have pictured a similar pose struck by a great hero on the battlements of some faraway keep. Perhaps garbed in immaculate plate mail from a Gleeman's tale or maybe just breeches. One might have also said that the voice that spoke his name and proclaimed a great axiom was both strong and hearty.

 

As Aran lifted his hand away and squinted at the figure, one might have surmised that these were thoughts that were not his.

 

Instead, as Aran looked upon Braxton, several things were going through his mind. First of all was the fact that Braxton did not seem to be armed with his whip. Ever since an earlier incident involving that whip, Braxton, Kyrie perched on him screaming 'Who's your Da?' and alcohol, Aran had made a practice of checking for the whip on Braxton ever since. The second thought was that Braxton was looking inordinately proud of himself which no doubt had something to do with Braxton's discovery as to his true gender. A milestone in the lad's life no doubt, but Aran had a sense that he wanted to distance himself from this as much as possible.

 

In fact he just really wanted to go back to sleep.

 

"Of course you are." Throwing him a look which roughly translated as; Who are you? Why are you bothering me? Please leave me alone and don't touch me, Aran closed his eyes again and shifted about to make himself comfortable. With any luck, Braxton would need to announce his discovery to other people and leave him well alone.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Sam]

“It’s true,” reproachful pause. “Where was I? Oh, right. I’m a man!” SPF 30+ if you’ve got it, if not, just save your retinas. “I was in the wood for my survival training—you and I need to speak about my mentor, I think she tried to kill me—minding my own business; trying to find my way out when—Aran? Aran! For a moment there it looked like you were sleeping . . . .”

 

There is no conventional method to deal with the average Braxton, who seizes is victims in much the same manner as a large dog. By the time you have managed to pry him loose, you have lost at least one leg, and have no means of escape.

 

"Here I am, eating bugs. Yes, bugs. Don't look at me like that, Aran, a man has to do what he can to survive. It was a life or death situation! Along comes this crazy woman, I offer her some food and she hits me. I try to stop her, and she hits me again. I won't tell you where, Aran, but it hurt quite badly.

 

"I think she must have been testing me, because when she'd finished kicking me and hitting me with a stick she kissed me and all I can say, Aran, all I can say is "woah." I mean. I saw stars. Her hands went everywhere and, well," Braxton frowned, "I blacked out after that. It was that good."

 

 

To his credit, Braxton almost seamlessly incorporated his new manliness into his story, including patent strutting, hair flicking, spitting, and squinting. Had there been any females present, I am certain they would have been impressed.

 

 

“. . . And that,” finished Braxton, “is how I became a man. Are you hungry, Aran? I’m hungry.”

[Wayfarer]

Aran had confronted many different problems in his life. He had fought on rooftops and sewers, alleyways and battlefields. He had fought men and Trollocs and even Myrddraal. He had contended with the best schemers that Cairhien had to offer, his fellow guard and Aes Sedai. In fact he had faced many forms of adversity and overcome them all one at a time, he had always forged ahead no matter what. Yet while he was sure he could overcome the trial that was Braxton who seemed completely oblivious to how much Aran wanted him to go away, he couldn't help but wonder if this would be numbered amongst one of the more painful encounters he had ever experienced.

 

The worst thing was that Braxton did it without even trying. The lad's inherent need to babble and the vapid look in his eyes were enough to prove his innocence, how could he know that he was the cause of a dull ache that was beginning to pervade Aran's skull. Worse, violence was probably not an option, if he started beating a trainee for no apparent reason he might have some other do gooder tackle him, like Kyrie did. No, bad things happened around Braxton, he was a pariah, Aran was not going to tempt fate. So instead he was forced to listen to the tale that the young lad spun.

 

The whole tale seemed to revolve around an encounter with some strange woman in the forest. Strange because she put her hands on Braxton to begin with. But, putting that aside, she hit Braxton repeatedly, which Aran approved of. Then there was kissing, which he couldn't help but wonder was imagined, and then there were stars and hands everywhere. Either the lad fainted or that was the only way that Braxton's limited mind could interpret a sex. Regardless, Aran was not particularly impressed and didn't want to know. On the otherhand, Braxton had just proved that it was possible for any man to find a woman, so that was a milestone at least. Where that was a good or bad outcome, Aran couldn't decide.

 

"No. And that sounds like a wonderful adventure." Closing his eyes, Aran turned on one side to try and forget Braxton was there as he decided to give a parting shot. "Hope you took Heartleaf tea beforehand, if you're pregnant you can't train."

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Sam]

“Hah, good one, Aran: pregnant, pshaw, preg—pregnant?” Pregnant, pregnant; pregnant: pregnant. The though sloshed from one side of his mind to the other—back and forth. Back and forth—leaving him dazed and looking for the cheese. Manliness fled with a whooshing exhalation and he deflated considerably. A spent balloon might well do the same, as well as taking on that peculiar shade of pink.

 

Braxton had never heard of a pregnant male. Small fish: big pond. What would he know? Besides, some of those pregnant male fish might eat him. Aran wouldn’t possibly lie about something this important. It was life or death. When his grandfather found out? Oh, that wasn’t even worth thinking about. He did anyway.

 

“Aran,” whispered, “you don’t suppose. I mean, you don’t think that . . . well I couldn’t be . . . could I? It isn’t that I mind, it’s just that I’m young, you know, and it is an awfully big responsibility. Why, I’m not even a tower guard yet. What would people say? What am I going to do, Aran? What am I going to do?”

[Wayfarer]

He could not be serious. The chances of Braxton believing that should have been as likely as finding ice at the Pit of Doom. The sheer ludicrousness of the idea should have precluded any chance of it being taken seriously. Indeed, it was about as serious a thought as six foot Cairhienin. Opening his eyes as Braxton whispered to him, Aran looked for some sort of sign of recognition or common sense to be found in the young lad.

 

Not even a smidgeon. In Braxton’s face there was only fear and hopelessness to be found. While a part of Aran died as he came to the conclusion that Braxton was singlehandedly redefining gullibility, another part of him saw a wonderful opportunity that could not have been found anywhere else. Something unique that just called to Aran like a Draghkar’s song, one that he could never have hoped to resist even if he wanted to.

 

Leaning forward slightly, Aran put a finger to his lips to indicate that Braxton should be silent. Of course the lad did as he was told, desperate for answers and guidance as he was. Clearly he needed Aran’s help. “It doesn’t happen often, but it can. Light boy, I myself keep some heartleaf in my room just for that purpose so I don’t get pregnant, and its too late for you to use it. What will we do…”

 

Lapsing into what appeared to be a meaningful silence, Aran was actually weighing up several different ways he could ‘help’ Braxton. One particular option stood out above all others. “Well look, the first thing we have to do is find out whether you really are pregnant or not. Come with me.”

 

Getting to his feet, Aran led Braxton on a nice little walk until they had found a place behind the Trainee Barracks where they could perform the… test. “There is a very simple and foolproof way to find out whether or not you’re pregnant. Hold out your hands in the air either side. Yes, that’s it, straight from your shoulders. Now hold it there until you cannot any further. When you get to that point, start spinning around on the spot. Keep doing it until I tell you to stop.”

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Sam]

Braxton sniffed. Wiped his nose. Sniffed again. Repeated. His nose had been running like an allergy, when he began to consider the wider implications of possible pregnancy. Aran was being swell about the whole thing, helpful and nice. Not like Aran at all, really. A bright mind would have stopped right there and considered more seriously. Braxton was not one of those minds.

 

Instead he followed like an abused pet dog, shamelessly obeying commands, consistently oblivious to the goad; oak branch, or rolled up newspaper that would at some point fall with intuitive precision . . . straight for the heart. Even then, he would be quick to forget the incident and wag his tail once more.

 

Here he was, spinning around in ridiculous little circles, looking very riduclous, and feeling rather happy that he had not yet eaten. It was not that there was anything wrong with spinning in circles. Some would consider it very fun, and Braxton didn't intend any offence to them, he just felt as though perhaps circle spinning was not the right activity for him. But you go ahead and enjoy yourself.

 

Braxton was not sure why he had a mouthful of grass and soil, but it did not taste pleasant on his tongue. He supposed he must have stopped spinning, although it did not feel as though he had. He sniffled some more, and looked to Aran with watery eyes. "I'm sorry, Aran. I didn't mean to fall over."

 

"How am I feeling? Well, I feel like I have a mouth ful of grass, Aran. I feel like my eyes should be somewhere in the back of my head, and I have a strange sinking feeling like my stomach is leaking out through my shoes. Other than that, I feel pretty good. Thanks. Can I stand up now?"

[Wayfarer]

A worried frown furrowed Aran's fervaciously fevered forehead. Holding a hand to the back of Braxton's in turn in silence while he weighed up what Braxton had said, he shushed Braxton as he tried to speak. Telling him to stay still, he poked every one of the lad's ribs and then told him to lie on his back. Lifting the lad's legs up so they pointed straight at the sky one at a time, he focused on the left leg and swung the lower half of it several times. Moving to the left ankle, he rotated it multiple times before tapping it and nodding gravely to himself. Squatting back down next to Braxton and laying a compassionate hand on his shoulder, Aran spoke gently to try and cushion the news.

 

"You have twins. Wait!" Restraining Braxton with his hand, Aran continued once Braxton went still and silent. "I want you to listen very carefully to me, the lives of your twins will rely on this, as will your career as a Tower Guard. That is, if you still want to be a Tower Guard don't you? Otherwise you're going to have to become a housefather and if you do then you're going to be running about the kitchen barefoot for the rest of your life. Do you want to do that?"

 

Getting a vigourous shake of the head from Braxton, Aran patted him on the shoulder reassuringly for making the right decision. In fact it was the best decision that Braxton could make as far as Aran was concerned. Yes, Braxton was a career (wo)man in the making. "Now, we're going to have to do several things to make sure you're alright. First of all, you have to start doing as little training as possible. If you do too much it could harm the kids and we don't want that do we?" Another vigourous shake of the head.

 

"The next thing is you're going to have to eat more, with those twins growing you're going to need a fair bit. You know that while women carry a child for nine months, men carry them for four don't you? Oh yes, they grow right quick and you're going to have to eat, even when you sometimes don't want to. This is very important now Braxton, you're going to be a father and thats all there is to it. You want to be a good father don't you?"

 

A vigourous nod.

 

"Lastly, we can't tell anyone else about this because otherwise you'll get thrown out and once you're out you won't be let back in. So, we'll swear a father's oath." Holding his hands out, they curled into fists except for his pinkies. "Wrap your little fingers around mine."

 

Waiting, Aran then continued. "As a man and the bearer of children, I swear to carry my children to term and defend them from all harm. Swear it!"

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

 

OOC: Do that and then take us forward in time :)

[Sam]

"As a man and the bearer of children, I swear to carry my children to term and defend them from all harm. Swear i--I swear!"

 

 

***

 

Something smelled. Bad. Somewhere between rotten eggs and the kind of thing salvaged from the stomach of a crocodile. Braxton's nose wrinkled a few times then he smiled and relaxed. It was the smell of manliness. One eyebrow popped open with the sound of sandpaper, and lolled lazily. The Mess Hall. He must have dozed. He met eyes with other trainees, noticing their looks of envy and disgust. Manly!

 

His arms moved forward, snaking around his ample stomach, to latch onto . . . it looked like meat, anyway. Like a conveyor belt his arms retracted, slowly, inexorably, the clicking of catepillar tread was almost audible. His mouth opened wide and a green smelling vapour caused his eyes to water. If anything had previously lived on whatever it was about to be swallowed, it no longer mattered. You could end civilisations with that sort of fume, or at least put a match to it.

 

Grease lolled from his hands and splattered the pink, flabby flesh his too-small tunic no longer covered. Braxton spared a cursory second to smear a meaty hand across his abdomen, the grease was already being eaten by something. Good to keep the tenants happy, he had always heard. Braxton's teeth closed as a bear trap might, he shook his head and gave a growl and then swallowed without chewing. He relied on the bacteria behind his lips to break it down . . . was easier that way.

 

His jowls wobbled, each individual chin fighting for a piece of run off that dribbled down his neck and into the hidden recesses of his tunic. He finished eating and wiped the excess with the collar of his shirt. Leaning back in his chair, Braxton rubbed his stomach chest vigourously (Aran said it would help)--his nipples had been so sensitive lately, and the twins weren't even born yet--then released a very long sigh. It would not be long now. He could feel them kicking.

 

"It's a good [belch] thing Aran that you told me to eat all this butter and things. I mean, look how fast they're growing. [some other strange noise that I don't even want to think about.] Why, I don't know what I would do without you, Aran. You've been a life sav--."

 

Braxton groaned, his legs twisting together under the table. Both eyes popped open and rolled weirdly. It's happening! It is finally happening!

 

"Aran!" Despite the stressed exclamation it was a whisper. "I think it's time!"

 

Spots of light appeared in front of his eyes and he leaned forward, his forehead resting on the edge of the table. Too much grunting and groaning occured for me to right it down. He truly felt as though he was going to die. Die or come apart at the seams or the nearest escape hatch. and I don't need to tell you where . . . the pain and the pressure kept rising until he was unable to breath. His face was flushed, fingers suffering spasms. He truly believed his body would stand for no more.

 

The sound that followed could only be defined as vibration. The chair strained, the table buckled, and the cutlery rattled like the chains of a very large and unfriendly ghost. Then there was silence. The silence of a vacuum. The silence of space.

"False alarm." Said Braxton, cheerfully. More seriously, "I don't feel too well though . . . say, did someone bring something in on their shoes?"

[Wayfarer]

The past few months had been fairly entertaining as far as Aran was concerned. Braxton, previously the source of all things irritating, had become a pet project of Aran's. In fact not only had he had been a source of pride and joy, Braxton was truly becoming a source of inspiration. Aran had always entertained that there might be limits to what he might be able to achieve, but Braxton had steadily been dispelling such doubts as the months went by. Though, as naive as the lad was, Aran had discovered within Braxton almost endless enthusiasm and commitment for anything that he put his mind to. It was just unfortunate that Braxton had a very limited mind.

 

The day was much like the others he had spent with Braxton, proving to himself he had a particularly strong stomach as Braxton proceeded to demolish his fourth course within the same sitting. The handiwork of Aran's gentle guidance were apparent, Braxton had significantly developed weight even as his muscles had been diminished through a lack of use. In fact, he looked more like some of the new trainees who had been ridiculously spoiled by their mothers as opposed to one who had been residing in Tar Valon for well over a year. The lad's naive innocence didn't help him in that respect either, though Aran had to admit to himself he almost felt bad about what he was doing. Still, it wasn't anything that couldn't be worked off, and it was an opportunity that couldn't be allowed to slide.

 

Besides, Aran had discovered some new things even he hadn't known about. Not only was Braxton capable of fooling himself into believing that his non-existant children occasionally kicked, they'd also made another discovery that had led to Aran wondering how different men and women really were. In particular when it came to behaviour, now that Braxton believed he was going to be giving birth, he was developing feminine behaviour such as a good deal of crying for no apparent reason. Not to mention a certain trip into town where Braxton had cooed over a new baby at the market until the parents had quickly hurried away.

 

Aran was only half aware of what Braxton was saying up until the magic words were spoken, the time had come. What followed then surprised even Aran as the table shifted underneath his hands and the noise that assaulted his ears could have almost been compared to a bugle's call. The moment was almost pushed aside by Braxton but Aran knew that the time had come even as he got to his feet and quickly pulled Braxton to his and dragged him out of the mess hall as everyone watched.

 

Breaking into the sunlight and fresh air, Aran was gasping for breath even as he spoke. "Hurry up! Don't you know what you did?! Your wind broke!"

 

"What?!"

 

"For women their water breaks, for men their wind breaks! Don't you get it!? Its time! The second break will come within a few minutes and then you're a daddy! Run to the infirmary! Run!" Giving Braxton a good shove in the right direction, the lad stumbled but had caught on quick enough as he made a mad dash towards help from the Yellow Sisters. Aran followed behind closely enough so he could hear, but as he reached the doorway to the infirmary, he simply loitered outside and listened to the chaos that followed.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard