Part III, Tipping Point

"A lost seafarer, alive
Has returned home

A lost seafarer, alive
Has returned home."
-Sigur Ros, Sæglópur

Years passed.

He was living the life every man dreamed of. Respected officer of his Caste. The ear of any politician when he wished. Sluts as his feet at his beck and call. He had it all. Rich. Strong. In the prime of his life. The job he grew to enjoy over the months had not changed. If anything, the experience made him more successful. As Commander of the city, he had fully protected the city from numerous marauding outlaws and panthers that littered the area and hijacked the caravans rolling their way to Midgaard. The men still respected him. They knew he would protect them no matter what happened in battle. He had their respect. He had everything he could possibly want. So...why did he hate his life so much?

He had too much damn respect. All he had was respect. They always asked for his help. Whenever someone had a problem, he was the first person that would be approached. And he always helped. But his patience began to wear thin. He never asked for their help; he never needed it. He had a house on the water’s edge. He had all the money he’d ever need for several lifetimes. He had all the political connections to get whatever he wants. He was a man with no needs who only gave to others. He had value as an asset to the community. But did he have value as being part of it? If he were to disappear, surely the people would be saddened that their leader could no longer help them. But would they really care that he was gone?

It wasn’t an entirely fair question. Wherever he went, he seemed out of place. He looked different than everyone else; a smaller, tanned man with green eyes and black hair was a stark contrast against the tall, blonde blue-eyed men of the North. In a city dominated by Caste, influence and politics, he seemed wildly disinterested in it all. True, he dutifully appeared at every social function, every Caste meeting, and every time the High Council asked for his advice. He gave himself to his work. What was there outside of that? What were the people supposed to talk to him about? No one knew what his interests were. He never gave them an opportunity to learn. Once the meetings were over, the obligation of social interaction over, he would retreat to his house and stay there. He lived in a nice house, but he lived alone. He had no slaves. Men offered him their daughters as companions and he rebuffed offer after offer. His furs never seemed cold; there would be the occasional captive, prisoner or coin girl that exited his house in the early hours of the morning. But…they were captives. They were not citizens of Midgaard. He didn’t seem to fit into any social circle. Yes, the people valued his counsel and sought his input on everything involved in their city life. They tried to involve him in the only ways they knew how. But he did not seem to want to become one of them. So it was easy to use him. Ask for help, and they never had to give anything back. Who would refuse such a deal? He made it so easy that they sought him often.

* * *

The aftermath of the Treve-Vosk Delta Alliance war completely transformed the Gorean landscape. Many people fled their homestones in the wake of the destruction, looking for a new place to rebuild their lives. Being positioned so far away from the battlefields, Midgaard enjoyed an influx of these refugees. Amongst them was a traveling musician by the name of Gabrielle. Lost, alone and uncompanioned- a number of the men of the city looked at her with the idea of a collar twinkling in their eye. Indeed, she had nothing to start her new life in this place. The collar was the easy solution; many others sought this refuge.

Why Aashe chose to step in and help her, no one would ever know. There were many similar helpless women to choose from, some in more dire straits and others with value. He never offered a reason, and apparently Gabrielle never thought to ask him either. Clearly though, there was something unique that drew him to her. He stepped in and offered food, shelter and a job. The people were perturbed by the arrangement; such generosity with no strings attached was unprecedented. Perhaps he was establishing her in order to eventually companion her. After all, a man of his stature could not deign to lower himself to associating with common beggars and refugees.

If there was any hint of a plan, it never materialized. Gabrielle moved in across the street from Aashe. They would dine together often, but they always parted their separate ways shortly after. She took on a slave, then a second and finally even her own personal kajirus. She pursued a courtship with the head of the Red Caste; he contented himself by sharing the furs with a new female captive every few days and then selling her off for a bit of coin and supplies. Their interaction remained…platonic, a curious arrangement in Gor. The people of the city could not understand it. The two became the center of a series of rumors. People would stop by the streets and peer into the windows, hoping to catch the two in compromising positions. Their actions during the city festivals and dinner parties were scrutinized endlessly; for all their work, the gossip birds never returned with a juicy morsel or a worm. Perhaps it was true that Aashe and Gabrielle were nothing more than friends.

Then one day, Aashe’s immediate superior, Augustus, returned with spoils from his latest victory over a rogue band of panther girls. She was a diminutive thing, unimpressive upon first glance. Augustus seemed to take great pride and joy in her and gave her a home in his private kennels, naming her Cecelia. Whereas Aashe was tasked with the defenses of the city, Augustus’ work took him farther out on the supply routes where sometimes he was absent from the city for weeks at his time. Turning to the man he trusted most, he placed his household in Aashe’s trust while he was away.

It was something Aashe had never done before; caring for a slave seemed so…constricting. He much preferred his arrangement with captives: use them when he wished and discard them when he no longer saw value in them. It was a life of variety and excitement. He was never bored. He never felt burdened with obligation. Cecelia on the other hand…he had to watch her every day. And she confused him. He was used to pliant slaves, eager to please and doting in their demeanor. She was none of these things. She always stood when she had the chance, darting this way and that. Touching everything in his house. And the questions. Always with the questions. What could he do? She was not his slave and he could not kill her. And could not keep her gagged forever; it seemed perverse. Even worse, she acted so differently when Augustus was around. So demonstrative around him, she oozed sex and lust. But when Aashe ordered her when they were alone, there would be a thousand questions. She wasn’t stubborn; she just…he could not explain it. Invariably the task would never get done and he’d have to do it himself. It infuriated him. He could order any other slave in the city and they would do it without question. The slaves feared him and respected his authority. But Cecelia? She was a puzzle, a challenge. The whip could not break her. In fact, in his hand with his force, she took a perverse delight in it. She questioned him; she challenged him. She forced him to grow. And somewhere along the way, the anger turned into intrigue. He began to appreciate her differences. Day after day, he slowly learned more about the slave girl Cecelia. He learned how to adjust his demeanor to make her obey. Instead of raising his voice, he needed to lower it. Where he would choke another slave into submission, he would need to cajole her with his tongue. Gradually, he learned the value of obligation and the reasons why a man would keep a slave. They were not all the same simpering, spineless begging toadies he had come to expect. There were some that were truly unique and truly valuable. He learned to treasure that. It was something he saw worth pursuing for himself some day in the future.

It is said "every man is an Ubar within the circle of his sword." It was a true statement; in this circle, there was only room for one person. These new events changed that. There was no tipping point where despair turned to joy. There would be no day of celebration that Aashe could pinpoint the precise moment in time when everything changed. The wall was compromised by pressure and time. In Gor, where people live for hundreds of years, walls cannot stand forever. Some walls stand longer than others; it was certainly true in his case. In the end, change is inevitable. Now he had an inner circle. People who he could truly call friends: those that he knew in the deepest part of his heart cared unstintingly about his life and his feelings. And when the wall was finally breached, more people sat beside him. Gabrielle and Cecelia. Then Yuliya. Horthgar. Thena. Oric. Stephania. Damien. Drapeta. And others. Some people passed through his life faster than others. Some never left. Each made their mark on him. Permanently. The walls of his responsibility and obligation that he hid behind for so long were soon replaced by a wall of people. It was a welcome change.

Of course, it changed him forever. Now when people came him to him for favors, they were rebuffed on occasion. He learned to say no. His work faltered. He no longer seemed as dedicated as he once was. The warriors under his care were not trained up to standards. He found himself having to answer more and more to a displeased Council. His value to the community was slipping. And where in the past, this would have bothered him and would have worked hard to correct his mistakes…now? Now, he cared less about his duty and more about his happiness. The Codes he had sworn to uphold and protect, the mantra of community and honor first were slowly degrading from oaths into lip service.

It became a game of balance. It was a game he was not used to because there was no answer. He always dove headfirst into problems and conquered them once and for all. Ir was his way; he solved problems. He did not rest until he crushed them out of existence. But how could he solve this one? How would he balance the burden of his communal responsibilities with the desires of his personal satisfaction? He looked all around him for inspiration. It seemed so easy for others. Men had gaggles of slaves on their chains and they seemed able to handle each kajira so effortlessly; women were able to both pursue the work of their Caste and have enough energy to look after their households and children. How was it so difficult for him?
Gor is a world of absolutes. There is no room for balancing. One either adapts or he dies. Aashe knew his choices. He knew what he would lose if he returned to the life of pure caste work and obligation. He could not go back to that life. He had tasted the fruit of friendship and it was intoxicating. He did not want to die alone. But he also knew he could not abandon those that were close to him. They needed his strength and guidance. He had to perform his duties; if he showed weakness, the city would fall to an enemy and they would all be dead. He could not live with such guilt, knowing that his selfishness would cause so much devastation. He needed to win this game. People were counting on him to succeed. He was counting on himself to persevere in the end. There was no choice in the matter.