Whether reader or writer, we all know that moment when one of the characters is about to strip. And I’m not talking about his t-shirt. This post is not about whether or not he has chest hair. No. I’m talking below the belt.
We sit on the edge of our seats in anticipation. A belt is removed. The first button pops. Or a zipper is teased open. Maybe, he pushes the waistband down a little. Or loosens his drawstrings…
And that is that moment. Whether contemporary, fantasy, sci-fi, or historical, we’re all thinking the same thing: “What is he wearing underneath?”
I definitely remember the scene in “The Forester” when Kelnaht spies on Taruif and Ianys while they’re undressing… and it suddenly hit me. What were they wearing underneath? What did I want my Forest men to wear?
These days, the question is mostly about boxers, briefs, or going commando. But what would men wear in a fantasy setting like mine? A simple, mostly harmonious, community, where the people take care of each other. And might even be sewing each other’s clothes. Would underwear even be practical in such a setting? Would it be necessary?
With the internet only a click away, I ventured on a short but interesting journey that led me past loincloths, braies, and codpieces to Greeks and Scots not wearing any of these items. And my decision was made. My Forest men would wear simple trousers, tied at the waist with drawstrings, made of fabric to suit the weather, but no underwear.
Of course, when I went back to finishing that scene, I had Kelnaht close his eyes for a moment, so he ended up missing the part where Taruif and Ianys took their trousers off… Poor Kelnaht. Still, the research was fun, nevertheless.
So, what do you like to see men in the fantasy genre wear beneath their clothes? And what do you least like to see them wear?
“The Guide mentioned puddles, but I envisioned lakes, deep treacherous lakes, and I was drowning.”
One turn has passed, another Solstice is just around the corner, and having an illicit affair with not one but two lovers-smith Ianys and shunned Forester Taruif-is taking its toll on Truth Seeker Kelnaht. If it isn’t sneaking around to find some quality time with his lovers, it’s heavy rainfall hiding traces of a missing stripling, or waiting for the elders to decide whether or not to set Taruif free. And if that’s not enough, Kelnaht fears that in gaining one lover, he might be losing another, as Ianys seems to be pulling away from them, and it looks like someone is, once again, trying to frame Taruif.
I was glad I wore my trousers tucked into my high boots, as the mud sucked at them with every step. It had been raining off and on for the past two weeks. The leaves of the few evergreen oaks and parulm trees scattered throughout the forest dripped water, and twilight threw the woodland into a cold and eerie darkness. Cloak wrapped tightly around me and wings folded, I tried to ignore the drizzling chill brushing my fingers as I held my hands out in front of me, energy flowing freely as I scanned for Ustion’s footsteps.
Step by step, I circled the area at the foot of Moors Mountain surrounding the mouth of the hunters’ cave, while my apprentice, Brem, did the same on the other side of the cave’s entrance. Even with the floating lanterns hovering above us, I could find little trace of Ustion. There had been plenty in the cave. Just outside, same thing, but the farther I moved away from the cave, the less I found. At this point, I’d be thrilled to find even the tiniest trace that would tell me where Ustion had walked off to. I muttered a prayer to Ma’terra, hoping something would turn up soon. Deeper into the forest, the search party bellowed out for Ustion every couple of paces.
Ustion, son of Ashyu and soon-to-be carpenter’s apprentice, had been staying with Ashyu’s hunting group when he disappeared. It was tradition to take their older children with them once a turn for a break in routine. According to the hunters, Ustion had been doing fine—couldn’t shoot a rabbit even if it stood still, but made the best arrows—until three nights ago, when Ustion and Ashyu had argued, and Ustion had walked off to blow off some steam. When he hadn’t returned that evening, Ashyu had assumed he’d gone home to sulk. At sixteen turns, Ustion was old enough to find his way back, but when the hunting group returned to the village earlier today, Ustion hadn’t been home. He hadn’t been anywhere in the village.
Three nights was a long time for a stripling like him to be missing.
“Do you think we’ll find him soon, Master Kelnaht?”
Ashyu, a tall tree elf built like an oak, looked old in the flickering light of the lanterns. Lines were etched into his face, lines of worry, lines of regret. He’d been mumbling prayers since we started our search, staying close to Brem and me as we searched for traces. Every time we paused or bent down, he held his breath. His sighs when we found nothing sounded heartbreaking.
“I hope so,” was all I could answer to that. Truth was, I had no idea. The lack of traces was alarming, the nearing darkness even more so. I hadn’t expected the absence of traces, hadn’t expected the search to take this long. We weren’t prepared to spend the night in the forest, and once the night creatures stirred, the fire would be needed for protection more than light. The sooner we found Ustion, the sooner we could all go home. I hoped Taruif wasn’t waiting up for me.
Grabbing some herbs from my pouch, I sprinkled them over my cold hands and rubbed them together to cleanse them and protect them from the worst of the cold. When my hands started tingling, I took a deep breath, muttered a prayer to Ma’terra to guide us in our search, and renewed my focus. Hands extended, I felt my way through the rubble and the mud, moving farther and farther away from the cave. Every now and then, Brem and I met up in the middle, but we had nothing new to tell each other. Neither of us could find anything, and we were both reaching the limit of our powers.
In the end, I had no choice but to call it a night. We could barely see our hands in front of us, the wind had become fierce and close to freezing, and Brem and I needed to stop before we ran out of energy. Standing amidst his hunting group, Ashyu begged and screamed for us to give it another hour, stamping his feet into the mud and swinging his fists to punctuate his words.
I shook my head. “Look at your friends, Ashyu,” I told him. “You’ve all just returned from a week long hunting trip. They need a good night’s rest.” I gestured at Brem and I. “We need a good night’s rest to replenish our energy. We’ll restart our search in the morning and gather as many elves as we can to combine our energies. We will find your son.”
Ashyu sagged against a tree, disappointment and pain clear in his expression. Two of his group had to help him back on his feet before they could lead him back to the village. We walked in silence. I couldn’t stop myself from scanning the ground every couple of paces with what little energy I had left. Next to me, Brem did the same. A desperate act, or idle hope, maybe, but we’d never lost anyone in the forest before, and we weren’t planning on doing so now.
When I entered the village, Ianys stood waiting in the shadow of my dwelling, keeping out of sight until the last door in the village had closed. As soon as I reached him, his strong arms enveloped me, and I sagged against him. His warm mouth claiming mine brought a relief I couldn’t express in words. Ianys knew me well. He wrapped his cloak around me, took my cold and wet hands in his, and led me to Taruif’s dwelling.
Blaine D. Arden is a purple haired, forty-something writer of gay and trans* romance with a love of men, music, mystery, magic, fairies, platform shoes, and a penchant for wearing mostly black and purple, who sings her way through life.