Palmer, noun

1. A pilgrim.

2. An itinerant monk.

3. One who conceals a card or another object in a magic trick on in cheating a game.

You swirl the wooden sword in two graceful loops on each side of your body, and then thrust and jab it into his chest. He guffaws and steps back. "Do you find it humourous, my Lord? I am threatening you with a weapon." His smirk is positively indecent. "And you look delectable doing it, my Queen."

You press the point into his sternum. His eyes grow darker. "It is as dangerous as a spoon, my Queen. If you wish to maim, you should try this," he pulls a short wide dagger out of a sheath on his belt. He takes it by the blade and turns the hilt to you. You envelop your fingers around it. It is shorter than the sword, and you have to step closer.

Lowering the wooden sword, you hook the dagger under a clasp on the collar of his long velvet waistcoat and with a swift jerk you slice the fastening. It opens up, and you lick your lips. "If I am allowed to wield this fine blade, my Lord, then why was your daughter given this?" You lift the wooden sword by the pommel with two fingers.

He lowers his eyes and follows the roundness of your breasts with his scorching gaze. "She is a fine fighter, but it is unbecoming for a princess to carry a sword in front of honorary guests. She will get her sword back when their visit is concluded." You lift a brow and swiftly cut another fasting on his waistcoat. "Is it becoming for a Queen to wield a sword?" "The Queen is not running around the halls chopping the chair legs under the guests of Erebor." He cannot suppress a smile. The spectacle of Dain Ironfoot tumbling on the floor was indeed an uproarious one.

"You have offended her, my Lord," the third fastening goes, and the garment is fully open on his chest. "She fears you respect her less since she is a woman." "She is obviously just too young to understand that underneath the surface this house is ruled by a woman," he steps closer and the point actually digs into his tunic.

"Flattery, my Lord?" You slightly lessen the pressure on the blade. "The truth," he is murmuring and grabbing your wrist he removes the dagger out of your hand. He pulls you into him, and then you cut the strings on his tunic with a small blade that was hidden in your sleeve. He shakes his head with a lopsided smirk. "The princess will soon realize, we are all but in your power, my Queen." You wrap your arms around his neck, and he surrenders to your kiss.


The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second.

-John Steinbeck, novelist, Nobel laureate (1902-1968)