Chapter 8: Machinations

all characters are over the age of eighteen years

***SMYTHE – Ironshire, Ekistair***

The morning of the day after Aran departed Ironshire, Smythe was on his way to visit an old friend. After all the intense training he’d put Aran through in the past three months, Smythe was in the mood for a relaxed, quiet chat, and he knew just the man to see.

“Henley!” Berrigan exclaimed with a laugh when he opened the door.

“Hello, Berrigan,” Smythe said with a grin, clasping forearms with the graying, fatherly-faced mayor of Ironshire. Smythe had lived in Ironshire for near to ten years, and Berrigan Stallen had governed with fairness and wisdom the entire time. He was so good, in fact, that the people had never bothered to elect anyone else, even though several men and women had tried unsuccessfully to gather enough popularity to challenge him. The two men had taken a liking to each other as soon as they met, and Smythe valued the man’s company.

Berrigan wore his usual red cloak of office, the pin at his throat bearing the sigil of Ironshire; a sword crossing a horseshoe, of all things. Smythe had always found the sigil strange, and he’d never been able to find out what it meant. Not even Berrigan knew.

“I’ve not seen you for months, Henley!” Berrigan chuckled. “Whatever have you been up to? Not chasing anymore pretty girls around, I hope?”

“I have no clue what you mean,” Smythe said with a serious face, though he knew his eyes gave it away. Truthfully, he hadn’t been doing any such thing – if you discounted Rayna and Bella – but it was important to keep up appearances. If Berrigan thought Smythe was busy with women, then he was less likely to ask questions about who Aran was.

Ironshire was a small town, and you had to be careful with what you told to whom. Nobody in this town knew that Paladins ever existed, much less that one lived among them, and Smythe intended to keep it that way. Even Berrigan, as his closest friend, knew nothing more than that Smythe had moved here to escape family troubles in the east.

“Ha! I knew it, you old dog!” Berrigan laughed as he ushered Smythe inside his home. As mayor, Berrigan lived in the largest house in town, and the two-story brick building was well-furnished, though short of lavish; Berrigan Stallen was not a man for unnecessary luxuries. “You know, Henley, what you need is a good wife to settle down with. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it till you listen, man!”

It was true; Berrigan said this every time Smythe visited, and Smythe bore the advice with good humour. “Perhaps if there weren’t so many pretty girls getting around, I would be able to do so, Berrigan,” Smythe said as he followed the man to his comfortable sitting room. “But enough about me. How is young Kedron?”

The two men sat in armchairs before the fireplace, which was already lit and blazing away merrily. Berrigan puffed his chest out proudly at the mention of his son’s name. “Ah, that boy, Henley! He reminds me of myself at his age. He wishes to join the guard! If his mother were still alive, there’s no way she’d allow it, but I’ve a mind to let him do it.”

Smythe grinned, remembering his own dreams at eighteen years of age. “A right boring job, that would be, ey? Town guardsmen of a sleepy place like this?”

The mayor winked conspiratorially. “A right safe job, you mean. Even a doting old father like me wouldn’t worry about him too much, were he with the guard. Still, it would be good for him to learn discipline and order; these things will serve him all through his life.”

Smythe nodded as he watched the flames in the fireplace, seeing sense in the man’s words. “He is a good lad, Berrigan, and he’s fortunate to have a father who cares for him.”

Berrigan smiled gratefully as he too stared at the fire. This was their habit, sometimes, Smythe and Berrigan; they’d spent long hours over the years just sitting and fire gazing, often without speaking. The room fell quiet very quickly, the only sound was the hiss and pop of the burning oak logs.

“How goes the town?” Smythe asked quietly. “Is all in order?”

Berrigan sighed and rolled his shoulders as if to relieve tension. “As much as it can be, Henley. It’s never an easy job, but I seem to keep people happy, so I continue to do it.”

“Aye,” Smythe agreed. “That you do, man. I’m glad it’s not me wearing the cloak, that’s for sure.”

The mayor’s eyes twinkled at that. “Perhaps you should, you know. I could pass the responsibility down to you. Maybe it will keep your mind off the fairer sex?”

Smythe couldn’t suppress a grin. “If anything could, my friend, it would surely be that.” His grin faded somewhat as he realised that these chats with Berrigan would soon be only a fond memory; Smythe never remained in the one place longer than ten years, and his time here was approaching that mark.

He’d tried it once, long ago, but people inevitably started to wonder why he never seemed to look any older. Ten years was about all he could get away with, to avoid suspicion. He wouldn’t say goodbye or make an issue of it; sometime in the next month or two, he would simply slip away in the night and never return.

It had been something of a lonely life, to be sure, and he missed his old master terribly, but, like Aran, Smythe had had to journey to seek his own Truth and had never found his way back east. He’d tried to reach his old mentor hundreds of times on the Plane, but had never been able to, which most probably meant that she was dead, and that saddened him terribly.

“Everything alright, Henley?” Berrigan asked, looking at Smythe quizzically.

Smythe grinned ruefully. “Good as it can be,” he replied, mimicking Berrigan’s earlier remark. He offered no more, and Berrigan nodded as if he understood and went back to studying the fire.

Smythe did the same, and for a long time the two friends sat in silence, the only sound in the room the crackling of burning wood.

***MALOTH – Somewhere in Palistair***

Maloth dismounted in the small clearing, dropping Shadow’s reins to let them hang freely. Shadow was a well-trained steed, and would not move unless commanded. The big black stallion dropped his head and began to nibble on the grass underfoot.

According to Mali’s information, the Oragashi Ogre camp should be close, making it best to go on foot, from here. He pulled his black cloak closer around him and raised the hood; there was a full moon tonight, and he would take no chances being seen until it was time, especially with Ogres being able to see well in the dark.

A hulking figure stood beside him, also concealing itself in a dark cloak, standing head and shoulders above Maloth’s seven feet. He had decided to bring Shenla’s Orc, Barrog, anticipating the need for additional muscle. Maloth was confident that he was strong enough to dispose of a dozen Ogres alone, yet he also believed in mitigating unnecessary risk, hence Barrog’s presence. He nodded to Barrog, then stole into the thick trees silently, the big Orc shadowing him.

It didn’t take long before Maloth’s keen hearing picked up guttural sounds; grunting and unintelligible speech floating on the light breeze along with the faint smell of wood smoke. The Ogre camp was not far, then. As he began to move closer, a big hand touched his shoulder.

He turned to see Barrog, who silently pointed off to their right at an Ogre moving through the trees. The hulking creature stopped some fifteen or so feet away, its head tilted slightly as if sniffing the air with its bulbous nose. Thankfully, Maloth and Barrog were downwind. The Ogre was a grotesque looking thing, with sickly pale skin and deformed facial features, though its body was layered with thick muscle, telling of immense strength.

Barrog caught Maloth’s eye and made a drinking motion, then indicated the Ogre, who did indeed sway from side to side as it peered into the night. Maloth watched carefully, and after a moment, the Ogre turned on the spot and leaned against a tree with one hand, the other reaching under its loincloth. The unmistakable sound of piss hitting the ground soon followed.

The Ogre had no time to utter a scream as Barrog silently rose up behind it and drew a dagger across its throat, the Orc having to reach above his own head to get to the Ogre’s jugular. It dropped to the ground clutching its neck, bare heels drumming the forest floor as it died.

The two assassins left the creature where it was and ghosted through the trees, encountering another lone Ogre – this one also drunk – which Barrog disposed of in the same manner as the other.

Maloth noted the Orc’s skill; Shenla had chosen a capable pet, indeed. As big as Barrog was, Ogres were bigger, standing maybe ten feet or more, but that hadn’t bothered the Orc thus far. If Barrog was as skilled as Maloth was beginning to think, this should be over quickly.

A short time later, they were on the border of the Ogre camp, hiding just inside the tree line surrounding the few ramshackle tents. A bonfire blazed in the centre of the camp, with some creature Maloth didn’t recognise roasting over the flames. Ogres shambled about everywhere, hulking brutes with grotesque features, some with wineskins or huge jugs in their fists, most of them well into their drink, judging by their movements. Maloth noted that only males appeared to be present; there were no sign of any females or children.

It wasn’t difficult to locate the two captive Norothi; both of them dusky and dark-haired like Mali, they were naked, bound hand and foot and slung over the trunk of a massive fallen tree, their plump rears presented for the pleasure of any Ogre who felt so inclined.

Two such Ogres were taking full advantage, standing behind the Giantesses and drunkenly thrusting into them as they lay helpless over the log. Thick, meaty Ogre hands were grasping big handfuls of their fleshy rumps, which rippled appealingly with the impact of the Ogres’ hips. In unison, the two brutes roared, jerking sporadically as they came inside their captives before pulling their massive appendages free, torrents of come flowing from down from their cunts and onto the bark of the tree trunk beneath.

The captives were about fifty feet away, their bottoms pointing not quite directly at the spot where Maloth and Barrog were hiding. Making a quick count, Maloth noted fifteen Ogres in total. He wrapped a dark-nailed hand around the hilt of his blade, preparing himself to fight. Glancing at Barrog, he signaled the Orc to circle around to the other side of the camp and wait. Barrog vanished into the trees silently, his bulky frame blending into the shadows surprisingly well.

Maloth waited, giving Barrog enough time to get into position. Another pair of Ogres stepped up behind the Norothi, unceremoniously plunging their huge cocks into the bound women and beginning to rut furiously.

Maloth watched with a sneer. He had considered using the Ogres, bringing them to his cause, but he doubted they could be motivated by anything more complex than fear. They appeared base, primitive, and unfit to serve him. It was true his mother, Morgeth, had used the Ogres in her armies, but this war would be different, for Maloth would have legions of Mor’elda and Orcs at his side, where his mother had had only darkspawn.

Yes, under the circumstances, these Ogres were of no use to him, and if left unchecked, they could become a hindrance to his future plans. There was only one suitable outcome; Maloth decided death for them all.

With barely a whisper, he swept Bane from the scabbard at his hip, the midnight blade seeming to suck the very light from the air. It had been some time since Maloth had taken a life; he would enjoy this.

He flowed from the trees into the firelight, black death in his hands. A drunken Ogre stood with a huge wineskin in hand, blinking in confusion as Maloth flowed toward it. The brute screamed as Maloth took its leg just above the knee, Bane slicing easily through the bone and tough sinew, dark blood spraying the ground. The scream cut off abruptly as Maloth pivoted, cleanly beheading the beast as it fell.

The camp was dead silent as Maloth stood over the corpse, every Ogre frozen where it stood, staring in shock. A second later, one of the hideous beasts bellowed in rage, dropping its jug of grog and picking up a club the size of a small tree. Others followed suit, and the ground shook slightly as they thundered forward.

A smile crept across Maloth’s face as he let them draw close, and at the last moment, he began to dance among them like the shadow of Death itself, Bane spinning in hands as if it were alive, limbs dropping and blood spraying wherever the midnight blade struck.

From the corner of his eye, Maloth saw first one, then another Ogre cut down by a roaring Barrog, who was laying about with his huge double-bladed battle axe. The air of the camp had changed from one of rage to fear, as the last three Ogres left standing dropped their clubs and ran for the trees. Barrog made as if to give chase, but Maloth raised a hand to stall him; this fight was done, for now. The big Orc nodded, resting on his axe and breathing hard.

With a practiced flourish, Maloth flicked the blood from Bane, smoothly sheathing it before approaching the Giantesses, making sure to keep his cloak off the blood-soaked ground. They were gagged as well as bound, muffled cries coming from behind the cloth stuffed into their mouths. Their dark eyes were wide with fear.

He almost pitied them, if pity were something he were capable of. Standing before their faces, he adopted a kind look. “I am Lord Maloth,” he said in his smoothest, most reassuring tone.

The women began to calm down a little at the sound of his voice, their breath slowing as they realised he didn’t intend to harm them.

“The Ogres are dead, and I am to return you to your tribe,” he told them with certainty as he pulled the dirty cloth from their mouths and nodded to Barrog, who swiftly cut their bonds with a knife he produced from his boot.

Maloth watched them carefully as they slowly stood, stretching up to their full fourteen feet, flexing sore muscles and rubbing their wrists where the bonds had been tied. Like Mali, they were both darkly beautiful. If Maloth had to guess, one was older than the other, with slightly fuller breasts, more generous curves, and a look of wisdom in her dark eyes. Also like Mali, their nether regions were completely hairless. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, they looked unharmed.

The older one spoke first. “We owe you our gratitude, Lord Maloth,” she offered a deep bow, her heavy tits hanging beneath her. “I am called Lina, and this is my daughter, Emmin.”

Emmin bowed in the same way as her mother. “Thank you, my Lord. We owe you a great debt.” Her voice was lighter than her mother’s, sweeter.

Maloth did not see the point in dallying. He responded politely. “You are most welcome. Now, if you please, we should return you to your tribe. They will be waiting.”

The towering beauties nodded, following Maloth from the clearing back into the woods, Barrog tailing behind. The Ogres had apparently burned the women’s clothing, and Maloth had nothing suitable to cover them with, so they remained nude, which didn’t seem to bother them.

The party briefly backtracked to where Maloth had left Shadow, the obedient stallion still waiting patiently, of course. Barrog and the Giants had no trouble keeping up with Shadow as they navigated the forest, eventually moving onto more open ground.

The moon was bright this night, though Maloth didn’t need it; he had been born with the ability to see even in pitch darkness. He guided Shadow with ease, avoiding hazardous tree roots and sudden dips in the ground; such things could break a horse’s leg. He was sure Barrog also had some form of night vision, after watching the way the Orc had silently murdered the two Ogres earlier.

Lina and Emmin, however, seemed to be having some trouble. They were walking abreast of him, one on either side, their towering heads level with his, with Maloth on horseback. Fortunately, they seemed unconcerned with their nudity, and Maloth casually admired the way their massive breasts swayed as they walked. What was unfortunate was the way the Giantesses were stumbling every so often, seemingly unable to see properly by the moonlight alone.

Maloth considered continuing on regardless, but decided he wanted them returned to their tribe hale; he would look a hero, that way, and he needed the tribe’s trust. “We shall make camp, shortly,” he announced.

Lina and Emmin gave Maloth grateful looks, Emmin’s dark eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than her mother’s.

“Barrog and I passed a suitable place near here,” Maloth told them. “Come.”

A short time later, they arrived at a well-hidden spot at the base of a small mountain, a hollowed-out basin, complete with a pool fed by a small stream that flowed down the steep rocks. The area was lower than the surrounding terrain, which should keep them out of sight from unwanted eyes. The night was warm, and they had no meat to cook, so a fire was forgone.

Lina and Emmin immediately made for the pool, expressing how desperate they were for a bath after their ordeal. Barrog moved off to circle the camp, keeping watch, while Maloth sat cross-legged on the ground to begin a meditation.

The battle had not taken much energy, but Maloth needed to preserve the strength he had, especially while travelling the physical plane. Soon enough, he would be restored to his full capacity, but until then, caution was key.

Meditating in this way helped him to harness his energy when he didn’t have access to his concubines. It also helped him to control his lust, which was becoming harder to ignore with Lina and Emmin present. That thought led him to consider the next addition to his harem, which still had much room for growth.

He had considered Mali, who was certainly attractive enough, and had a position of importance in the Hill Giants’ tribe, but until now, he had decided she would be more useful back with her people, as long as he had a string tied to her.

A smile crept across his crimson face as a plan began to form. Standing, he doffed his cloak, then the rest of his clothes, and proceeded down to the pool where the Norothi were happily bathing. He sat himself down on a rock at the water’s edge, setting Bane down within arm’s reach, just in case. For effect, he allowed his cock to increase in size a little, so as to be more attractive to a woman of a Giantess’ proportions.

He had chosen a seat well illuminated by moonlight so they could see him better; no need to scare them. If he was right about their eyesight, they couldn’t see him all that clearly even in the moonlight, while he could see them perfectly.

The women looked up as he approached. They were sitting chest-deep in the water, Emmin sitting in front of Lina, having her long black tresses attended to by her mother.

“How is the water?” Maloth asked them kindly.

“It’s wonderful!” Emmin exclaimed, her face alight with what Maloth thought was youthful exuberance.

“It is indeed,” Lina offered in a more reserved tone. “After those Ogres,” she shuddered. “It feels nice to be clean again.”

“Brutes, all of them,” Maloth said, a hard note in his voice. “What happened to you, I would not wish on anyone.” It was a lie, but they didn’t know that. He watched them keenly for their reactions, gauging and weighing.

“Well it really wasn’t all that bad,” said Emmin, raising her hands to splash her face. “I mean, yes, they had their way with us, but in our culture, that is how our men do it.”

Maloth’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? They tie you up and take you like that?”

Emmin giggled, in her bass, yet somehow light, voice. “No, my Lord! I mean yes, sometimes, if they want to, but mostly when a Noroth wants a Norothi, he just takes her then and there.”

Lina clicked her tongue at her daughter. “Really, Emmin, you must be careful what you say to outsiders. You may offend Lord Maloth.” The older woman looked up at him. “Forgive her, Lord Maloth, she is young and excitable. She is right, however, in that our society is quite free with sex. We apologise if we have offended in any way.”

“Not at all,” Maloth replied smoothly. “In fact, I am enjoying this conversation. I know little of your people.”

“That’s very gracious, my Lord.” Lina returned, still running her fingers through Emmin’s hair. After a moment, she continued. “We were lucky, actually. They fucked us over and over, but they didn’t hurt us, really. Their ... appendages ... were not large enough to cause us any discomfort. We are used to bigger, aren’t we, Emmin?”

The younger giantess nodded eagerly, smiling at Maloth, often dropping her eyes to his groin, where his cock rested lazily over his thigh.

“The worst part was the smell!” Emmin said with a grimace, her pretty nose wrinkled in disgust.

Maloth laughed to maintain his friendly façade. “Well, Emmin, Ogres are not known for their regular bathing habits.”

“What about you, my Lord?” Emmin asked, eyeing his crotch and licking her lips. Would you like to bathe with us?” Lina also watched him, her dark eyes flicking between him and her daughter, a small smile on her full lips.

“That sounds very tempting,” Maloth said quietly, smiling back. He was most eager to enjoy these two beauties, but he had to exercise caution; he didn’t currently have the strength to satisfy two Giantesses. He remembered his fuck with Mali, and how much it had drained him to keep his cock enlarged so. After fighting the Ogres, he was already somewhat drained.

The only way to gain power from this would be to Bind one or both of them, and that did not fit with his long term plan. “Perhaps I’ll dip my feet in for a while and see how it feels,” he said smoothly, sliding forward a little and resting his bottom on a rock that was only just submerged, the water lapping gently at his legs and not quite covering his muscular thighs.

Emmin smiled widely and stood, her dark skin glistening mesmerisingly in the moonlight, the water only reaching as high as her hips. Her breasts were not quite as big as her mother’s, much less Mali’s even more impressive bosom, but they were still large and heavy, sitting proudly on her chest. She waded over and settled down on her knees before him, placing her big, soft hands on his thighs. Lina just watched, staying where she was.

“I want to thank you properly, my Lord,” Emmin whispered to him, her dark eyes gazing into his. “May I take you into my mouth?”

Despite himself, Maloth’s cock sprang up to full hardness, ten inches of angry crimson waving before Emmin’s pretty face.

Taking his erection as assent, the young Giantess bent her head, extending her long, broad tongue and licking him from his swollen, semi-submerged balls, all the way to the tip of his crown. Maloth rested back against the edge of the pool, enjoying his reward. Emmin licked him over and over, moaning softly as she did, often rubbing her lush, full lips all over his rampant cock, kissing his balls, his cock, his thighs, his stomach, everything she could reach. This was obviously not her first time tending a man.

After teasing him with licks and kisses long enough to have him leaking juice from his tip, she finally engulfed him into the wet cavern of her mouth, sucking with more force than he had ever felt. He gathered a fistful of raven hair on either side of her head as she took his full length into her throat and massaged his shaft – and even his sack! -- with her long tongue. Maloth wanted nothing more than to empty himself inside her throat, but he knew that patience would prevail. If she swallowed his seed, the result would be the same as if it entered her body any other way; she would be tied to him forever. Maloth, however, had his eyes on another prize.

While Emmin was busy slurping on Maloth, Lina was watching keenly from where she sat. After some time, she stood, moving to the edge of the pool and perching on the rocks at the edge. She studied her daughter tending Maloth with a hungry look on her dark face. To Maloth’s surprise, the older Giantess opened her thick thighs to expose her smooth snatch, and began to pleasure herself, one hand stroking her sex, the other squeezing an enormous breast.

Movement caught Maloth’s attention; to Lina’s right, a shadow approached. Maloth tensed for a moment before recognising Barrog, returned from scouting the area. The Orc watched the Giantess with interest, an obvious bulge growing in his breeches.

Lina glanced over, noticing Barrog. She smiled at him, her hand briefly leaving her breast to silently beckon him over while her other hand busily slid two fingers in and out of her slippery gash.

Barrog wasted no time getting naked and going to Lina, his huge cock waving obscenely before him. Maloth had to give the Orc credit; Barrog was thicker and longer than Maloth was in his natural state.

With Lina sitting on the ground, and the Barrog standing, the Orc’s thick green length was at the perfect height for the Giantess to eagerly take him into her mouth, her thick brown lips hungrily devouring the turgid meat. Barrog groaned, holding Lina’s head in his hand and guiding her back and forth.

A welcome turn of events, thought Maloth. Barrog had considerable stamina, according to Shenla, so he should be able to keep the Giantesses satisfied, which would save Maloth from expending too much energy. Still, he thought Emmin’s hard work deserved at least some reward. Hands still tangled in her hair, he pulled the young Giantess off his pole. “Show me those marvelous breasts, Emmin. I wish to paint them.”

She eagerly complied, raising up a little, until her huge brown orbs were above the water. She lifted them for him, squeezing and kneading them as Maloth stroked himself slowly, soon feeling his balls begin to boil.

Emmin bent her head as if to suck on him again, but he stalled her with an upraised finger. She smiled and sat back, licking her lips and patiently waiting.

After a moment, Maloth grunted, his dark seed exploding from him, rope after thick rope spattering her massive tits, her neck, her hands. He was careful not to get any in her mouth.

“Mmm!” Emmin moaned as the hot juice coated her. Due to his heritage, Maloth’s seed possessed magical properties, and women who were fortunate enough to be graced by it felt extreme pleasure when it touched their skin.

Sated for now, he sat back, relaxing while he watched Emmin writhe in pleasure as his seed brought her to climax. She would not be tied to him this way, but she would often think of him with lust and desire.

Off to one side, Barrog too was grunting and emptying his heavy balls into Lina’s willing throat, fucking her face aggressively. She seemed to be enjoying the treatment, frantically fingering herself as she swallowed his load.

Emmin had turned to watch Barrog and her mother, one arm under the water, her hand between her thighs, no doubt. She eyed Maloth, asking a silent question; she had seen the Orc’s cock, and was probably after a taste.

“Go, enjoy yourself,” Maloth said. He didn’t really care what Emmin or Lina did, as long as they got back safely. Then he would be done with them, and would claim his real prize, a third soul for his harem.

Emmin left the pool to kneel gracefully behind Barrog and encircle him with her long arms, her pillowy breasts pressing into his muscular back. The young beauty kissed and licked his neck and shoulder while her mother continued to suck him gently, allowing him to recover from his climax.

Barrog reached behind him, finding Emmin’s smooth pussy, and pleasured her with his thick fingers. Emmin moaned into his neck, her body quivering with need.

Lina swung her legs around, now facing Barrog, her juicy thighs wide open. She lay on her back, her dark lips glistening, beckoning the Orc to impale her. Forgetting Emmin for the moment, Barrog dropped to his knees and moved his body onto Lina’s, dark green skin atop brown. With a guttural roar, he thrust his powerful hips forward, embedding himself in the beautiful Giantess. Emmin sat back on her heels, fingers between her thighs as she watched her mother and Barrog begin to rut like animals.

Maloth knew he would have trouble controlling his lust if he remained, so he extracted himself from the water quietly, scooped up Bane and headed back up the small incline to resume his meditation.

***ARAN – Foothills of the Karvani Mountains, Western Ekistair***

The terrain had long since changed from lightly wooded to rough, rocky slopes, the air gradually cooling as Aran climbed further, following the insistent force pulling him forward, as if there were an invisible hook in his belly. He had no clue where he was headed, only that he needed to keep going. He was in the foothills of a mountain range, snow-capped peaks towering in the near distance, a chill wind biting at him and heralding a cold night ahead. With the sun long since vanished behind the tall peaks, dark was coming quickly; Aran would need to find somewhere to camp soon.

By rights, he should have been exhausted by now, after yet another full day trekking through unforgiving wilderness and clambering over treacherous slopes, yet he merely felt as if he’d only been at it for an hour or two. The gentle glow of the Gift hummed inside him, providing him strength, supporting him.