Woe to the Fallen

[Jewelskye]

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During the time of men, many things have been true. All that is built, is eventually destroyed. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. One peasant defending his home is worth ten paid warriors. But above all of these truths is thus: to the victor, go the spoils. It has been this way since the dawn of man, and it will be this way until night descends upon our race and eliminates not only our light, but also our life.

The kingdom of Rhineslandt, rulled for many years by King Telgaran and Queen Aselwyn, had prospered. They were protected by a fine army, one of the best the world had ever seen, but even the best is only so much of a match when pitted against one of the largest armies the world has seen. In short order, the Borgurs had swept across most of the continent, conquering everything in their path and adding more and more to their numbers with every kingdom that fell to their might.

At the opposite end of that continent was Rhineslandt, with it's lush, high rolling green hills and misty, dangerous moors, it was edged by the ocean, and it's fishing towns were some of the most productive in the world. The Borgurs were prompted to turn back when they reached the borders of the Kingdom, but they refused, and when King Telgaran refused to give over his kingdom and his lands, they marched in to the country.

They burnt and ransacked towns and villages as they went, and when they met on the field of battle with the army, lead by the king himself, the battle was fierce and both sides suffered heavy losses. In the end, however, it was numbers that won the day. Blood flowed rich and thick, drowning and staining the lush emerald field a deep, angry sanguine color. It was in to that blood soaked grass that the king fell, impaled on the blade of his enemy, sealing the fate of his people, for he had no male heir left, his only son killed two years past and another boy come in to the world still born shortly after. Only his wife and daughter survived him. Both were strong women, and proud, but neither were a match for the King of the Borgurs.

Even after the king had fallen, the army had continued to fight, too proud to give in. Most were dead who marched in to that battle to protect Rhineslandt, and the following morning, the Borgur army marched on the capital of Felfaren to deliver the dead King to his wife and claim the spoils of victory.

It is in that capital city, at the heart of which is the keep of the royal family, that we begin our tale.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Undumar, son of Merron, rode at the head of his party, leading his army into the conquered city. He'd sent an envoy ahead to declare their purpose, and Felfaren had opened its gates to him. He'd half expected the fools to resist, even though they had no one to man the walls except for children carrying rocks. They knew when they were beaten. His cold eyes surveyed the wealthy buildings sitting on the hill above, along the road leading up to the keep, and he allowed a suggestion of a smile to tug at his lips. There was much wealth here-his warriors would find their appetites well slaked for treasure. He turned to his captains.

"Loot the city. And at least try to keep the men in check-they did surrender to us. And don't let the fools start any fires and burn the whole damn city to the ground-we are now the rulers of this land through right of conquest. Easier to rule people when they're gathered in cities than scattered and angry. But be sure to offer swift punishment for any resistance." In truth, Undumar had a quiet respect for this folk. They had fought well, and died bravely, much more honorable than those who had sought to buy them off, or who had failed to resist at all. Their king had been slain by a member of his own shieldguard, leading a desperate charge at Undumar himself when it was clear the battle had been lost. That was, in large part, why he was here now. Undumar's respect was hard won, but it had earned the poor king the honors due the dead. He would have done it himself, but these people buried their fallen, rather than burning them. They would do with him as they wished.

As one final honor, Undumar waited to one side as the men bearing the slab upon which rested the dead king passed through, heading for the keep. The dead king of Rhineslandt would lead the way through the city, wearing his battle standard as a shroud. The queen had agreed to yield the city only on the condition that the Borgurs would return the king to her for proper burial, and Undumar had accepted. In truth, she hadn't had even that much negotiating power, and his host could have swept over the walls and taken the keep within an hour. But there was no glory in conquering a conquered people.

As his men dispersed through the city, he heard the weeping of women and the sounds of chaos spreading outward. Open your gate to the Borgurs, and they would take possession, regardless of the circumstances. The strong take, and the weak surrender. It was the way, the only way. This made Undumar smile.

These were lessons his son, Cordumar, needed to learn. He had been all for sacking the city and crushing all remaining defenders. He didn't see that there was no glory in such a battle. That was why he'd been left behind. He was very vexing-his people would look to Cordumar to lead when he was gone. He was brave and clever, especially when it came to battle, but headstrong, and he had difficulty understanding the great responsibilities that would be handed to him. Duty was a difficult concept for one who had always known he would command. Undumar was doing everything possible to teach him responsibility. His son needed a wife. Without a wife and a true-born heir, his people would always be reluctant to follow him, but his son resisted that this was part of his duty, as well, and had not sought a wife.

When they entered the keep at the center of Felfaren, they were led directly into the throne room. The queen was in her seat as he followed the king's body toward her, watching as it was set before her. The bearers of his slab very quickly dispersed through the castle, intent joining in on the sacking of the rich capital. Undumar was now accompanied only by the 8 surviving members of his shield guard. Undumar looked up at the queen as she gazed into the face of her dead husband, composed. It was clear she'd wept, but she was refusing to show her sorrow to the man who'd crushed her husband's forces. "Your lord husband, as you requested. You are free to make whatever funeral arrangements you desire. Our agreement is complete."

"Your men are sacking my capital. Chaos is spreading through my city..." she protested.

Undumar shook his head. "My men are taking what is theirs. I now rule here, as I rule elsewhere, and my men are rewarded with the riches of the vanquished. It is the way of things. Your people will live, and you will remain their queen, so long as you owe me fealty." He was not sympathetic. Her king had gone to war himself, and shown great honor. There was no reason for sympathy-he'd honored his wife and realm with his actions, and they were blessed for it.

Undumar heard a muffled scream echoing from an adjacent corridor. Three of his men then entered, dragging behind them a woman. No, a young lady. She was clearly high born, decked in fine silks, her hair a tangled mess. She was still protesting as she was dragged before him, and his eyes searched her. The queen let out a muffled gasp when she saw the girl's face. Undumar beheld her, and smiled-she was quite beautiful, slender, with eyes that shone with defiance. She spat on one of the men who had dragged her in, a last token of resistance. One of his men was bleeding from the nose. Undumar smiled. "Seems she gave you some trouble, Merix-you've been more grievously injured by women in the castle that you were in the battle."

"What can I say? She's a feisty one, eh?" Merix laughed. "We thought you might like this one, she's a pretty little girl, yeah? Our gift to you, warlord." Undumar smiled as she looked at her, but the queen spoke up at this point.

"No, please, she's my daughter. Please...don't take her." She was near wailing at this point. Whatever composure she'd mustered to deal with her grief over her husband was losing cohesion as the sight of her daughter's peril. Undumar considered for a moment. This young lady was a princess-a spirited woman. She certainly had hips for child-birthing. Yes, she would do.

"Very well, I promise, I shall not touch your daughter." Undumar grinned menacingly. "We'll take her back to my son." He bit off a short laugh, at that, and strolled out of the throne room, the wails of the queen echoing down the corridors behind him.

 

[Jewelskye]

Raeanna had heard the news of her father's death and unlike her mother, Rae's grief went in another direction entirely. Her mother wept, trembled, cried and wondered what the country would do without her father to lead them. But she was her father's daughter. When the usurper came, she'd show no weakness. No tears, no hint of emotion aside from defiance and restrained fury. Restrained because her father had taught her that an angry man without control is the easiest opponent to fell on the battlefield. It was the cold ones... the ones who were calm and collected... they were the ones to fear.

Unfortunately, her mother would not allow her to sit at her side when they came. Instead, she was sent to her quarters to wait for it all to be over. Perhaps this warlord... this butcher of men... would show some honor and not send someone after a princess one could only assume was defenseless. And that's exactly what Raeanna was, to the outside world. Her guards had been sent in to battle next to her father's and mother's. They were the best fighters the kingdom had to offer, and Rae would not allow her father to march in to combat without them.

Of course, she had no idea, in the moments she was watching them approach the palace, that her own guards had been part of the charge to get to Undumar. That her guards had been the spearhead in the attack, attempting to break through the line so her father could get to him. If she had... she'd have wept tears of pride, not grief. They were good men, every last one of them. Good and brave and true. Everything warriors should be.

When the soldiers came, forcing her locked doors open, the princess met them proudly, bedecked in a silken gown that swept the ground at her feet and was dyed a rich, deep burgundy, offset by gold around the trim. It's bodice was form fitting, with a deep, square neckline that showed off the proud swell of full, firm breasts still perky with youth. The fabric hugged tightly enough to her body to show she wore no corset beneath, and that the slender waist, which seemed almost impossibly so, was no determined by a restrictive undergarment like most women had to wear. Her hips were wide enough to fill the minds of most men with lewd thoughts, but not so wide enough as to make her seem disproportionate. Long flaming auburn hair was tied in to a braid that began at the back of her skull and hung down past her hips, where it was tied off with a gold ribbon.

She'd turned to the door as it was kicked open, and her mismatched green and blue eyes regarded them silently from a proud face made of porcelain colored skin. A circlet sat against her forehead, gold with a bright amber colored stone in the center... simple, but somehow fitting, even for royalty. The men who entered easily towered over her petite form, for she stood no taller than 5'0", and when they spotted the swords, they laughed.

Her eyes had narrowed and when one of them reached out to touch her, she slapped his hand away, eyes narrowed dangerously. She had expected they demand she follow them, not for one of them to reach out and try to grab her again. They laughed again, and soon they were grabbing her, their large hands easily bruising the tender skin of her arms as they tried to maneuver her from the room. She screamed, and at one point managed to break free.

Her hand came up, the heel of her palm slamming in to the nose of one of her attackers. It wasn't as hard as she'd wished it would have been, but at her tiny height, she was lucky she'd reached his face at all. Blood began to flow immediately, the nose broken, but in the end, they'd just laughed it off, joking about her spirit as they drug her to the throne room.

And that's where she saw him. For the first time, she laid eyes on the man who'd stolen her country and her people. Who'd stolen her father, even if it hadn't been his blade to fell him. Her hair had fallen from it's braid, and now hung nearly to her knees, the silken auburn locks tangled around her as she struggled.

Her mother pleaded, sobbing and begging that her only child not be taken from her, but the king ignored her requests, and Raeanna was screaming, calling out to her mother that she'd be fine as they dragged her from the castle.

Outside, however, she'd forced herself to calm down, for the sake of her people. Some were in the streets, forced from their homes by the invaders. She sat on a horse in front of one of the soldiers as the king lead the way, and held her head high. When they passed a young boy with a cut cheek and frightened eyes, she offered him the only thing she could... a brave smile. He did his best to offer her the same in return, and soon he was gone, out of their sight.

It wasn't until they were well away from the city and returning to the camps, that the small princess looked over at where the king sat on his horse, just slightly ahead of them but still close enough to speak to. "What will happen to the children? The ones who's mothers and fathers you killed?"

The children were the future of her people... without them, all was lost.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Undumar had quickly visited the walls, to look down on the city he'd just taken from the keep above. The looting continued and, to his pleasure, his men had started no fires. The city would not burn. For some reason, that pleased him more than he expected. It was at the heart of a matter which was increasingly troubling him. He had been a warlord when this conquest had started. But now, there were no more lands to conquer. Oh sure, there were realms, far to south, at the end of the silver route. Caravans came and went through the desert reaches. But to march an army would take months, and his army would hold cohesion for a months-long march with scarce water before they could offer battle. His conquest was over; he was no longer a warlord, now he was a king.

It was with that on his mind that led him to withdraw from the city. He ordered his captains to gather up his men with all the loot they'd acquired and to follow him on the road back to the camps, leaving a small garrison to hold the city. Ruling was different than leading. He had a thousand logistical issues weighing on him. He'd had to leave his latest province in the hands of the defeated queen, with his garrison under orders to accept her leadership in anything except outright rebellion. He had no one else to appoint to govern this territory-most of the others he trusted already had swaths of land handed to them for governing. He needed counsel on this matter. There was a keep back east, about three weeks ride. It stood near the center of what now comprised his realm. Perhaps it would become his capital. He'd left men there that he trusted. This would be his destination.

Suddenly, the girl interrupted his thoughts. "What will happen to the children?" she asked. "The ones who's mothers and fathers you killed?"

He considered her for a moment. A princess, she'd been. And still was, as things mattered. Men would know she was of royal birth, that she'd represented the future of this kingdom. And if he was a king, his son was a prince. That left him feeling much more satisfied with this match. Eventually, if his son could prove himself worthy to be a king, if he could bed this woman and get her with child, he could hand what had been Rhinesladt over to him. It would be his by right, once they were wedded. He decided he would perform the wedding as soon as possible-on the morrow, if possible.

"Your Lady mother will to see to the children. Or she won't. Some will live, and others will die." He looked at her face and saw her resentment of him, and he forced himself to smile at her, despite his foul mood. "You think me cruel, don't you? If your father had only yielded, had surrendered at my demand, then perhaps no children would have died. Think on that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordumar started at the sound of the watch-horn being blown. It was a single, long blast, meaning there friends returning. That could only be his father, but he was returning much sooner than anticipated. He wondered what could have possessed his father to leave the city so soon, just so he could return to the camps in the dead of night. Had the city shut him out after all? Was he laying seize and in need of supplies? But no-there no need to lay siege. His father would have simply assaulted, and the city would still have fallen hours ago. The army of the Rhine had been shattered, and he'd played his own part in it.

He left his tent and went to greet his father, not even bothering to pull on his shirt. The fires at the center of camp were still burning, as were, of course, the torches lighting the perimeter. There were no lamps-oil was too precious to carry on the march, where wood was in great supply. Between the flames and the clear night sky, the interior of the camp was well lit. It made him a little bit uncomfortable-he'd been camped for battle so long that he couldn't help feeling like a target, even though there were was no hope of threatening armies within at least a hundred leagues. Perhaps even more than that.

Cordumar gathered a few men and women bearing water to greet his father, and take their horses to the picket lines. As they approached, it was clear that they already looted the city, as there were men bearing heavy sacks and bedecked in jewels. There were women among the army where none had ridden. One such trailed behind his father, but Cordumar paid her no heed at the moment.

"Greetings father. I was not looking for your return so soon." He tried to keep the irony out of his voice as his father dismounted. "Did you find the city less of a prize than you anticipated?"

His father gave him a queer look at that, and then spoke back, more softly than usual. "Nay. I found it greater a prize than I had hoped for, and less satisfying. But, I have brought you a gift." Cordumar had expected the gift, even though his father words were unusual. He might shame his son by refusing to allow him to join the march on the city, but to refuse him a share of the loot would be to disown him, and leave Undumar, son of Merron, without an heir. Cordumar did not smile, as he sensed something unusual taking place.

"What gift do you bring for your son?"

"I bring a wife. The Princess of Rhineslandt, the fair beauty you see here. I gift her to you tonight, so you might wed her on the morrow." Cordumar suppressed a sigh. His father had tried to talk into wedding before he was ready, and he had refused, he had stalled. Now, it seemed, he had taken matters into his own hands. He could not refuse this gift. Cordumar enjoyed his whores, his women-as a single man, they were almost a badge of honor for him. To a married man, they were burdens to be cast aside or bring him shame. He was not sure how he would manage to limit himself to one woman's bed.

He looked at the girl. She was short-it was awkward for her to dismount. But the light of the fires was sufficient to reveal her beauty. He stepped closer to examine her-she really did cut a fine figure. Had he found himself, he would have bedded her without qualms, though he did not like having her thrust upon him as a wife. Still, she had a fine body well displayed in her rich silks, and his cock stirred a little with amorous thoughts. "I accept your gift, father."

He turned back to his bride-to-be, stepping closer again. Her eyes were of mis-matched colors-they made her face rather startling to look at, but also served to add to her exotic appeal. "What is your name?" he demanded roughly.

Cordumar:

http://nathie.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d35p78n

 

[Jewelskye]

Raeanna had rode on in silence after the king's answer, though her pride and her sharp tongue had been screaming at her to speak... to put him in his place. But no, she was not a hot head, despite her prideful nature. She was not a hot head and would not lose control in front of them. Not so long as she was able. She was first and foremost, her father's daughter, and she would do him proud.

Her back stayed straight as they rode on, even when fatigue began to set in as the hours pulled the sun down in the sky and forced the moon up to the middle of it's black and diamond canvas. It glittered like a silver coin there, and often she found her eyes traveling to look up at it.

It was after her eyelids began to slip down over her mismatched gaze that they grew near the camp. The sound of the watch horn startled her out of her daze, causing her to jump slightly at the loud interruption. The soldier behind her chuckled, the sound growing more pronounced as the princess straightened her back and tossed her hair slightly, causing it to slap him in the face. Truth be told, he probably enjoyed that brush of silk against his skin, and the way her tiny body had begun sagging back in to his chest.

The rode up on the camp in a barely-there sort of formation, and with each step the horses at the back made, she could hear the jingling of the gold they'd taken... the riches they'd claimed as their own. Riches that belonged with her people... the people who'd forged or earned them. When the horse came to a stop, she watched and listened as the new king spoke to his son. To be given as a bride? Well, at least she was not being brought here to be ravaged by the prince and then thrown away like garbage, further disgracing her family.

She was non-too-gently helped to dismount from the horse, and her skirts brushed the ground at her feet as she landed. Her hair fell around her like a curtain of silk, wild and free now that it had slipped it's bonds. The firelight hit her and illuminated the red in her hair, put tiny little fires to dance in the sapphire blue and emerald green of her eyes, and cast light upon the ivory tone of her delicate skin. She lifted her chin as the prince approached her, her back straightening instinctively as she looked up at him.

He was an imposing man... tall and powerful, and without a shirt on, she could see the easy strength he had as every muscle seemed to ripple beneath his skin. He looked almost impossibly strong, but she didn't so much as flinch as she stood there, eyes defiant and bright and her hands at her sides.

He asked for her name and she lifted her chin just that slight bit higher, eying him warily. "I am Princess Raeanna, daughter of King Telgaran and Queen Aselwyn of Rhineslandt." She did not, however, ask for his name or even so much as show him the courtesy of the station he would now hold as Prince.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

"I am Princess Raeanna, daughter of King Telgaran and Queen Aselwyn of Rhineslandt."

She'd lifted up her chin, defiant, and her eyes shone with...anger? distaste? This one truly must have been the daughter of that brave king, to willfully show her prideful defiance, when she was just a tiny woman amongst a large camp of powerful warriors, warriors who'd already shown their worth. Cordumar turned to his and spoke wryly. "Well you certainly didn't gift me some tamed, mare, father." In truth, he liked the idea of a woman with spirit-she might be a real joy, if she brought that spirit to the sheets. Especially if she resisted a little-she'd have to learn her struggles would mean little.

"I brought you a princess, Cordumar. You must show prove that you can be a prince. I will wed the pair of you tomorrow. The day after, we strike camp, going back East."

Cordumar didn't understand. There weren't any enemies to the east. Truth, there weren't any to the west, either, but taking the main strength of the army out of a newly conquered province seemed almost fool-hardy. He could not voice his objections, not here, not now in front of his father's other captains and the rest of the warriors. Such objections must be delivered in council, when the time was for talking. It made Cordumar seethe slightly that he had no choice but to follow these orders when he'd had no say, but he could not argue with his father without undermining his future authority. He knew something of duty, even if his father failed to see it.

"Then I bid you good night, father. I will see you in the morning, beneath the main pavilion. Hopefully you will not require to see to the arrangements-I'll my 'bride' to deal with tonight." His father gave him a cold stare, but did not respond to that, riding toward his own tent. Within a few moments, servants and messengers would be sent running, ordered to set up for the wedding feast, which would require cooking for the rest of the night. Cordumar paid no heed to any of it-it was beyond him now.

He turned his attention to the princess once again. "Raeanna." He sounded the name out. It tasted queer upon his lips-the people of Rhineslandt named themselves very differently than did his own people. He took her by the arm, not too gently, but trying not to be overly rough, either. He began pulling her along behind him, ignoring what little resistance she offered. It could not last long-she had nowhere to run to, not now anyway. "Tell me, what does it mean?" He listened to her as he escorted her to his tent. He tied up the entrance behind her. He had enough status to receive a fair sized tent, just tall enough for him to stand in, with a small table and four simple chairs, and a large washbasin nearby. The rest of the tent was his large sleeping space, with a surface of thick, spread animal skins covered with a silken sheet taken from a previous conquest, surrounded by a hodgepodge of pillows of varied make and design.

Cordumar slipped behind Raeanna, still holding her, one arm circling around her waist and pinning her arm, while his other hand traced along her side, his fingers tracing the gentle curves of her profile. "You have no children," he spoke, softly, stating a fact. "Have you lain with a man before? I would know." He pulled her tightly against him, her back pressing against his chest, letting her feel his strength, and letting her feel the bulge of his manhood against her lower back.

 

[Jewelskye]

She listened to the exchange between father and son... they spoke as if she weren't even there, and she was forced to grit her teeth behind her lips, to keep from snapping at them. They claimed themselves to be royalty, but they didn't compose themselves that way. The prince turned and spoke her name before asking her what it meant, and she frowned some and answered, though she found it an odd thing to ask, given how little care he and his father had shown for her or her people thusfar.

"It means Fire or Light." And it was a fitting name for her, as her parents would come to find as she grew older. The more mature she became, the more of a proud, spitfire of a girl she grew to be. She was strong willed and hard headed, but passionate in everything she said and did.

When she realized the prince meant to have her in his tent that night, she gasped, and as his hand took her delicate arm, she was pulling back against him. "This is hardly proper!" she insisted as he half-dragged her inside, causing her to stumble along with him. "We are not to be wed until tomorrow, it is disgraceful for us to be in the same room alone before our wedding!"

He wasn't listening, however, and soon she found him moving around her, tugging her back against him. Her soft backside was presses against his thigh and her arms were pinned at her sides, unable to move even as she struggled against him, shuddering visibly at his touch. His statement about her not having children was bordering on outright insulting.

"Well of course I have no children! I've never married!" When the next question left his lips, he spoke it in a tone that was somewhere between demanding and desiring. Despite his tone, however, she only struggled more, bringing her shoed foot down at his own, aiming for his toes. "Do you take me for some common harlot?!" she cried, still trying to break free of his vice-like grip.

"It may be common where you are from for a woman to know men aside from their husband, but the women of my people have more honor and self respect than that. A woman is pure until she comes to her husband on her wedding night. And I, sir, will be no exception!"

Her hair flew around her as she struggled, the flaming locks falling in to her face some. "I demand you have a bed made for me in another tent!"

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Raeanna didn't seem too thrilled about his questions. Cordumar supposed they could have waited-he'd have found out eventually-but he really did want to know more about the woman he'd marry, whether he wanted to or not. He felt her attempt to stomp on his foot, and he adjusted his shoe so that her stomp only dealt him a glancing blow, causing a dull pain in his foot. The pain was rather inconsequential-to that same leg he'd taken much more grievous wounds during the years of Borgur campaign.

"Do you take me for some common harlot?!" she cried out. It wasn't exactly an answer, but Cordumar decided it was equivalent to a no. She continued her verbal defiance, "It may be common where you are from for a woman to know men aside from their husband, but the women of my people have more honor and self respect than that. A woman is pure until she comes to her husband on her wedding night. And I, sir, will be no exception!"

He let her struggle some more, holding her body against his, let her feel his strength. It was important she understand that she was no match for him, strength for strength. He wouldn't want her to be a simpering weakling for a wife, but it was always important for a wife to respect the strength of her husband. Moreover, it was important for prisoners to understand the power of their captors, and for the time being, she was also a prisoner. "You're right, you will not become an exception," he spoke quietly, but she continued speaking right over him, perhaps not having heard.

"I demand you have a bed made for me in another tent!"

He decided it was time for a few lessons, since there was a clear lack of understanding. He spun her around in his arms, pulling her up against his chest, keeping her tightly in his grasp. He liked the feel of her against him, even if she was still struggling roughly. He made eye contact with his wife-to-be, his voice soft but firm.

"There are things you need to understand. First, and most importantly, your laws and customs no longer hold sway here. Your army is defeated, your country fallen. Even if your people were allowed to hold to their laws, you will be among us, and our ways will be yours." Cordumar eased his grip on her a bit, not wanting to be overly rough with her-he certainly hoped she hadn't managed to bruise herself in her struggling.

"This is disruption of our own ways, too, however. With our people, a man and woman live together for several weeks before they are married. How else are they to know if they can be man and wife? Yet you are thrust to me with no time and no consideration in order by the edict of my father." Cordumar sighed at the mention of his father, deciding he should not fight those battles of words here, and left it alone.

"If you entered this tent pure, you will be pure on your wedding day, strange as that may be. It is very ill luck for a man and wife to have sex the night before a wedding." Cordumar wondered if this would comfort her at all. He doubted it. There was still much which he felt she would find uncomfortable. "There will be no other tent-your place is here. Acceptance is your only option." He released her from his grip at that, pulling away just enough to put a little bit of space between them. He glanced down at her and studied her figure, thoughtfully. He leaned down to kiss her cheke, almost tenderly, taking the feel of her smooth skina nd the taste of her into account. She was...exotic. He found it exciting-with her mismatched eyes and coppery hair, she was a very different appearance from women he'd known before.

He pulled back away from her, but then he saw something in her eyes, as though she were ready to flee, to attempt escape rather than remain in the tent with him. He wasn't sure what the cause was behind this fear-his word not to violate her should have been comforting, and he knew from his experience with women that he was rather comely in appearance. He pre-empted her with a warning. "There is no running. You have nowhere to go-the land is conquered, our warriors now garrison all places you might shelter. You are deep within our camp, it is well lighted, and it is a bright night. An escape attempt would only earn you bruises and a trip back to my tent-I would not see my bride bruised on her wedding day." He tried to offer a charming smile. "Now, I would see my bride's body laid bare before our wedding. No man among us would wed a woman not having seen her naked."

She appeared ready to flee again with that statement, so he reached out to grab her shoulder, shaking his head with an unspoken warning. She seemed almost to...tremble. He spoke once again, softly. "Very well, I will go first." Undressing himself was a simple matter-he simply unloosened his belt and then push down, dropping his loin cloth, and kicking away his boots, standing bare before her.

 

[Jewelskye]

Raeanna was forced to face him, and when he pulled her close, her body trembled visibly despite her attempting to will it to be still. Was she afraid of him? Far more than she let on. She stared up at him, wide eyed and shaking slightly as he told her she would remain pure until they were wed. It was only a minor consolation, when compared with the fact that she was being forced in to a marriage she didn't want... that her parents wouldn't even have wanted.

She continued to struggle against him even as his arms held her fast, whimpering slightly as he made it clear that he would see to it the ways she was raised were out the window, that she was forced under new laws and new rules and traditions. It wasn't until he released her and let her step back slightly that she would be able to ease the trembling, though she couldn't stop it all together. Something told her the night was far from over.

When he demanded that he wanted her to strip, she shook her head. "No. It's not proper, you will have to wait until the vows have been said." She was hugging herself and taking a small step away from him. It was clear she didn't intend to run this time, but she was putting distance between them the best she could.

The last thing she expected was what he said next, informing her that he would strip first. Her eyes went wide and she spun quickly, putting her back to him just before his loincloth hit the ground. She heard the weight of it hit the floor of the tent and shook her head. "It's improper. Please put your clothes back on, how little of them you have." Truth be told, this was the first day she'd seen so much of a man's body bare, and it was intimidating... but the thought of him fully naked was beyond intimidating... it was sinful.

She wouldn't be clean or pure if she saw him before her wedding night... she'd have seen more than her eyes were meant to see before her husband and she had exchanged vows... before they were rightly wed. Back still too him, she walked across the tend and grabbed one of the chairs at the table. She turned it to face the same way she was facing, away from him, and sat down. Immediately, her eyes closed and she found herself silently asking the gods for strength in her hour of need... for a rescuer to come out of the night and carry her back home, away from these barbarians. To make the last day all a dream.

The Gods wouldn't answer, she knew, but she asked anyway, her hands balled in to fists, clutching pieces of her dress's skirt and working the silk through her fingers nervously, her eyes closed in case he tried to walk to stand in front of her.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Cordumar paid no heed to his bride's words, but he did take a moment to consider her position. In a day, she'd been forced to accept that hers were a conquered people, that her ways no longer held sway in her own lands, and that she was to wed a stranger. It was more understanding than sympathy-she would be forced to adapt, to accept her new reality. She either would or she would not-but it would require more than a day. This would be a different sort of challenge for him. He could not be too accepting because she would only continue clinging to her own ways, but he could not be too forceful else she would shun everything about his people. He needed to find the proper balance. He idly wondered if dealing with her was some manner of test handed him by his father.

"It's improper. Please put your clothes back on, how little of them you have," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and spinning suddenly around, showing him her back.

As she turned her back to him, he wanted to curse. There were many harsh things she would be forced to face, and he well knew that the sight of himself was hardly one of them. Cordumar could only wonder at what queer people these were who did not delight at the sight of a future lover. He slipped in behind her once again, his eyes sliding down to the gentle curve of her buttocks. His cock dangled, half-erect with the beginnings of desire held in check by the knowledge that he would not take pleasure in his bride tonight. He stood behind Raeanna and rested his hands on her shoulders, gently. "I would not be unpleasant toward the woman who would be my wife. Regardless, though, you will accept our customs because you will become one of us." His touch was almost delicate . "I am not painful to the eyes-what is in the way are your own customs, which you must shed along with your silks." He smiled to himself, peering down from above at the sight of her cleavage.

He trailed a hand down her side and then back up, his fingers exploring her shape, the feel of her beneath the gown. If only his father had lent him another day prior to the wedding, this could been a very revealing night, but he would have to learn what he would. He forced his hands to stop moving against her. She was inexperienced, and he didn't want to accidentally work her to arousal and then force her to sleep next to him-that seemed unnecessarily cruel. His hand found the laces at the back of her gown, and his fingers idly began working them. His other hand reached out to grasp his hunting knife from the top of his chest, recently sharpened.

He pressed the flat of the blade up against her chest, between her breasts, and heard the intake of her breath. "I would rather not destroy such fine silks, but you will be naked, whether I have your cooperation or not. If you require, I will help you undress. First, though, you should look upon your husband." It was at that moment, oddly, that he noticed the tangled mess of her hair-perhaps it had been braided, but now it was a difficult, disheveled snag, so long it could not have been easy. "And after, I will see if I can locate you a brush."

 

[Jewelskye]

She heard him approach just before he reached her, and the feel of his hands made her jump. His words, however, seemed to steel her resolve and she sat a bit straighter, inadvertently causing her breasts to be thrust forward slightly, straining just that little bit more against the fabric of her dress. "You are wrong... I will never be like you. I would sooner die than be like you." There were tears threatening behind her closed eyelids, but she held them back valiantly. It wouldn't do to let him see her cry, future husband or not. She had to do her father proud.

One of his hands found the lacing at the back of her dress and she immediately began to shift her shoulders, trying to shake him off, only to feel the flat of a blade pressed against the swell of her breast, and his hand resting against the top of her stomach, beneath that swell. She went still, a soft gasp leaving her as she tensed.

A fine tremble continued to race through her delicately formed body as he held her there, and she continued to hold the tears back. The blade continued to press in to her breasts as she sat there, attempting to keep from shaking, though unsuccessfully. Was he going to kill her? She could only hope.

Alas, it was not to be, as soon he was threatening to ruin her gown... which more or less said he would cut it from her body, given the press of the blade to her breasts. A frown wrote itself across her face as she found herself torn between fear and anger. Fear that he would force her out of her clothes... anger that he wouldn't just put her out of her misery, send her to see her father.

"You may chose to force me from my garments, but I will not look on you." Her eyes remained closed, even as her hands rose to the one holding the dagger at her breasts, and pushed, trying to push the blade from her body. "A pity that you're drawing a weapon on me, but don't plan to do me the honor of killing me before this disaster of a marriage happens."

Even as she was attempting to push the blade away from her body, her shoulders were twisting, and she was shifting sideways in her chair, trying to get away from him. "If you have any honor at all, you'll leave me alone until the wedding. Seeing me now does you no good, you'll have to marry me either way. Why torture me so?"

 

[Noon_Shadow]

"You are wrong... I will never be like you. I would sooner die than be like you."

Cordumar was actually pleased with her spirit, though the energy she put into resisting the change in circumstances was being wasted. It was now a different world, where the Borgurs ruled, and she would be better served trying to find her own honor in it. He knew that she would little joy in much of it, but resisting the most harmless gestures was only going to make things more difficult-like being naked. She had to know that several women in her city had been raped just this morning-soldiers will behave thusly-yet his gentle attempt at removing her garb was resented just as fiercely.

"You may chose to force me from my garments, but I will not look on you," she said as she grasped at the dagger. "A pity that you're drawing a weapon on me, but don't plan to do me the honor of killing me before this disaster of a marriage happens." She did have some claws, it seemed, and a tongue to match, not to mention a kind of courage. His bride had the potential to be a great match as a wife, he sensed, if she could find it to embrace the role. As she grabbed at the weapon, he twisted it out of her grasp, pulling at her arm and pinning it behind her back, pulling her up against him. The blade was suddenly at her back, and slicing down through the laces of her gown, slowly falling open. "A shame to ruin such fine garments-but I will have the privilege of seeing my bride prior to marrying her. Difficult things may be asked of you-you must embrace something so easy as this" Cordumar released her arm and then pulled her gown open and away from her body.

He admired her body as it was revealed to him. Her breasts were firm and proud, and her skin was fair-even more fair where the dress had covered her than elsewhere. He'd not seen women with such pale skin, and he found it fascinating. Raeanna was still talking, lashing out, as she sought to cover herself with her hands, still refusing to look at him. "If you have any honor at all, you'll leave me alone until the wedding. Seeing me now does you no good, you'll have to marry me either way. Why torture me so?"

Cordumar sighed with a bit of frustration. Life was harsh-she must have learned that. Perhaps he was being more fair with her than he needed to be. "Torture? I would hardly call this torture-this is the custom of our people, the way we live, going back hundreds of years, and never once has it been called torture. You can surely endure what comes to tonight-and if you cannot..." his voice fell a bit more hushed, "I may be forced to give you a taste of true pain-though it would dishonor me to treat my bride so."

He slipped around in front of her and then reached out to cup her head, gently, almost tenderly, and turn it toward him. Her eyes were pinched shut, but he spoke softly. "Look. You will have to look some time-why does it matter to you whether it be tonight or some other night? Now, you will look, or you will be made to."

 

[Jewelskye]

He stripped her in fairly short order, leaving her pale body bare to the cool air of the night. Her arm crossed over her breasts, trying instinctively to cover herself even as the small pink nipples hardened upon contact with the air in the tent. She was fair and flawless, her skin looking like porcelain, unmarred thus far by time or ill handling, though some bruises were visible on her arms where the men who'd found her in her parent's keep had grabbed her and dragged her along to meet his father.

Her eyes stayed closed and her head hung slightly, long hair falling around her, tangled and a veritable rats nest in some places the tangling was so bad. His threat to cause her pain only made her frown, but she still didn't open her eyes. "Why must you do this to me?" she asked softly, her voice trembling. "You got what you wanted... stole the last shred of dignity I have left from me... why push this further and make me abandon all moral standing and see a naked man who isn't my husband?"

Tears were still threatening, and the threat was becoming greater with each passing moment, the crystalline liquid threatening to spill down her cheeks. Still she held it back, trying to keep from crying outright. "Look. You will have to look some time-why does it matter to you whether it be tonight or some other night? Now, you will look, or you will be made to."

She was terrified that he'd make good on his words, but more so she was terrified that opening her eyes would let the tears fall, and once they started... she wasn't sure she would be able to hold them back any longer, She bit her lip and turned away from him at that, her voice quiet as she hugged herself. "Please... just let it be until tomorrow... you've seen your bride... let her keep this small shred of dignity." The words were somber, as if she were saddened by the state things were in. She hadn't wanted him to look on her at all, even after they were married, she'd have been happy to see him off bedding whores rather than coming to her own bed, but that wasn't an option... wasn't the way of things.

But why be so insistent that she look on him before she was ready? Before there was even a real need to? Her eyes only opened then, when she knew her back was to him, to quickly assess where she was in the tent. She was facing the bed... that much was a relief. It looked inviting, and the thought of wrapping in a thick fur before curling up among the cushions was a blessed thing.

Her bare feet began to carry her over the floor of the tent and toward that bed, though she chose the furthest most part of it from the middle, where it looked the most slept-in, hoping that would be enough to show him she wanted to keep as far from him in the night as possible... though whether that was because she was worried he would break his promise to not soil her before her wedding night, or because she simply wanted nothing to do with him would be unclear... most likely, however, it was a mixture of both.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Cordumar studied his bride-to-be. He had to repress a sigh as she attempted to reflexively cover herself up with her arms. He wondered if he'd made a mistake about her, confusing meekness with stubbornness and pleading with pride. He'd always had a very idealized version of the woman he would marry, but his father had robbed that of him. His father had robbed much of him-such things would need to rectified. It might be harder if his wife found ways to shame him-if men saw shamefulness in his wife, it would reflect poorly upon him. He'd trained horses, and pack mules, but it was a very different thing to consider training a wife. It was concerning to him that she move prove more burden than asset, even though her father certainly hoped marrying her off would lend some legitimacy to his rule.

She turned away, seeming on the point of tears as she beseeched him to wait until she was forced to look upon him. "You're right, it does not matter if it is tonight or tomorrow night-one will make little difference. If you believe this yourself, why do you resist so? You cannot be hoping to wake tomorrow and find that circumstances have changed." Still heeded him not and carefully padded her way over to the bed, away from him. Cordumar was caught with uncertainty-he decided he might have to relent on this point, having gotten as much out of his wife as he could hope on this night, but he still was very intent, at least in his own head, upon maintaining traditional ways. Of course, some of their traditions would change-they'd been mostly nomadic, but his father had already begun to resettle in many of the cities they had captured, and had talked about setting up his "capital." So perhaps he could ignore traditions as well.

Still, he wouldn't let her walk away like that, defiant. It would set a poor precedent for the marriage. As she approached the bed, he came up behind her again, his arm circling beneath her chest and pulling her body back against him. He pressed against her from behind, letting her feel the muscles in his hard chest and the semi-erect bulge of his manhood against her lower back. He leaned down to smell at the back of her neck. "If you insist upon bed now, my dear bride, then I will relent and allow you to sleep. But it's not very comely to conclude an argument by storming off to sleep." Cordumar allowed himself a smile-he held her with one arm, his right hand still clutched the hunting knife, and threatening her by holding it against her skin was unnecessarily cruel. "Tomorrow will be a busy day," he whispered into her ear, and then pressed his lips down to the curve of her jaw, just beneath her ear. He savored the feel of her against him for another brief moment, and then let her go, following her into bed.

 

[Jewelskye]

Why did she resist? Why would she continue to resist? Was he so dense that he'd not been listening to a word she said? She felt the familiar stirrings of anger. It bubbled up within her and mixed itself with the despair that was quickly beginning to take reign in the pit of her stomach. She continued to bite back the tears the best she could, though one managed to find the path of least resistance and slipped from the inner corner of her eye, following the natural path made by her delicately formed, aristocratic nose. "It matters to me because my Gods teach that a woman who is impure is no wife at all. I may abhor you, Cordumar, son of Undumar, but I will not disgrace myself or my father by being an unworthy wife." She could feel the strength and heat of his body and it made her much smaller body tremble slightly. He was intimidating, at best, terrifying in truth.

When he commented that it was not comely to conclude an argument by going to sleep, she shrugged, and her voice was soft. "I reason you should grow used to such things... I do not see either of us going to be happy during our marriage." She, for one, was quite certain she'd never have a real smile on her lips again until she knew he was dead and gone... Whether he be buried or burned didn't matter, so long as she was rid of him and his ilk.

When he released her, she quickly took a step away from him, putting distance between their bodies and ignoring the sudden cold feeling that swept over her in response to the loss of his shared body heat. She shivered as goosebumps swept over her pale skin, her arms circling around her own body, covering her sensitive breasts and nipples to try to warm herself as she lowered herself to the skins and furs. She was sure to position her body as close to the edge of the sleeping area as possible, and immediately grabbed a fur, wrapping it around herself before he could touch her bare skin again.

Her eyes stayed closed as she curled herself in to the fetal position, hugging the skin tightly around her tiny body. Her hands lifted from beneath the fur blanket she huddled under, just enough to gather her hair, soon working through the tangled mass with her fingers, blindly working to free herself of the knots and tangles, to ensure that her hair would not be a disaster come morning, when she would have to prepare for the torture of a marriage she was sure she was about to enter in to. Did he realize how unhappy they would no doubt be together? Did he realize that she would never be happy to be his lover, and only go to his bed or allow him in hers because it was her duty?

Would he continue to come to her bed after she bore him an heir? Or would he allow her some small measure of respite and leave her alone then? All she really was was a brood mare to his people, anyway... A royal brood mare, but a brood mare nonetheless. She was marrying him because she was royalty, which would in turn make him royalty in more than just conquest. But she was also marrying him, based on what his father had said about proving that he could be a prince, because the King wanted his son to have an heir to carry his bloodline on.

And what would he do if she failed to produce a male heir? Would she fall prey to her angry husband, as she knew so many women did, though no one spoke about it in anything but hushed whispers? Her mother had been lucky her father was so devoted and in love with his wife, Raeanna knew, or he could have beaten her and blamed her for not providing him with a male heir. In the end, he'd been more than happy with the fire haired daughter they raised, and he'd raised her to be a leader, to know how to rule and take care of her people and kingdom.

Her thoughts drifted back to her future husband. What would he do? What would he be like if she could not provide him with a son?

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Cordumar resisted the urge to grab her again as she pulled away rom him. She had a very finely formed rear end, and he could see many long nights ahead that he should spend plowing into her as he sought to create an heir in her womb. It would certainly be pleasant-if her demeanor ever changed. There were long days ahead in which he'd introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh, and her resentment toward him would fade in time.

She purposely curled up as far away from him as possible. That was fine with him-he wasn't consummating this relationship this evening, so a bit of distance helped stiffen his resolve-he was not used to sleeping along. She might appreciate his body warmth if it got very cold tonight, thought. He spread out amongst the furs and pulled one over his form, and slipped his knife beneath his pillow. Best to have a weapon very close to hand with a strange nearby, even one who seemed as harmless as Raeanna. Raeanna....he let the name sound in his mind for a bit. She would be his wife, and he would use her name frequently in the days to come. Sleep came to him easily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordumar woke before first light. The sounds of the camp stirring reached inside of his tent. As a warrior, he'd been trained to find alertness immediately upon waking. There was a body next to him-ah yes, the little heiress that his father had snared for him. He glanced over at her, and her long hair was draped over her face like a veil. How fitting. He smiled and then slipped out of bed, quietly, so as not to disturb, snatching his knife out from beneath his pillow. He dressed himself, buckling on his belt with a sheathe for his knife over top of his leather cuirass. He outfitted himself as a warrior out of reflex, even though he'd need to be dressed more appropriately for his wedding later today.

He slipped out of the tent and went to seek breakfast. There wasn't much, as they hadn't looted Rhineslandt too thoroughly. His father insisted that they were HIS people now, and he wouldn't begin his reign by starving a significant portion of his new empire. Cordumar thought a bit of starvation would help break their spirit if they had any thoughts of rebellion, but he could appreciate his father's stance. He managed to procure a couple of bowls of porridge and some boiled eggs, as well as two glasses of milk. He put it all on a bright silver tray that had been looted elsewhere in their conquests and kept to bright shine and carried it all back to his tent.

As he entered, he spoke to wake his bride. "Raeanna, wake up. There's breakfast, here, and then you have to prepare for the wedding. We'll be married before the high sun." He sat his tray down on the table and slipped over to the bed, looking down at his wife to be. "Come and eat with me-after breakfast I must go and prepare myself for the wedding. A couple of camp women are waiting outside to help you dress and prepare, since you have no clothes of your own at present." He had to avoid grinning at the thought of having cut off her gown the previous night. "Come on, get up, Raeanna."