Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 17

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Volume 3 begins with a knight doing not so knightly things
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Volume III – Tall and Hard to Climb

1- Service and Servitude 1

Some eight hundred leagues away from the comparable backwater kingdom of Sorash and the struggles of a half-elf priestess named Sarah Kettar was a sprawling metropolis, the jewel of the Western Council. Beson stood as a beacon of trade and free society, connecting most of the civilized world to one another and even to the Vale itself.

Dame Amaranth had heard about the Vale, the legendary home of the elves-- the very people who's blood flowed in her veins and who'd abandoned her even before she'd even been born. She had grown up in the world of humans and by the gods were there many of them.

She sipped her tea looking out over the sprawling city below. The castle was situated neatly amidst the sprawl and splendor of the very people she'd sworn herself to protect. They wandered about the wood lined streets, carefully picking the red moss and mud that seeped up between the massive timbers that kept the city from being overrun by the rapid growth every night. It wasn't just the nightly riots that gave the city its dubious moniker, 'city of blood'.

A cool wind ran its fingers along her sun kissed flesh, sliding through the sheer robe as the lavender sky began to make way for the early morning sun, bringing with it the ever lingering tickle of rain's caress. It was a pleasant, sweet scent that prickled the half-elf's senses with promises of a dreary day.

She breathed it in all the same, her tall, proud body and firm muscles bristled with goosebumps from the sudden chill, but her mind was alive with possibility and renewed vigor for what was to come. Today was going to be the day. She couldn't hide it for much longer, anyway. Her stomach had started a gentle curve and even now, standing practically nude before the early morning city, she could imagine this new turn in her life taking her to strange, exciting places.

To hear her mother tell it, there was no room for a half-breed among the proud race of immortal elves, but here there was an infinite number of possibilities. She ran her fingers over her belly, trembling with excitement and fear. She'd tell them today, she promised herself. They'd figure out how to handle it, they wouldn't have to worry about what the future held anymore. She didn't have to hide behind her pointy ears and exotic, sharp features any longer.

She had a home, now. She would have a family.

The gods had truly blessed her, even if her ancestors hadn't. Suddenly it didn't matter how hard she'd worked to earn her title, how many battles she'd fought and won in service to Sorash and her Duke. She'd never be accepted by anyone-- except her peers, if only obliquely-- but a family.

Her, a mother.

Gods, had Elisandra blessed Her loyal paladin. For her years of service, she was going to have what she wished for most while she was still young enough to enjoy-- and care for-- it. She sipped her tea with a smile this time, her amber eyes flitting up towards the sky. A soft whispered prayer of thanks parted her full lips and she turned to her room, wondering how much longer she'd be able to fit into her armor.

Quietly, in some dark part of her mind, she wondered just how the news would be received. . .

#

Dame Amaranth strolled through the main hall in full regalia, her green and gold platemail clacked softly against the chain underneath with each step, pressing gently against her stomach and reminding her that she wouldn't be able to hide the swell of her child much longer. It wasn't like he wouldn't be able tell if they had so much as a moment to themselves, but still, her heart fluttered in her chest and the sinking suspicion that had accompanied her while she dressed for the day had become full blown paranoia.

What would he do once he found out? How would he react? More importantly, to the paladin, was the question of how this life might impact their relationship. What would have to change so that no one was compromised?

Gods, it was enough to drive someone to drink. That was even before the question of whether or not it was even his. . . Amaranth swallowed, pressed herself against the back of her armor as though it would ease weight off her growing stomach and clenched her teeth. Her duty was to protect, she couldn't worry herself with the who, how and why. She just needed to protect what had been created.

Stewards and commoners were milling about the main hall, dutifully ignoring the small contingent of knights that were receiving their daily orders from the resident sergeant at arms. It wasn't even mid morning and the hall was full of the commoners and lawyers of the various trade unions and several foreign dignitaries, speaking amongst themselves and awaiting the arrival of the Duke.

His knight, however, didn't have to wait. She never would, so long as she was in his service, so she approached the cluster of courtiers and started towards the hall. Now wasn't a good time to ask him about it, but perhaps later she could secure enough of his time to ask him just how to handle this change. He was wise, after all. Wise, patient.

Yes. Maybe she would.

Amaranth steeled herself and crept into the massive hall, avoiding glances from the 'pure' elves who caught sight of her pointed ears. Occasionally someone would attempt to engage her in conversation but she quickly excused herself, narrowly avoiding one potential crisis after another-- No, she couldn't find a missing cat; no, she couldn't speak for the Duke himself; yes she was the resident second knight and no, she couldn't deploy other knights against rebellious serfs.

It was more of the same, the kind of mind numbing drudgery that made her job as a knight about as glamorous as tax collection, but as a paladin, bound by an oath to protect her charge and guide him in making the right choices? She couldn't wait to get started.

She managed to get to the rear of the hall without expressly agreeing to help one group or another; just barely. Peasant revolts and lost kittens would have to wait until they were ready to be addressed. She was the executor of her lords' will, after all, not its progenitor. With great care she eased herself up to the door that lead to the door that separated the main hall from the Duke's private quarters. The guards made way for her, used to the way in which she crept as one might do to catch someone unaware.

It had been a long standing tradition, almost twenty years now, and so the guards paid it little mind except to offer salute to the half-blooded knight as she opened the door to the antechamber and slipped in.

The room was laid out with the typical red velvet finery draped over fine oak and plaster highlights. All the oak services were stained and polished up to a fine sheen, glistening in the scattered light from the slit of glass that ran parallel with the North Light. It was as much a shrine to the Duke's god as it was a place to relax for visiting dignitaries and the Duke himself.

Relax he did, at that. The twenty something man was sprawled out across one of the massive four seat couches in his full court attire of flowing velvet with a bright purple silk coat underneath. That surprised her. He hadn't worn it in at least a decade that she could remember, and even then only at her insistence that he protect himself in a time when some maniac was going around firing arrows at nobles.

The undershirt had a deceptively tight weave designed to protect the wearer from against arrows and bolts from would be assassins, unfortunately it was also a tight fit over Rathic's broad, toned chest and his well built shoulders, making him reluctant to so much as consider it, much less take it's value seriously.

Amaranth stood there in quiet contemplation for a moment as her sharp amber eyes roamed her young charge. Young-- though definitely a grown man; he was approaching his twenty first birthday, but his features were still that of someone too innocent for his station. A strong sharp jaw line and eyes so wide and full of life, every once in a while she'd catch that subtle flicker of the inner fire that drove him, but to the rest of the world he showed only the calm mask that had been thrust upon him by the death of his father; he wasn't the person that his father's legacy needed to lead it, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from giving it his damnedest effort.

There were other times, of course, those rare little moments where he let the mask fall completely. Those were the private moments, though, the ones that neither of them could speak of, the moments that they both knew would come to an abrupt-- and horrible-- end. A twinge of guilt rippled across Amaranth's mind. She couldn't undo the past and even if she could, somehow she couldn't convince herself that this was something that needed undoing.

She began to sing. The soft flowing melody tumbled from her lips in a way that neither time nor countless recitals had managed to dull even a note. The melody was soon joined by her placing a hand on her young charge, reminding him of her presence, confirming to herself that he was still alive. The transfusion of energies and the subtle touch of his conscious mind brushing against hers was like a kiss to her very soul. As a bonded pair-- protector and protected-- they shared things in ways many could not, the body was more than paternal and yet somehow more intimate than those shared by even the oldest of lovers.

He was part of her, part of her very being and even while his mind teetered at the edge of true, restful sleep, she could sense his reaching out for something. A feeling of warmth and the cold dagger of loss-- he was dreaming again. No doubt the dream of the throne room and the assassin. Even in spite-- or perhaps because of-- the dreams, he'd started wearing the assassin's calling card in his right breast pocket, perhaps in memorial or silent prayer for vengeance. One day he would ask her to take on that burden, to find this Ace of Diamonds and kill her, but in the meantime, he had a city to run and a people to protect.

It really was too bad that circumstances hadn't turned out differently. But in their loneliness, in their abject isolation from the people around them-- he by his youth in a position for rich old men, and she by her elven heritage, they'd found one another. Whatever mercy the gods hat decided to grant both of them was something they could share, and no one could take that away from them.

She ran her finely boned fingers across the velveteen material of his pant leg, caressing his flesh with the very tip of her finger, a mere feather's grace against the firm, taught muscles of her Lordship's body. All the while she explored the ridges of his muscles, she carried her melody to new levels of warmth as she had learned so long ago. "My lost, my found, loved and famed. . . For what sun will rise if not guided by your heavens?" Amaranth's hand unconsciously slid up a little farther, brushing against his powerful thigh muscles, sighing softly as she slid into a seat beside him.

Unlike other nobility-- and even many paladins she knew, he didn't stir at the closeness of her warmth. He didn't so much as bat an eye when she pressed her plated thigh against his and murmured. "The night awaits the sun, for without the sun there can be no flowers. . . What will we do then, hm?"

To her surprise, he responded in that soft but powerful purr that set the fringes of her mind at full attention. It was a sultry sound, the husky voice of a man used to getting what he wanted out of life, but never forgetting that privilege was earned and a man, no matter how important socially, was still a man. "We'll plant new ones and draw the curtains. . . It was too damn early in the first place!"

Despite herself, Amaranth laughed.

"Now that is a sound I could wake to for a thousand years." The Duke looked up at her for the first time, his eyes clouded by sleep and some faint flicker of amusement. "I was enjoying a dream before you started caterwauling."

Whether intentional or not, a twinge of insult prodded Amaranth's subconscious. "I'm sorry, my leige--"

The man started to rise lazily, "please. . ." he trailed off while his gaze lingered on her. A creeping little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he sauntered over to the tray of tea and pastries that had been laid out opposite the couch. "We're alone, you know better."

"But--"

"Shh," the young man glanced back with a smile and a twinkle that said he knew something she wasn't privileged to. "Say it."

She frowned. "B--"

"Ammy. . ."

"It's so indignant, though! My L--"

He turned abruptly and tossed a pastry her way. The only thought that ran through her mind-- aside from the insult he was asking her to commit-- was the mess it would leave on the fine carpet. She dived for it, managing to scoop it up before it would've stained anything. Somewhere between her leaving the couch and catching the flaky treat, however, her liege lord had closed the distance and placed himself directly in her path.

Amaranth nearly plowed into his groin with her face, but for her natural elven grace and quick action, she slid to the right to avoid the impact and recover herself before she would've hit the carpeting. She looked up at him with a dour expression as she started to rise, that was until he laid his hand on her shoulder.

With a slow movement fitting a lion stalking its prey, his finger brushed across the side of her throat. A ripple of warmth that swept gently up her cheek, through her hair, then grazed the back of her ear to the tip. The tiniest pinch at the point forced Amaranth's breath back into her throat, a shudder swam through her body like liquid heat, turning her knees into putty even as she sat there on the floor. She hoped, above all, that her armor would hide her reaction, but luck wasn't with her. Not at all.

She glanced up from the shade of her bangs to find Richard, her Duke and lord standing there with a mischievous little smile even as he trailed his finger down the rearward arch of her ear. A sigh she couldn't suppress quickly enough tumbled from her lips while the human squatted down to her level.

"Another sound I don't get to hear nearly enough," Richard's breath brushed over her sharply angled cheek and he started to rise. Unconsciously Amaranth reached out to touch his hand, barely aware that she was inhaling his natural musk from her position, with his crotch practically touching her chin. She looked up at him, dampened her lips.

He had to know.

He was going to find out anyway.

He was wise and patient.

"I. . ." Amaranth pursed her lips as her voice faltered. She tried again, and again, and again. All she had to do was bring it out, and then everything would be all right. He needed to know and now really was the best time.

"Hm?" He didn't pull his hand away. "What troubles my Dame?"

Dame. She was nobility too, it wasn't unheard of to share problems with other nobles and yet-- Amaranth turned her head in his hand and kissed his palm. "I would speak to you after the day is out."

A flicker of concern lit his eyes. "Ammy?" The shortening of her name broke her heart. He had to know, but would it make anything better?

"You have enough on your mind. What I have to say can wait. . ."

"Ammy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing--"

"Bullshit."

"Richard!" Amaranth covered her mouth. "Ehm- I mean, my Lord! Please, such language is beneath you--"

"So are half the things you say when you think no one's listening," he chided with a playful grin. "Don't be so prudish."

"Tch," Amaranth scoffed, looking away. "That's not fair."

"Life seldom is, Dame Amaranth. Life seldom is." He thrust his hand out to her and took a step back, munching his pastry with a catty little smile that told her that there would be a continuation to this conversation-- if she was able to work out how to speak with a full mouth.

Fitting, in some ways, really. She pushed off on her own and shot him a playfully challenging look which he returned around another mouth full of pastry. Silently, she nodded, already knowing that there'd be no chance she could deny him, even if she wanted to-- which was never the case.

"You're incorrigible," Amaranth chided.

He cast her a surreptitious glance on his way to the table to grab another hand full of pastries. Before he could make it to the door he had downed another one of them and was half way into the second. "Come, my Knight, we have work to do. . ."

Despite that nagging voice that told her she should have been ashamed to be so open with her admonishment, she fell in step behind him. Both protector and servant, she had to tread that fine line between guide and supplicant. The way in which she administered them needed care and consideration, for surely words were going to be very precious and potentially dangerous things by the end of the day.

#

As usual, the day's activities included some variation on the Duke providing the dignitaries first chance to plead their cases for better living conditions in the ghettos their constituent groups had carved out for themselves when they were forced to take up residence in the city after the great floods. Of course, they didn't understand that it took time to move thousands of refuges and even more time to quell the arguments of the rich nobles who promised to kill them should the refuges leave their cordoned off areas.

From her position at his side, Amaranth was privilege to the worst of the looks that they would give their host patron when they thought he couldn't see them. It wasn't unexpected, in fact it was pretty routine, yet she couldn't help but wonder when it would be time for them to step back and realize that their concerns weren't going to dictate the way in which the Duke ran his city.

That concern faded when the elven ambassador approached. Surely he would be a voice of reason, even if he hated the kingdom and all it stood for, he'd never jeopardize the Vale's access to high quality mercenaries. Least of all for some minor discomforts-- they'd been put up in the richest districts in the city as it was.

"Your Lordship," the slim man bowed gracefully with hands spread in a sign of nonaggression. "It pains me to be so direct, but the matter of which we spoke privately has come to past. The Leskan troops will be at our step by the end of the tenday. . ." His bright silver gaze settled on the human, expectant.

Amaranth stood firm beside her lord's side, though inwardly she blanched at the dagger of betrayal lancing between her shoulders. How could he have kept this from her? How was she supposed to protect him if he was withholding things like this?

Before she could so much as breathe a word of protest, he stood and marched towards the ambassador with his hands open. Once he reached the base of the stairs he laid his hands on the slimmer man's shoulders. "I promised you an army, and I shall deliver it. . . Though more advanced warning would have been appreciated."

"Ah, but for want of more advanced warning, surely disease and strife would be a thing of the past by virtue of better solutions and higher minds."

Richard-- the Duke-- stepped back with a smile. "True enough, true enough. . . Dame Amaranth," he looked back briefly. "Fetch sir Markus, we have help to rally."

She had to dig into the deepest parts of her soul to keep from opening her mouth. A glance to the nearest soldier had her position covered so she could head out to the hall. Only when the main doors were closed behind her did it really occur what she was doing-- Richard had promised the elves an army. That meant he had planned to go to war with them.

Why, then, was his second knight just learning about this? What else hadn't he told her about? The elves, of all people! Was hecompletelymad? They would hold their end of whatever bargain he made until it no longer suited them, and then he'd be left to fend for himself. She'd taught him better than this, hadn't she? She was a good paladin, she had done her job to the best of her ability, if he wanted to hold hope over experience, she couldn't possibly fault him for that, could she?