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Take Heed
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
839
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
839
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Take Heed
Author's Note; I am in two minds as to whether to continue this story. I have a workable plotline for it, but I like the way it rounds off as it is. Reader imput would be greatly appreciated.
---
He could never heed his brother.
She was hardly a special case. A slave, a pretty face, a soul in pain, and helpless. Just like the others. He once said that if the King did not allow slaves to be kept, then he would not feel for them so and this kind of thing would not keep happening. His brother had struck him for that, hard.
What was it he’d said? Addiction. That word stung him. His brother had accused him of being addicted having sex with slave-girls. The notion seemed so obscene, so tainted, so perverse. He looked at her now and he felt only tenderness. Surely it was not wrong to offer her comfort?
"Do not mistake me, brother, slaves are for service and nothing more. I tell you, you shame your family when you make yourself so low as to love a slave." His brother's words rang in his ears.
She seemed comforted. Surely, it was not selfish, the way he held her so gently in his arms. Surely, he offered her equally as much comfort and pleasure as he kissed her tenderly and caressed her, lovingly. Surely he was not merely gratifying an addiction.
He was drawn to slaves like her. In her eyes, as he brought her to a wild climax, he saw the spirit within her trapped and bound body. And in the trusting look she returned him, he imagined her seeing the same in his own. The spirit that his brother, nor his father, nor the whole royal court and the world he was trapped in, ever saw.
Afterwards, he held her differently. Naked and sweating beneath the rough blankets of his campaign bed, they clung together. This was not the sweet embrace of besotted lovers. It was unspoken truths and unwept tears. They would never see each other again, and their separate paths would never lead to happiness.
"What is a scrawny sparrow to you? Would you debase yourself to rut with a starvling child? I do not understand you, brother."
“I could never heed my brother,” Kervasi found himself telling his body-servant as he washed his face and the man carried away dirty bed-sheets. Maybe he was talking to himself. The girl had gone by now, perhaps to a simple kitchen, but he didn‘t know for sure. Now he was padding around the tent in his shirt and trews, preparing to meet with the Prince. “You will not speak of this, Marlamin.”
“No, my master,” was the gentle reply. The slave was the same age as Kervasi, and they had travelled the known world together since they were both eager youths, but Kervasi knew that his body servant had somehow accumulated more wisdom than he. Perhaps it was the advantage of watching and serving the world, a step behind, while Kervasi was ensnared in it.
But as he left his tent to head towards the Prince’s pavilion, he heard a sharp voice and turned on heel. Between two small soldier’s tents, half hidden in the shadow and cloistered in-between the guy-ropes, a blacksmith he knew was chastising a young woman.
“You think I can afford your vanity?” he did not shout, but his voice rang with anger.
“No, master!” the girl pleaded, but it was too late, he had already raised his hand and struck her hard across the face. She whimpered a little, and hung her head, but he was done with her now and turned to storm away, leaving the girl behind him in tears.
Cautiously, Kervasi walked towards her. For a moment, the heavy slave collar about her neck caught the moonlight and gleamed like silver. He knew that if he was late or even missed the banquet, his father’s wrath would be terrible. The whole family needed to be present when he presented the Prince with the choice unicorn filly his brother had captured on his latest raid. But his desire to comfort this girl here and now far ought weighed any apprehension on that count. Gently, he put a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, my brother. It is not a crime to leave them to their grief. What real greif could such a woman feel? After all, they are only slaves. Let them alone."
He would never heed his brother. “Please, don’t cry…”
---
He could never heed his brother.
She was hardly a special case. A slave, a pretty face, a soul in pain, and helpless. Just like the others. He once said that if the King did not allow slaves to be kept, then he would not feel for them so and this kind of thing would not keep happening. His brother had struck him for that, hard.
What was it he’d said? Addiction. That word stung him. His brother had accused him of being addicted having sex with slave-girls. The notion seemed so obscene, so tainted, so perverse. He looked at her now and he felt only tenderness. Surely it was not wrong to offer her comfort?
"Do not mistake me, brother, slaves are for service and nothing more. I tell you, you shame your family when you make yourself so low as to love a slave." His brother's words rang in his ears.
She seemed comforted. Surely, it was not selfish, the way he held her so gently in his arms. Surely, he offered her equally as much comfort and pleasure as he kissed her tenderly and caressed her, lovingly. Surely he was not merely gratifying an addiction.
He was drawn to slaves like her. In her eyes, as he brought her to a wild climax, he saw the spirit within her trapped and bound body. And in the trusting look she returned him, he imagined her seeing the same in his own. The spirit that his brother, nor his father, nor the whole royal court and the world he was trapped in, ever saw.
Afterwards, he held her differently. Naked and sweating beneath the rough blankets of his campaign bed, they clung together. This was not the sweet embrace of besotted lovers. It was unspoken truths and unwept tears. They would never see each other again, and their separate paths would never lead to happiness.
"What is a scrawny sparrow to you? Would you debase yourself to rut with a starvling child? I do not understand you, brother."
“I could never heed my brother,” Kervasi found himself telling his body-servant as he washed his face and the man carried away dirty bed-sheets. Maybe he was talking to himself. The girl had gone by now, perhaps to a simple kitchen, but he didn‘t know for sure. Now he was padding around the tent in his shirt and trews, preparing to meet with the Prince. “You will not speak of this, Marlamin.”
“No, my master,” was the gentle reply. The slave was the same age as Kervasi, and they had travelled the known world together since they were both eager youths, but Kervasi knew that his body servant had somehow accumulated more wisdom than he. Perhaps it was the advantage of watching and serving the world, a step behind, while Kervasi was ensnared in it.
But as he left his tent to head towards the Prince’s pavilion, he heard a sharp voice and turned on heel. Between two small soldier’s tents, half hidden in the shadow and cloistered in-between the guy-ropes, a blacksmith he knew was chastising a young woman.
“You think I can afford your vanity?” he did not shout, but his voice rang with anger.
“No, master!” the girl pleaded, but it was too late, he had already raised his hand and struck her hard across the face. She whimpered a little, and hung her head, but he was done with her now and turned to storm away, leaving the girl behind him in tears.
Cautiously, Kervasi walked towards her. For a moment, the heavy slave collar about her neck caught the moonlight and gleamed like silver. He knew that if he was late or even missed the banquet, his father’s wrath would be terrible. The whole family needed to be present when he presented the Prince with the choice unicorn filly his brother had captured on his latest raid. But his desire to comfort this girl here and now far ought weighed any apprehension on that count. Gently, he put a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, my brother. It is not a crime to leave them to their grief. What real greif could such a woman feel? After all, they are only slaves. Let them alone."
He would never heed his brother. “Please, don’t cry…”