The Captain's Vow
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,846
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,846
Reviews:
18
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.
The Captain's Vow
A/N : This is set in the fantasy system used in my 2007 release, The King's Right. Blood Lust updated on the 25th, and I'm working on the next chapter of Before You now.
©2009 Kristina Dalton
Gods’ year 1225
Early Autumn
Westlands outside Etania’s Rule
Continent of Elgone
Chapter One
Conquest
Rennar Kendrick-kin, captain of Lord Sangire’s elite conquering forces, entered the common hall of the vanquished Lord Zyon’s last stronghold, swiping the sweat and blood from his face. This keep represented the crown of Zyon’s right-of-might. The court held a widely-accepted reputation for the finest courtesans of both genders. Sangire’s demands of his soldiers required no ill-treatment of women, and no rape in general. Rennar had faced several disciplinary incidents at previous takings in enforcing this rule.
With his helm under his arm, he stopped and allowed his eyes adjust to walking in from early evening sunlight to the candle- and torch-lit hall. Everywhere his eyes touched he saw similar scenes of multiple soldiers availing themselves of the local flesh bounty. Perimeters secured, patrols in place, wounded organized and tended in the makeshift infirmary, and all able opposition fighting bodies accounted for, Rennar could lodge no complaint against carnal celebration with willing parties.
Jeweled torques around the courtesan’s necks held particular combinations of gems and stones to indicate specialties. Rennar swiped a gloved hand over his head and considered what to do about creating some manner of order. It seemed best to allow lawful actions, and simply intervene if a man crossed the line. He’d already lost one night’s sleep. It seemed he stood to forfeit another.
“Sir Rennar?”
His battle page’s voice made him about-face and shield the lad’s eyes. Too late, he gathered, for the young man’s brows sat hiked in shock above Rennar’s hand. “This is no place for you, Wilym. Organize sleeping arrangements for the other pages in the stable for tonight. Keep them from the main hall. My command.”
“Yessir, right away.”
Rennar watched the still green fellow hie himself from the scene of so much open decadence. As an afterthought, he considered how fornication could wrongly influence Wilym in comparison to the bloody business of combat. Surely too much life-taking skewed his judgment.
He put four solid men to monitoring the revelry for him. Then, moved on to securing quarters for himself. Rennar strode across the stone floor toward what appeared stairs up to sleeping chambers. His gaze snagged upon the rutting form of Bane Fulvy, a festering wound in the fighting force. Bane had proven himself as much clever as subversive. The man never openly defied Rennar, nor gave reason for demotion of rank or standing.
Bane and four others had a pale-skinned, platinum-haired young man over a dining table. They made use of his mouth and backside with a vociferous, yet organized manner.
Rennar noted that while the individual seemed to comply, he wore no courtesan’s torque. The questionable subject’s eyes remained closed. Just as Rennar prepared to dismiss the matter, a single tear slid from beneath the subjected specimen’s surprisingly black lashes.
He’d seen too much death and suffering to condone this. “Bane, that’s enough. You and your fellows find another plaything.”
Bane slammed into the pale young man’s ass. “He didn’t fight, sir. That makes him a fair fuck.”
Rennar replied, “No one would fight when so outnumbered, and they themselves among the conquered. Doubtless he feared getting the sword rather than your cocks.” He shifted his helm under his other arm to free his sword hand. “He’s had enough. Let him up.”
The soldiers stepped back and buttoned their breeches with clear reluctance.
“Can you stand, boy?” Rennar waited as the young man stood straight. As his bright cerulean-blue yes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed, Rennar dropped his helm and caught the individual. “Drayden,” He said, addressing one of the less crude men from the group, “bring that and follow me.”
Abovestairs, the servants cowered. Rennar reassured them as he could, stating his lord intended a better, kinder rule for them than any former abuse. He opened many doors before locating a bedchamber linked to a solar. Expensive panes of stained glass graced the ceiling of a luxuriously furnished familial common room.
“In here, Drayden.” Rennar waited for the soldier to place the helm upon a table. “My thanks. Dismissed.”
Rennar spotted some padded benches, no doubt intended for ladies attending their needlepoint under the light sources. He gently placed his burden upon the bench.
Thinking the young man might sleep out the night, he turned to go.
“Sir?”
The soft voice speaking Link tugged something low in his gut. Rennar pivoted. “Aye?”
“While I hate to impose, might I have a bath?”
Knowing them beyond hearing by others, he responded from his heart. “Aye. A moment.” He strode back through the bedchamber to the hall. “I require bathing water and two tubs.”
A maid passing by answered. “Servants shall bring water. A tub already resides in the bathing chamber. I fear the rest have use in the infirmary.”
“We require this one filled, emptied and refilled. Apologies for the added labor,”
Rennar replied. He opened shutters to let in the slanting, evening sunlight.
The light-hued young man remained reclining on the padded bench as maids brought hot water for his bath. When the servants withdrew, he rolled half-up. “You’re very kind.”
Rennar unbuckled his swordbelt, draping it over a chair by the chamber door. “War’s ugly enough without brutality following into the aftermath.” Realizing the young remained naked, he opened a wardrobe, rummaged briefly and tossed over a pair of breeches. “We’ll see about getting your own things later.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Experiencing uncharacteristic awkwardness, he removed his gloves and poured a pitcher of water into its matching basin. “You do live here?”
“Yes, sir. I am … was,” he corrected, “Lord Zyon’s foster ward.”
Something in his tone made Rennar think that while the term served in formality, it translated differently in private. “Did you lose anyone today?” He surprised himself with the question and clenched his jaw. Nothing worse than a soldier who couldn’t keep his teeth together.
“No one close to me, sir.”
“Call me, Rennar.” He heard the surly change in his tone at his uncharacteristic small talk. A knock sounded upon the door. “Enter.”
Several maids and a parade of house boys bearing buckets trailed through to the bathing chamber. The young man, yet nameless to Rennar, did no more than drape the breeches over his groin. He sat upright, swinging his legs around and placing his feet on the floor. Rennar washed his face and neck, then his hands. He’d taken the brunt of a flail hit to the left forearm early in the fight. Unbuckling his metal guard, he rolled back the sleeve of his sherte of mail. The skin had broken open from the force of the blow and a respectable bruise darkened the area all around. He washed the wound and crusted blood, considering his luck in escaping a broken bone.
“You’re hurt,” the young man observed, genuine concern coloring his voice.
“I was fortunate. This will heal in a set of days.” More gruffly than he intended, he demanded, “Give me your name.” Blood turned his wash water pink.
“Silvanos Arelia, eldest son of Baron Grekford Arelia of Hawk’s View Castle.”
“A nobleman’s first born son?” He dried his face and hands. “A valuable commodity.”
“The previous lord held me as insurance against my father attempting what you have accomplished.”
The maids emerged, pronouncing the tub ready. “Have your bath, young Arelia.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rennar started to correct the young man. But, as he turned toward him, Silvanos rose from the bench and wrapped the breeches around his hips. Rennar’s gaze snapped to the bench. A stain, part spent lust, part blood colored the pale yellow cushion.
They’d torn him as they had him.
And the boy had spoken not a word in complaint.
~ Hope you liked the start. Take care. KD
©2009 Kristina Dalton
Gods’ year 1225
Early Autumn
Westlands outside Etania’s Rule
Continent of Elgone
Chapter One
Conquest
Rennar Kendrick-kin, captain of Lord Sangire’s elite conquering forces, entered the common hall of the vanquished Lord Zyon’s last stronghold, swiping the sweat and blood from his face. This keep represented the crown of Zyon’s right-of-might. The court held a widely-accepted reputation for the finest courtesans of both genders. Sangire’s demands of his soldiers required no ill-treatment of women, and no rape in general. Rennar had faced several disciplinary incidents at previous takings in enforcing this rule.
With his helm under his arm, he stopped and allowed his eyes adjust to walking in from early evening sunlight to the candle- and torch-lit hall. Everywhere his eyes touched he saw similar scenes of multiple soldiers availing themselves of the local flesh bounty. Perimeters secured, patrols in place, wounded organized and tended in the makeshift infirmary, and all able opposition fighting bodies accounted for, Rennar could lodge no complaint against carnal celebration with willing parties.
Jeweled torques around the courtesan’s necks held particular combinations of gems and stones to indicate specialties. Rennar swiped a gloved hand over his head and considered what to do about creating some manner of order. It seemed best to allow lawful actions, and simply intervene if a man crossed the line. He’d already lost one night’s sleep. It seemed he stood to forfeit another.
“Sir Rennar?”
His battle page’s voice made him about-face and shield the lad’s eyes. Too late, he gathered, for the young man’s brows sat hiked in shock above Rennar’s hand. “This is no place for you, Wilym. Organize sleeping arrangements for the other pages in the stable for tonight. Keep them from the main hall. My command.”
“Yessir, right away.”
Rennar watched the still green fellow hie himself from the scene of so much open decadence. As an afterthought, he considered how fornication could wrongly influence Wilym in comparison to the bloody business of combat. Surely too much life-taking skewed his judgment.
He put four solid men to monitoring the revelry for him. Then, moved on to securing quarters for himself. Rennar strode across the stone floor toward what appeared stairs up to sleeping chambers. His gaze snagged upon the rutting form of Bane Fulvy, a festering wound in the fighting force. Bane had proven himself as much clever as subversive. The man never openly defied Rennar, nor gave reason for demotion of rank or standing.
Bane and four others had a pale-skinned, platinum-haired young man over a dining table. They made use of his mouth and backside with a vociferous, yet organized manner.
Rennar noted that while the individual seemed to comply, he wore no courtesan’s torque. The questionable subject’s eyes remained closed. Just as Rennar prepared to dismiss the matter, a single tear slid from beneath the subjected specimen’s surprisingly black lashes.
He’d seen too much death and suffering to condone this. “Bane, that’s enough. You and your fellows find another plaything.”
Bane slammed into the pale young man’s ass. “He didn’t fight, sir. That makes him a fair fuck.”
Rennar replied, “No one would fight when so outnumbered, and they themselves among the conquered. Doubtless he feared getting the sword rather than your cocks.” He shifted his helm under his other arm to free his sword hand. “He’s had enough. Let him up.”
The soldiers stepped back and buttoned their breeches with clear reluctance.
“Can you stand, boy?” Rennar waited as the young man stood straight. As his bright cerulean-blue yes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed, Rennar dropped his helm and caught the individual. “Drayden,” He said, addressing one of the less crude men from the group, “bring that and follow me.”
Abovestairs, the servants cowered. Rennar reassured them as he could, stating his lord intended a better, kinder rule for them than any former abuse. He opened many doors before locating a bedchamber linked to a solar. Expensive panes of stained glass graced the ceiling of a luxuriously furnished familial common room.
“In here, Drayden.” Rennar waited for the soldier to place the helm upon a table. “My thanks. Dismissed.”
Rennar spotted some padded benches, no doubt intended for ladies attending their needlepoint under the light sources. He gently placed his burden upon the bench.
Thinking the young man might sleep out the night, he turned to go.
“Sir?”
The soft voice speaking Link tugged something low in his gut. Rennar pivoted. “Aye?”
“While I hate to impose, might I have a bath?”
Knowing them beyond hearing by others, he responded from his heart. “Aye. A moment.” He strode back through the bedchamber to the hall. “I require bathing water and two tubs.”
A maid passing by answered. “Servants shall bring water. A tub already resides in the bathing chamber. I fear the rest have use in the infirmary.”
“We require this one filled, emptied and refilled. Apologies for the added labor,”
Rennar replied. He opened shutters to let in the slanting, evening sunlight.
The light-hued young man remained reclining on the padded bench as maids brought hot water for his bath. When the servants withdrew, he rolled half-up. “You’re very kind.”
Rennar unbuckled his swordbelt, draping it over a chair by the chamber door. “War’s ugly enough without brutality following into the aftermath.” Realizing the young remained naked, he opened a wardrobe, rummaged briefly and tossed over a pair of breeches. “We’ll see about getting your own things later.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Experiencing uncharacteristic awkwardness, he removed his gloves and poured a pitcher of water into its matching basin. “You do live here?”
“Yes, sir. I am … was,” he corrected, “Lord Zyon’s foster ward.”
Something in his tone made Rennar think that while the term served in formality, it translated differently in private. “Did you lose anyone today?” He surprised himself with the question and clenched his jaw. Nothing worse than a soldier who couldn’t keep his teeth together.
“No one close to me, sir.”
“Call me, Rennar.” He heard the surly change in his tone at his uncharacteristic small talk. A knock sounded upon the door. “Enter.”
Several maids and a parade of house boys bearing buckets trailed through to the bathing chamber. The young man, yet nameless to Rennar, did no more than drape the breeches over his groin. He sat upright, swinging his legs around and placing his feet on the floor. Rennar washed his face and neck, then his hands. He’d taken the brunt of a flail hit to the left forearm early in the fight. Unbuckling his metal guard, he rolled back the sleeve of his sherte of mail. The skin had broken open from the force of the blow and a respectable bruise darkened the area all around. He washed the wound and crusted blood, considering his luck in escaping a broken bone.
“You’re hurt,” the young man observed, genuine concern coloring his voice.
“I was fortunate. This will heal in a set of days.” More gruffly than he intended, he demanded, “Give me your name.” Blood turned his wash water pink.
“Silvanos Arelia, eldest son of Baron Grekford Arelia of Hawk’s View Castle.”
“A nobleman’s first born son?” He dried his face and hands. “A valuable commodity.”
“The previous lord held me as insurance against my father attempting what you have accomplished.”
The maids emerged, pronouncing the tub ready. “Have your bath, young Arelia.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rennar started to correct the young man. But, as he turned toward him, Silvanos rose from the bench and wrapped the breeches around his hips. Rennar’s gaze snapped to the bench. A stain, part spent lust, part blood colored the pale yellow cushion.
They’d torn him as they had him.
And the boy had spoken not a word in complaint.
~ Hope you liked the start. Take care. KD