Cloved Chimera

December 28, 2009

MERRY FISHMISS! Yes, I'm late. This smutty little oneshot turned into a 4686 word epic oneshot romance. Yes, I said *rasafrackenfricken* romance. A slashy harlequin if you will. Oh well, welcome back Quinlan and Mem. This is what prompted this...

Quinlan/Mem Action
That is the draw back of first person narrative. Unless Drago is participating, which is highly unlikely, you gentle Loyal will not get a full blown emotional smex scene. You might get Mem talking about it, but no five page smut. Sorry. Thems the breaks.

So now here’s the breaks!!

Read, Review and Enjoy
Kiix



Cloved Chimera

The attendants of the Highland Brigand glanced across the room at each other and widened their eyes in question and wonderment. A man didn’t get to be the Robber King by indulging in behavior such as this. Behavior better left to the young at heart and unattached. It was something to see the respected King acting all giddy like a raw recruit. If the truth be known, the whole of the stronghold staff was secretly happy to see the light of life return to the old king’s eyes

The first Queen was lost to illness. The second was lost to treacherous poison meant for the young heirs. Those who had graced the King’s bedchambers since were never anything more than a few nights pleasure. His youngest son had fallen in such a senseless manner and his oldest son roamed the outside world for years at a time. It was as if King Quinlan had closed off his heart.

It was good to see a smile on his face.

Winter solstice was a time celebration even if it was the coldest days of the season. The preparations had been marching forward as planned without fail. The traditional wild boar had been brought down by those young warriors entering into their year of manhood. Prince Fridolf would be one of those boys on the brink of manhood in less than five years. How quickly time was passing.

Quinlan let a sad smile quirk his lips. Everyday Fridolf was growing more and more into his father’s countenance. He wasn’t going to be a monster of a man in size but there were signs that his father’s quick mind and diplomatic skills were inherited. Quinn, Princess Quinn was too much like her father. She was going to be a Shield Maiden. Quinlan let loose a chortle. She would have to be, she had the temperament for it. Frederica had yet to forgive him for dragging them into the stronghold proper but even if she did withhold that forgiveness, it was something he could life with. He saw his grandchildren every day. It brought home the truth that his was entering the winter of his life.

Quinlan set aside the solstice project he was working on. Within his chambers he had an alter that was dedicated to his Gods and the loves of his life who had passed on too quickly. A white candle burned for Jareen, his lady from the North. A red candle flickered for Shula his firebrand of the South. A round blue pillar burned for his youngest son who would have been king.

“Shula, I know that you have Quin safely in your embrace. Guard him well and keep any more harm from him. Jareen…I know you said you wanted a son who looked like me, but Jareth has given me more headaches than all three of you combined. He honors Frederica and Fridolf as his own. He indulges his little girl far too much – but not as much as I. My Jareen. Jareth is growing into a fine man. Responsibilities he had shrugged off are now accepted without hesitation. One day, my love, he may be fit to be the heir. If he continues on the way he has.

“I wish I could say it was because of me but it is because of that chimera. Yes, my love. Our son is mated to a fish-man. He’s a likeable sort. Rather blue though. He has our boy wrapped around his talon but from what I have seen, he is not a cruel sort. His soldier speak falls to the crude but then I just have to look at his teachers. He has a human daughter who has big dark eyes and masses of curls. He cannot speak but they communicate fine. Frederica and Fridolf like him too. They have not hidden the fact that they are mated and that it is Chimera that stays in my son’s bed.”

“I know I am rambling. I will bring it straight to the matter. I am lonely, my loves. It has been almost twenty-nine years since I lost you, Shula. I have taken bed warmers but no one has stirred my interest, nor my heart. And to be truthful, I don’t think I could bear to find another love only to lose them to the dark hand of fate once more. The pain of continuing forward without you is a hard burden that I don’t care to shoulder again…but, I am not a young man. The rite of choosing a temporary partner is waning.”

“I have found someone of interest. I speak to you Shula because he is like you. He has known the yoke of slavery. He had suffered at the hands of his masters. He has been taken against his will. He has endured so much for someone so young of years. Yet…he has strength, such inner strength.”

“I offered him the protection of Royal Consort. At the time, it was nothing more than that but now, I would like to make it true.” Quinlan bowed his head before the altar. “I’m tired of being alone. It is more draining than one would imagine.”

“I ask for your blessing my wives and my son.”

Quinlan waited in silence. When he was younger the High Priests had succored his favor. They had deemed him spiritually prone--those just beyond the veil of life gathered to him. With training he would have made a fine Spirit Voice but the duty of a son of the Highland Brigand came before spiritual needs. The actual voices of the spirits were still beyond him but the emotional bonds were easily felt and understood. A warmth embraced him as if arms were encircling his chest. Gratefully, Quinlan knelt and offered up prayers for his lost loved ones. A slight smile quirked his lips as he felt a tug on his hair. He stayed down on my knee until the embraces of both of his wives faded.

If his brother had lived, he would have been with the High Priests. If he had never been King, he never would have met Jareen. Her quick wit and warmth were a blessing, her unquenchable rage when slighted was something to avoid and the love she bore for her husband and young son was to be cherished. Quinlan had wanted to die with her when he came back from campaign to find young Jareth inconsolable. It was her continued warm embrace that kept him in the physical world to raise his son.

Shula was a mercurial beauty who only came up to mid-chest. She held the fighting spirit of a shield maiden. It was a novel idea to find the King as the hunted prey but the dark haired woman brought him down to his knees so easily. She had called him her sunshine and loved to play with his golden tresses. The scourge of the lowlands sat patiently every morning and allowed his wife to braid his hair in whatever fashion she wanted. No one dared comment on how he looked every day.

Quinlan knew that he had been lucky. So many of his peers had entered into arranged marriages to find a battlefield more inviting than the marriage bed. Twice lucky. Hoping for a third was more than being greedy. His little ‘Kingstryker’ deserved to be cherished. His character was far superior to most of his advisors and the absolute pure hearted devotion to the Chimera, Lila and the Churchman was admirable. Nameless and Jareth were included in that circle of care. What was one more?

Quinlan rose to his feet and bowed respectively before the altar before turning and gathering up the prize he had been working on.

A cloved orange.

It had taken two tries to get the exotic fruit to the Highlands. He knew by the second attempt the whole of the stronghold knew that the King was testing the romantic waters. Old friends, called him an old fool but urged him on.

The only one who had said something, well hissed something, was Drago. Even bundled up in woolen sweaters, scarves and a bulky hat, the Chimera managed to look dangerous as he blocked the hallway corridor. Soldier speak still needed improvement but the gist was there. ‘Do something to hurt Mem and the talons that had met out justice before would do it again.’ Quinlan took the threat to be the threat that it was. All those fortunate enough, or unfortunate depending on location within the room had seen the King’s Concubine Chimera rend a rapist from his weapon. Not a sight you forget.

Winter solitce was the only time that a regent was allowed to sit on the throne and oversee the festivities. Jareth had to be dragged kicking and screaming by Drago and Fred but there is was in his pouty glory on the throne. The ever present kingsmen pounded the floor with the metal butts of their staff announcing the King’s arrival. It was customary for the regent to open the celebration with a few words reflecting the past year.

Quinland watched, his chest filling with pride as his wayward son stood. The kingsmen pounded the floor again. Jareth was his own image but only physically. He had Jareen’s character and while it was comely on a woman, for a man it made him unpredictable and therefore unreliable. But aside from the fiasco of spending the clan’s money on Drago, which was now turned into a directed lance at the lowlands Church and their riches; Jareth had shown that he was far from being unreliable.

Jareth was in the customary winter white silks and he had borrowed the white wolf pelt lined cloak so it hung off one shoulder accenting just how massive a man he was. As always the green hair of the blue skinned fishman was at his side or what one could see of him. Drago was bundled like a northern mountaineer, layer after layer. The only thing visible was his large golden eyes through the furred hood. It would be easier for the Chimera if he would stay in the Royal Bath House but where ever Jareth went, the little fish was sure to follow.

Jareth raised his goblet up and waited until the rest of the hall did the same. Quinlan accepted the goblet from the serving wench gracing her with a wink and a smile. She looked down at the cloved fruit in his hand and her eyes widened. “Good luck, your Highness.”

“I am not much for words. When I was Envoy to the Highland Brigand I just had to ride up and they tossed their tribute out to me. However, there are times when words are necessary. Raise your spirits with me. May your hearth be filled. May your bed be warm. May the ones you love, love you in return especially on these long winter nights. Skoal!”

Quinlan forced back a smile as the Chimera flinched at the loud boisterous crowd’s below. He could be so twitchy at times. As if right on cue, the brown haired young man appeared at the overly bundled Chimera’s side carrying a pre-cut serving of meat and vegetables. For being such a lean thing, Drago ate just as much as the burliest fighters.

Faint heart has never won fair youth. The eyes of the hall were on him as he headed towards the throne. Jareth caught his eye for a moment puzzled then his gaze dropped lower to the prized orange and brown fruit. He frowned as he watched his King move closer. His arm reached out and drew the furry bundle close to the throne…actually the Chimera ended up sprawled on his lap. Any highlander who spent time with these two would know that while Chimera couldn’t speak, his hisses had their own tone and spoke volumes. Right now, Jareth was getting bitched out.

Quinlan cocked an eyebrow at his son and his…consort and continued on with his objective. Mem looked up surprised to see the Chimera’s legs kicking madly over the side of the throne. Quinlan stopped and shoved the cloved orange forward at the former slave. Mem looked down at it then wrinkled his nose from the strong scent. Yes, Quinlan admitted to himself that he over did it with the cloves but it was anticipation of each clove representing a kiss.

“No Thank you, Lord Quinlan.” Mem climbed to his feet and moved over to the throne.

Taking a dagger in the side didn’t hurt as much as this polite rejection. He had misread the signals Mem Kingstryker had been giving him? Then again, Mem was less than half his age, maybe the youngling was just humoring the old king. Either reason, what a way to start off the beginning of a new year by being publicly humiliated.

“Da…” Quinlan glanced over at Jareth. His son almost had a stricken look on his face…for him.

“Here.” Quinlan tossed the cloved fruit towards his son. “Someone should get some use out of it.”

With that Quinlan turned on his heel and headed back out of the Hall. It was a blessing and a curse that his path was suddenly clear so he could exit quickly. That just meant that they all had seen it. His soft boots made no sound as he headed back to his chambers. Behind him he could hear the scurry of the Kingsmen following after. He shoved the heavy door open then pushed it closed. Heavily he rested back against the wood. He had asked for two much. He had two wives that he had loved with all his heart. He had two sons brought into this world. He had grandbabies who loved to totter on his knee. What was he thinking asking for more? There were Highland clansmen out there who didn’t even have a wife they loved, or even liked. There were barren wombs and sickly children misshapen. Asking for a loving companion at this late stage was just too much.

His eyes burned as his throat tightened. The Highland Brigand would never cry. He would never show such weakness before others; but he wasn’t before others right then. Quinlan lifted a hand to his mouth and swallowed the pain that was attempting to escape him. No, the Highland Brigand wouldn’t but here in this chamber, he was just Quinlan. How could he have misjudged everything so badly?

He pushed away from the door heading to his desk. A bottle of brandy was sitting there opened and half tasted. It was either tears or brandy and tonight it was going to be brandy. He pulled the cork and lifted it to his lips.

Slam! His head rocked forward from the force of the hit and his teeth chinked hard off the lip of the bottle. The scent of cloves enveloped his head. Holding his mouth he turned to see fury incarnate standing in his doorway.

“I don’t know your customs so when you do something so…so….northern how the hell am I supposed to react.” Mem Kingstryker was pissed.

Quinlan turned and looked at the object that hit him. His cloved fruit was now missing half its cloves and laying rather dented on the floor. He got pelted with his own cloved fruit?

“I didn’t mean to hit you in the head, I was aiming for the bottle but my perception is off.” For an apology causing injury, that was as far away from being sincere as one could get.

“Mission accomplished. Instead of taking the bottle out of my hand, you take my teeth out of my jaw.”

“What?!”

Quinlan straightened up and looked back at the open door. He caught the looks that the kingsmen were giving him as this mere slip of a lad tore into him. No one would believe that the Highland Brigand would accept such slights and slurs. Quinlan arched an eyebrow and one of the men pulled the door closed behind Mem.

“Did I chip your teeth?”

Mem hurried forward. He had to be all of 5ft 8in tall and far to lean for being as old as he was. The brown hair was growing nicely and had taken on a beaver like sheen courtesy of the Chimera fat that was scraped and rendered into an oil that was good for common ailments as well as conditional for hair from the discarded tail. It had proved to be so popular that a small vial cost as much as the powdered tail. He was diligent and attentive and smart as whip.

Mem took his wrist and pulled it down from his mouth. “Open.”

Quinlan bared his teeth. The ache was already gone. He watched his little Royal Consort’s face carefully. No one else dared speak to him so chidingly. Well, except Frederica and Jareth. The Chimera hissed a lot at him as well.

“You’re not bleeding?”

Quinlan reached up and touched the back of his head were the orange had hit. He frowned as his fingertips encountered something hard. He pulled at and found a clove entangled in his hair. Actually there were a number of them embedded in his hair. This was going to be like picking burrs out of wool.

“Sit.”

“You seem to like ordering me around, Kingstryker.”

“You seem to need to be ordered around. I’ll get a brush. It will probably to easier to comb them out than try and pull.”

Nothing was said for a few moments. Soon the soothing pull of a brush through hair was relaxing for both of them. “I am a foreigner to your lands, Lord Quinlan. I am quick to learn because that is the way I have had to live most of my life. What you did tonight, I have never seen before. Lord Jareth basically said that cloved orange meant you want to fuck me.”

“That boy…he’s got the most base meaning out of that. A cloved fruit is meant to feel out intensions. If someone accepts the gift and removes a clove, a kiss is exchanged.”

“That is all you want? A Kiss?”

“For now.” Quinlan tried to turn his head but got a brush handle lightly off the top of his skull so he quit trying to turn around. “I will never ask for more than you are willing to give, Mem.”

A cupped hand reached over his shoulder and he glanced down at the nine cloves Mem had plucked from his hair. “If one clove gets me a kiss, what does nine get me?”

“Whatever you wish.”

There was a moment of silence then Mem stood in front of the chair. The dark brown leather patch cruelly bisected his face. He was a comely lad. He was a man but Quinlan felt old enough to think that those twenty years his junior was a youngster. The remaining brown eye told a tale so much older than the number of years he had spent on this earth. Quinlan had witnessed the healing power of the Chimera. Mem Kingstryker should have been crisscrossed with scars but aside from his missing eye…the physical marks of slavery were gone.

Internally…well Shula had once been a slave. The night terrors were the worse in the spring storms with her. Even after five years, there was little he could do but let her cling to him until the worst had passed. Helplessness was not a feeling that he was familiar with.

“Tell me how this is supposed to work.”

“Well the party with the cloved fruit offers it as a gift to the other. If it is accepted, they are accepted.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You fit into the background so easily, Mem. You blend. It’s easy to overlook that you came with my son’s Fishie.”

“Don’t call him that. His name is Drago.”

“I know. Did he rip a strip off of my boy?”

A sly smile crossed Mem’s face. “You might not want to be taking a bath anytime soon.”

Mem opened his hand and held it up to the Highland Brigand. “So I offer up cloves.”

Quinlan easily picked a single one up with his fingers then offered the back of his hand. “Depending how the receiver plucks the clove, is where they offer a kiss. For example. A hand for a kiss.”

Mem blinked for a moment then caught the King’s fingers and brought the hand forward. He bowed so gracefully then soft lips pressed to the back of Quinlan’s hand. “That’s one.”

“Or they receiver could offer up…” Quinlan picked up another clove from Mem’s palm then turned his hand over, opening his palm and wrist. Once more a sweet and gentle press of lips was given to the heel of his hand and another kiss was pressed to the pulse point in his wrist.

“Two.”

Quinlan felt his throat go dry. This wasn’t exactly how he envisioned things going when he was studding the orange with cloves but he wasn’t turning it down. It was wonderously strange that this little slip of a man could knock him off balance so completely. “That…ahem, that is the polite way of accepting a cloved orange.”

“So, what if the receiver doesn’t want to be polite?” Mem held out his cupped hand holding seven cloves.

Quinlan smiled then leaned forward his lips grazing the warmth of the boy’s hand as his teeth picked up a clove. He sat back up and pulled the clove from his mouth. Turning his head he angled his face up so his cheek was offered as the next place to kiss. This is nothing like the pecks, Princess Quinn would give him. Heat flushed through his body and he was embarrassed to believe that he could still flush like a virgin schoolboy at his age.

“Three.” The words were whispered across his skin.

“A variation on the kiss cheek is that the receiver…er….holds the clove in his teeth.”

“So show me, Lord Quinlan.”

“Are you seducing me, Mem?”

“Do you want me to seduce you?”

Quinlan let a slow smile cross his face. “Oh…You’re doing fine.”

Mem unfurled his palm to reveal the six cloves left. Quinlan leaned over and nibbled up another clove. He clenched it lightly between his teeth and offered up his cheek again. His eyes had fluttered down on their own accord but opened wide as Mem caught his chin and turned the other cheek to him. A wet lipped kiss slipped along the crimson flush of his cheek.

“Four…this is a teasing game.” Once again, warm whispers skittered across his flesh to his ear.

Quinlan shuddered. “Well…it’s a way to find out one’s intentions.”

“So, what if my intention is to get a real kiss out of you?” Mem swung his head forward his loose brown hair hung over the patch covering his missing eye.

Jareth had commented on how much more open and opinionated the former Church slave had grown here in the Highlands. There would have been no way that a slave, especially a slave under that damned Archbishop Ozhe would even dare look up from the ground.

“This would be number five.” Mem extended his hand once more.

Quinlan looked down at the dark little sticks laying in the palm. Did Kingstryker even know what he was offering with this simple gesture? Did he had a clue of what he was doing to the King’s heart? Quinlan reached out and brushed the hair back off Mem’s face.

“No…don’t.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have battle scars.”

“This was not a battle scar.”

“It’s a symbol of survival.” Quinlan stood up towering over the smaller man but not using his height as intimidation. “Jareth’s blue face tattoos are far more visible than your patch and I have never seen him hide in his hair.”

“Lord Jareth doesn’t need to hide.”

“And neither do you..,”

“Lord…”

“Quinlan.”

“Lor…Quinlan. I know you said you just wanted a kiss from me, but Lord Jareth said that, “ Mem gestured to the orange laying forelorn on the floor, “was an invitation for fornication. Which is it?”

“Both. The control is in the hands of the receiver.” Quinlan stepped around Mem and picked up the fruit. “My fondest wish is to see us make the title of Consort a real one. I find you enchanting, and quick witted and quick tempered.” Quinlan rubbed the back of his head.

Mem’s face colored red.

“You see me and treat me as a man, Mem. You have no idea how refreshing that is. You make my heart beat faster when you lay into me when you are defending your fishie friend or your other charges. I’ve noticed that Nameless has a name now that the rest of the stronghold is using – Ash. A sad put appropriate name for him.”

“Failure for vengeance shouldn’t be a shunning.”

“Ash can end it at any time. He was never meant to be a warrior. Even the name that has replaced his families is a show of his true nature. He was meant to be a scholar, a poet, a storyteller – a keeper of our histories. Instead…he slinks in the shadows, cloaked in sorrow and death. This is not what I wanted to talk about.”

Quinlan looked down at the fruit. It didn’t look so glorious now that it had been rejected, bounced off his head and rolled along the floor. Mem’s hand came over and covered it.

“I have never laid with another by my choice.”

Quinlan stilled as icy cool fury began to build inside him. Mem began speaking looking down at his hand on the beaten orange. “I was a scribe in the abbey until one of the visiting nobles took a liking to my face. I loved reading the scriptures and copying. After that nobles request, I was made into a common body slave. When Drago was first brought to the abbey, I was terrified by him. I had angered a priest by not enjoying his ministrations and I was sent to the Chimera to milk him. They had to beat me to do it. It was only after I saw that he was more divine than any in the abbey that I began to truly care for him. I milk Drago with my mouth…the priests called me unclean.”

“They are not the ones who are so pure that they can cast dispersions on others!”

“Not all priests are like those who service the Archbishop before the Word. I tell you this first, Lord Quinlan because…because…once I embrace you I don’t think I could bear it if you turned away in disgust.” Mem’s face was a mask of pain.

Quinlan dropped the orange and caught his lover in his arms. He wanted to lift him right off his feet and tuck him under the wolf pelts on the bed; to comfort him until the agony in his soul had eased. Right at this moment, Quinlan wanted nothing more than to hold Mem in his arms while he slept. But Shula had taught him restraint. Mem had just told him that all the time he spent in the Abbey was a series of rapes. The last thing he wanted was to be associated with those damned lowland priests.

Mutter. Murmur.

“What was that?”

“Can I stay the night?” Mem turned his head and rested it against Quinlan’s chest.

Quinlan’s arms tightened slightly around him. Too skinny. Mem made sure that Drago got his three bowls of food morning noon and night but who made sure he ate? Well, he was going to have to take over that duty. It was a husband’s job after all. Mem did say, once I embrace you.


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Research : Cloved Orange
http://www.amtgard-wl.com/library/clovedorange/default.htm