Title: Behold! There's my Enemy.
Characters/Pairing: Noah/Ashe, Vayne.
Rating: R, for adult situations. (nothing too explicit)
Summary: a strange twist of fate brings Ashe and Noah together, and fate can be cruel & fickle. Outwitting Vayne can be quite challenging!
Warnings for Dark themes & sexual situations, violence & dark comedy.
A/N: this strange & hilarious plot bunny nagged, so here it is.
The King Slayer
"Your duties, Gabranth, is to cater to the Princess of Dalmasca, and to assure that she gives us a heir, mixed with your blood." Vayne eased himself back upon the large senate seat—the colours of House Solidor seem to shine brilliantly above him like a premonition of the future. It was rifed with the coming of an Apolocalypse in which only Archadia shined in the light—blotting out the competition.
Gabranth stood wordlessly, staring at something past Vayne's shoulder, and which it was, he could not possibly know, see, understand but feel the bitter acid that stung his throat, the bile that wanted to inch its way past his mouth. He wished he could show an unemotional coup in the face of his Emperor's peregrine son. As much as he was willing to stand before him—to take in all the orders thrown at him, this—this was too much to bear. He slew her father in cold blood, all in the name of the Empire; and in secret, it was mostly—if not largely in part of Basch's connection, to throw the blame on his twin who abandoned him and their family years before. He swallowed, listened to the demands in which Vayne set upon him.
"Show our Princess, what it means to give an heir, to save her country," Vayne leaned forward, his hands entwined atop the sleek, shiny waxed desk, cleaned of everything save for the banner's cloth, of a dragon's black thin line and the dark damask of blood.
"Come now, Gabranth. This task, is perhaps, the easiest for you to take on." Vayne continued, a smug smile etched across his face, "Among all the others I've given you—this one, should be pleasant. Unless…" his eyes looked momentarily at the armoured crotch.
"Unless," he continued, teeth showing, "you would like to tell me that you're incapable there?"
It took a moment, but Gabranth's expression changed, slight—from stone cold to a furrowed brow that gave away his anger, "Excellency," he nearly bit out, for the title alone would have, remained with his former liege. It belonged to Lord Gramis, and it was with loyalty alone that kept him aligned with the Empire. Now, this was a blow to his pride, and as much as Vayne stabbed him with words, how much he's been shown to kneel and bow, like a hound searching for scraps laid at the table--- how much can a hound take? He took a deep breath.
"Nay, I am capable."
"Splendid," Vayne clapped his hands together, "splendid, ah, fear not, Gabranth. I would take the duties myself, however, I find her a little too feisty for my taste. Dalmasca may have beautiful hume females, but I'm just not quite up to anything other than the usual fare I take in Archadia."
Gabranth finally locked eyes with Vayne, "When do you want this to occur?" He knew he sounded forced, and perhaps because of this, the Emperor's keen-eyed son took note of it.
"You'll find her chambers where the sun comes up, above the library. Here's the key," Vayne's predatory eyes dug into Gabranth's—intense, "We'll make sure you go through with your duties, as there will be chambermaids to attend to her highness's delicate situation."
The key was thrown in the air, and as Gabranth's gloved hands caught it, he turned it over, where the golden head of the device held a lion's visage, the jagged indention of where the key-hole would fit.
"You shall proceed, tonight. Immediately." Vayne leaned back again, "Now, go, I've other duties to attend to."
His steps felt heavy, each weight burdened on him as he took the flight up those stairs. Lined with rich colours of the Empire, the banister seemed to sway before him---swirling high in a snake-like fashion to where the end of the steps would eventually lead him. His fist held the key, concrete-sharp, cutting into his gloved hands, as if it meant to bite at his conscience. Does he even believe that he could possess a sense of scruple after this?
He couldn't understand why, and he was not about to question why—just go through with this. Gabranth knew, in the back of his mind that she would not be assenting to this union. The thought to him was an absolute disgrace to him, therefore—for her—it must be twenty if not a thousand times worse. He never thought of her father as anything but a man who stood behind a small country, believing in the lies that the Empire foisted on him. Mentally, he was not there to place a conscience, but to oversee the entire project as a duty he was willing to take, to right the wrongs. To bring justice.
The sun was going down, the window by the massive double doors where the end of the stairway led him, brought in the last remaining rays of light, like a dying gold-bronze colour searching for cover amongst the wood shiny walls and furniture.
When he reached to the lock, his hands nearly shake, finding his forehead pressed against the hard cool surface of the wooden barred double doors. He doesn't want this—he has to go through with it and when the door turned, with the flick of his wrist, the sound of the creak nearly sending him back down the stairway, cowering like a fool. But he doesn't. If anything, he was determined to see this through…
Gabranth found her sitting there, lounging on the circular bed, with the diaphanous curtain falling around her, as if the setting and the atmosphere was supposed to be like this—to set her up like some kind of concubine, for his will alone, for him.
He swallowed, finding no true words to greet her. She doesn't even turn her face to see who entered, but when he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a loud click, her eyes, sharply glanced over. Her hands were tied together at the front, the metal bar looking quite uncomfortable locking her delicate soft wrists together, perhaps—even chafing that fine skin.
She breathed in a kind of shaky inhalation, until her eyes sunk into him, fully. Her breath came out like a terrible hiss between her straight teeth, "You."
"Daughter of Dalmasca," he said, almost breathless, "I'm sure you're aware of my coming here?"
He takes a step forward, closer to the bed, where there are two slight steps leading to the velvety-circular extravagance of Vayne's almost- debauch display.
Gabranth could find no other means to placate the woman who sat there, could see that she was shaking with a kind of fury that was evident in her eyes. He expected nothing less.
"If you think for a minute that I would let you into my bed," she winced, knowing that this was not her bed, was not her home, was taken against her will, but her chin lifted, a stubborn furious determination planted there, "then you're sorely mistaken that I would allow my father's murderer to touch my skin…"
"I'm afraid," he stripped away the gloves, glad that his helm was off, did not want to see her shocked expression when he would have entered without it—taking it off as a dramatic cue. This was, to his chagrin, already quite too much, "I agree with you," he nodded, almost too proper, stiffened when she bared her teeth.
"Bastard, how dare you! Come closer to me, and you'll find these bars won't hold me for long."
"What are you going to do, daughter of Dalmasca?" He swallows, the lump in his throat felt dry, his demeanour shaken by the fact that she's wearing scarcely nothing---the small pink skirt she normally wore still hugged around her waist, but the way she was sitting, her legs over on one side, bunched the material too tight around her hips, flattened against her thighs. Her breasts were covered, almost bare with a see-through linen patched around them, tied on the back.
Her stomach was flat, and her figure would have made another man melt, but he was too jaded, he believed, his eyes harden under her vicious tongue.
"Find out for yourself, murderer!" she said with an obvious intimidation, her eyes ablaze with the kind of passion that a hot desert princess would and should possess.
"I'm in no mood for such dramatic display, Ashelia." He addressed her without title, and this made her curl her lip, her breathing allowed her breasts to strain against the flimsy material. His eyes had not missed anything, taking everything in, and while his gloves were off, he determinedly proceeded to undo the clasps that hold his armour.
"While I agree with you—in that I hold no love for this--," he made an expression, he hoped—that was close to disgusted and unwanted, "this is something that I must do. And according to my liege, it is something that you must do as well, to save yourself…"
She watches him as he takes off what he can, until he's standing there with only a light coloured shirt over him, down to his thin-material trousers, and he sees that she pauses her eyes over to his crotch.
This makes him feel a flicker of something—not quite unwanted, but she turned away, almost disgusted with herself for looking too long.
He saw the fear in her eyes then, as he approached, she made this un-princess-like growl, her hands tied together tightened into fists. Gabranth doesn't really want this—doesn't really want to force a woman against her will. This was wrong. When has he relegated his duties as a Judge Magister to sink so far low as to take a Princess to bed without her consent?
Ah, but this wasn't about what he wanted, nor was it about what she wanted. They were caught up into this web of deceit and it ate at him. If he went through with this, it would be as equally bile as the moment he wanted to forget---when he took the dagger with his own hands, taking Drace's life. He knew by looking into his fellow Judge's eyes that she consented the vitriolic act. Still—he could not, find peace in his sleep nights after that. What was another degrading action to list upon the deeds that the son of Gramis appointed him to do?
Instead, he managed to settle himself upon the bed, while the Princess edged back, her eyes livid. He was, much to his mild amusement---she had a look about to tear him apart despite their situation, despite the obvious factor that she was the one bound by the wrists, scarcely wearing much.
He decided to reason things with her, not to tell her that she would find things easier with this task, but the swing of her arms caught him off-guard as she lunged at him. He was usually quick—faster than most who could shield himself against an attack—but this—he wasn't expecting such a furious demonstration of feral veracity.
When she swung with the metal bar, his hands tried to block—and the solid object thunked noisily against the side of his face, nearly knocking him out. Gabranth landed back on the bed finding the princess atop him with her arms raised, the object coming down to land another furious blow. This time, teeth clenched, he caught her action mid-stride, and she was growling, screaming something out, but he could not—did not comprehend her ranting as her body ungracefully moved with haste. Somehow, their bodies tangled together on the bed until Gabranth finally managed to wrangle her petite struggling form below his.
She spat on his face then, while he tried finding hold on her wriggling body, "Cease this! I'm not here to force you against your will!"
Her eyes were wet with tears, but the anger there—it was dangerous, glinting with rage, "Liar! You're a liar! Murderer and liar!"
Gabranth breathed hard, forced his heavier body against hers so she could not, would not wriggle free, his face only scarce centimeters from hers—and if he wanted, he could—he could kiss her parted mouth, shut out her wrath from his ears. But he didn't, not like this—and certainly, if matters were different, he wouldn't have chosen Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmasca as his mate. Royal blood aside, he was simply not interested. She was not even his type.
Too feisty, for his taste, was what Vayne said. He was inclined for once, to agree with Vayne. What was he expecting to find? Her in tears and pleading for her life and her virtue?
"Are you willing to cease?" he asked, his tone too considerate, "because if you continue in this behavior, I shall have to lie here for a very long time above you, and," his throat moved, "considering how we're barely clothed, I would not be such a gentleman for a lengthier time,—however much," his eyes moved to her parted mouth again, her pink tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. He didn't understand this trivial action, and indeed, it brought a lucid comprehension that his body's weight was pressing--- her body's pliant, too soft, and his groin pushed against the mound between her thighs—it was, with much discomfort—his cock has grown hard.
"Gentleman?" she sneered, teeth bared, "I don't think you understand the meaning of the word, murdering scum."
"Enough already, daughter of dalmasca," he explained, proceeding to address her in this same manner, "Copiously, I am aware that I'm the murderer, liar, and everything else you deem to toss at me. But, I beg you, and this—I mean in the most respectful way possible."
He closed his eyes momentarily as she pushed her hips against his, struggling in a futile attempt, "don't," he tries to tell her, "don't do that."
The princess's eyes widen with the knowledge that she was, clearly to him—could plainly discover how hard he was, pushing against her groin.
"Oh gods," her eyes widened, understanding too much---"you—said you wouldn't take me against my will," she was perhaps, to his clinging sanity- trying to find some sense into all of this---perhaps pleading with him to find his good sense.
"It would," a muscle moved along his jaw as he clenched his teeth, "make matters easier, as there's the task of us, actually completely the act itself,"
His hand gripped her arms where they were held above her head, slackened slightly, "Unless you and I come up with a plan,"
"You- you would--," she stammered, plainly perplexed, "not touch me, if--unless we find another way?"
He released a sigh, "aye," closing his eyes, his other hand pressing against the mattress, palm flattened to feel the material and strands of her silken hair.
Gabranth was known for plenty of things, and one of them was to withstand pain until it nagged at him—until his nervous system, the nerve bundles, flesh & blood throbbing, decided to tap him on the shoulder, begging for attention. This was, case in point—the side of his head where the Princess nearly knocked him out.
He completely slackened his hold on the Princess, turning over with a low painful groan.
With his body released from above her, Ashelia was able to breathe a little easier, looked over at the Judge. She sat up, "You…all right?"
Gabranth opened one eye, his hand pressed against his temple, "Is that genuine concern?"
"Nay." She hissed, "I am merely figuring out if I should land another blow to the other side of your head."
"You're a witch." He grumbled, "but I deserved that, I suppose." The judge released a long exhale, then squeezed his eyes shut—clearly in pain, "damn. I'm—I'm not going to be up for anything."
"Brilliant!" Ashelia made a scowling face, "besides, you said we'd work something out, and it better be something within reason!"
"I thought, perhaps, that you, princess would be able to use that famed wit of yours," he pushed himself up to a sitting position, their closeness was indeed, quite amusing—he the fallen Judge, and her—the captured princess. How truly trite this situation was.
"I?" her voice on the edge of exasperation, "if you hadn't noticed, Judge Gabranth, I'm all tied up!" she raises her arms up a bit, her fingers uncurled, "there's not much else I can think of while being in this undeserved state."
"Not quite," he mumbled, and saw the slight flare in her eyes, "all right, all right, I was thinking…"
She seemed quite apt to listen, as he could see her body lean in, her mouth slightly parted.
"Hmmm," Gabranth sent her a curious look, hand still caressing the side of his face, "first thing's first, I'd like something cool to place on my head. I believe that I'm about to sport a rather large lump soon."
Ashelia sighed, ignoring his request, "Do you suppose you could get me out of this predicament?" then stopped herself, "that doesn't mean I'll ever forgive you for what you did!"
"Of course," gritting out tersely," I wasn't expecting you to," he blew a ragged breath out of his mouth, "let me go to Vayne, and suggest that our supposed union would not be able to take place until you are free from your bind."
"And?"
"And….then, after I free you, I can report back with my evidence," his eyes shift to the side of his face where he was holding his head, "say that you hit me over the head, knocking me out, therefore, allowing you to run out that window, vanishing into the night."
Ashe stared at him for a minute, leaning her head to one side, then she burst out laughing, "That is the most ridiculous plan I've ever heard!"
"Do you propose another?" He growled, not amused, "I find the act between us to be just as contemptible,"
"You didn't react that way," she couldn't, perhaps help herself as her eyes strayed to his groin, "as I recall, very clearly, you were ready to--!" she bit back the retort.
"I'm merely a male in my prime, I suppose, nothing unusual about that." Gabranth rolled his eyes, sighing, "I cannot help what my body responds to."
She lifted a fine brow, "Indeed, well. Then go, go to Vayne and propose this ridiculous plan and then we'll see."
He eyed her suspiciously, "As long as there's no more flailing about with your hands, I believe my one swelling bump would suffice for evidence."
"You're going to don your helm on while asking for this request, I suppose?"
"Naturally," he proceeded to get out of bed, "I'll return to you when I claim the key."
"I want my clothes back!" she shouted at his retrieving back, "I can't ride off without transportation! Procure me a chocobo where I can find it and ride off."
"Demanding, aren't you?"
"How else am I going to get myself out of here?"
He nodded, determined, placing his armour slowly back on, "I hope this plan works, Daughter of Dalmasca."
to be continued.