Author's Note: Another weekend, another draftbook drabble taken straight from LiveLoveWRITE. I hope everyone had a good Sunday, whether you did the Mother's Day thing or not and that the week is a good week for all. Enjoy the latest and updates for Loose and Shattering are in the works.
CMW2/Trumpetnista:Draftbook Drabble #4 (Follow up to DD #2- Fitz, Olivia, Jake, and dark yet correctly loyal!Tom, Olitz, one sided Olake, GoT-esque period piece, treachery and retribution, AU, NSFW)
Words from the Gladiator in a Hoodie: Hey, y'all. Okay, so I definitely plan on doing another D.D. in The Trail universe I created with #1 and #3 but this idea would not leave my head. It's a follow up to D.D. #2 and this one has some serious bloodshed in it. Not towards Liv and Fitz but towards a certain non-factor portrayed by another non-factor who better get killed the fuck off in the first 5 minutes of Season 4 because really? He's had his run, he's had his use (of pissing off the majority of the fandom), he's had his time in the 'Sun' and he just needs to go away and stay away from the SCANDAL-verse. I mean, if Ms. Rhimes insists on keeping him around in Shondaland, then she should just give him his own show and leave us in peace. Honestly, dude needed to go away and stay away after Season 2 but that would've been too much like right, wouldn't it?
Ugh.
Anyways, this one continues in the GoT-like Olitz world I created and although I don't watch GoT, I do know enough about the show to know that if someone isn't conquering regions, trying to figure out their family trees to jockey for power (or a spouse), or getting it in with balls to the wall, they're getting got and it's intense and mostly deserved, especially to that little blond guy that was like the walking equivalent of period cramps. I don't even watch the show but when I saw the gif sets and the commentaries, I was like 'YAASSS, GAWD, Nessa! Fuckin' FINALLY! DIE, BITCH, DIE! DO IT AGAIN IN SLO-MO!' I hope that we Gladiators as a whole will eventually experience that sort of canon euphoria but for now, fic will do nicely.
So and...yeah. There's some serious bloodshed in this one (hence the trigger warning tag and you might not want to be eating anything when you get to the part), there's a bit of race and class prejudice in this one, and last but not least, there's an Olitz bathing scene in this one, and I hope you guys dig this piece overall or are respectful if you don't. Mad Love, Jam, and Power Drills, ~*Trump*~
Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"
"You've made no secret that you believe the marriage alliance between me and Fitzgerald is foolhardy. I've heard you refer to my people as primates, as savages, as beasts to be put down before we pollute and overrun all of Western society...and yet here you are of your own free will to warn me of a brewing assassination plan led by your own blood brother. Why? Speak your mind, Sir Thomas. No harm will come to you as long as you are completely honest with me."
"...House Stanton has remained loyal to the Court through times of turmoil and peace since the Time of Awakening, the time where you and your ilk dwelt in swamp land while we built our manors, built our armies...regardless of my personal views of your marriage, King Grant has been a good ruler to us during this Cycle and hopefully will remain so beyond it. He has been fair and just to all in our realm, down to the beggars and the filthy whores. And unlike his dearly departed father, he has his loins focused on one woman and one woman only. He has increased food production and he dug a half dozen wells himself. He has given us free access to healers, and has brokered lasting peaces with other barbarian tribes with your assistance. That progress should not be undone so soon. It should not be undone at all. There is peace and security within this realm the likes of which hasn't been seen since the time of my great-great grandfather. Please...Queen Grant, Torani Olivia, protect your husband. Protect yourself. Protect the subjects who have put faith and trust in both of you. Protect our peace."
"What is your blood brother's endgame? Jacob of House Ballard has no real claim to any position of nobility of his own. He comes from a family of fine forgers. Blades are always in demand, regardless of war or peace and regardless of who wears the crown. He should be content within his position and yet he isn't. What more does he want?"
"...you. You are his endgame. You are what he wants. He saw you during your marriage ceremony and was immediately enraptured. The fact that you occasionally come to his shop personally to have your blades tended to only deepened his lust. You may be a barbarian wench but you are a beautiful one, an intelligent and fierce one. Jacob feels that Fitzgerald III is unworthy of you and weak. He wishes to...tame you, as he frequently tells me and those who frequent the Getty's Tavern."
She seemed to become a statue after that last statement and Thomas swallowed thickly as visible, hellish rage filled her eyes, just as he knew it would. The Santorans were the stuff of legend, of fascination, and of horror. They were a proud people, reclusive unless threatened and they refused to be enslaved, refused to be culled, violated, and conquered. The mere threat of any of it would cause them to mount up and raise hell.
His grandfather had been deployed in the ill fated war against the tribe many moons before and he had come back with stories of the battles. Their blades went through flesh as if the flesh and bone were wet parchment. They tore out soldier's throats with their teeth. They used myriads of spiked booby traps and lit soldiers ablaze while they still breathed. They attacked swiftly from the shadows of the thick forests, waiting until the darkest night to strike. They painted themselves with vibrant inks and preferred the ax over all weapons. Even their younglings had axes, axes that they would wield with as little mercy as one of their fully grown men...or women.
Santorani women would not only join their men on the battlefield, many times they were the leader of the pack. It was another reflection of their domination over the men and the men respected them as if they were equals.
They would strip their dead enemies of anything of value and leave the bodies of the leaders to rot in the open air, their entrails and brains burnt on an alter. Their methods of killing were quick, efficient, and utterly bloody. The bloodier their skin became, the bolder they became on the battlefield, as if they fed off of the tormented souls of their dispatched and dishonored enemies, as well as the noble shedding of their own...
"Thomas, are you the only one still loyal to my Toran in his band of 6?"
Her voice was soft as if she were speaking to an agitated babe at her breast but her eyes...the sheer madness in her eyes...King Grant would be wise to keep his head underneath her skirts and a smile on her face at all times.
"No. Sir Halbert is still a loyal subject, as are Sir Morris and Knave Ethan. I am unsure as to Sir William of House Chambers' loyalty. His loyalty seems to center around devoting his life to Dionysus' practices."
"So, Chambers is too drunk to be a threat and the rest of you have pulled the wool over Ballard's eyes quite well. It seems that his band is simply a serpent and not a Hydra. With a Hydra, if one removes a single head, two will replace it, bigger and fiercer. Jacob is the head of a serpent. Remove the head of a serpent, even a venomous one, and the entire body will die."
She turned abruptly and a long handled ax was in her hands. The handle was shining, thick oak with layers of bundled cloth and hide to serve as a grip. The blade itself shone like diamond or the water up at Crystal Lake and the edge was ready to inflict wounds, to give punishment and death.
The contrast between it and the rest of her appearance was jarring yet compelling. Her hair had been released from its braids and pins and now fell down to the middle of her back like thick unbraided onyx rope. Her gown was as white as fresh snow, the neckline just as low and daring as her wedding gown. There was no slit to show her leg this time and her feet were bare as they usually were until winter came. At her full height, she was barely taller than a young stable boy but what she lacked in stature, she made up for in resolve, in brilliance, in beauty...
"Bring him to me."
With a bow, Thomas made a hasty retreat to do her bidding. He knew that this day of reckoning would come.
He was just glad that he would not be subject to her wrath or the wrath of the king.
/
"So, basically, you are saying that you plotted to kill me simply because you do not approve of my choice of bride nor do you approve of her Santoran origins?"
"You...you treat her as if she were a man! You defer to her, you prostrate yourself before a savage regularly! She is a breathing example of everything that is wrong with this kingdom and she deserves to die just much as you do, you spawn of a whore collecting dog!"
"You are saying in front of all of these witnesses that you would rather die than witness such unholiness, that you would prefer go to the Gods in a heartbeat than to continue to live with the knowledge that not only are you unable to fuck her as you please, she is an equal ruler?"
"Yes!"
"Very well, then. I accept your terms."
Those gathered in the throne room let out exclamations of shock as his wife's chosen axe plunged into the battered man's middle. Looking into the swine's widened, green eyes, Fitzgerald slowly began to rotate the weapon, relishing the gurgling screams of his pinned prey as his innards wrapped around the blade. As soon as the blade became stuck, he moved it slowly upwards, causing Ballard to spasm in agony and with a last upthrust of his arms, Fitzgerald was soon covered with a thick deluge of blood, bone, and organs. Ballard's lifeless body fell to the stone floor with an echoing, sodden thump and his intestines fell back within his body cavity like sailor's rope. On the tip of the now scarlet axe blade was the man's slowing heart and he could hear his wine-bearer James of House Novak hit the floor in a dead faint. Lord Cyrus was the only person who was not visibly cowering before him or vomiting or weeping at the carnage. The older man's eyes were wide and focused behind him, focused on where his Torani was sitting on her throne.
Her smile was brilliant and her hands were up under her chin as if she wanted to applaud but knew that she couldn't. Her joy at his decisiveness, especially in defense of their Bond had her giddy as a schoolgirl, literally bouncing in her seat. With a giggle, she stood up and came to him, looking up at him with respect bordering on reverence. Rising onto her tiptoes, Fitzgerald's eyes drifted shut contently as her tongue licked a slow, upward path from the left side of his neck to his temple, cleaning the traitor's blood and ichor away with relish. The executioner's blade was dropped and she threw herself into his embrace, rubbing against him to get as much of the mess upon her as possible...
"There is nothing wrong with having a different opinion. There is nothing wrong with expressing that different opinion. Insolence will not be tolerated, however nor will any slight towards my wife or her people. They are equal citizens in our lands and will be respected as such. The price you pay for either infraction is death. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace..." the ones in the throne room chorused, already going back into their normal, various activities and starting the clean up.
"I want no trace of him left in this manor within the hour. Remove his head and leave it for the vultures in the ceremonial clearing. The rest of him and all of his belongings are to go into the main square fire. He is to be remembered as a traitor and treated as such by the scribes. Olivia and I will be retiring now. Unless there is an attack, do not disturb us until Zenith Sun."
/
The evidence of her Toran's earlier actions had been washed from the both of them ages ago. Now, their time in the baths was for their own leisure, their own silent and mutual pleasure.
When Olivia had approached him with Lord Stanton's information, he had become a warrior in front of her very eyes. The aura of power that typically surrounded her Fitzgerald had deepened and became tinged with something that made her loins pulse in time with her quickened heartbeat. Initially, he had requested for her to stay in the quiet safety of their quarters but her firm declaration that she would be joining him in the throne room had done away with that.
She was still learning about her mate's culture, day by day. Among her people, the treachery Jacob had shown would not have gotten past the first concrete declarations. He would've been killed immediately and his bones cursed so that he would not be able to cross over to Utopia in his afterlife. In the West, there was an element of ritual, of the application of written laws before executions. The accused was brought before the King and the Court to plead their case or in Jacob's case, stand firm in their delusions, their wrongdoings.
Had she realized what the swine was thinking while he sharpened and refined her weapons (including the ax that Fitzgerald had used to end his wicked life), she would've slaughtered him herself. Disgusting. Jacob had proven to be a petty and small man, someone who was the walking equivalent of a leech. The only man that she wanted lusting after her, the only man that was worthy of lusting after her was the man attached to the scalp she was gently massaging.
Fitzgerald's right cheek was resting against her bosom and his strong arms held her fast to him, her back propped against the warmed stone edge of the pool.
"...you must think me a beast." she remarked softly.
"What?"
"Fitzgerald, did you not observe the reactions to my reaction earlier? Lord Cyrus looked at me as if I were the Kraken's offspring and..."
He raised his head and propped himself up on his hands to loom over her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. A hot shiver of delight went through her as his hands eased her onto his pulsing cock and he began a fluid, near lazy rhythm within her.
"You are not a beast. There is not a single thing wrong with you. Not to me."
"But..."
She squeaked as her nipples were pinched hard before they were caressed with gentle fingertips.
"Do not argue with me on this subject, my Torani. You are divine. You are brilliant. You are loyal and you...are...mine!"
As her mate's hips drove deeply into her, Olivia held onto him tightly with all of her limbs and let a dreamy smile curve her lips.
Even if she were a beast, a monster, a savage, it was okay.
People could dub her whatever negative term they wished to.
Her Fitzgerald loved her.
Her Fitzgerald respected her.
Her Fitzgerald needed her.
No one else mattered.