Author's Note: Good morning, everyone. The healing process is in full swing and I've started going outside more frequently in response to the warm weather. Yes, the summer hiatus is nigh and I'm happy as hell for it. Here's another drabble for you guys to enjoy and an update for Shattering will be up soon.
CMW2/Trumpetnista:Draftbook Drabble #2 (AU, GoT-esque period piece, Fitz, Olivia, Olitz arranged marriage ceremony and wedding night)
Words from the Gladiator in the Hoodie: Okay, folks. This here was inspired by something the Creator said about the females holding the majority of the power in the SCANDAL-verse in and out of the bedroom, that it was a benevolent femocracy for everyone. Like ol' girl from American Horror Story that got her racist ass head chopped off, I screeched 'lieeesss' because of the sheer amount of bullshit and pain the SCANDAL-ous women, mainly Liv, goes through but still, it gave me an idea that would not leave my head. What if it really was a 'femocracy'? What if Liv held the majority of the power between her and Fitz and actually used it to help and not hurt them? Let there be fanfic. I enjoyed writing it so hopefully, you guys will enjoy reading it. I promise you that I'm working on my other fics, especially Shattering but this had to come out first. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"
Cords of scarlet, gold, black, emerald, and white were looped repeatedly over their crossed wrists and entwined hands. The side of the ceremonial clearing claimed by her people erupted into vigorous song and dance. It was a traditional wedding (or as they called it 'Bonding') blessing and the ram that had been slaughtered and anointed earlier was set ablaze on its alter, thick smoke rising upwards.
Each cord represented an ideal within their society. Scarlet represented warfare. Gold represented the main Sun deity that they worshiped faithfully. Black represented the velvet backdrop against the stars they used to chart the course of time. Emerald represented fertility of the land that they cultivated. At the center was a cord of white, representing the marriage bond, the purity and strength of love. All of the loose ends of the thick cording were gathered upwards and a steady drumbeat sounded as the Priestess began to tie their Knot. Following his bride, he rose back up onto his knees and felt his heartbeat quicken in time with the drumbeat.
His bride's face was calm and her gaze was blazing amber, keeping him firmly anchored to the Earth, to the Now instead of dwelling on what was and what was to come. His bride was in a wispy, shining silver gown that appeared to be poured onto her. A high slit showed a strong leg that was the same color of milk chocolate of the rest of her silken flesh and the front plunged daringly low over her bosom, scandalously low in the Western realms, enticingly low. She was so beautiful, so fragrant, so fiery, so…
Their grim faced fathers stepped forward and with careful movements of the ceremonial shears began to cut away the cords binding their arms. Once their arms were free, the Priestess, her mother held the elaborate knot above her head. A high birdlike call was sounded by her and then, his bride pounced on him, seizing his lips hungrily. Gasping, Fitzgerald III of House Grant accepted her kiss and deepened it, cupping her lush behind possessively. An approving purr rumbled in Torani Olivia of Tribe Pope's chest and she looked at him with eyes of tenderness. One of her small fingers circled his trembling lips and she purred again, curling the finger underneath his chin so that their eyes met fully.
"…mine."
It was the first time he had heard his native language from her. The husky yet musical soft soprano of her voice boldly claiming him sent a hot coil of need deep into his loins, something that she appreciated deeply. The urge to have her right then and there tugged at him but he held back, Not yet. Soon. He would have her soon…
As their custom dictated, Fitzgerald eased her to her bare feet and nuzzled his face into her lower abdomen. The low whimpers he sounded signaled his submission to his Torani, his willingness and desire to be her Mate. Her arms wrapped around him and cradled him possessively, showing her acceptance of his offered self to all gathered.
"As of this night of the 3rd full lunar orb of this thousandth cycle, the marriage alliance between House Grant and Tribe Pope of the Santorans has been witnessed. May the union last to the Pinnacle and be fruitful." Lord Cyrus declared to all before giving the gong a strong blow, sending more raucous jubilation through her people and polite applause from his.
Their lips met again, soft but potently and she urged him to his feet.
"Come, my Toran. There is to be a feast in our honor."
With a nod, Fitzgerald offered her his arm. Smiling, she took it and they exited the ceremonial clearing full of pride, joy, and deep anticipation…
/
"…married him off to a savage…absolute madness…"
"…culled by their women…essentially worship them…it is uncouth yet intriguing…no less chaotic than our society…"
"…Lady Vaughn nearly inconsolable…what did she expect? Once she allowed herself to be penetrated by Sir Nichols, all allegiance Fitzgerald had to her was severed and rightfully so…"
"…a Western man…a white man as her Toran…unworthy..."
"…Prod Edison in a sorry state…passed out surrounded by empty wine skins in the pasture lands…his own fault for betraying her…"
"…should count himself fortunate that she merely took his hand and not his life…Prod Edison will find another…no one nearly as good but another…"
"…new influence…new goods, new lands, new blood…better a betrothal than a blade…their Bond appears to be strong already…"
The last white flower was removed from her hair and placed within their Knot's oak resting box, a box built by her father Chieftain Elijah. Her mother, Priestess Maya had bathed her and painted the fertility henna right on the line that went from beneath her navel to just above her intimate curls. The silver of the henna matched the removed wedding gown that their bonding Knot now rested proudly on. Olivia was still in disbelief that she had a Toran, a bonding Knot, everything that she had quietly ached for but never thought she would have.
Many Santorani men had offered themselves to her, along with some from their allied tribes but none had proved themselves to be worthy. Before Fitzgerald III, the closest she had ever come to a Toran had been Edison of Tribe Davis but that had failed. She had wanted to surprise him after returning from a successful hunt and had found him in the midst of a passionate romp with a stable girl from the Mandarki that had been captured at the Defiance Gorge battle. The girl had been a true innocent, unaware that her lover had been betrothed. The girl had slapped him and threw herself at Olivia's feet, begging forgiveness and protection that had been granted immediately. Quinn was now her head handmaiden and happy with Huck of the Nedini tribe, a great warrior and inventor. As for Edison, she had taken the hand that had been pleasuring Quinn and scored a deep line into his face so that all would know of his treachery.
After that betrayal, Olivia had sadly concluded that a family, that beautiful and strong babies would not be in her destined path. A Toran for her would not be found. She would be alone for the rest of her mortal Cycle…she had been wrong.
House Grant's overtures had initially dismissed as a trap and then as a jest. Surely, their House, the most prominent and influential in the Western Realms would want nothing to do with their people. They were seen as barbaric, inferior, and as a source of terrifying folklore, both true and exaggerated. Fitzgerald II could not be serious…but he had been.
Fitzgerald III had been presented as an offering in the traditional way, bound by the wrists and stripped bare to the girdle. His trousers had been the royal purple and gold of his House and his feet bare, vulnerable. Fitzgerald II was offering land, trade route access, and his son, his only (legitimate) heir in exchange for a political and militant alliance between their Tribe and his House, medicines, and trade route access. Her parents wanted a Toran for her and had been very intrigued by the idea of such new noble blood for their Tribe. The other Tribes were open to new blood (the myriad and horrid dangers of inbreeding had been learned many cycles before) but they focused on local peoples, not too much variation in appearance or culture. None had dared to cross the Great Stream, the Cobalt River in search of new blood. There had been skirmishes, full fledged invasions that her people had made the river run red with Western blood but a marriage? A bonding? Never. It had never been done…until now.
Fitzgerald III had been brought to her dwelling and placed at her feet. Unprompted, he had made the submission gesture, intriguing her. Not many Westerners bothered to learn about the Santorani nuances, preferring to fear and envy them. When he was allowed to speak, her intrigue became amazement as her native language flowed from him as if he had been born to them. His education had come from a beloved nursemaid that had been his mother's head handmaiden. He was willing to belong to a Santorani woman, to their people because one of their own had nurtured, protected, and guided him for the majority of his mortal Cycle. To Fitzgerald III, they were not inferior. They were not barbaric. They were equals.
Olivia had raised his head and his eyes reminded her of the robin's egg, the blue full of warmth, depth, and loyalty already. For the first time, she had cradled him and he pressed a shaky, tender kiss to her navel, grateful. She had personally freed his hands and gave him a fine tunic to wear, bearing the glyphs of her Tribe, giving him acceptance and protection. The next 2 months had him dwelling with her People, learning more about them and him teaching her about his. Their marriage alliance would have the entire Tribe and its immediate allies crossing the Great Stream and settling onto House Grant's lands, claiming it for them.
To Olivia's dismay and wariness, the society he came from was the polar opposite of hers. Instead of being respected and treated as equals, Western women, with very few exceptions were treated barely better than animals. They were seen as weak, delicate, needing to be culled and only useful as bedwarmers and nursemaids. Fitzgerald III had soothed her, swearing an oath on his mother's grave that he would not change his ways, that he would remain as warm and respectful and loving to her with his people as he behaved with hers.
She had believed him, then.
She still believed him, now.
Hopefully, that trust would not be given in vain…
The heavy door of their bedchamber opened and she turned around. Her Mate was still in his wedding finery and heat blossomed in her lower abdomen as he slowly took in her nude form, the tip of his tongue going across his lips. Stepping into his reach, Olivia moaned as his lips pressed against her left nipple before taking it fully. Fitzgerald moved them backwards and to the left, into their waiting marriage bed. She shuddered with delight as his warm fingers traced the henna path and keened as a gentle digit entered her, curling upwards against her spot. A low whine of protest escaped her as he withdrew the finger but it became a cry of rapture as his head went to her pulsing sex, his mouth setting to work on her. She squirmed and bucked underneath him, burying her hands in his thick curls to guide him where she wanted him most. He was groaning lowly and pressing himself closer as her juices flowed in earnest, taking every drop of her like it was ambrosia.
It didn't take very long for Olivia to find her climax and she let out a full throated yell of her Toran's name, letting all hear of her approval of him, her potent love and burning lust for him. Fitzgerald stood up and tried to catch his breath, his chin and cheeks covered with her nectar. With a fierce growl, Olivia yanked him back to their bed and mounted him, literally tearing at his clothes in an effort to get his skin on hers, his nakedness pressed against hers.
"…take me, take me, take me now!"
"As my Torani wishes…"
His rhythm was driving, demanding yet tender all at once. Olivia squealed as her body yielded to him and he kissed her, letting her taste herself all over his tongue and teeth. She was on her back beneath him and she met him halfway, their hips colliding and grinding as their sweat drenched arousal scented the air with the candles. Fitzgerald cried out as her nails scored his shoulders and she whimpered as his left hand lightly gripped her neck. Their eyes met and she strained towards him, wanting to kiss him more, wanting to lick her glaze from his cheeks, wanting…just wanting. She just wanted him…
A shaky cry escaped her as he swiftly reversed their positions and sat up, slowing his thrusts into a fluid, almost lazy grind. Olivia's eyes drifted shut as the sensations began to overwhelm her and they snapped open again at the scolding swat to her bottom.
"Look at me…look at me, always…look at me…no hiding…"
The robin's egg blue of his eyes had become stormy, like the Great Stream during the late fall tempests and they intoxicated her with their focus, their desire, their love for her. This man loved her, truly loved her…
She loved him back.
She would love him always.