Title: Diplomacy Part 13
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it, don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it, don't hunt me down cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com
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She crossed the room and hastily moved the desk, stepping back and folding her hands, head bowed, silent. Seconds passed and the silence grew heavy, tension building as he stepped lightly from the dark interior of the wardrobe. She heard him walking slowly towards her, kept her eyes fixed to the carpet, tears seeping from beneath lowered lashes. He was so close now she could smell him, the earth and sun that clung to him and she clenched her eyes together, trying not to tremble.
"Rhya. . ." he whispered softly and she raised her head, their eyes locking. Compassion and love met her gaze and she watched as he slowly raised his hand, cradling the back of her head, pulling her against his body, holding her face gently to his chest, his long fingers stroking softly down her hair. "Shh, love, it will be alright. . ." he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
As his lips met her skin they took with them her last shred of composure and her knees gave way, a sob ripping from her throat. Instantly his arms surrounded her, lifted her, cradled against his body. He walked carefully to the bed, murmuring words of comfort, and lay her upon it. She clenched her hands into fists and sobbed, curling her legs up, childlike. He knelt by the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from her forehead and murmuring to her, occasionally pressing soft, chaste kisses to her damp cheeks.
There was a lightening to the world beyond the windows, subtle and barely perceptible but he knew time grew short. "Rhya, love, I must go." he whispered, his face mere inches from her own. She opened her eyes and nodded, seeming so small and frail. He rested his thumbs on her cheeks, lightly brushing away her tears. His lips pressed her forehead and he closed his eyes, wishing he did not have to leave her like this, so small, so frightened and hurt. He knew what he had to do and with a final kiss he stood and opened the window, preparing to launch himself over the casing.
"Will you be back?" she asked, her voice soft, desperate.
He turned slowly, his eyes burning with blue flame, "The Valar themselves could not keep me from you." And with that he vaulted out of the window, glancing quickly and dashing across the spongy grass, darting from cover to cover. He eased open the door to his small room and hastily slipped inside, closing it softly behind him.
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He could feel her stare, the weight of her eyes on his body making his skin pebble despite the heat. He shifted the weight of the rock and glanced in her direction form the corner of his eye. Her dark eyes glittered maliciously, her tongue tracing the shape of her thin lips. He repressed a shudder and dropped the stone, listening to it land with a lethargic thump in the strange grass. He turned and prepared to lift the other stone when a hand landed lightly against the flesh of his bicep.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, trying to hide his revulsion from her. "Is something the matter, Mistress?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
She did not answer, merely ran her hand across his flesh, stroking lightly, up the length of his arm, across his chest, lightly fingering his collarbones. "Mistress?" he repeated, desperately searching for an excuse to refuse her touch.
"Quiet, child." She said softly, her voice husky. He heard the quality of it and suppressed a shudder, standing stock still, long years of training aiding him in his focus. He watched her move in front of him, his eyes narrowed and wary. His surprise was near complete when she roughly grabbed him, his most intimate parts, and squeezed lightly.
He jerked backwards slightly, but she did not release him, indeed increased the pressure. "Be still, child." She commanded, fondling. He felt blood rush to his cheeks, his body responding to her touch, though his mind rebelled. He directed his gaze just above the top of her head, willing his body to calm, to reject her ministrations. He felt her tug his waistband, pushing it to mid thigh.
"Mistress. . . surely people will see. . ." he said lamely, floundering for an argument.
"Let them see." She answered, dropping to her knees before him.
He squeezed his eyes closed and breathed deeply, trying to ignore what she was doing, the way his body felt. His mind screamed for him to push her away, his body cried for release. Within minutes it was over and he felt a rush of shame, hot and heavy. Hastily he hitched his pants up as she stood and wiped her hand across the back of her mouth, her eyes glittering. Again she ran a hand across his chest, and he shuddered, searching her face with his eyes.
She merely smiled and returned to her seat, fanning herself. He stood, watching her with furrowed brow. With a bemused smile she said, "Those stones aren't going to move themselves, child."
He jerked into action, lifting the stone and crossing the expanse of lawn, soon lost in the repetition he now knew so well. As the sun lowered she called him to a halt. He released the stone in his arms and turned to face her, dreading what he was sure would come next. Instead she merely raised an eyebrow, pointing off towards his quarters. "You are done for the day, child. I trust you know where your quarters are, by now?"
"Yes Mistress." He answered, still unsure of her intentions.
She chuckled softly. "Then go there, now. Your day is ended." Her voice was tinged with humor and he felt his cheeks flush anew.
He bowed low and turned, leaving the clearing. He expected her to call him back, but she never did. Instead he opened the door to his rooms and entered the dark confines. With a sigh he lay on the bed, his mind pondering the events of the night, Rhya, wondering what on earth her purpose here was. He had assumed she would be a wife, perhaps a mistress to whomever this Lord Mondane was.
Instead she was what? A concubine? A bargaining chip? What was her purpose in this strange place?
He thought of the day, of Driza, the mistress. He had known she desired his body. He knew it was something he would eventually have to confront. But her actions in the training grounds had been. . . unexpected. He had assumed that at some point he would be expected to service her, had never expected her to service him in any way.
The only conclusion he could reach was that this place defied logic, that his assumptions would consistently be wrong. If only he could speak with Rhya, to question her, then surely she could explain. Last night had not been the time, but perhaps soon another opportunity would present itself. And when that time came he intended to be ready to seize it.
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A/N-
Okay guys, feedback, please.
I want to hear your theories.
Why do -you- think she is there?
What do you think Drizas actions mean?
Do they mean anything?
FEEDBACK.
C'mon, don't make a grown woman beg.
Peace to all
~Arisma
The quality of my life would be greatly reduced if I did not have nostrils. ~ Weird Al Yankovic
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it, don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it, don't hunt me down cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*
She crossed the room and hastily moved the desk, stepping back and folding her hands, head bowed, silent. Seconds passed and the silence grew heavy, tension building as he stepped lightly from the dark interior of the wardrobe. She heard him walking slowly towards her, kept her eyes fixed to the carpet, tears seeping from beneath lowered lashes. He was so close now she could smell him, the earth and sun that clung to him and she clenched her eyes together, trying not to tremble.
"Rhya. . ." he whispered softly and she raised her head, their eyes locking. Compassion and love met her gaze and she watched as he slowly raised his hand, cradling the back of her head, pulling her against his body, holding her face gently to his chest, his long fingers stroking softly down her hair. "Shh, love, it will be alright. . ." he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
As his lips met her skin they took with them her last shred of composure and her knees gave way, a sob ripping from her throat. Instantly his arms surrounded her, lifted her, cradled against his body. He walked carefully to the bed, murmuring words of comfort, and lay her upon it. She clenched her hands into fists and sobbed, curling her legs up, childlike. He knelt by the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from her forehead and murmuring to her, occasionally pressing soft, chaste kisses to her damp cheeks.
There was a lightening to the world beyond the windows, subtle and barely perceptible but he knew time grew short. "Rhya, love, I must go." he whispered, his face mere inches from her own. She opened her eyes and nodded, seeming so small and frail. He rested his thumbs on her cheeks, lightly brushing away her tears. His lips pressed her forehead and he closed his eyes, wishing he did not have to leave her like this, so small, so frightened and hurt. He knew what he had to do and with a final kiss he stood and opened the window, preparing to launch himself over the casing.
"Will you be back?" she asked, her voice soft, desperate.
He turned slowly, his eyes burning with blue flame, "The Valar themselves could not keep me from you." And with that he vaulted out of the window, glancing quickly and dashing across the spongy grass, darting from cover to cover. He eased open the door to his small room and hastily slipped inside, closing it softly behind him.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *
He could feel her stare, the weight of her eyes on his body making his skin pebble despite the heat. He shifted the weight of the rock and glanced in her direction form the corner of his eye. Her dark eyes glittered maliciously, her tongue tracing the shape of her thin lips. He repressed a shudder and dropped the stone, listening to it land with a lethargic thump in the strange grass. He turned and prepared to lift the other stone when a hand landed lightly against the flesh of his bicep.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, trying to hide his revulsion from her. "Is something the matter, Mistress?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
She did not answer, merely ran her hand across his flesh, stroking lightly, up the length of his arm, across his chest, lightly fingering his collarbones. "Mistress?" he repeated, desperately searching for an excuse to refuse her touch.
"Quiet, child." She said softly, her voice husky. He heard the quality of it and suppressed a shudder, standing stock still, long years of training aiding him in his focus. He watched her move in front of him, his eyes narrowed and wary. His surprise was near complete when she roughly grabbed him, his most intimate parts, and squeezed lightly.
He jerked backwards slightly, but she did not release him, indeed increased the pressure. "Be still, child." She commanded, fondling. He felt blood rush to his cheeks, his body responding to her touch, though his mind rebelled. He directed his gaze just above the top of her head, willing his body to calm, to reject her ministrations. He felt her tug his waistband, pushing it to mid thigh.
"Mistress. . . surely people will see. . ." he said lamely, floundering for an argument.
"Let them see." She answered, dropping to her knees before him.
He squeezed his eyes closed and breathed deeply, trying to ignore what she was doing, the way his body felt. His mind screamed for him to push her away, his body cried for release. Within minutes it was over and he felt a rush of shame, hot and heavy. Hastily he hitched his pants up as she stood and wiped her hand across the back of her mouth, her eyes glittering. Again she ran a hand across his chest, and he shuddered, searching her face with his eyes.
She merely smiled and returned to her seat, fanning herself. He stood, watching her with furrowed brow. With a bemused smile she said, "Those stones aren't going to move themselves, child."
He jerked into action, lifting the stone and crossing the expanse of lawn, soon lost in the repetition he now knew so well. As the sun lowered she called him to a halt. He released the stone in his arms and turned to face her, dreading what he was sure would come next. Instead she merely raised an eyebrow, pointing off towards his quarters. "You are done for the day, child. I trust you know where your quarters are, by now?"
"Yes Mistress." He answered, still unsure of her intentions.
She chuckled softly. "Then go there, now. Your day is ended." Her voice was tinged with humor and he felt his cheeks flush anew.
He bowed low and turned, leaving the clearing. He expected her to call him back, but she never did. Instead he opened the door to his rooms and entered the dark confines. With a sigh he lay on the bed, his mind pondering the events of the night, Rhya, wondering what on earth her purpose here was. He had assumed she would be a wife, perhaps a mistress to whomever this Lord Mondane was.
Instead she was what? A concubine? A bargaining chip? What was her purpose in this strange place?
He thought of the day, of Driza, the mistress. He had known she desired his body. He knew it was something he would eventually have to confront. But her actions in the training grounds had been. . . unexpected. He had assumed that at some point he would be expected to service her, had never expected her to service him in any way.
The only conclusion he could reach was that this place defied logic, that his assumptions would consistently be wrong. If only he could speak with Rhya, to question her, then surely she could explain. Last night had not been the time, but perhaps soon another opportunity would present itself. And when that time came he intended to be ready to seize it.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *
A/N-
Okay guys, feedback, please.
I want to hear your theories.
Why do -you- think she is there?
What do you think Drizas actions mean?
Do they mean anything?
FEEDBACK.
C'mon, don't make a grown woman beg.
Peace to all
~Arisma
The quality of my life would be greatly reduced if I did not have nostrils. ~ Weird Al Yankovic