Gemini – Chapter 5

Sleep... unconsciousness? A primal fear stalks the gloomy dungeons within. I locked it away, not of out cowardice. There was no choice. It was a battle I couldn't win.

A seal has broken. I am hunted, and my flagging, helpless mind sought oblivion because there was no escape… to another world, another self.

I awake.

Somewhere in darkness, I hear a slow, chalky scraping… over and over… like a headsman sharpening an axe. I turn as quietly as possible. The fire is now dust. Above me, the true ice deposits no longer shine with stellar beauty. They resemble vermin, a plague of eyes, greedily watching a corpse. The air has cooled, yet I am lacquered with sweat.

Ashe crouches, undressed, worrying the ground with our only source of illumination. Her magical knife draws angular patterns into the ground, while her fair skin purely mirrors their blue radiance, like a pool under moonlight. She looks in my direction. Even now, her brilliant eyes refuse to blend with their surroundings. The pale colours of enchantment form a weak imitation of her natural glory. She looks apprehensive, yet resolved.

'You're awake,' she says. Even if Ashe prowls like a savage beast, a wilful shard of human expression remains jammed in her core. Self-knowledge haunts pleasure and pain. I can't read her mind, of course, but I've faced her in battle enough times. Her strategy cries louder than words.

'Yes… why are you still naked?'

'Animals don't wear clothes.' With an exaggerated swing of her bottom, she pads over to me. 'We're the same, yes?'

'Animals don't lay down their weapons or armour.'

'We shed our coats in summer. Why keep anything with no purpose?' Like a mountain lion, Ashe prowls in a slowly decreasing circle, offering a full view of her body. There are few sights more hypnotic than her liquid muscles flowing around her back and arms. 'After all, you're no threat. You've had your chance.'

'Aren't you cold?'

'I'm… burning.' Ashe's gaze wanders over my breasts. I pray my nipples don't respond as one skimpy layer preserves my dignity. Her nose and brow crease like a snarling wolf. 'You have one chance to release me... say it.'

'I… Say what?'

'Say… that I am evil.'

'Why?'

'You need a reason? You launched your crusade against me!' Before I can reply, she barks an example. 'Try this. I didn't kill that polar bear in self-defence. I didn't kill it for sustenance or profit. I killed it for one reason… to cause you pain. He was magnificent, a paragon of his kind, a symbol of the Freljord… and I brutally murdered him so I could punish you for caring. I gave him a death that was beyond meaningless, a death not even you could justify!' She growls through her molars. 'Tell me… tell me that I am evil.'

I murmur. 'Good and evil are false notions held by the weak.'

'Heaven, preserve me! Don't be so trite! Others can play the games you can. Your idea of strength is every bit as malleable.' Ashe draws near, manic eyes reflecting the void. 'We all have experience of injustice, cruelty and selfishness. Those experiences may vary but we share one word across nations for people who further them. I ask you again. Say that I am evil.'

How can she hate herself this much? Ashe is worth more than her jealous, fearful entourage. They preach to the skies that her great will is a burden, a destructive energy to be hidden from view, harnessed only to conserve endless decay. There has to be one determined voice offering praise. I will never clip her wings. However dangerous, I must accept her wrath. 'I don't think you're evil.'

Ashe whimpers. 'Okay.' Breath accelerates, rising in pitch. Hers or mine, we cannot say. 'Then receive the darkness you would embrace. Avarosa, punish me for what I have become!'

Her knife sprays blood as it leaps from calf to jugular. My yell comes to a sudden halt. Any wrong turn or swell of my neck will be the last. Eager nips of my flesh urge me down. Ashe grabs a fistful of my hair to further expose my throat as her knees drive into my lap. All the pride I have left reinforces my core to preserve that one precious inch between my shoulders and the ground. She notices my reluctance and, with a harsh grunt, slams her palm into my breastbone, finally doing the impossible.

The Winter's Wrath, the scourge of the Freljord, was put on her back.

Ashe licks my skin with her blade, heaving a ragged sigh with each long stroke as if pleasuring herself. One side of her countenance gawps with terror, lust and righteous fury. The other side lurks beneath the long shadow of her natural parting. Her steel gathers my dread up and over my jaw, smearing it across my cheek.

I feel hesitation, a weakness in her grip. Underneath her satyric rapture, hides a germ of doubt. I know close combat, one circular motion, a crack on her sensitive radial bone with the edge of my hand is all I need. With Ashe disarmed, I have the size advantage. Even though I can't walk, stand or throw a meaningful punch, I could wrestle her down with my sheer bulk. I perceive counters, holds, reversals that I could use with no personal risk. It's child play… but a thousand reflexes, honed through countless brawls, are deathly still.

The weight of Ashe's desire pins me down. I'm scared. All the world is my domain, to shape as I choose, while my body remains a foreign land. Helplessly, I could only watch my perennial cage grow soft and welcoming, even as I dug a moat, wide as the broadest ocean. However, the darkest lagoon surrenders an icy bridge to a frozen tread. Ashe's tactical brilliance and ruthless drive are as cold as the blue steel kisses upon my nose.

For one precious moment, I hold onto my virtue, shaking arms held aloft in defiance. They flop, either side of my blushing ears, palms facing upwards.

My gates open.

Ashe reads my submission and lowers the tip of her knife to my lips, gently prising them apart. I shiver as the weapon taps on my teeth. Quick as an Avarosan whore, my drawbridge lowers. I carefully wrap my tongue around the flat of the blade as the cool, smooth weapon glides into my throat. Ashe goes deeper until only the thick, circular handle protrudes from my suggestively puckered face. I pray the subtle curve does not scrape on my walls or trigger my gag reflex.

With a slow, sensual rhythm, Ashe moves the blade, in and out. Amidst all the terror, the feeling of that impeccable surface wetly massaging and stimulating my supple, sensitive muscle grows revoltingly pleasant. My fingers and toes curl. Ashe's keen eyes notice immediately. 'How does it feel, Sejuani, to be fucked in the mouth against your will? Could you face your tribe, your loved ones, after writhing in pleasure beneath someone you despise? Do you really deserve such humiliation, even if I am stronger? Does anyone?' Ashe grips my chin between her thumb and forefinger. 'Bite,' she commands. I clench my teeth and Ashe lets go of the handle. The blade angles towards my palate. However, the tip falls short, a final mercy before the pain escalates.

Ashe grabs my neckline with her strong archer's hands. The hem yields to her fangs and I feel hot saliva mix with cool air on my collarbone. She rips a straight line to my navel then buries her face in my belly, kissing and licking all those thick, useless folds that conceal my tough abdominals. I squeal in protest while she lavishes praise on ugly parts of my body. So many times, I had yearned for a medusa's gaze. If I were a statue, perhaps a mason would sculpt away my failure.

While Ashe's attention is caught, I have a slim chance to remove the blade. As I begin to formulate a plan, Ashe reaches for my bosom. I twitch and hyperventilate as her fingers trail the rise of my breasts, reverently parting the torn curtains of my vest. When she finally exposes my nipples, I think I die for a whole second. Ashe gapes in wonder, panting as though merely watching me is akin to a thousand holy sisters worshiping her sex. 'Oh Sejuani, you're perfect… so full and strong and feminine! I can't believe there aren't legends of your beauty… songs and paintings and… the world is blind! If I were a man, I'd make you pregnant a thousand times over and repopulate the world in your image!'

I vehemently shake my head, emitting a drone like a buzzing fly, to drown out her words. That is my dream! I always wanted to give her children. Even if it's impossible, please don't take that away from me… please…

Ashe draws an effleurage above my womb, as if conjuring some dark magic to fertilise me, then returns upwards. Her fingers trace my sternum, circle the top of my ribcage then form soft claws, her nails close up the rise of each breast, finally pinching my hard nipples. I have to scream but I can't. Ashe's deadly gag reduces my knotty sexual pain to simply that of a beaten dog, a feral mixture of snorts, growls and whines. I point my toes until my feet cramp. Ashe involves her tongue, exploring and lapping. For a moment, she appears to forget herself, closing her eyes and sucking with utter relaxation. Our gazes meet and something tender, some unspoken regret, passes… then her brow hardens with cruelty.

She quickly discovers that I respond more to ruthless tickling and scratching underneath and alongside my breasts rather than direct attention. I'm grateful that I can't verbalise my surrender with pleas to work my groin. It feels like I'm on the verge of wetting myself, or that my nipples are going to leak. As the pressure grows, I divert all remaining control to my pelvis, letting my head thrash, drool and warp in grotesque arousal. The shame of relinquishing my private bodily functions to another person would kill me for good.

Ashe drives me to the point of no return. I feel no crescendo, cadence or catharsis… only the brief spasms of painful orgasm about as fulfilling as a light sneeze. My form has utterly betrayed me. I claimed no satisfaction, didn't so much as clench a muscle to hurry my peak. All agency was denied. A true fighter's body would have responded with violence, apathy or taken over the situation to control the flow of pleasure. No... I submitted. I suffered and then... with the completion of my wretched biological destiny... I came.

There's no going back. Whenever I shout orders, the truth will shine through my words. I am no leader of men, a brother stallion above their desire, outperforming them in every role. I am just another woman who gets off on being pinned down and fucked like a sack of meat. Rolling onto my side, Ashe's dagger slithers to the ground. Shorn of its glow, the blade is tiny, far out of proportion to its large handle. I was brought low by cutlery. The humiliation is too much. I begin to cry.

'Sejuani?' My face contorts, growing red and infantile as tears flood my banks. Disgraceful bawling echoes through the cavern. It may be a respite, hearing it from without, rather than inside, my head. 'Se… Sejuani?' Curling up into a foetal position, I turn away from Ashe. 'No… please don't cry! You're strong, remember? You've fallen so many times but you keep on fighting!' Her words reach my ears but have no effect, empty sounds with no physical power to change the world. 'You haven't lost! All I did was take advantage. There's no meaning. You can still hold your head up high!' She tugs at my shoulder but all she can do is push my gaze further downwards. 'Remember when I took you prisoner and you wouldn't give us an inch of satisfaction? You didn't care that we'd entrapped you. We were still "Avarosan scum" and you kept your dignity!' She drapes her warm weight across my side. 'Nothing's changed. I'm still worthless and you're still… pure… my beautiful, pure Sejuani… whom I…' she judders. 'What have I done? Sweet Avarosa, what have I done?' Ashe crawls away. Beneath my wailing, I hear choking sobs from her direction. 'I'm a monster… even Lissandra would have the kindness to end your life rather than destroy you. These bloody paws are a curse upon the living. I was right all along. My people deserve better. Everyone does...'

A chill disturbs my grief. There's more than self-disgust in Ashe's tone. I feel something… rational, a destination.

Just why had she come here?

With that one question providing focus, I power through the mists of agony… to see Ashe plunging the knife into her gut. From broken springs, I launch myself into her, sending us both to the ground. I pin her beneath my weight, seize her arm and block her lethal cut with my thigh. Her grip is determined. I lack the raw strength to pry her fingers back so I use the deadliest move I know.

I kiss her.

She goes stiff as a corpse then relaxes while I manipulate her with slow, delicate motions. I don't involve my tongue. I suck her lip and let go… again and again… as though beckoning her soul from the depths. When I feel the tension leave her wrist, I quickly change focus and pull the blade free, hurling it across the room. It's bad form to yank an impaled object away, sometimes it's the only thing preserving a victim's life, but I can't risk Ashe renewing her suicide attempt. Luckily, her satchel is within arm's reach. I can pull it close while keeping her restrained.

Ashe croaks. 'Please… no…'

I'd rather not indulge her objections but I have to keep her engaged. If she passes out, she may not wake up. 'You've caused me enough anguish for one lifetime.' I dig through the satchel. 'Your scouts have been very generous with these packs. I know the contents well.'

'Agh… I… can't raise everyone to my standard,' Ashe manages through clenched teeth. 'At least I now have a way to send you gifts.'

I peck her on the lips, a reward for an implied future. 'Changed your mind about killing yourself?'

'I thought I'd… lost you.'

Even if my candour proves rash, I'm too sore to let her down easily. 'You probably have… in a way. The old Sejuani may be gone forever.'

'I'll miss her.'

The sorrow is contagious. 'We'll… mourn her passing once I've prevented yours.' The wound in Ashe's belly hangs open. It must be six inches long. Evidently, she'd overcome her initial trauma. 'Disembowelment's a poor way to go, painful and unreliable.'

'Is this a good time to be giving advice?' Ashe makes a very good point. However, I'm bad at small-talk, and I'm desperate enough to keep her with me that I'm brainlessly parroting what I can see.

'Blame Olaf. He knows far too much about ritual suicide, has an unwelcome story for every banquet.' I nearly shout in relief when I find a small vial containing a green, pungent liquid. We've no idea where it comes from but it's a very powerful adhesive. One of my raiders reattached a severed finger that works to this day. Shedding the remains of my top, I fearlessly bare my torso. 'This is going to hurt. You might want to bite down on something.' I stuff the fabric into her mouth. 'Consider this payback.'

Ashe squeals like a pig and thrashes wildly as the glue seeps. I've seen hardened warriors reduced to gibbering wrecks by it. Skin pops and blisters while the salve melds the bloody gorge into a fleshy bridge. Enough battles decorate Ashe's form. Another scar will make no difference. While she recovers, I use the satchel to raise her legs and fetch her blanket. With the blood loss, there's every possibility she'll go into shock. I wrap us together, my lips on her temple. When she tries to speak, her voice is a drawling stream of quiet vowels. 'I'm sorry. You shouldn't be looking after me.'

I kiss her again. 'Hush… rest for now. We'll talk later.'

Sniffing like a child, she begs. 'You promise we'll talk… not fight?'

'Yes.'

'That's… all I ever wanted.' Ashe closes her eyes. I know from experience that her salve knocks you out. Often, it's a hammer blow to your nerves, a white flash before you wake, hours later. I'm strangely proud she held on for those few seconds, my strong, wilful Ashe.