Foreboding and Solace

I remember that the sky was grey and leaden. The clouds were almost impenetrable, and they cast everything into an early, foreboding twilight. It was a heavy feeling, an oppressive weight settled about your shoulders. The sky pressing down, the walls closing in. I am not normally a claustrophobic person but even during my watch on the north-western tower I felt strangely trapped, more like I was enclosed in a dim airless room than a high perch with a view for leagues around. I wasn't the only one to feel like that, I could see that same slow-mounting tension in the eyes of every man on the wall, hear it in the terse, clipped conversations. Hushed, for the weight of the sky.

It had been like that for days, or at least it certainly felt like days. We only had the hourly toll of the Palatine Bell to mark time by between the times of the lightening of the grey at dawn and the darkening of it at eventide. If it weren't for that bell, I tell you now we would have lost all sense of time. We would have spent an eternity in the damnable twilight, driven to madness before long. It was hard to call to mind the memory of true warmth, of golden wheat fields in the summer time beneath a clear sky. I had lost all hope of seeing such a blue as the sky again.

Morale was low, as you might guess. We were growing weary and dour. Gods if it would have but rained! Then the clouds would have broken before long and we could have seen sun and sky again! But no. It had been three months of that overcast and there was no sign of it stopping any time soon. It wasn't natural, of course it wasn't. We all knew that. They meant to break our will with this monotony. They meant to sap our morale until we threw down our arms and came crawling out begging them for one last glimpse of light and hope before they snuffed us out.

Hah, say what you want about those bastards, but they were patient. They would wait us out. Either our minds would break or our supplies would run out. Either way, why bother risking an honest war? Far safer for them to just sit there in their fucking camp and wait for the inevitable.

We were stuck here, sure as anything. We couldn't sortie out; they'd cut us to pieces if we tried. Couldn't resupply, either. Reinforcements? Well that was our only hope, but we had no way to know if any of our messengers had gotten through or if anyone was coming. Some of us had already given into despair by the third month and there were... rumours. Whispers of mutiny. Now don't misunderstand me, I am no whore-son rebel. I never even countenanced the idea of turning my back on the Lord Protector. Gods know the man had done enough already to earn that title a dozen times over. I was there at the Battle of Praecedere Aurora. I'd have marched to the Twelve Gates if he'd commanded me!

But some of the men... the new blood especially... they hadn't seen what I'd seen. They didn't know how much he cared. There were seditious whispers, late at night. The weight of the sky wasn't the only anxiety growing in the keep.

So it was dark days all around. You didn't know if they'd finally run out of that damned patience and just decide to smash us, or if the sky would come falling on our heads, or if some poor sod wouldn't crack... or if those ungrateful little fuckers would start something after they got into their cups and turn the whole garrison in on itself. You had to keep yourself alert, sleep with an eye open. Keep a dagger under your pillow.

My squad was billeted in the barracks not far from the western wall. We'd get rotated along the wall for our watches and patrols, starting at the north and going along the length of it. We'd get three days on the wall, two days in Three Jewels and two days off-duty. Some days I'd almost prefer to be stuck up on the wall in the bone-chilling winds and the heavy sky than patrolling the Jewels dealing with urchins and pickpockets and those sneering Guilder cunts. Almost.

The only one that kept me sane through all of it was Lillian. Gods bless her. She was my Second, and sometimes I think she'd have made a better First than I was. She certainly was better at diffusing tensions amongst the squad than I was. I don't know how she managed to keep most arguments from escalating with just the right word or a glance, but she did. She had the brightest smile, too. Even in those days under the sky. She was one of the very few who hadn't let it get to them. Her laugh was still as clear and ringing as ever it had been and her eyes still had that mischievous gleam in them. Sometimes I think her Da was secretly an avatar of the Trickster or something. I can't think of any other explanation for that look in her eyes, like the whole world was a secret joke and only she got the punchline. She was tall and she had the sort of body you'd expect from a soldier. Toned muscles, surprising amount of strength. She wore her dark brown hair short, like we all did and her ever-laughing eyes were brown too.

I don't remember exactly when it happened the first time. Might have been in the first month, probably some time in the second. It was coming up to the end of our watch, all clear as it had been every other night. The sky had been a bit darker that day, and it was coming up to sunset I think... at least it was getting even worse to be out there. We'd started lighting torches. I'd noticed Lillian shooting the occasional glance up at the clouds for the past hour. She was tense, it was in her expression, in the way she held herself, in the way she peered out between the crenellations every few minutes as if expecting an arrow to come whizzing out of the gloom or the echo of war-cries and clashing steel to come from further along the wall.

Nothing did.

By the time our watch ended and our relief appeared, she was wound tighter than a bow string. I was starting to get worried for her, given how out of character she was acting. I'd never seen her so nervous before. We went through the small guard room at the entrance of the tower, passed the map on the wall and the racks of weapons and then proceeded down the spiralling stairwell into the armoury a level below where we could store our weapons and armour for the day. I turned, with the intent of asking her what was up with her. Imagine my surprise as she threw herself upon me with a clamour of metal striking metal thanks to the armour we wore. Her lips were on mine, her tongue pushing into my mouth. Her hands scrabbled at the straps of my armour and began to unbuckle me. It was fierce, desperate, bruising. Searing. My lips were stinging, swollen, I was frozen, pushed back until I hit the wall. The plates fell with a clang, a shimmering ring of mail pulled away. The kiss breaking only briefly for her to strip each item from me in turn. She was even stronger than I'd thought. I couldn't speak, every time I tried she just kissed me again, harder, rougher. Teeth clashing, eyes burning.

Next came her own armour, piece by piece. Clang and clamour. Soon the both of us were down to padded undergarments. Shapeless, spotted with rust and oil. She didn't seem to care, her hands grasping at me, pressing me into the wall. This time she did not kiss me, but instead roughly tugged my head aside so she could bite me upon the neck. A sudden tingling rush of heat went through me. I must have moaned, for her hand clamped around my mouth to stifle me.

What the hell had gotten into her? I was her commanding officer, she was my Second! This should not have been happening. This was wrong.

Then why was I hard as steel?

Shocking even myself, I grabbed her and roughly turned her, shoving her into the wall in turn to press my lips upon her's, claiming her mouth with the same sudden, desperate urgency she had displayed. She almost went limp against me and only my mouth upon her's quietened her own moans of desire. She tugged impatiently upon the thick padding separating us both. Hardly an arousing thing to wear and so very suddenly the most offensive article of clothing ever devised by the hand of man.

Again, the kiss broke. The unsnapping of buckles. Heavy, low panting. The rustle of clothing.

Our remaining clothing fell away in unseemly haste. Her breasts were round and full and shockingly pale compared to the darker skin of the more usually-bared parts of her. Nipples stiff and dark amid the circles of her areola. Muscles rippled the smooth, warm skin of her belly, her hips round and hidden within was soft dark down above swollen slickness. I must have gasped for she smiled then and tugged me in closer for another kiss. Hard as the others, eager now, burning. Hands roamed my body, stroking over broad chest and dark hair and smooth muscles. Lower still and she grasped me.

This time I definitely did gasp as her slender fingers encircled my engorged prick. I was hot and hard and aching, throbbing against her touch. A glistening bead of arousal gathered upon the dark tip and she smeared it over my length down to the root. My hands found the soft warm weight of her breasts, kneading and squeezing, moulding them to my hands. She moaned and I silenced her with my mouth. She leaned back into the wall, thighs parting and my hand slid over the trembling muscles of her abdomen and found her even wetter there than the glistening of her folds had made me expect. She was so very hot and soft as the finest silks of far-lands of the Celestine Throne. My fingers slid in easily and she gasped into my lips. She was tight, gripping, squeezing. Her warm grasp sucked upon me as I steadily drove my fingers in and out of her cleft.

For the first time she spoke and her voice was low and rough, the words brief but overwhelming in their command, "Fuck. Me."

Never before or since have two words held such irresistible power over me. I could no more disobey than the sun could halt in its course or the sea fall still.

The hand wrapped around me tugged my length up against her heat and my fingers fell away, grasping her hips. She raised herself up against the wall, legs wrapping around my back, powerful thighs holding me in place. I drove forward and was thankful for the feverish kisses she lavished upon me for I could not hold back the moans as her warmth engulfed me. Her command rang in my ears, repeating over and over, louder and louder. Every beat of my heart, every breath from my lungs carried it. I pulled myself out almost entirely and then drove back inside. The pace was hard and frantic and desperate. Our bodies writhed, our hands grasped and groped and tugged. Her fingers dug into my back, clawing down them in twin lines of fire. The pain only fed my arousal and I threw myself into her, flesh clapping upon flesh, hips relentless in their animalistic thrusts into her.

I pulled my mouth from her's to sink my teeth into her collar. She clenched tight around me, fingers digging deeper into my skin. She would have brought the whole keep down upon us if the breath had not frozen in her throat and the only sound to come from her was a chocked-back groan. Her walls clamped tight against me and my own pleasured noises were only held quiet by the smooth, warm skin against my mouth.

After that her hips writhed with ever-greater fervency. My cock was stroked and massaged by the silken heat of her and soon I was reduced to sobbing her name in ecstatic worship as the building heat and tension within me grew beyond all bearing. The sound of it must have triggered something, for she came a second time, walls squeezing the life from my straining manhood buried within. I grasped her neck with my hand and pressed her into the wall. Her cry cut off before it could begin. Her eyes were wide and pleading for my own climax.

It was not long in coming. Three or four hard, desperate thrusts into her grasping walls was all it took. I pressed her into a hurried kiss to prevent my cries from escaping as I buried my cock deep inside her. Utterly hilted inside of her, my length pulsed and twitched as the dam within me broke at last. Tension released in great waves of relief and heat, the pleasure of it almost made me sob. I flooded her with my thick, white seed. Every last drop that I had to give was her's. All her's.

I held against her, muscles quivering, hands gripping her tightly, mind a dizzy, spinning blur, until I was entirely spent. Only then did I fall away and slip out of her, cock glistening and dripping, eyes wide, breath ragged. I was slick with sweat and she too glistened and we could do no more than stare at each other with wide, shocked eyes. I could see the bruises I'd left upon her, and she upon me. The teeth marks. The dull ache in my back reminded me of the furrows she had no doubt clawed into my back.

Her legs trembled, white seed began to drip down her inner thigh where she stood with back propped up against the stone of the wall. She smiled and at last gathered enough strength to move off of the wall. She kissed my cheek, eyes gleaming, laughing. She said not a word as she dressed swiftly and, with a spring in her step, slipped out of the armoury.

I stood there, in a state of bemusement and disbelief for a long while, staring at the door. At last I was roused from that dream-like stupor by noise on a lower level. Hurriedly I dressed, hissing as the rough cloth of my tunic brushed over the scratches on my back and quickly exited the armoury.

It was a long walk alone beneath a sky not quite so dark and terrible before I reached the barracks.