Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 22

Thank you once again to Emma Kendrick for offering her thoughts on this chapter!

"Bed Larissa, wed Vivian, and behead Ginnifer."

"You'd behead Ginnifer?" Bertrand asked incredulously. "She's the best looking of the three."

"Yeah, but have you ever talked to her? All she talks about are horses and jewelry."

"Then bed her," Justin piped up. "That way you don't need to have a conversation."

"Nah," Tristan said with a shrug. "Larissa seems like she'd be more fun to bed."

"Fair enough."

"What about you, Lucien?" Bertrand asked.

"Uh..."

Gods, I hate this game...

"Once he marries, won't Ginnifer be his cousin-by-marriage?" Tristan asked the other two.

"Yeah, I guess," Bertrand said. "What's that got to do with the game?"

"Nothing. I just realized it is all."

Lucien bit back a sigh, the three expectant faces staring back at him.

"I would...bed Vivian...wed Larissa...and behead Ginnifer."

"Solid choices," Justin murmured approvingly.

"I still think Ginnifer's worth a bedding," Bertrand grumbled.

"Then bed her when we get back home."

"You'd have to listen to her go on and on about her horses, though," Tristan joked, before adopting a saccharinely-sweet, high-pitched voice. "'This one is Buttercup, and this one is Prettyhoof, and this one is Sparklemane! See how pretty they are!'"

"Alright, men!" came a gruff voice from the other side of the boat. "Listen up and listen well!"

The quartet turned to watch another quartet clamber up onto the main deck.

Sir Jayden Kenniff, the highly decorated and martially gifted Royal Guardsman, and leader of this branch of the expeditionary force, stepped into the middle of the deck. The member of the quartet who commanded the most attention, however, was the figure coming up next to him.

Ma'afatu the Mongoose was of medium height and medium build, utterly average as far as physique was concerned. But the rich tone of his brown skin contrasted with the snowy white of his beard, mustache, and dreadlocks, and the fluttering torches caught the twinkling of his golden piercings, both ears boasting several rings, both eyebrows studded with a few more, one last perched on his nose. Combined with the air of genial mischievousness he always carried himself with, and the charismatic confidence that oozed from him with every little movement, he cut a captivating silhouette, especially when compared to the dour and dull Sir Jayden.

And that doesn't even get into his outfit, Lucien thought wryly.

"We have come up with the plan of attack," Sir Jayden announced.

"Finally," Bertrand muttered, getting a snort of laughter from Justin and a light elbow in the ribs from Tristan.

"The Mongoose will take some of his crew to one side of the village," Sir Jayden continued, "and we will approach from the other side and hide in the jungle until he gives us the signal. A few members of his crew have already snuck into the village to let the people know about our arrival, so they will have a chance to escape the bloodshed. We know the pirates are likely to draw them into the fray to use as shields or to dissuade us from attacking, so getting as many as possible out of the way is essential."

"I will give a signal when it is time to attack," Ma'afatu said in his smooth, mellifluous voice.

"What will that signal be?" Sir Jayden asked.

"You will know it," Ma'afatu answered, nodding sagely.

A confused silence fell among the crew for a few seconds, and then the pirate sighed.

"I have a horn. I will blow it really loud."

"Very good," Sir Jayden said approvingly.

"When will this plan commence?" asked one the knights on the crew, Sir Dewayne Fant, the Little Stallion, who could not be seen amid the gaggle of men around him due to the lack of height his nickname referenced.

"We have a few hours until sunrise. We will attack shortly after then. So, get some shut-eye if you need it."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The jungle was abuzz with the sounds of wildlife, the twitter of birds and trilling of insects filling Lucien's ears.

The group was spread out near the edge of the village, each shady tree offering a spot for several men to huddle. The sun was up, combining with the humid air to create uncomfortably warm weather. Lucien wiped a light sheen of sweat from his forehead, his other hand settled on the pommel of his sword. Bertrand and Tristan were crouched nearby, both similarly crouched, sweat gleaming on their foreheads. Justin, as the group's best scout, was slightly ahead of the others, scanning the area from his position under another tree, his bow already strung with an arrow.

A loud horn cut suddenly through the air, markedly different from the other noises surrounding them. Birds burst from the trees, warbling indignantly.

"That's the signal!" Sir Jayden shouted unnecessarily from the front of the group.

The knight unsheathed his sword, the blade briefly catching the sunlight, and crept forward, the others falling in behind him. Once they reached the edge of the village, they spread out. Lucien slunk along next to Bertrand and Tristan, Justin off to their left. Just in front of them was Sir Arnald Stricklin, who unsheathed his sword, the blade inlaid with his family crest, a long, lean serpent striking swiftly.

Sounds of battle came faintly from the other side of the village: the clang of steel, the cries of men, the whinnying of horses. Lucien slid his sword from its sheath, his heart starting to race, more sweat beading on his forehead.

The village huts were laid out in random arrangements, so the quartet split up further, with Bertrand and Tristan breaking off to the right, and Lucien following Sir Arnald. The knight glanced all around, his shoulder-length hair swishing around his upper back.

A figure burst from a hut ahead of them, hastily dressed, sword in one hand. Seeing Sir Arnald and Lucien, he cursed loudly, and ran in the opposite direction. The knight gave chase, Lucien right behind him. Seconds later, an arrow struck the pirate in the side of the head, and he dropped to the ground. Justin crept from the shadow of another hut, and nodded at the duo, before continuing on.

"Stay close," Sir Arnald murmured, striding forward.

Another figure burst from one of the huts ahead. Unlike the previous one, he did not see the approaching duo right away, only noticing them when Sir Arnald hurried his pace, his footsteps crunching louder in the dirt. The figure swore and dashed back into the tent. The duo gave chase, a cry coming from inside as they reached the entrance.

The pirate stood by the backflap, holding a knife to the throat of a squirming villager. Her face was awash with fear, her struggling limbs unable to dislodge his grip on her.

"Back off," the pirate growled, "or I'll cut her throat."

Lucien hesitated, but Sir Arnald did not, advancing immediately.

"Then do it, cur."

The pirate did not hesitate either, just as immediately slashing his knife across the villager's neck. She jerked wildly, blood surging out from the wound. The pirate shoved her towards the knight, who deftly sidestepped, stalking towards and through the backflap in determined pursuit.

Lucien hurried over to the villager. One hand grabbed frantically at him, the other clapped over her wound, blood streaming through her fingers. She gurgled pitifully, desperation mounting in her eyes, the addition of his hand over hers failing to stanch the flow of blood. A shout came from beyond the backflap, followed by the clang of steel. The noises drew his attention, but her weakening strength drew it quickly back to her. Her hand slipped off him, and she gasped out one last breath before she slumped to the ground, limp and lifeless.

He stared down at her corpse, a mix of pity and sorrow swirling inside him.

Another cry from beyond the backflap drew his attention. He dashed through, glancing over his shoulder once more at the villager's corpse.

Outside, Sir Arnald was already wiping off his sword, the pirate dead on the ground.

"She's dead," Lucien told him, nodding back towards the tent.

"And so is he," the knight replied, gesturing to the pirate's corpse.

Both men turned to trudge on, Lucien shaking his head to rid it of images of the villager's despairing eyes.

A large, imposing orc stumbled into view between two tents ahead. Blood caked his left arm, a slash cutting across his loose tunic. The moment he saw the two men, he charged. Sir Arnald again did not hesitate, meeting the charge head-on. Lucien, for his part, froze momentarily, his heart racing quicker, more sweat cropping up across his body.

The orc and the knight reached each other. The former swung a heavy battle-axe, while the latter dropped into an agile slide, the blade whooshing over his head. His sword came up across the orc's leg, the momentum of the slide carrying him past the orc and bringing the sword through in a thorough slash. The orc snarled, his already quite fierce features twisted into an expression of pain and fury. Lucien readied his sword, confident enough in the knight's chances against the now-hobbled orc to not interfere.

Sir Arnald spun and charged.

The orc's free hand flew up from his hip. There was just enough time for the knight's eyes to widen before a dagger landed in the left one, his charge stopped short. A few unsteady steps followed before he fell.

Lucien swallowed nervously, and then dashed forward.

The orc threw another knife that he managed to dodge. The dodge gave the orc a chance to advance, his long strides bringing him closer, his bleeding leg barely a hindrance. The battle-axe came up in a strong slash. Lucien met it with his sword, the impact rattling into his arm, his muscles straining.

A few more blows rained down. He fell back, dodging and weaving, meeting a few of the less glancing impacts. His nervousness dissipated somewhat as he found a defensive rhythm, the orc's movements telegraphed enough to offer hints as to his intentions.

The next telegraphed blow offered an opening. Lucien drove his sword into the orc's exposed midsection, ducking down and to the side after to avoid any potential counterattack. The impact of his thrust made the orc stagger, letting him yank his sword out and step further to the side. The orc turned, and Lucien leapt at another opening. That massive frame twitched for a few seconds before pitching backwards, landing in a heap on the ground, clods of dirt flying up at the impact.

Lucien stepped back, breathing heavily, slick all over with sweat, a few wayward streams of blood coloring his clothes. A quick glance around revealed no immediate threat, but as the rush of combat settled slightly, the sounds of continued battle reached his ears from elsewhere in the village.

After one more glance over at Sir Arnald's corpse, he continued slinking through the village, finding corpses here and there, a few villagers and one or two pirates. Upon slipping through one empty hut, he came out from the backflap into a small clearing. A fire struggled to stay lit beneath a clay pot. A villager's corpse lay on the ground next to it.

A sound came from behind him. He turned and brought his sword up to meet a charging pirate. A wickedly curved scythe clashed with his blade. The pirate sneered, showing off yellowed teeth and a silver-studded tongue.

The scythe drew back, slashing at him, quicker than the battle-axe. He defended steadily, searching for an opening. The vicious slashes offered little for him to exploit but he stayed patient.

The next time their blades collided, the pirate headbutted him, forehead to nose. The impact sent him staggering back, pain springing up on his face, his breath catching in his throat. The pirate drove a foot into his stomach, pushing him further back. Heat licked at his feet, giving him a too-late warning; he was unable to stop himself from tripping over the clay pot, knocking it to the ground. Hot water splashed onto his legs, adding to his pain. He grimaced, but did his best to ignore it, heart racing as he rolled to his feet, bringing his sword up, feeling blood trickle from his throbbing nose.

The pirate was again too quick, slipping past his guard, dragging the scythe along his thigh. He cried out at the flash of harsher pain searing across his leg. It immediately buckled, dropping him to one knee.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement behind him. An ungainly spin brought his sword up, but again, the pirate was too quick.

The scythe struck across his lower back, sending another flash of pain through his nerves, his body torn open in another place.

Fear gave way to panic. His next attack was wild and undisciplined.

The pirate sidestepped, tsking him playfully, and then swung the scythe at his head.

His eyes widened as the wicked blade descended.

He threw himself backwards in time to avoid a fatal injury.

But not in time to avoid injury.

A third flash of pain followed, stark and sharp. A wet trickle streamed down over his forehead. He rolled onto his back and came up onto a knee, groaning hoarsely, the rush of combat and danger muting the pain after its initial burst.

The pirate struck again.

This time, he managed to block the attack. The pirate spun away, nodding almost approvingly. The flow of blood reached his eyes then, forcing him to wipe it away. The few crucial seconds gave the pirate an opportunity to pounce again.

A strong impact drove him onto his back. A foot slammed his sword arm to the ground, but he managed to keep his grip on it. A weight settled on his chest, another keeping his sword arm pinned down. Through the curtain of blood streaming sluggishly over his brow, he saw the pirate kneeling on him, one knee on his chest and the other on his sword arm. Another sneer showed off those yellowed teeth.

The pirate switched out his scythe for a dagger and stabbed it down.

Lucien threw up his other arm. The pirate's wrist met his forearm, the knife stopped just above his face, the desperate block a success. More blood obscured most of his vision, but he was able to see the pirate deftly switch the knife over to his free hand.

Oh gods...

With his sword arm immobilized and his other arm blocking the pirate's initial attack, his struggles were fruitless. Tears sprung from his eyes, mingling with the flowing blood. He whimpered, the sound pitiful and sad, fear overriding his pain.

Oh gods...

The pirate reared back, knife glinting in the sunlight.

Oh gods, please no!

An arrow burst through the pirate's hand, sending the dagger flying off to the side. A look of confused pain appeared on the pirate's face.

And then a second arrow burst through his left eye.

Lucien groaned in relief and pain as the blood fully obscured his vision. The pirate's weight slipped off him. He sat up hurriedly, wiping the blood from his eyes. Elsewhere on his body, he felt slickness burbling from his other wounds, dull throbs cropping up as well.

His vision was clear enough to see Justin hurrying towards him, bow strung with another arrow. Once next to him, the archer crouched, eyes glancing around to watch for more threats.

"I got you, Lucien," Justin said breathlessly, "you're alright, I got you."

+++++

The city of Bastion was alight with lamps and candles in the fading twilight. Lucien watched from a balcony high up on a tower, a cool wind tickling across him, half-empty goblet of mead in one hand. The scar arcing across his forehead itched, but he resisted the urge to scratch. Nevertheless, a few fingers reached up to trail along the pale red line running into his hairline.

I thought that pirate might have done me a favor, giving me such a scar. For surely no disfigured man would be worthy of a princess...at least I had hoped so for a little while.

The thought of his future wife snuck into his head. He sipped his mead, imagining the look on her face when she saw him again.

She hasn't seen the new, scarred me. Not that I'm grotesque. Apparently a well-placed facial scar only makes one look dashing.

His thoughts lingered on Gwennalyn, in Coronhar with the orcs.

I do hope she's having herself a good time. Although I can't imagine it'd be hard to have a better time than in the courts of Crownhold. Certainly the novelty of living with orcs must be a breath of fresh air.

He trailed his fingers back over his scar.

"Coin for your thoughts, Lu?"

Serrick slipped into the chair next to him.

"Just thinking about Gwennalyn."

"Ah. Have you...decided whether you'll tell her?"

"How can I tell her?"

"If she is to be your wife, and share your bed, odds are good she'll find out. Better to hear it from you, no?"

He sighed, glancing idly into his goblet as if it contained the answer to his dilemma.

"I know I should tell her. And she seems nice enough to not run and gossip about it to the court. But once I tell her...I can never take that back."

"True. But as you said, she seems nice enough to handle it well. And it certainly is good to have a wife who understands you. How have your nightmares been, by the way?"

"Still having them."

"I didn't ask if you've been having them. I know you have. I still have them myself. I asked how they've been."

Lucien took a sip of mead.

"Mostly the same. Have your nightmares changed over the years or are they the same as they've always been?"

"They change a little bit, but the main things are usually there. I still often dream of the first man I ever killed."

"That brigand?"

Serrick nodded.

"I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Well, the first man I killed was on the expedition. But I dream more about the pirate who almost killed me and that villager who died in my arms."

"Nightmares don't have rules," Serrick said, shrugging. "We all dream about different things."

"Do you think Father has nightmares?"

Serrick shrugged again.

"I don't know. But I would not want to meet the man who has killed and never has nightmares about it."

"I haven't killed as many men as Father. Or you, for that matter."

"Doesn't matter how many you've killed, really. Even taking one life is a serious matter."

"What about your brigand? If you hadn't killed him he would've killed you."

"And it is a shame it came to that. If he had asked for coin, I would've given it gladly."

Lucien paused for a second to sip his mead.

"This is something else you should discuss with Gwennalyn once she is your wife," Serrick spoke up.

"I should talk about how many men I've killed?"

Serrick smiled slightly at the attempt at humor.

"About your nightmares."

"Do you talk to Isabel about your nightmares?"

"Of course. And Father talks to Mother about his."

"Does it help?"

"It certainly helps me. Isabel doesn't understand, of course, but she listens. And sometimes all you need is a patient ear."

Lucien glanced back out over the city.

"I feel like telling her about my nightmares would just be giving her more to deal with."

Serrick nodded.

"That's fair. Perhaps don't tell her everything right away. But it could help you greatly to let her into your head, even just a bit."

Lucien sipped his mead.

"By the way," Serrick began, "the City Guard is ramping up patrols around...certain areas of Bastion. Be careful when you go out on your...nightly walks."

Lucien nodded gratefully.

"Thanks for the warning."

+++++

A low groan filled the small room, the breathless exhalation of a man enjoying a wet, warm mouth on his cock.

Lucien looked up at the stranger. A thrill ran over him at the pleasure written across that face. A hand was already twining fingers into his hair, showing mindless appreciation for his efforts. His own cock was hard, but he neglected it for the moment, perfectly happy on his knees on the cold, hard tile of the bathhouse drying room. This one was the last in a line of eight, tucked into the far corner of the baths room.