Half-Elf Harlot Ch. 01-02

"I'm into you too," she replied. "You and your damn perfect hair and your fucking glowing beacon of manly goodness."

He kissed her once more, this time softly.

Later, when she found Thodorlun, he was sitting in the courtyard on a bench near Marvin's fountain.

She could still feel Ignatius' come inside her, deliciously, as she sat beside him.

She waited for him to speak first but when he seemed content in silence, Zelia said,

"I had sex with someone tonight."

They hadn't talked yet about what they were to each other, she and Thodorlun. Zelia wasn't sure how relationships were supposed to work, but she felt like telling him was something she should do, given that they were lovers.

In the dim light, she could see the corners of his moustache drawing in with a smile. He placed a callused palm atop her hand and squeezed it.

"Was it any good?"

"Yeah."

"C'mere."

Thodorlun put his arm around her and leaned her head onto his shoulder. When they were sitting, the height difference between them was almost nothing.

"I'm happy for you to be with other people, Zelia," he said. "I count myself a happy man if I only get to be with you, as well."

"I'd like that very much" she said.

Marvin burbled without comment in his fountain. Music from the party drifted through the night air, and Zelia felt warm and safe and full of love and possibility.

*****

Chapter Two: What Happened in the North

He hadn't touched her since they'd crossed the threshold weeks ago.

They had been lovers, she and the dwarven cleric. She'd held a place for him in her heart since the first day they'd met, at the Shadow Hand camp in those dark woods many miles ago. He'd seemed so bright and kind and gentle to her then, sitting by the campfire, whittling, and Zelia had often in the intervening months thought with considerable warmth of the look of surprise he'd worn when she had boldly propositioned him, and of the night they'd spent together.

Much had happened by the time she saw Thodorlun next; his eyes were graver, and the brightly polished cleric's amor he'd once worn had been replaced with black.

She'd changed, too.

Their reunion, when the Ladies of Warsong had travelled to Thodorlun's encampment at the border of the evil mists surrounding Nordenburg and beyond, had been heightened by the feeling they'd all shared of the eve before uncertain battle. But since then, ever since they'd stepped within the mists themselves, there had been no amorous exchange between them.

From Zelia's own perspective, she knew why. They had come to a curst land, where neither life nor death was fully possible, and she, now a dedicate of the Raven Queen, had felt particularly the weight of duty to extinguish the evil that haunted this place, and bring back the natural cycles of death and renewal to the land.

It told on her. She'd felt grey, and flat, and empty of her usual optimism and the gleeful manner with which she often flung herself into the hands of destiny. The vampire lord who'd held these lands had sucked the life from them, from the very air, and Zelia had felt it as a soul-deep wound.

She supposed the same, or similar, must be true for her dwarven beau. He was, after all, a cleric of Pelor himself, and just as dedicated to vanquishing the unholy spectre of un-death as she. Even that aside, no one could be expected to have much space for joy within these deadening mists.

But that was before they'd won. They'd fought the evil now, and had defeated it, her, Alessa, Amara, and Thodorlun. Against dire odds they'd slain the vampire and the sun had risen clear and bright come morning, the mists dissipating like an evil dream.

There was much to do yet, yes; Amara, as the heir of Nordenburg returned, now had a duty to this place and its traumatized survivors. The vampire's castle contained a hoard of treasure to be tallied up and dealt with. But in the days that followed the final battle, in the cleaning up, Thodorlun had remained apart from her.

Even now, as she watched him tending to his armour in the quiet following their evening meal, she sensed a preference in him to be left alone.

"Thor," she called out.

Zelia did not always find it easy to obey her wiser thoughts.

"Can you help me with this tent, please?"

The dwarf turned to look over his shoulder at her, and set his armour down.

"Yep."

There was a contentment in his voice that reminded her of... before, but still he wouldn't look her in the eye.

Even so, she found his presence comforting as he worked beside her, re-securing the poles of the large tent and examining the oiled canvas for nicks and tears.

When it was done, they stood inside it, and the silence hung heavy between them. Zelia swallowed, a lump in her throat.

"Thor, do you... I'm sure this is going to sound juvenile but do you still... like me?"

He did look at her then, and in his deep brown eyes she saw her answer.

"Yes, I do," he said, his words falling hopelessly short of what was already plain in his expression.

Zelia cast her gaze downward, uncharacteristically shy.

"Then why, um, haven't you, y'know..."

Thodorlun opened his mouth as if to speak, said nothing, and then abruptly thrust his head outside the tent.

"Oy! You two!"

Outside, by the fire, Amara looked up from where she sat tuning her lute. Alessa, horns gleaming in the firelight, continued poking a stick into the embers, sending orange sparks up into the chill night are.

"What," said the tiefling.

"Use the other tent tonight."

Amara answered with a wolf whistle and played a saucy riff upon the lute, and Alessa smiled into the flames.

Thodorlun closed the tent flap and turned back to Zelia.

"Why haven't I touched you, do you mean?"

Zelia nodded, and as he slid his arms around her and drew her close she clung to him. All at once, the knot of fear and weariness and tension that had been lodged somewhere in her chest began to melt, and she burrowed her face into him and cried in hoarse sobs upon his shoulder.

"There hasn't been the time for that," he said gently, his thick arms warm and firm around her. "You've been so strong through this, love, and I didn't want to risk your need to hold it all together. Pelor's balls, it was all I could do to match your iron, lass. But... it's over now, isn't it."

She buried her fingers into the mass of Thodorlun's wiry brown hair and looked at him through swollen eyes. The soothing strains of Amara's lute came through faintly from outside the tent.

"Yes, it's over."

Thodorlun ran a thick thumb across her cheek to wipe her tears.

"Well, then, little girl, let me lie you down now."

They knelt on the woollen bedding. Zelia unbuckled her belt and unclasped the raven-feathered mantle she wore over her dress and laid them aside. Thodorlun placed his hand on the centre of her chest and slowly laid her back onto the blankets. He stretched out beside her, propping his head up on an elbow, and looked down at her.

Tentatively, Zelia reached up and ran her hand along a braided section of his beard, stopping to finger one of the large silver beads enwoven there, carved with dwarven runes.

"I was afraid that you would die," she whispered, throat tight.

"And I you," he said. "When you went down at Argynvostholt, I don't think I've ever been that scared."

Zelia lifted her head up off the ground and kissed him, savouring the warmth and goodness of his mouth. She tasted her own tears, as well.

Slowly, and with surprising deftness given the meatiness of his fingers, Thodorlun undid the buttons down the front of Zelia's dress and the underdress beneath it. He parted the layers of fabric softly, skimming his fingertips over the smooth exposed skin of her chest.

Zelia twined her fingers through his considerable beard and tugged, pulling his lips to hers once more. Silent tears matted her dark lashes and rolled down her cheeks as they touched each other, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that his were wet as well.

"Zelia," he said, his voice low and thick, and once again he laid his palm down on her sternum. A faint, white-yellow glow began to emanate from his open hand, sending tingling healing magic into Zelia's chest. She felt the warmth of the sun radiating through her, finding no wounds of the flesh to heal but healing her regardless, washing her soul in loving light.

She placed her own palm against Thor's chest, through the open neck of his tunic, feeling the hairs there curl between her fingers. She spoke her own prayer of healing, calling on the goddess, and the two of them held each other's hearts in the dim light of the canvas shelter.

"Your magic feels like sunlight in my soul," she whispered, when the magic faded. "What's mine like?"

Thor looked into the distance, stroking his beard.

"Like... the peace of cool night air, and the promise of morning."

Zelia laughed delightedly, and then her laugh became a gasp as Thor bent down and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking experimentally. A thrill of pleasure travelled up and down her spine like electricity, grounding, with a jolt of heat, between her thighs.

"Hold me harder," she breathed. "I want to feel alive."

An animal noise came from his throat in response, and he pinned her down with the full weight of his thickly muscled arm while his head descended lower.

Brusquely, he twitched the fabric of her skirts aside, pushing it upwards, granting him access to the sweetness of her thighs and burying his face between them.

She felt him kiss the mound of her vulva, and then the wetness of his broad tongue licking at the tender folds of her engorged cunt. Her thighs shuddered, and she arched her back with pleasure, feeling the containing weight of his arm still holding her down.

The air around them begin to bear the faint scent of ozone, and Thodorlun lifted his head, cheeks pink from his exertions.

"You're not going to barbecue us in here, are you?"

He'd seen bolts of lightning explode from her fingertips more than once in battle, and had reason to be cautious.

"I might, if I don't have your cock in me soon."

He chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest, and sat up on his knees.

"You can well be patient, little witch," he said, a playful warning tone creeping into his voice.

"I don't know if I can—unless you make me," she challenged.

Zelia shrieked as Thodorlun grasped her by the hips and pulled her, hard, toward him. He whipped off his tunic, throwing it against the side of the tent where it landed with a loud thwump and slid to the ground. She could see scar tissue peeking here and there through the thick hair of his stocky chest.

"Take off that dress," he rumbled, his eyes intent and throat thick with desire.

Zelia shimmied out of her clothing and stood bare before him on her knees, expectantly.

She reached out her hand to touch his chest and he grabbed it, spinning her around so that her back was to him and pulling her close against his body, one arm locked around her chest.

"Do I like you," he said into her ear, as he slid a hand down the smooth skin of her belly and buried it in the short curls of her hair.

"I don't know why you picked my tent to sleep in when we first met, but I am ever glad you did."

"I think of you," he continued, rubbing the flat of his palm in slow circles over the surface of her cunt, "sometimes, I'm alone on the road, or weary on my watch. It warms me, the thought of you..."

One finger, then another, slid inside Zelia's cunt and she rocked into him, throwing her head back against his broad shoulder. He slid his upper hand up to caress her face, and then her jaw, and held her by it, while with the other hand he freed his cock and sat her back on his lap, guiding himself into her.

"Shh," he whispered, squeezing slightly where he held her by the jaw. "That's it, my girl. That's it."

Thodorlun continued making soothing sounds as he pumped his cock into her, ably lifting and lowering her hips to control her movement on top of him.

Zelia turned her face into him, pressing the top of her nose against his cheek and letting her mouth hang open, breathless, as he slowly fucked her.

In her daily life, Zelia needed freedom above all else, chafing even at the pressure for consensus with her more cautious party members. But here, within the close world of their tent, she wanted only to be held and cared for, to be fucked and fondled and told that she was good, that she was wanted.

When at last she was overcome with pleasure and cried out aloud, answering howls and laughter were heard from their friends outside. Zelia felt her entire body go limp as the last pulses of her orgasm subsided, but still Thodorlun fucked her.

"Don't think you're done yet, woman," he said, tossing her down on the blankets and spinning her onto her back, holding her legs wide open.

"Haven't you heard of the famed dwarven endurance? It's going to be a long night."