Moonkiss

"We're not going to do anything tonight," she said soothingly as she carefully - extremely carefully - laid herself down next to him, with her head resting upon his manly chest. Her fingertips traced along his musculature as she ran them up and down his abdomen, which tensed involuntarily under the soft touch. His breath came out shallow, heavy with desire. Her smell alone was enough to bring him to ecstasy. "But you are going to get well soon. And when you do... you'll want for me." Her words were gentle as she whispered them. "My warmth will heal you, Sir Knight. And you will be my husband, demon-man. Because you will see that I am a good woman, and you will not wish to hurt me."

She placed a chaste kiss upon his chest. The light from the lit lanterns cast shadows on the tent walls as the wind blew outside, which caused the flaps to rustle slightly. The sound was like a melody to Rhycard's ears, a lullaby which brought him ease As a knight and a solider, he had often slept under the stars, with nature as his companion. He felt tired - much too tired - but still, he knew this night would haunt him, like an indecent dream he could never explain. Vera had claimed him as her husband. And no man from the southern kingdoms who was in his right mind would have accepted such an offer. She was the enemy. She was a savage. She was..

"We'll see.." he said - his voice barely more than a whisper - finding himself unable to deny the charms of the woman lying by his side. She seemed to radiate a mysterious allure that drew him in. A lure of seduction. The idea that she wanted him - for reasons beyond his understanding - it was almost as if she were a siren who led him to his doom with trickery.

The barbarian touched his body with a familiarity - as if she had already put every inch of him to memory when he was unconscious, and that they shared a deep bond already. "Your wounds are still healing, demon-man. We will wait. Until you are whole again." Her fingers found the small hairs on his belly - but stopped short of reaching lower. There was an unspoken promise there - a desire which she wished to convey but was reluctant to speak aloud. Then Vera wrapped her arms around his torso and cuddled up closer. "Sleep, Sir Rhycard the Knightly. You need to recover yer strength. I will watch over you, demon-man.."

Eventually, their breathing fell into the same rhythm. Rhycard did not hear Vera's words as much as he felt them - spoken deep within his heart, or rather, his soul. The sound of her gentle heartbeat, the warmth of her body... her fragrance - it all soothed the knight, until at long last, he was able to drift off to sleep. Sleeping with the enemy.

--- 3 ---

He woke up to the sound of moaning. Vera was still asleep, clinging to him like an animal in a burrow - her breaths short and sharp as she exhaled, in and out. Her warm breasts were pressed against his side, her left hand clutched tightly to his chest, one of her legs across his own. Even in her sleep, she seemed careful not to put any pressure on his still-healing wounds. But the moans came from the opposite end of the tent.

There, on another wide cot, laid a wounded barbarian man - and on top of him, Nila gently bounced her voluptuous form. Rhycard could not see what exactly transpired, their furs and blankets blocking the view of their physical joining, but he heard every bit of it clearly. The way she moved atop the poor wounded man was mesmerizing to say the least - her curvy body rolling like waves on the water, as she raised herself up high and fell back down with a rhythmic impact that made him groan with pleasure.

"Do you like sticking it in my bottom?" she asked, her voice squeaky and shy despite the obvious arousal. "Feels good in there?" She placed her palms on the man's broad chest, leaned forward, and their mouths met - a sloppy kiss that seemed to make the northman more excited than anything else. He took hold of Nila by the waist, and began to thrust upwards into her - her pink nipples protruded from her breasts, firm and erect as if ready to be caressed. Rhycard looked away, feeling sinful for witnessing such an intimate moment, even though the two lovers were completely oblivious to his presence. Of course the savages would bring sin even to their sexual encounters, he thought, using her forbidden hole.

Vera stirred next to him. Her nipples felt hard against his chest, her slender arms wrapping themselves around his torso in a comforting fashion. Her lips brushed his neck as she placed a soft kiss upon it, seemingly in her sleep - the gesture affectionate yet strangely animalistic. The way she kissed, her tongue slipped out of her mouth, leaving a wet mark. He closed his eyes and pretended to ignore the couple going at it across the room, while trying to clear his head. But they were not being the least bit subtle.

"You feel amazing, wife-to-be," the barbarian man growled in between deep breaths. Nila let out a cry of pleasure, and he seemed to be losing himself in the ecstasy, her bouncing body straddling him intimately. Their hands met somewhere in their messy, sloppy lovemaking - and Rhycard couldn't help but listen as Nila began to moan and whimper in a different kind of way, seemingly coming deep from within her core.

"Ah-aah.. yessss..." she whispered in a hiss, biting down on her lower lip so hard it seemed about to burst. "I love it when you push in deep like that! I love feeling you inside of me!" Rhycard couldn't help but to sneak another peek. The barbarian woman looked as if she was in agony, her every movement wracked with tension and passion. Yet the smile on her face said otherwise. It spoke volumes - she was loving the depraved act that they were engaging in, whether consciously or subconsciously.

The wounded man grasped onto Nila's shapely bottom with both hands and raised it high up - his hips thrusting upwards with animalistic lust - their bodies glistening with sweat, sliding against one another with ease. Rhycard felt himself become aroused by the scene, despite himself - but he quickly shook the thoughts away. He didn't know what had gotten into him, to be caught in such an indecent state of mind, and yet he could not ignore the way his blood rushed through his veins, or the warmth in his loins.

"That's it.." Nila hummed. "Deep inside my rear end..." she let out a sharp exhale of air, then swallowed hard. Their pace quickened as the barbarian man pounded away at the buxom woman, grunting in exertion with each thrust. "Make a mess out of my arse," Nila continued, "Come inside of me and mark your territory, future husband!" She rose up for a second, with her palms planted on his chest for balance, and let out a yelp - then came crashing down again with enough force to make the entire cot shake.

And shortly thereafter, her whole body shook too - her orgasm drawing out as she breathed out with every wave of pleasure, her back arching, her nipples stiff as feldspar, until she could hold herself upright no longer. "Ahhhh.. so good.." she moaned, in an almost delirious state, then let herself flop onto the wounded man's torso, nuzzling up to his face, pressing her plump breasts against his body as he continued to thrust into her from underneath. "You feel so good," she whispered with a smile, as if this was the best sex she had ever experienced. "I can feel your seed leaking out in my behind.."

Eventually, both of them fell into a stilled silence - though their heavy breathing did not subside, and the sounded of kisses seemingly echoed through the tent. Rhycard felt ashamed. As a knight of chivalry, he should not be privy to such a lewd sight - and yet there was nothing he could do about it. He felt trapped. The reality of the situation only began to sink in. He was alone with these women - in the north, an enemy of his homeland. They could do whatever they wanted to him, and no one would know of his fate.

The blankets had all but fallen onto the carpeted floor by the other cot. Nila, however, made no attempt at moving or covering herself. She let the man's member stay inside of her, as if unwilling to let go - the heat emanating from it drawing out moans of pleasure which occasionally escaped her lips, even after the deed was done. Undoubtedly, she had a satisfied expression on her face, perhaps even blissful. "I hope you liked that, husband-to-be," she whispered - as if sharing a secret with him - though her tone sounded smug and prideful, as if her partner had come in his pants like some foolish adolescent.

Vera stirred by Rhycard's side again - and the knight turned towards her. She looked so innocent and delicate in her sleep. So vulnerable. Why was she so trusting of him - a man from a foreign nation, that she saw as a demon? And if the Fylja could take their own kin as husbands, why had she chosen a combatant from a faraway kingdom for herself? He had so many questions - so much lingering confusion. But she had saved his life. Of that, he had no doubt. He was weak and wounded still, but without her care, he'd be long gone. The thought sent a pang of guilt through his heart. He did owe her a life-debt. But how could he accept the proposal she had made? It would break his oath, and such a marriage would never be sanctioned. Never be accepted. Never be allowed. If he took Vera as his woman, he would never be welcome again back home.

His heart ached at the mere thought. Surely he could not disgrace his lord in such a way that would condemn him - an upstanding knight - to eternal exile from the halls of his own kin. But he could not refuse without himself - and Vera - being killed. Yet, a life up in the north seemed impossible. Surely, the other savages would never accept him? He had slain their brothers, fathers, cousins, occasionally even their women - all beloved warriors. They would sooner put a sword through his belly than let him walk in peace.

"You should have let me die," he whispered to the sleeping woman, leaning down so that his lips touched her soft ear. A frown tugged at his mouth. "... But thank you."

--- 4 ---

When morning greeted the young knight from House Ambyrr, the barbarian woman Vera was already awake - staring into his eyes as he tiredly rubbed the sleep from his own, his arms hurting as he did so. Her frosty blues gazed at him with intensity. Her hand reached out and took hold of his own - her palm was soft and tender - and she squeezed it gently. "What does demon-men eat for breakfast?." She gave him a warm smile, full of adoration, her naked frame pressed against the knight's side. He looked away awkwardly - feeling an odd sense of comfort that was most unexpected.

"Good morning, Vera," he replied - his voice coming out hoarse, thick with sleep. Her face scrunched up at his words, and she looked paler than usual - clearly uncomfortable. Visibly offended.

"Sir Rhycard.." she said, her whole body suddenly stiff. "You must never call a northern woman that ya intend to marry by her birthname. It is 'Forbannaad'. Wrong." Her voice sounded agitated now.

"But..." Rhycard began, but the look on Vera's face silenced him, and he paused for a moment - thinking over the words she had just spoken. He hadn't considered that there could be such a deep meaning behind such an act, but he understood that each kingdom had cultural differences - and how little he truly knew about the savages from the north, besides their aggressive way of living, their constant raiding, and their devotion to forbidden Gods.

"You call me future wife, betrothed, sworn mate, or by pet name." Her stare bore into his own - there was a strictness there that made it clear this was not up for debate. She raised herself up, and stepped out of the cot gracefully - then brushed down the fur-lined cloth tunic, and her other clothing with her hand. Rhycard stared in awe at her nudity for a few seconds, admiring her smooth alabaster skin. He had to look away when he felt his cheeks growing warm. It wasn't right to admire a lady's naked form - and yet, there he laid, ogling her without remorse. The fact that there were other people in the room didn't bother her, and she made no attempt at hiding her nudity from her sworn sisters or the other man in the cot at the opposite end of the tent. The man whom Nila had pleasured so eagerly last night.

Rhycard looked back at the barbarian woman - but quickly regretted doing so, as he realized he would be seeing the same exact sight for the next weeks - and months. Her buttocks were tight, taut with muscle - they jiggled slightly when she walked - and her legs seemed strong and shapely, which curved into a voluptuous rear end and hips of an ethereal beauty. Her spine was straight, like an arrowhead, yet it was almost impossible to see from her wide posterior, or her perky breasts.

"So... Forbannaad, is that it?" Rhycard asked. His voice was calm, collected. He did his best to mask any embarrassment he may have felt in front of Vera, but it was hard to tell what she thought about his actions.

She turned towards him, placing her hands on her hips. "To you, I am not Vera. To you, I am more than Vera." She took a deep breath, then smiled again. "Think it over." Pausing, she stared at him for several long seconds before she continued speaking. "Now, breakfast? You eat birds?"

Rhycard blinked twice. "Like chicken, for instance?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes at him as if he was an uneducated child. "Chicken is for house-lovers. We are a nomadic people. We hunt wild birds whenever we can." Her deft hands tied the last straps of her tunic - then reached down and grabbed Rhycard's chin. Her smile widened as she gazed into his dark eyes, and then she turned on her heels and made her way out of the tent, calling behind her, "I'll bring ya many things, future husband! I'll show ya good food!"

A moment of silence ensued, the knight being left with just Myrja in a visibly awakened state - who nursed another cup of warm brew, staring at him through the steam rising past her nose. The blonde girl made no attempts to disguise the fact that she was staring at him with interest, or a certain curiosity. It was hard to say exactly what she thought about his conversation with Vera.

Feeling uncomfortable with her staring, Rhycard rubbed his temples, a slight fever still haunting him - and then he decided to engage her in conversation. "Do you mind.. if I ask what exactly this tradition is that the Fylja has devised?"

"Clarify," Myrja said - her voice having a certain timbre to it which made it sound imperious. Rhycard tried to ignore the discomfort he felt as she stared at him through narrowed eyes - not from their icy-blue hue, but rather because it seemed she wanted to see every inch of him. And perhaps that included his gutted insides. He had no doubt the petite young lady knew how to handle a blade.

Rhycard sat upright with great difficulty, every muscle in his body seemingly aching. "I must admit that I am not too familiar with your people," he began, giving a slight but courteous bow despite his wounds, "nor what exactly the custom is that governs such.. Matrimony."

Myrja gave him a crooked grin. "Northerners are passionate people. We marry for love. Love is powerful. Healing." She leaned back in her chair, then put down the cup of hot brew onto a nearby table. "People who love remain together. Fight for their partner, die for their partner." She looked confident as she spoke, her belief clearly deep-seated. "Unmarried women at age 22 become Fylja. Healers. Lonely life. We attempt to find our mate among the wounded on the battlefield. One at a time. We choose with great care." She paused to give him an opportunity to speak, but he was speechless - only blinking at her with a frown on his face.

She nodded towards an empty cot in the room, a slight look of disappointment showing in her features. "I choose wrong. Man did not survive. Still alone. But next battle, I try again, until I find my husband." The way she talked about it was very matter-of-factly, without shame, and yet the words themselves struck a chord deep inside of Rhycard. Myrja sighed deeply, then looked ashamed for the first time since she began talking. "If Vera would not have chosen you, I would have. You are exceptional."

"Oh," was all he could think to say at first. Rhycard shifted uncomfortably on his cot, and the silence that ensued made the situation all the more awkward. "Well.. You seem like a lovely woman," he tried, "I am sure you'll find someone to marry."

The blonde woman rose to her feet, and slowly walked towards the wounded knight - her hips swaying from side to side in a way that drew his gaze towards her. She stopped near the end of his cot, then sighed. "Not that simple. Fylja cannot marry in regular ways. Even if man shows interest, I must decline. Only among the wounded can I find my mate." She made a scrunched-up face, then pointed to her own chest. "Small breasts. Northern men don't care for it. So I never found mate. Now it is too late, so I wait for half-dead one."

Rhycard couldn't find the words to respond. The blonde woman looked at him with eyes half-filled with longing, half with sorrow. The knight inhaled sharply, and tried to keep the conversation going despite the tension. Despite her stare. "... So what happens when you heal someone successfully? You marry, and stop being Fylja?"

Myrja nodded her head slowly. "Married woman have no time for tending to wounds. Fylja needs to marry. Experience love. Have babies." Her face seemed to grow hot under her blonde bangs, her pale cheeks reddening like freshly picked apples. She was beautiful, in an odd kind of way - all sharp features and cheekbones, a little bit of a tomboy, yet somehow feminine at the same time - which only added to the intimidation she exuded.

"So why would you not tend to your own kind exclusively?" Rhycard asked. It seemed the question confused her, even though Rhycard himself thought it being most logical. "I mean, I am from a faraway kingdom. Why save me and not one of your own?" Surely she wouldn't marry a potentially hostile stranger if she could keep an eye on - and potentially save - one of her own kin, whom were far more likely to show gratitude. Or so he had assumed. But that clearly was not the case.

"We pick mates with strength. Those most fierce. And most gravely wounded. If life is not in true danger, how can Fylja earn the life-debt? Without it, man could betray her." The way she spoke the words, it was as if it was undeniable truth - and perhaps she had a point, the young knight thought. Betraying someone that had saved your life would be.. Most dishonourable. He couldn't imagine that any man with a decent heart would stoop that low.

"What makes yout think I am strong?" Rhycard asked, scratching the scruff of his beard, overdue for a shave.

She gave him a smile, her eyes twinkling. "I saw you. I was in the battle. You fight like northern God of war. You have heart of fire. Your face, handsome. Brave. Makes Vera want you as her mate." She paused, and took a deep breath. "Makes me want you as her mate, but fate did not will it so." Leaning forward slightly, she gave him an intense look. "Vera saved your life. If you betray her now.. Even your false God would not forgive you."

--- 5 ---

The food was satisfying, though Rhycard didn't dare to ask what the origin of the meats he sampled was. In his heart, he feared it may have belonged to a dog, or perhaps even the flesh of some unfortunate foe slain in battle - though he was so hungry that he couldn't fully process those thoughts until after he had finished the meal. Vera also brought him bread made with rye-flour, a drink which seemed to be water somehow sweetened with berries, and some cut up fruit. He wondered how the barbarians made bread when they didn't sow many fields - and he felt guilty, knowing that perhaps it had been plundered from some innocent settlement. But he was starving. He felt as if he could have eaten an entire sheep whole if he had gotten his hands on one!