Suula's Flower

The flowers in Suula's hair slowly slid from the chestnut brown locks as the very tips of her hair began to drag in the deepening water. The moon above had cast a luminescent bluish glow on the water of the pool at the bottom of the cascading waterfalls. Suula's skin, too, had taken on a blue hue. She smiled softly at her reflection, then dragged a single long and slender finger through the water to create ripples over her mirrored face. All around the pool was silent, calm, undisturbed shadowed leaves and branches looking more midnight blue than black. It was Suula's favourite place to bathe, the privacy so peaceful after a long day of arduous learning. Her clothes lay in a neat folded pile on a flat rock where she had entered the pool. And beneath her feet, deep in the waist high water, she could feel the familiar softness of water-moss covering the smooth rocks that lined the bottom of the pond.

Suddenly something made Suula tense. She tucked a heavy lock of brown hair behind one pointed ear and began to look around, soft lavender coloured eyes earnest in their search. There hadn't been a sudden snap of a twig, a splash of a disturbed rock landing in the water. Nothing obvious. But she knew without a doubt that suddenly she wasn't alone. Carefully, Suula made her way towards her clothing, where her dagger was tucked beneath the silky material of her dress.

"Leaving so soon?" came an accented voice, causing Suula to turn her head sharply to one side to identify its source.

Standing on a white disc that floated above the ground was a cloaked figure. One hand was held out slightly, obviously in control of the disc magickally. Suula could see the dark skin of that hand as the fingers wavered slightly and the disc lowered. The figure stepped from the round one-person platform and stood next to Suula's clothing for a moment before squatting down over her dress. She gasped as she watched the stranger draw the dagger out from her clothing, the thin stiletto blade shining in the moonlight.

"Looking for this?" the man said, for that voice could only belong to a man. A man Suula knew.

Her eyes went wide as the dark fingers of his other hand drew his hood back, revealing his face to the elf maiden. It was Aragarte, an arrogant dark elf she had met in the common village of Esteban, not far from here but far enough that it was obvious he wasn't simply out for a walk. He had followed her. Was it the first time? Had he followed her before?

A humiliated blush began to creep up the pale flesh of Suula's cheeks and she cast her eyes downward as her hands slowly crossed across her chest. She felt vulnerable, exposed as she was. There were sounds now, metallic clicks and a flush of material dropping to the ground. She didn't need to look up to know he was undressing himself. A splash of water confirmed that for her and she knew he was in the pool with her now.

The first thing that appeared was the tip of her blade, pointed seemingly at her heart. Then, as Suula dared to look at the blade, angry at herself for having let this happen, the dagger flipped around easily in Aragarte's hand and was presented to her handle first. Suula took it, holding it tightly between her covered breasts.

"What are you doing here?" she finally dared to ask, not yet ready to lift her eyes.

"I came to give you your knife," Aragarte said cockily. "You looked like you might need it."

Suula lifted her eyes, avoiding looking at the expanse of naked black flesh Aragarte was showing off as he moved closer to her. Her gaze narrowed as she looked into his red eyes, the smile on his lips reflected there somewhat as much as the moonlight was. His hair was as long as her own, she knew, and he had tucked a lock of it behind his own pointed ear as if to mimic her own hairstyle.

"You followed me," she finally said, lips slightly tight.

"Did I? Or did I happen upon a place to bathe and find someone already using it?"

"You're Drow," she snapped immediately. "Do Drow even bathe? Surely not in the light of the moon..."

Aragarte put on a mock look of hurt at the biting tone Suula used. She wasn't typically such a harridan but he was a Drow, a dark elf. And she was a high elf. And everyone knew there was no love lost between the two races of elven kind. It was a wonder he was allowed in the town of Esteban at all, but there he had been when she arrived as part of her sabbatical. She had wanted to learn the magick of the common people, the humans, not sure of how such people could cast magick without having an ounce of the arcane in their own bodies. Finding Aragarte there doing practically the same thing had insulted and offended her but she had told herself to endure.

"Suula," he said in his thickly accented voice, speaking High Elvish to her, "you wound me. Do I seem like someone who would not bathe, to you?" With a smile, he narrowed his red eyes at her. "Have you been smelling my hair when I walk passed you?"

"No!" she said firmly.

"Then how would you know how I smell? If I smell at all?"

Suula huffed, not interested in having a battle of wits with someone she felt was surely unarmed. She turned her back on him suddenly, the water swirling as she moved. The curtain of her dark hair made her feel somehow secure as it slid over her shoulders, blocking the dark elf even from her peripheral vision.

"Suula," he was whispering, and then she realized her mistake.

Putting one's back to danger was a silly thing to do, everyone knew that. But putting one's back to a dark elf was equally dangerous and silly. They found it an insult, as their culture was one full of back stabbing and assassinations and spying. Their world was built on such things. And such gestures as insinuating that one's companion was not worth fearing, putting one's back to that person as if to say there was nothing to fear, caused great insult.

The Drow were known for their anger and their rage, their tempers claimed as deepened wrath that could wake the dragons of Hell if not quenched, if not satiated. Suula could feel her whole body tensing now, and she squeezed her fingers around the dagger's handle, almost daring Aragarte to harm her, to give her reason to use the blade. She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for him to make his move. When it came, it was not what she could have prepared for.

Dark fingers slowly slid around the flesh of her upper arms, gentle in their touch as if handling a baby bird. Suula had never felt such a soft touch before, despite the gentle nature of her own people. One hand lifted to tug her hair away lightly, exposing her shoulder to the light of the moon. Then the fingers of that hand lifted and touched lightly on the long length of her pointed earlobe, stroking lightly.

"Now why would you put your back to me," Aragarte began to whisper as he drew ever closer. Suula could feel the press of his chest lightly against her spine.

"I'm-" she started, pausing to gulp. "I'm not afraid of you..."

That caused the man to chuckle. She could feel the laughter hidden deep in his belly, the guffaws he didn't let escape, instead favouring her with soft quiet laughter.

"Oh of course you are," he whispered. His lips were oh so near her ear now. Why wasn't she pulling away?

Aragarte continued to speak, as his hand returned to her upper arm. Both sets of fingers were taking turns gently squeezing her muscles and stroking over her skin.

"All of your people are afraid of me, to some degree. Afraid of people with skin like mine, eyes like mine...But you, my little dove, my little bathing swan, you're more afraid of me than any of them. And do you know why? Shall I tell you why?"

Suula was half insulted by what he said, but also half intrigued. What could he mean? The High Elf people were not afraid of the Drow. They were sickened by their distant cousins who lived only beneath the ground in caverns as large as any city the elves could claim. Most dark elves lived their whole lives down below, where they never saw the beauty of the light of day. The sun was said to weaken them. No, how could he say her people were afraid of he and his kind?

"Tell me," she dared to say, surprised at how breathy her voice sounded. She turned her face slightly to one side, realizing how very close his height was to her own. His face was right there, a mere moment away from her own.

"You fear me," he whispered, "because you desire me..."

"Of course I don't," she began to say, but one of his fingers came up and cut her words off before she could finish her sentence.

"You fear me because of all the people you have seen in the last fifty or more years, I am the only one suitable to you. The one most like you."

Suula slowly turned herself around, unable to speak, unsure what to say. She had lived in Esteban for sixty seven years now. She had watched human children come into this world, had helped with one or two of their births even, and then had outlived those very children. Human lifespans were short, they simply weren't the toughest of races on a world so harsh and unforgiving to anyone who showed a weakness. It had taken her ten years to make her way to the town of Esteban, seeking a specific human sorcerer that she wished to learn from, only to find he had died while she was en route. She had his books though and that was how she spent most of her days, up in his tower reading his vast library of books.

Finding Aragarte had at first annoyed and irritated her. He was a Drow and their people were at war. That didn't mean she needed to try and kill him, and never had she raised a blade or a spell against him. He had accepted her presence and had never gotten in her way, keeping to himself. He sought the tower mostly at night, leaving it in Suula's hands during the daylight hours. They rarely encountered each other, but she was ever so aware of the only other elf in the vicinity. But while many was the time she had thought of him, never had it been as he was suggesting.

"You're wrong," she said quietly.

"Am I?" Aragarte said with a confident smile. Suula nodded. "Prove it then."

"Prove what?"

"That you don't desire me..."

Frowning, Suula felt her brows furrowing at the thought. "How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"Kiss me." His answer was quick, prompt and to the point. And it sounded as if he really believed what he was suggesting. If she kissed him, she could prove he was wrong.

Suula gulped, looking into Aragarte's eyes. When she had turned, he hadn't released her from his light grasp. Now his arms encircled around her back. Her hands were still folded over her round breasts, the dagger mashed between the depths of her growing cleavage as the dark elf pulled her slightly closer.

"I can't, I don't think..." she whispered.

"See?" he retorted with a wink. "When you're around me, you can't even think. I must be right, and you must be too afraid to kiss me..."

He was playing on Suula's pride and it was working. She was not afraid. Hadn't she left her home city and ventured out into the wild without even a guard or servant to attend her. How could he say she was afraid? Of anything? She was the bravest elf she had ever known, as far as she was concerned, willing to forgo the pleasures of an easy city life within the High Elf kingdom, just for the sake of learning.

Suddenly Suula rose up on her toes and closed the small distance between her mouth and Aragarte's. She kissed him fully on the lips, and then stood on the flats of her feet again, blinking at him.

"I am not afraid," she said quietly, wanting him to acknowledge her bravery.

Aragarte laughed. "You call that a kiss?" he teased.

"As if you could do better," she scoffed. So he did.

Aragarte's mouth on hers was sudden but tender, as light as his touch on her arms had been. At first Suula wanted to object, then some part of her told her it was only fair. And then there was another feeling that overwhelmed and swept over the logical thoughts she was struggling to hold on to. His kiss felt good, it felt right and it felt heated and passionate and deep. She felt her body leaning in to his, his arms holding her just above the water as his head pushed towards her. She was bending now, and one of his hands slid up her back to cup the fall of dark hair at the back of her head. Held aloft just so by him, she felt one of her feet slip on the moss beneath the pool. Her leg slid between Aragarte's and that was when he pulled away, when the touch of her thigh grazed his manhood.

He stared into her face, his hand moving from the back of her head to touch her cheek gently. His thumb rubbed at the high bone beneath her slanted eye, and Suula found herself blinking, feeling absolutely breathless.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he said quietly. "I could have killed you a thousand times by now. But it isn't my wish to harm you..."

"What...what is your wish?" Suula said, and part of her suddenly wished she had agreed to wed before leaving the city of her birth. At least then she might know what was going on, what was happening to her that made her heart pound so hard in her chest.

Aragarte reached his hand between their bodies and Suula tensed, sure he was going to grasp and grope at one of her breasts. But instead, he drew the dagger from her hands and tossed it behind him. She heard it land near her clothing, though her eyes stayed glued to his.

"What I want," he said quietly, that thick accent as he spoke High Elvish showing that it wasn't a natural language for him. "What I want is to have you..."

"You...you can't," she tried to say. "You mustn't..."

"Why not, Suula," he asked, fingers returning to stroke her cheek. His thumb brushed down over her chin and his index finger bent beneath it to tilt her face up.

He was studying her face now, she could tell by the quick way his gaze moved over her face. He was taking in her eyes, her pert nose, the triangular shape of her face.

"You can't have me," she tried again to reassert.

"But I already have you," Aragarte said in response, his arm around her back feeling suddenly so strong and secure in his grasp of her. "It's up to you to be released, at this point."

"Me?"

He nodded. "Simply push away from me. Move away from me and walk to your clothing and get dressed."

Suula slowly pushed on his chest, lightly forcing him away from her so she could stand up straight. She felt a lump in her throat as she pushed further still and slid from his arms. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his as she began to walk by him. Somehow she couldn't believe she was doing it, that she was capable of walking away. Something in his kiss had commanded a part of her no one else had commanded, and yet here she was, moving away. Suula pulled herself up out of the pool. She didn't dare turn around, knowing that if he was looking at her, he was getting a full view of her bare bottom.

The elven maid bit down lightly on her bottom lip as she picked up her dress and gave it a light shake. The nipples that darkened the white orbs of her breasts were stiff as she slipped the dress over her head and wrapped its ties around her waist and ribs. It felt as if the dress were too constricting, though humans who saw it wrote of such a garment flowing as if it contained unnatural breezes in its material. But in this moment, to Suula, it was simply too tight.

There was a noise next to her, and she turned with a start to realize that Aragarte was there, dressing as well. She wanted to look away but he had his back to her and he couldn't possibly see her looking. Her eyes wandered over his lean form, noting the cut of muscles beneath his dark skin. He rippled as he moved, as if there wasn't a single ounce of fat on his body. Lean and chiseled, he was as slender as any High Elf male, but there was a softness lacking in his form. Suula openly studied his physique now, realizing how very scarred Aragarte's skin was. There was one particular gash across his lower spine that looked as if the blade that had cut him would have severed his soul from his flesh if it had cut any deeper.

Suula couldn't help herself. Slowly, she reached out to touch the scar. Her fingers had barely grazed the silvery blue colour of the healed wound when Aragarte turned hard and grabbed her wrist. The gentleness of earlier was gone, and his fingers wrapped around her lower arm like a vice. The look on his face was one of frustration, anger, and that indomitable rage the Drow were known for. But for some reason, Suula wasn't afraid.

Slowly, she drew herself closer to him, somehow feeling more confident now that she was dressed. It was as if putting on her raiment had returned to her the grace and authority her people were known for. One slender white hand lifted to touch against Aragarte's cheek, almost mimicking the same tender motion he had given her when they had been in the pool.

"I am not afraid of you," she whispered softly, stepping closer.

"Maybe you should be," Aragarte hissed, still not releasing her hand.

"No," Suula said, shaking her head slowly. The wet tendrils of her hair were starting to soak her dress, making it nearly transparent.

"And why not?" the man asked as she slowly pressed herself to his chest.

"Because you desire me..."

It was ironic how she was now turning his words against him, his accusation of her own want of him now a tool she put to his mind. Aragarte seemed to freeze, it was as if he realized he was no longer dealing with the same girl he had come upon in the pond. This was a different creature, but from what Suula could see in his eyes, he still wanted for her, just as much if not more.

"Prove it," he finally said, and his tone seemed to say he accepted the game, the change in strategy and the shift in power.

"Prove that you desire me? How?" she asked, feeling her heart beating hard again. She already knew what he would say.

"Kiss me..."

Suula didn't need to be told twice. She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips slightly to his, letting their mouths remain joined in the softest pause before pulling away.

"Call that a kiss?" Aragarte said, but this time there was less teasing in his tone, and there was a much more serious cut to his voice.

"Can you do better?"

And he did. Aragarte took Suula into his arms once more, much like he had in the pool. He held her close as his lips moved over hers and gave her the same deep and passionate kiss he had shared with her before. She let her own hands do what they would, and they slipped up over his shoulders until her arms were around his neck. His white hair was wet at the ends, but she found her fingers stroking and pulling at it gently. Then, before she could stop it, he was lowering her to the soft grass that enveloped the pool's clearing, the carpet that kept the trees and the dead leaves at bay.

As her hair spread out around her head, Suula's eyes blinked open. Aragarte pulled away, a hand stroking her cheek, his face still so close to her own.

"What is it you are afraid of," he asked, "if it isn't kissing me?"

"Everything else," Suula breathed, her hands resting on his hips now. She couldn't believe she had let him kiss her, and had just made such a confession.

"You have never been to bed with a man," Aragarte said, and the look that came over his face was strange. For a moment, it looked as if he might pull away, but Suula kept hold of his hips, where his pants were pulled up but not yet fastened.

"It is...what I was afraid of," she said with a small nod. "But I am not so afraid anymore."

"I am Drow," Aragarte said, an almost bitter tone to his voice for a moment. "My people would by your age have known many lovers. What you are suggesting is that you have not had any. And what you are offering me is something too sacred for me to take from you..."

Suula could have cried from the little tinge of embarrassment she suddenly felt. There was also the startling revelation that Aragarte of all people had standards. She had considered giving her virginity to one of the many human knights that came through town, trying to impress her with favours and beg for her blessing in their adventures. People had strange ideas of what elven kind believed in or were capable of. It had somewhat amused her to think of letting one of them bed her, like it was a gift. The lucky man would have carried that carnal knowledge of her around with pride, like a shield. And here she was, about to give herself to a Drow man, and he was rejecting her. It was too ironic for tears.