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The first thing she decided was that her mission had changed. She would still need to find Gwendolyn, but she no longer wished to kill Morgana. In truth, she felt bad for her. She was now fully confident that Morgana's strange mannerisms were genuine, not manipulative. She was centuries old, assuming all the legends she'd heard spoke of the same woman. She had been living all of her unnaturally long life in seclusion, with only a few 'servants' to keep her company. Why a woman who could conquer an army with a thought chose to live in seclusion was beyond her, but Morgana was lonely. Desperately lonely. That was why she had offered her strange form of hospitality to the woman that had just tried to kill her. She was that desperate for a new playmate, the poor monster.
Rescuing Gwendolyn was her only quest now. However, the challenge wouldn't be in rescuing her, but in convincing her that she needed rescuing. How would she go about this? She knew of the apprehension a young woman could feel about being forced into a marriage she didn't want, not to mention anger, maybe even hatred at the parents forcing her into it. Gwendolyn wouldn't be the first young lady to flee from an arranged marriage.
How would she convince her, tell her how much her father misses her? How great her life was that she left behind? Maybe she could point out how her suitor, as bad as he may be, still wouldn't force her to walk around naked and stick her bare breasts to a wall for hours at a time.
Whatever she said to Gwendolyn, she would need to talk to her first. She would need to hear her story from her own mouth, and understand all of her reasons for running away before she could convince her to go back. That, however, presented another problem. She would need to get some time alone with Gwendolyn, and for that to happen, Morgana would almost certainly need to allow it first.
Morgana had already said she did not trust her around Gwendolyn. Therefore, her next step was to earn the sorceress' trust. And how would she do that? Probably by giving her the exact thing she needed: friendship. She didn't think it would come to her having to sleep with the sorceress, as she had requested. She would avoid it if at all possible. Maybe if it had been a man, but homosexuality was an abomination. Even a despicable assassin like Adrielle had virtues.
No, the one thing that people like Morgana craved more than sex was simple acceptance. They needed someone to talk to, someone who would hear their problems, their anguish, their guilt, and love them regardless. She had learned this from some prostitutes she had trained with in preparation for one of her killings. She had been surprised by how many paying customers they said never actually initiated intercourse with them. Here were strong, virile men, harboring men's desires, and even with a naked and willing woman in front of them, sometimes they just needed someone to hold them. Morgana was very likely one of these types. Behind the monster was a sad, lonely woman.
So Adrielle decided she would play along, become her friend. She would dine amongst her and her servants, and smile. It might take days, or it might take months, but she would earn Morgana's trust. Then she would rescue Gwendolyn. Maybe she would be able to escape herself, eventually. And maybe, just maybe, she might even be able to help this poor monster in the process.
...
When drowsiness finally hit her, she tried to fight it though she had little luck. She still found herself yearning for a bed to lie down on or a chair to sit in. Standing was becoming torture. She tried to find a comfortable position, but no matter how she stood, she could find no comfort for long. Her legs ached and her eyes itched.
Making further progress on her plan was difficult; it was hard to keep her tired mind on task. Somehow her mind kept returning to, of all things, that freakish vulva of Morgana's. There must have been over two inches of slit showing from the front angle alone, never mind how much more must be tucked between her legs.
The thing that horrified her the most was that she was intrigued by it. She kept wishing she could get another look at it. She kept wondering that those thick labia might feel like between her fingers. It wasn't the first time she had felt some misplaced attraction to another woman's body, though she had always managed to shove it back down into the depths of her horrible mind. This time, though, the thought wouldn't leave her.
She hated to admit it to herself, but she was actually tempted to take Morgana up on her offer, and not just as part of her quest, either. She was a wretch for even desiring it, and she had to fight the temptation. She knew the Bible distinctly said it was an abomination for a man to lie with a man. Though it technically never mentioned a woman and a woman, the implication was as plain as day.
But she had already slept with other men for some of her hired killings. That was adultery, which was also a sin. So would this be so different? God had commanded 'thou shalt not kill,' yet people killed during war and were commended for it. Would this be so different? Surely, adultery was a lesser sin than murder, so why wouldn't it be permissible when necessary to win a war or save a life?
That was what she had told herself all along to keep a clear head. In fact, so many of her assassinations involved bedding with her victim. In war, you used every advantage you had, and Adrielle's beauty was a powerful tool. No man could refuse an offer to bed with a woman as beautiful as Adrielle for any reason other than virtue, and the men Adrielle needed to kill tended to be men of few virtues.
...
Adrielle had been chosen for her first assassination precisely because of her good looks. Her first kill had been Einar the Reaver, the savage general of an invading hoard of barbarians.
When the barbarians longships had first been seen landing on the shores just to the north of the city of Lindis, Count Bastian called for any men of fighting age to take up arms. Her father, a craftsman of no particular renown, heeded this call and became a soldier of no particular renown. The militia, now reinforced with newly trained soldiers, marched against the invaders. However, they failed to slow Einar's advance, and were quickly driven back to the city. With the defenders having retreated, the hoard descended upon the outer farmsteads and ranches, killing and plundering as they pleased. What farmers managed to avoid death or capture were called inside the walls of the castle for safekeeping.
Einar's hoard surrounded the castle and laid siege. The walls kept them out, however with all the farmers having fled from their fields, the defenders would not be able to hold out for more than a week until they would run out of food.
After every battle, Einar the Reaver was known to take the single most beautiful woman of his defeated enemies into his bed. Sometimes he killed them after he had finished with them, sometimes he let his men have their way with them afterward. Regardless of what he did with them, they never returned alive.
Adrielle, a mere nineteen years at the time, was very likely to be that woman once the castle fell. When Count Bastian called for one brave girl to be given over in the guise of an offering of surrender, Adrielle bravely volunteered. It would be their last chance to slay Einar the Reaver and save Lindis.
Before sending her to her death, Count Bastian first asked her father if he would permit this. His lord or not, David had flatly refused the Count. However, Adrielle insisted that he let her go. He had gladly volunteered his life to defend the people of Lindis, and had considered it an honor. Why then, should she not do the same, even at their most desperate hour, she asked him?
David was still not convinced. He said that while there was no shame in dying in battle, he would not see his own beloved daughter raped and mutilated for the amusement of sadistic barbarians, not even to win the war.
"But Father, did our Lord Jesus die bravely in battle? No! They killed him in the most degrading way they knew how! He didn't just bear the pain of a spear wound. He bore shame and humiliation! His suffering was drawn out for days! They hung him up for the whole world to laugh at him! But nobody questions His bravery or His honor.
"And if I don't do it, the same thing will probably happen to me anyway, along with every other girl in Lindis. Please, let me kill Einar!"
David was a devout Christian, and after Adrielle had invoked the glory of their savior, he knew he could not deny his daughter that same duty that he had so eagerly accepted. Tears running down his cheeks, he bade her luck and prayed that the Holy Spirit stay with her. That night she was sent to Einar's tent with her best gown and a tiny blade, one of her father's meant for cutting cured leather. She had decided to hide this blade inside her vagina in case they searched her clothing or stripped her naked before presenting her to their general.
Einar had taken one look at her before he was overcome with lust. Forgetting all caution, he took the then frail girl into his tent and threw her down on the bed. He ripped her gown to shreds without a second thought. Adrielle thankfully managed to remove the tiny blade from herself and hide it under the pillow before he was inside her.
His enormous hands clenched her upper arms as easily as another man's hands might fit around her wrists. He grabbed so hard that he bruised her arms. He was rough with her. It hurt Adrielle, but she didn't mind. She gave herself willingly. As monstrous as he may have been, Einar was as handsome as the devil, and she had just a little lust for him as well. It was the thought of victory that steeled her resolve the rest of the way. It was the thought of her, meek little Adrielle, dealing the killing blow that would end a war that helped her to endure this ravaging.
After Einar had had his way with her, and she had almost had her way with him, he collapsed onto the bed beside her to catch his breath. He didn't live long enough to catch it. While the beast was in the midst of his post-coital stupor, Adrielle quietly fetched the knife from under the pillow. She flicked off the makeshift scabbard that had protected her most intimate flesh from the deadly blade, and ran it across his throat. It had been sharpened to work hardened leather. She felt so little resistance as it passed his throat that she briefly wondered if she had cut him at all until she saw the fountain of blood spurting from his neck.
Einar's eyes grew wide with terror! Not wasting a moment, she threw a pillow onto his face to muffle his screams. She knelt on top of the pillow, hoping to smother him with her bodyweight. Though his thrashing arms caught her already battered body a few times, she held on for dear life. If he had gotten up, he might well have strangled her to death with his sizable hands before he bled out.
Thankfully, his arms eventually grew limp and settled down onto the bed next to his twitching body. Though her heart was pounding like never before, Adrielle sat as still as a cat and waited for her death to come. But Einar's guards never burst through the tent flap as she had expected. Perhaps his muffled death screams hadn't sounded much different from the war cries he had shouted as he had fucked her but a minute ago.
She forced herself to move. Wearing nothing but her stockings and a copious amount of Einar's blood, she climbed off the bed on trembling legs. She didn't dare to exit through the main flap, so she cut a small eyehole in the rear of the tent. The way was certainly not clear, but at least nobody seemed to be watching the back of the tent. She cut herself an opening large enough to crawl through. As an afterthought, she grabbed Einar's tunic that he had thrown on the ground and ran for her life. What happened next was a blur in her memory.
Einar's warriors noticed her almost immediately, though most of the rear guard of the siege hadn't been highly alert. There were surprised shouts in a language she didn't understand, and savage men were pursuing her with intent to maim and kill. She felt hands grabbing her and things hitting her, but she struck back with her knife, with her elbows, with her teeth, anything she had at her disposal. The hands fell away and she resumed her flight from the barbarian camp.
Before she knew it, she was past the outer perimeter. She sprinted aimlessly into the black of night, hoping the shadows would hide her. She was barely aware of the moment their shouts of anger suddenly shifted to cries of anguish. She realized only after the fact that this was probably when they had discovered their dead general.
The next thing she knew, she had collapsed next to a tree in a thicket with no idea how she had arrived there. The next moment she became aware of Einar's tunic still clutched in her left hand with a death grip. Apparently, she had neglected to actually put the thing on.
She set the tunic and her knife down on either side of her. Though it was nearly pitch black, she was able to find a few wounds she hadn't realized were there. A couple of them were deep, though none of them serious. These must have been inflicted on her during her flight from the tent.
Slowly, painfully, she got to her feet again meaning to find out where she was. She scanned the horizon and made out the walls of Lindis at least a mile away. Had she really run so far? Her flight had seemed like mere seconds! She heard no sounds of her pursuers. Had she evaded them?
As the battle rage subsided, a sense of euphoria started to overcome her. She had won! Not just won, but survived! She had bested gigantic brutes of men, all of them extensively trained in combat and not the least afraid of a bloody death. But she hadn't beaten them with strength, or with skill, or even with bravery. She had beaten them by clinging to life harder than they had, by refusing to die. It was what had made her volunteer in the first place, and it was what had driven her during her battle. She had beaten the fierce barbarians of the north with the sheer, primal instinct to survive at any cost. And she loved it!
Despite her tremendous pain, she couldn't help but grin. That grin begat a jovial laugh. She grabbed Einar's bloody tunic. Was it her blood it was caked in? His? She couldn't tell. She raised it over her head like a battle trophy and let out an animalistic shriek, almost an echo of Einar's shouts of conquest from earlier.
She eased herself back down onto the ground again and rested her back against a tree. She must have been delirious from her ordeal right then, because one more thing suddenly entered her notice. Einar hadn't quite finished what he had started with her. Her womanhood still tingled with some of the pleasure she had felt earlier. She slid her free hand between her thighs and massaged herself the rest of the way to orgasm, all the while laughing with that same mad euphoria. It was far from the best orgasm she had ever had, although even a good orgasm might have been drowned out among all the extreme emotions she was feeling right then.
A new woman was born that night inside of her, baptized in blood.
The next morning, Adrielle staggered back through the gates of Lindis, wearing that bloody, oversized tunic. They cheered, lauding her as a hero, as she returned to the city she had saved. Her loving mother and father, however, didn't seem to believe it was her at first. Partially, it was because neither of them had dared to even hope that she might return alive. But also, she did not seem like the same girl they had raised from infancy. Something had been so fundamentally changed in her, and not all for the worse.
As soon as her parents' uncontrollable sobs of joy had subsided, they told her of what had happened during the rest of the night. Driven into a bloodlust by the deceitful act that had felled their mighty general, the invaders had launched a final and fierce offensive, meaning to crush the defenders of Lindis before the sun rose again. However, these barbarians were ill experienced in siege craft, and broke themselves against the walls of Lindis in their rage. The survivors had retreated back to their ships in defeat.
Adrielle was a hero now. She was no longer just the daughter of a humble leatherworker, nor even one of the prettiest girls in Lindis. She was a warrior through and through. She had vanquished Einar without ever having trained in combat. How formidable might she be with training, her townsfolk wondered? She was accepted to train with the city guard in the ways of melee combat, and the formerly frail and timid girl soon became a strong, athletic woman.
However, she never mastered the fighting arts as some had hoped. All that could be said was that she kept pace with most of the students, but she did not excel. The calm, studious atmosphere of the training yard never reproduced the primal rage that had awakened her that night. She was a woman driven by instinct. She never got to the point where her instructors felt she could confidently take on a well-trained opponent in a fair fight.
Thankfully, fair fights weren't what assassins were about. Her true edge came from instinct, resourceful thinking, and quick wit. Within five short years, she had been assigned a total of fourteen assassinations. Of those fourteen targets, eleven of them were now dead by her hand. She had tracked down and killed wanted murders, bandits, deformed monsters, and had infiltrated a doomsday cult. During those quests, she had been beaten, stabbed, shot by arrows, clamped in irons, and even bitten by an ogre. Yet she had escaped alive from every quest, even the few that had gone afoul. And she had always recovered to fight again, despite the injuries she took.
Compared to all the abuse she had endured during her last fourteen quests, she really wasn't in that bad of a situation right now. It seemed hopeless, yet she knew she would find a way. She reminded herself of the abuse she had suffered before. The sorceress' attempt to subdue her by humiliation were nothing compared to what others had done to her. Her will hadn't been broken before, and it wouldn't break now.
Yet there was something different about this mission than all her previous ones. Of the three missions she had failed, two of them she had aborted because her gut told her to, and only once had her target managed to outwit her.
Morgana, her fifteenth target, would be the first she would spare out of pity alone. But she still had to go to work on her. The same skills she had used against her previous victims would be more needed now than ever before. She still had to get herself and Gwendolyn out of Morgana's lair. She would have to gain Morgana's trust so she could betray her.
This sudden sympathy she was starting to feel for her captor could become a liability. That, and her abhorrent attraction to her. She had finally decided she would have to sleep with Morgana, and her greatest fear was that she would enjoy it.
...
After what seemed like an eternity, Morgana returned a second time. Adrielle had been leaning her forehead against the wall with no concept of how much time had passed. Groggily, she raised her head and looked at her. Morgana hadn't brought her cloak and boots with her. She was just naked as Adrielle was, and didn't seem to mind a bit.
"Well, your time is up, and it looks like you don't get to go free. Although by the looks of it, you've given up a long time ago."
Adrielle, as tired as her mind was, still thought out her words carefully before speaking them. She would act as if she had been beaten, as if she saw no other choice but to submit to Morgana.
