The Dark Chronicles Ch. 03

But not knowing doesn't mean not trying. To his credit, De Grance properly knew his stage, and kenned that it was a meeting with the Goddess here. Clothes and trapments unnecessary and would not work. He knew it. A naked man against a naked rock, and a shaft in it like a fuck. To tease apart her delicate legs and ease the shaft from its place then, that was the task in front of him.

So he to one side and shucked off his clothes; and a prancing mince came down and took them away with a coy glance at his master as he scurried off. Ha, a stolen vest no doubt, and a spilling into cloth that night from a slender stroking cock. A worthy look, for De Grance turned a final circle once, a deliberate thing to impress upon the watchers his size and strength. His meat hung thick from a black haired place, and the muscles on his thighs and chest and gut were impressive big and firm.

I glanced across at Nymue and saw her eyes sparkle at her contemplation of the size of this big man. Her finger tapped once on the arm of her chair, as if keeping a score. I looked down to my own thin pins and wondered if I should take up rowing in a little boat. I could catch fish with a string and a hook, splish splash. Or cast about with a whirling feathery fly over my head, wish wash.

De Grance strode to the rock, and clenched and tightened the perfect muscles of his ass and his wide back, curling his toes to anchor himself in the mud. He laid up one hand onto the rock, two fingers on one side of the blade and two fingers the other, as if to feel its warmth and the wetness there. His other hand gripped the dagger's haft. I could see him flex his fingers and stretch his thumb, to test his own grip. And he gripped the handle, and all over his body every muscle tightened as he applied every part of his strength, great cords and sinews bulging from his skin. Yet it was never enough.

De Grance shook his head, to clear sweat from his eyes. He summonsed the mince for a dry cloth, and dried off the palms of his hands. The lucky little court, two nights! And again De Grance applied his force, and again his muscles thickened most memorably. Even Nymue let forth a little gasp of mazement and astonishment, and her fingers gripped the arm of her chair. Certain an impressive sight, but no good, not once did the knife even move.

He let go the dagger's handle. De Grance knew his defeat but knew too he was well defeated and his place in the queue assured. He went from there all a shaking his head and muttering, and I've never seen such a big man look so small. Best get your cloak around you, De Grance, I thought, before some other man sees you're not as strong as you think you are.

"It is good, Maer. Courts and princes will remember this stage and know the biggest man knows his place. I could not have writ it better, but man's vanity makes it so."

Nymue looked across at me. "De Grance is useful, Maer, his little princess too, when she comes of age. Look, remember her face."

She pointed aside, and there by a big horse a little girl stood, ten years maybe, or twelve at most, all awash with waves of fair golden hair. She looked shy and peeped at her father as he walked back to his place, wrapping his long cloak around him, all a hiding his nakedness. She saw it, and blushed.

De Grance stood with his huge hand on her little shoulder, and beside him she likened to a delicate doll. Miryamme, then, his princess watching on. Good, she will see the main act. I turned to Nymue and wondered, "A last look, Nym Nymue? The little girl?"

"I think it so, Maer Maerlyn, but a shadow too." She was still. "A blackness in my mind, something moving slow behind it." Nymue shook her head to clear it. "I cannot see it, yet it's upon us, it's in this place."

I looked about yet the sun was bright. I knew the blackness, yet if the white Nymue did not see it and powerless? Mine ankle ached, and I felt the darkness. A battle on, but the white witch to Glas in retreat and the black witch already strong and stronger yet to be? Best not linger in the middle of that. My heart beat a double flutter which comes when I'm nervous and afraid.

"Ah, Maerlyn, 'tis nearly over. Our first circle done."

Up the path a small procession came, Lot with the Queen Ygraine by his side, a black veil covering her face. Artur walked with them and Ygraine his mother, her arm was linked with his. Artur walked tall, and passed by De Grance and seemed taller. Yet Artur was slender by compare, but nevertheless a bigger man, and seeming made it so. Of the black Morgayne I saw nothing, but mine ankle ached. The little Miryamme hid behind her father's leg, her tiny hand in his, so sweet a daughter fair.

Nymue leaned forward in her chair, and her shift fell loose about her body and I spied a dark nipple tighten. Her legs slipped apart and the long falls of her gown fell between. Her ankle was delicate and small. I looked to Nymue's throat, and a long faint blush was rising. She looked back at me, and gave a little sad smile, some last longing. Nymue reached behind and found a small bag. Her fingers shook as she cast seeds on the hot embers of her fire. The seeds crackled and spat, and a sweet scent reached up upon the air.

A last conjure then, for the Goddess, and I wondered at it, and Nymue's place. The long curving walks and spiralling stones, her witching tokens rising with white feathers on the wing, her songs and seasons short and long. And then done for long long turns of the sun and the moon, a resting place to get her energy back? In the Isle of Glas with the Sisters and her mother, a little girl returned. This work hard then, and her white hair a sacrifice so young. The Goddess a fierce mistress; and Nymue's mother to sing, "Little sparrow, little sparrow," and comfort her where I could not. But where will I lay my head? Oh Nymue, my heart.

The three stopped in the glade. Artur turned to his mother, and lifted the black veil from her face. Ygraine reached both her hands to her son's face, and held Artur's cheeks as one does a precious gift, then reached her lips to his and kissed him. Artur's hands went upon her waist and she was precious too, I could see it in the softness of his touch. He took one finger tip to his own lips and blessed a kiss, and touched it to her lips, the last kiss of a prince; the next the kiss of a king. Artur turned to Lot, and rested his hands on the other man's shoulders, who had been a father to him and a teacher.

Artur then looked direct towards us and his eyes were focused far beyond where we sat, Nym Nymue and I, all hidden behind our mist. I suspect he knew what was behind it, for how could a mist survive the midday sun?

He stood astride the red flowing stream, and curious it was. The blood red flow stopped at his feet, and the water flowed clear beyond down the valley, all bubbling and swirling but clear. A whisper went through the people watching, "See, see how pen Dragen's blood stops at his feet, this Artur!"

Behind him, De Grance took a step forward as if to better see, and the look on his face was puzzled and strange, as if to say, what youth is this who dares better me?

Beside me, Nym Nymue was moving into her trance, her fingers and thumb idly teasing up a nipple, and her other hand gathering up cloth on her thigh. My blood thumped at the sight of her, and I too shuffled my legs about to cater for my thickening. My senses sharpened, and I scented the sharp metallic tang that was Nymue, her cunt scent rising, and my nostrils flared. A fainter scent troubled me, distant yet drifting in the air.

A wind shuddered the sides of our tent. Nymue's breath quickened, and I felt a pulsing throb in my belly. My cock grew hard, and my ankle pulsed with my heartbeat, quickening too. Ah fuck, the Goddess wanting our presence, the heating woman beside me; sweet fuck I wanted her, to gaze into her eyes, just us. But she was away and rising, her trancement upon her. She dipped a finger between her legs. That fainter scent?

In the glade, Artur looked down and saw the blood red river before, and looked behind him and saw it stop. He slowly undid a clasp around his neck and let the cloak fall to the ground, where it fell into the stream and stayed. Artur undid buttons of bone and straps of leather, and cast away the doublet and jerkin that covered his chest. They fell further behind him, but no man nor woman moved to get them. He knelt to one knee and undid the straps and ties that tightened his boot, and threw it aside; and the other one too.

He stood, his chest bare and broad, his back a ripple of muscle, a slender youth but tall. By compare to De Grance, a finer man, yet bigger in this place. Beside me, Nymue gasped, and her scent was high in my nose. I breathed her in deep, her honeyed sweetness a taste I knew on my tongue. And behind it, another sweeter taste, a cloying thing. My nostrils flared, and the scent was like liquorice, dark and musk. Mine ankle pulsed, and my cock thick and hard throbbed too. Behind my nipples, my chest stabbed with tight centres. My cock was hard, yet my hands gripped the arms of my chair. Darkness shuttered my mind and my ankle hurt. Two women digging into my head, and I helpless and stupid, a man with a cock. More blood than sense, and I knew it.

Afore us, Artur stripped away his leggings and britches and stood naked before the rock and the dagger. His was a tall slenderness, his shoulders wide and his hips narrow, the cheeks of his ass taut and finely curved. I saw the essence of old pen Dragen in his stance, the same strength and pride. Artur did not care for a parade, his purpose the rock and the blade afront of him, and he walked slowly towards the cliff. As he walked, the red of the water moved up the stream with him, the dragen's blood staying at his feet.

He reached unto the rock, and his hand went straight to the handle of the knife and gripped it. Beside me, Nymue gasped, a quick intake of her breath. I remembered her tell of the making of this blade, starting back when this man was born. And of course, her own cunt had gripped the handle where Artur's hand now gripped, and her sex was on it. The man's hand enveloped it and was man and woman both, as the Goddess needed for the land. Artur looked around as if perhaps he heard her cry, and it were possible, Nymue's magick flowing into the rock and lifting the mist.

As he turned, I saw Artur's rising prick thickening and hardening against his gut, and it was a beautiful shaft, firm and straight. A healthy thing, long and wonderfully proportioned. Nymue sighed, and her fingers were slippering wet between her legs. Artur gripped the dagger's haft, and he tensed his hand against the rock. He pulled upon the dagger with an exploratory force but no movement there. He stroked the rock with a delicate touch and a little whimper scaped from Nymue's throat as she connected with the stone and the Goddess all in her head.

From afar came a strange crawling rumble, as if a beast slithered on the land, and the earth gave a single shake. Artur eased his weight down onto the rock, and I saw his muscles tighten as he strengthened his grip. Again he pulled on the knife, and I heard a crackling sound and the blade moved. Nymue gasped out loud, and the scent of her cunt rose fragrant and filled my nose. I licked my lips and could almost taste her, and she channelled the Goddess through her body, kicking a leg out against the floor in her spasming heat. A second rocking rumble shook the place, and Artur eased again the blade and the rock yielded up some more. But the Goddess held it tight and made him pant and give it up.

Nym Nymue's rising pleasure spiralled to her stone and spring, and the tightness slowly yielded and gave up the shaft. A third surge thundered down the valley, and Artur's muscles bulged and tightened as he stood and gripped the sword, but still the rock gripped it tight and would not give it up.

And I shuddered, for looking up above Artur's head I saw a black shadow, swift and fast, crawl down from the top of the cliff and find a ledge, mayhaps twice Artur's head from the ground. Morgayne was like some swift and climbing thing, clinging to the rock. Her long black hair was coiled tight around her naked waist, and her lean body was white flesh against her black hair, coiled round. She stopped above Artur's head, and her limbs moved strange and slow.

"Artur, brother mine from our mother! Look up and see your sister. I'm the fuck, not this foul sorcery." Artur looked up, and above his head the black Morgayne crouched upon the rock and spread her legs apart. Up between her thighs her hair was thick and black and she spread her lips apart and dipped two fingers between, and Morgayne showed her brother her sex.

Artur gripped the sword once more and slid it from the rock, and a fourth shudder shook the place. Beside me Nymue fell in swoon upon the floor, her hands cupping her white sex. She cried out as she shuddered, and thick magick trammelled her body and shook it and the earth shook one more time.

Artur turned from the rock, the dagger Scalibur held high in his hands, both hands thrust high to the sky. His splendid shaft was hard and long against his gut, and as I watched I saw a thick jet of seed spurt from Artur's cock, and more and more again, and fall white against the earth, and he became King on the Goddess's soil, for the land.

His sister Morgayne dropped from the rock to Artur's feet, and scooped his seed to her fingers and spread it on her naked belly, streaked brown with mud and white with his cream, and her swirling hair all black and shining like some malignant, splendid wolf.

At the sight of her beautiful, black coiled hair and her pale, seductive nakedness my own cock surged, and my seed too spilled upon the ground, despite myself and because of my own fucking weakest self. Morgayne darted through the thinning mist and scooped up my spill. Whereas she spread Artur's seed all white around her belly, she crouched and wiped all mine around her asshole, and that was what she thought of me.

"Maer Maerlyn, you want my cunt, I know it. I can smell your lust, and taste it." She looked up at me from her crawling on the ground. "Maybe one day, Maerlyn." Her voice was sweet venom. "Maybe one day."

And her low voice, just a whisper, made it worse, and so much better too. I am enslaved between the black and the white, and I hate it and love it. I would not have it any other way.

I was there.

When a solitary boy, just breaking man, pulled a knife from a tight rock and found himself king, I was there.

© electricblue66 2018