The Pirate and the Elf Ch. 01

-- Prologue – ten years ago --

The elf queen stood at the altar, surrounded by the elite of the royal court. The war against the humans' empire was going badly. The elves possessed old magic, enchantments that bent nature to their will, that could twist the minds of their opponents, but the empire had the numbers, technology, and a bloody-minded world view that demanded that everyone and everything bow to their new religion.

The elves were long-lived, but their world view was so long-term they had hardly noticed the empire form, or gain so much power. By the time the humans had been recognised as a threat they had already launched their crusade against the elder folk and it was too late for the elves to properly muster their strength. Things were desperate.

So now Queen Lathiende stood at the altar in the dark and ancient temple to their god of revenge, an old god that must have grown strong on the grief of their kin, with a mind to claim the relic bound there. The legends said that the relic waited for a King and that it wouldn't yield to a woman, regardless of her stature. She, on the other hand, was a powerful sorceress and not used to taking no for an answer. She was also desperate. Her people were dying, soon they would be banished to the dark places, the places between this world and the otherworld where the humans could not reach. She knew what she had to do, what price needed to be paid to release the longsword from the seemingly impenetrable barrier of crystal that surrounded it and claim it's power as her own.

"Imric, you stay." she said to the guard known by the court to be her lover. Below her station he was nonetheless respected for his heroics in battle against the humans. She placed her hand on his leather-clad shoulder and turned her head away. "Everyone else, get out."

She waited as the court filed out obediently and then stepped in close behind brave Imric. The male stood proudly, as if to attention, awaiting his orders.

"Oh Imric.." she whispered, her full lips brushing the skin of his neck, her warm breath inflaming his passions. He loved her, even though he knew he could never be anything but a faithful servant. She, in turn, took him to her bed more often than any of the court. Hearing tales of his deeds created a need within her, the scars on his skin, the smell of his leather armor, his strong hands on her soft breasts, his hard cock inside her.. she felt her own passion rise at the memory.

"I need you.." she continued, her hand dropping from his shoulder, reaching around to massage the bulge at his crotch, feeling the heat of his manhood through material of his breeches, her long fingers tracing its shape, stroking it with a growing urgency.

The warrior's breath was getting deeper and louder in the silence of the temple, he tipped his head back slightly as his Queen kissed his neck, the tip of her tongue tracing a pattern behind his slender pointed ear.

He didn't see the dagger, but his loyalty was such that he would have likely have accepted it if he had been ordered to. As it was, Lathiende had not wanted to leave anything to chance, the ritual needed him aroused. She caught him as he staggered backwards, dropping the curved blade onto the stone floor with a clatter.

Imric gurgled as he drowned in the blood pouring from his throat. He knew, instinctively, that he was dying for his beloved queen and did not fight as she, gently, lovingly, lowered him to the ground while chanting under her breath.

When the ritual was done Queen Lathiende stood tall. She had done what she had to do and she had no regrets. She knew that his life had not been wasted because she immediately felt different. She knew she couldn't simply break the enchanted barrier keeping her from her god's relic. She was powerful, but nobody was that powerful. She was, however, also cunning: she had simply changed the reality of the situation to remove the barrier to her ambition.

She walked calmly to the altar and reached into the crystal, as if it wasn't there, closed her bloody hand around the hilt of the sword and drew it back out. She could feel its power flowing up her arm and into her chest, accepting her as the King it was waiting for, and she smiled a cold smile.

Imric had paid the price, as she would continue to, but from this day she would turn the tide. Her people might yet be saved.



-- Chapter 1 – A chance rescue --

"Now!" cried Captain Francis Rijksgeld, as the ship fired its last broadside into the guts of the crippled imperial frigate. Grapples were thrown and a long-rehearsed plan was carried out almost to perfection, giving him a sense of enormous pride as his crew bound their ship to the enemy vessel.

Grapeshot cleared the deck, then the boarding partly surged across, some laying boards across the gap some simply jumping. They had the numbers, but the ship had contained imperial temple knights rather than simple marines, holy warriors tested in battle and worth ten normal men. It didn't put Francis off, it simply made him want to know what they were protecting – it had to be valuable.

He slapped the shoulder of Beren, his first officer.

"I'm going over. Can't trust those thieving bastards with whatever's in there." he said, forestalling any complaints from the gruff northerner about putting himself at risk.

Half an hour of hard fighting later, the Temple Knights were defeated. They had fought like lions in their plate armour and Francis had lost far more crew to injury or death than he was happy with. There were still some pockets of resistance onboard, but the regular sailors were happier to surrender than fight to the death.

The Empire was the dominant power in the world, their ships hard pickings, but often lucrative. It was unusual for one to be so well defended – but alone. It made Francis wonder what, or who was onboard. He reasoned that there needed to be some secrecy, but whatever it was it was still important enough for a company of temple knights – emotionless, fearless, zealots whose usual place was the front line in their crusade against the impure.

Francis took personal charge of the search of the bowels of the ship, and found a newly built wooden bulkhead wall, not part of the original ship's design, neatly dissecting what should have been the cargo hold. The wall had a sturdy door with the imperial seal upon it. Despite the battering the ship had received in the battle, it was relatively untouched looking, though that didn't mean that a cannonball hadn't blown through the side of the ship on the other side and wrecked what was inside...

"One of you stay with me, the rest spread out and search the rest of the ship." he ordered, sure that whatever was behind the door was the real prize. He checked the door carefully for traps, then realizing that is had not been locked, opened it. The bowels of the ship were gloomy at best, but it was pitch black inside apart from the dim light admitted by the open door. He picked up one of the oil lanterns hanging outside the door and turned up the wick.

Francis heard the noise of metal plate moving on chainmail before he heard the grunt of his crewmate. He nearly dropped the lantern as he turned to see the headless corpse fall down in a fountain of red blood as the Templar stepped into the light of the lantern he held.

"Fuck!" cried Francis, "A fucking Templar!" he cried, though it was to no avail – nobody would hear him over the racket happening around the ship still.

He drew his rapier as he backed away, the Templar had him trapped. Francis was one of the best swordsmen on the coast, finesse, skill, he could disarm a man in seconds, but he had never dueled a Templar. They were not men, they were war machines. Whatever rituals they took dedicating themselves to the Empire's god robbed them of emotion, it gave them an edge and a single-mindedness in battle that was hard to deny, or defeat. They obeyed orders, they fought to the death. They had no fear.

The Captain rolled the oil lamp into a corner of the room and then dived, spinning to dodge the expected sword blow which fell wide of its mark. He caught a brief glimpse of another, bound and hooded figure, but it was in no position to help or hinder and so he concentrated on his immediate threat.

The Temple Knight he faced had the same blank expression, shaved and branded head and the same plate armour as his comrades, decorated with temple seals for the various actions he had taken part in. Francis knew that he wasn't hiding there, they didn't hide, and so assumed he was guarding the bound figure. Such thoughts were a luxury however, and he quickly concentrated on survival as the man came at him with his longsword, stabbing and swinging with a relentlessness that reminded Francis of a machine. His mind raced, he wouldn't last long in such a confined space if he waited for his crew to muster the strength of arms to rush this monster and calling for help loudly enough to be heard would distract him from fighting for his life.

Attack. He darted past a solid sword thrust and lashed out with the razor tip of his blade, carving a gauge across the man's face that would have caused any normal man to howl in pain and debilitate them enough to take them out of a fight. Instead a mailed fist grabbed the blade and twisted it. Francis almost dropped it in his surprise. The Templar was mutilated, bone was showing where cheek should have been and his teeth grinned out through the hole where his upper lip should have been, yet he had hardly flinched.

"Oh for the love of the gods, what is wrong with you bastards.." he muttered, as he finally released his rapier and drew a long knife from his belt. Instead of stepping back he stayed close, both of the Templar's hands were busy, one with his own longsword, one still gripping Francis' rapier. Francis jabbed his dagger, with the kind of speed that made him an excellent card sharp, through the Templar's eye and into his head. To Francis' horror, the man seemed to try to grapple him, his body failing to understand that it had been dealt a killing blow for a number of long seconds. Seconds Francis felt acutely.

When the armoured monster finally slumped it was all the privateer could do to keep himself from falling down too as he took a number of deep breaths as he attempted to calm himself down, his heart feeling as if it were making an attempt to leap from his chest.

Finally he turned and looked around him. No other Templars, just the slight figure bound to a sturdy X-shaped oak frame with a rough woolen hood over its head. Francis wasn't sure who or what warranted such precautions, but he wasn't about to take too many risks. He's already taken plenty today.

"Who are you?" he asked, stopping to pick up the lantern and holding it up to closer to the figure. It was a girl, a woman, slender and as tall as he. She was wearing a grimy, short sleeved cotton gown that stopped at the thighs. She looked healthy enough and despite her lithe frame he could see taught muscles in her arms and legs, tensed beneath flawless tanned skin. He stopped and shook his head with a wry smile; had he been at sea for that long that he was that easily distracted?

"Can you hear me?" he asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder, wondering if the Templar had killed her when the battle started. She felt warm through the cotton gown and at his touch she moved, writhing slightly, straining at her bonds, arching her back against the wooden cross.

Francis smiled a predatory smile, aroused at the contact. He let his hand wonder down from her shoulder and over a pert breast, lingering as his fingertips brushed over a nipple, causing her to writhe again. He shook his head and withdrew his hand. He was no cutthroat pirate, he had some honour left, he expected a standard from his crew and he needed to maintain the same standard.

"Ok, I'm going to take your hood off. The Templars are dead" he said, attempting to sound reassuring, before lifting the hood and gasping in surprise and staking a step backwards.

It was an elf! One that glared at him with blue almond shaped eyes, mouth tightly gagged. Francis had never seen one before though he had heard tales of their wicked ways, their magic, their dark deeds... The only good thing about them was that they had kept the Empire busy for decades, otherwise they would surely have conquered the whole continent. He blinked, he hadn't expected them to be so.. 'fair'.. She was achingly beautiful. He was suddenly struck by a desire to possess her. Right then and there.

Was it the world moving, or perhaps simply the ship? He staggered slightly and regained his balance, then he drew his dagger again and pointed it at her.

"Whatever you're trying to do, stop it now. We've all heard about the glamours you pointy eared witches cast. That's why the Temple Knights are all emotionally castrated isn't it?" he said. "I'd leave you here except that if the empire thinks you're important enough to keep alive, then perhaps they will be willing to have you returned to them for gold. I've lost too many friends today to leave empty handed."

She averted her gaze at that, as if struck, and looked down at the ground. Francis felt a lot more in control, he had let her know who was in charge, so reached out and carefully cut her gag away with his knife.

"Try anything and I'll cut your throat. The crew will protest at leaving you alive as it is. I doubt any of them will have seen an elf before either but we all know about what you do." he warned.

She looked up at him again, her expression scared, rather than defiant. When she spoke her voice was as beautiful as her appearance, her accent completely alien, Francis imagined that her language was nothing like the common tongue she spoke in: "I will not fight you my lord. I am no danger to you, I have little power so far from my Queen."

She writhed against her bonds slightly, as if trying to get comfortable, before speaking again. Francis couldn't help but notice her pert breasts moving behind the thin white cloth, the outline of her nipples showing clearly in the lamplight...

"You will do as you will. But if you agree to take me back to my people, you will be rewarded with far greater treasures than the Empire could give, and you would not have to keep me bound. I would come willingly." she ventured, looking up and meeting his eyes again.

Francis waggled the dagger at her and raised a dark eyebrow. "Do I look stupid to you? Elves kill humans." he stated flatly.

"No, we fight the Empire. Before the Empire we had peace. You are not of the Empire, so while my people may be suspicious, they will not hurt you. I am one of the Queens handmaidens, my word carries great weight. You will be safe, you will be rewarded." she pleaded, her confidence growing. She ventured a smile and it was as if the sun had risen in the gloomy cabin. Francis wondered how her teeth could be so perfect.

"If you agree to help me, I will give you my word that I will do you no harm. An elf cannot break an oath." she said.

He gave it some thought. The stories said many things about elves, but the part about oaths seemed to ring true. Many of the older tales centered on elder folk and their oaths, though their outcomes were seldom happy.

"Well I do have a price on my head in the Empire..." he said, "So dealing with them would be tricky. Swear your oath and I will do my best to return you to your people. Betray me and I'll give you to the crew, trust me when I say that you wouldn't want that."

The elf maiden nodded, solemnly, "I, Melisan of House Dorieth, do swear that I will not seek to escape your custody until you have delivered me to safety and that I shall use my influence to guarantee safe passage for you when we are in the land of my people."

Francis felt something in the room *change* - as if the oath had something more than words behind it. He nodded, satisfied, and crouched down to cut at the bonds at her ankles. As he did he became ever more aware of closeness of her thighs, he wanted to run his hands over that flawless skin. He so desperately wanted to explore further.. but no, they had an agreement now, and so he stood and cut the bonds at her wrists and took a step back, sheathing his knife.

She had clearly been in that position for the whole voyage and winced in pain as she stretched and rubbed the marks on her wrists. She took a step forward and stumbled to her knees, Francis stepped towards her and caught her shoulders.

"Are you able to walk?" he asked, concerned, before he caught his breath again. So close to her now he could smell her, his cock ached in his leather breeches, he almost wished he had not agreed to help her. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

"Are you still trying to enchant me?" he asked suddenly, accusingly, drawing his knife again.

The elf looked up at him and shook her head, amused. "No, my lord." she said, before looking at his bulging breeches. "I think that is simply honest lust. Though if we venture out on deck with you in this condition, and with these tight breeches, your crew will think you enchanted and will doubtless want to see me dead regardless."

She reached up and ran her hand over his aching cock, the sudden boldness and contact causing him to gasp, "You know, that's not going to make it go away.." he said.

"No," she replied, "but I do know a quick way to relieve the problem."

Francis watched, dumbstruck, as nimble fingers unlaced his breeches, pulling them down far enough for his cock to bounce free. At first she didn't touch it, throbbing there in front of her, instead she seemed to examine it with genuine curiosity before gently taking hold of it with her right hand. Francis gasped at the coolness of her hand, his cock straining with desire.

Slowly she drew her hand down to the base of the shaft before bringing it back to the head, she repeated this some more before cupping his heavy balls with her other hand, looking up at him and smiling at his reaction.

"Not so different from elf males." she whispered, before sliding her hand back down to the base of his cock, keeping it there and gripping a little tighter, causing it to twitch and bounce of its own accord. Francis felt his heart beat faster and his breath get heavier as she moved forward and stuck out her wet pink tongue, gently probing the underside of the tip of his cock. It was almost too much for him to take, he wanted to take her and fuck her, hard. He tensed as he fought to control himself and not jab at her face uncontrollably with his engorged manhood.

Suddenly, his restraint was rewarded as he felt her hot mouth circle the head of his cock, her lips exerting pressure while she sucked in her cheeks and continued to massage the underside of his swollen head with her tongue.

"Oh gods.." murmured Francis, who could no longer resist rocking his hips back and forth. As he did, the elf opened her mouth to him and let his cock slide in deeper, releasing her grip on his balls and cock and instead putting her hands on his hips, pulling them towards her with a rhythm that matched his own.

Francis became aware that some of the crew had entered the cabin and stopped behind him, but he didn't care, he was caught in the moment. He heard the gruff voice of his first mate order the men out of the room.

"Captain's privilege, fuck off and give him some privacy. If you are lucky you'll get some of your own before the voyage is done."

He'd explain to them in when he was done.. they weren't getting any of this.

It was clear that 'Melisan of House Dorieth' was no shy virgin and she was now pulling his hips toward her and taking the whole length of his cock in long strokes as her head bobbed back and forth. He could feel her lips travelling down his shaft, her tongue writhing along the underside and he could feel the head of his cock against the tightness of her throat. He could feel the familiar tension building up in his loins, his balls tight and ready to blow. He didn't want it to stop, but...