Tragedy of Gold

A click came to his ears, then another — the buckles of his armor came free and he sat forwards — leaning towards to meet her lips as she undressed him, slowly peeling his armor away, one buckle at a time she worked them free, their mouths meeting between each one, her kisses drowning him of all pain, all worry, filling his mind with peace. The cuirass slid away, and her invisible golden fingers laid it aside, going to work on the rest, vambraces, greaves and all joined it — and he had never felt so... wonderful in all his life, each plate lifting away from him as if she was peeling away his hurts and suffering, his guard and his fears; shedding his emotional armor as much as physical.

She bared him to herself, one buckle, lace, and drawstring at a time. He felt more naked than he ever had in his life as she bared his chest, his gambeson falling away to reveal the scar-strewn bulk of his torso. The cool air drew a gasp from him as she let her eyes crawl over him, trailing over his new map of hurts and feats of heroism. He had new scars it seemed, each time she bared him to her gaze... and she seemed to take a purposeful mind to cataloging them all.

Thus she did, her mouth descending to his bare breastbone, starting with the white circle where her horn had touched his heart, kissing it softly and drawing just a whisper of his power out against his will, his eye flashing golden as she touched his mantle directly, sending a shock of pleasure through not his body... but somewhere else, something he had never felt before. He had no words, no way to describe the sensation of her very essence melding, mating to his own as such; she poured her power into him, and it drew back through to her — an invisible golden thread tangled to their hearts.

She went to work then, her lips found every single mark, new and old. She kissed each hurt, and in them he felt the thrill of that connection, wordless praise filling him as she drew her way down. Her eyes glowed anew, and soon his trousers and boots joined his neatly stacked armor near the bedroll — his arousal springing up tall and proud, and her eyes looking down at it with hunger and approval. She said naught to him, sliding her body up close to his once more. His arms encircled her and their mouths and bodies met, and all four of her limbs wound around him — a fifth joining as her tail coiled around one leg whilst they joined lips and tongues once more. Electric sensation filled him and her alike, each body quivering in time as her bare teats and tummy pressed to his scarred, hairy chest — his erect member sandwiched between the former as she seemed intent on driving herself through his body, pressing them together into a single being of eternal, undying love.

His hands slid down her body, tracing the lines of her sleek form, he could think of her as nothing but a woman — his woman, and he as her man. The path of his calloused fingers drew gasps of delight from her, electric impulses of power flowing between them like a river's bend, the lap of the energies on their earthly shores only adding to the sensation of flowing love and lust as one hand reached her face, tilting her mouth to his once more, and the other found her tail's leonine base. She gave a little chirp of surprised delight as he grasped it, squeezing the sensitive spot with gentle pressure that caused her to arch into a pretty crescent of glimmering ivory pleasure. His hand sought the pale column of her throat, sliding along it, feeling her windpipe and muscles dance beneath it, feeling her breath exhale in delight and surprising need as his right hand went further beneath her raised tail, brushing her swollen pink loins, getting a coo of delight as her pink bud flexed outward to meet his smooth, firm fingertips.

He pleased her like that, fingers stroking those swollen petals, taking time on each flex to touch and caress her engorged pink pearl, coaxing it out of hiding again and again, each touch causing her to arc anew, raising her foreleg to her lips as he caught it on one gushing contraction and squeezed it ever so gently, forcing her to bite down on the hock of her dainty hoof to stifle the nigh-scream of pleasure it caused, her face flushed and drunk with delight — her body aflame, shaking with her wants. His hand slid up her trembling throat to her face, caressing it, turning her visage to his so she gazed into him once more, golden eyes so full of love he felt as if he were falling into a gleaming heaven as he stared into them. He almost didn't realize when he delved his digits within her clenching folds, the warmth of her insides and their powerful, rippling texture lost in the sound of her lustful moan and those impossibly deep, devoted eyes...

Down she came, her mouth sought his again, and they locked together, his tongue and hers danced, his fingers stroked and probed now-familiar places within her, seeking the spots that filled her with joy, she bucked and shuddered, and her mouth broke from his in a low cry, her lips still trembling against his as a tiny peak rushed through her, her eyes opening as she begged him with them, begged for more than just what he had given her. He met her lips again, his powerful hands grasping her hips, her tail raising reflexively above her like some glimmering ivory scorpion as he lined his aching, throbbing erection with her passage — he had all but forgotten his own arousal, swimming as he was in her private pool of sensation — but the brush of her silken intimate parts against his glistening tip was like a lightening rod struck with the fury of a thunderstorm.

He could not tell which of them initiated truly, whether he plunged up into her or she drove herself down on him, but soon he was sheathed in her root to tip, the tight grasp of her insides peeling his foreskin back and kissing the bare tip of his glans firmly to her innermost barrier in but a single movement, an almost violent, desperate union that froze them together; buried in one another, flesh to flesh, heart to heart — and this time, soul to soul. The thready connection of energy between them blazed like a star, lighting up Bart's nerves like a thousand, thousand tiny candles.

Her body arched again, her glimmering golden hooves pressed to his chest, their tips sharp enough to dash a skull, and yet even in the throes of passion she could not so much as mark him with them, bending herself into a perfect circle of pleasure, tail connecting to horn as her mouth parted, silhouetted against the darkness by the moon's bright glow, her mane spilling down across his chest as he slid hands back up to her face, stroking up that marble-white neck, until her held her glorious visage in both of his tanned, scarred hands, her eyes turning down to gaze at him with such love that he thought he would burst right then, chest heaving as she once more took the lead, the pressure of her delicate hooves like the palms of hands, bearing him down beneath her as she began to move atop him.

The sound of their union was a wet, slippery symphony of flesh on flesh as she rolled her hips with preternatural agility, her cosmic form flexing and roiling in ways only a thing of the Astral could, gliding him in and out, sheathing and unsheathing him time and again — yet making sure he kissed her womb on each insertion, drawing a new quiver from her as her winking bulb ground to his hipbones, sending little sparks of lust through her eyes. Her orbit flared erratically on the increasing strokes, drawing his hands to places on her body as she rocked astride him, her insides suddenly clenching tenfold.

She felt... different, better. A wonderful, hot, yielding sensation encompassed him, and her body seemed to be afire with a need he had not known of her since they had first lain together. She took the lead, took him for her own... but her eyes invited him to do the same, her orbit laying his hands on her flanks. He did as he was bid, grasping her and pulling her tight to him, rolling with her in tow until she lay beneath him, a pool of her mane spreading beneath them like a bridal bed, and he drove himself into her as her hind legs entwined around him, lacing together, locking at her ankles, dainty hooves clicking together as she drew him down close, coaxing him to plunge into her harder, deeper, her teeth clenching as she gasped, silently begging him for more. He felt them both near their peak, a final release, the passion between them so intense that he could not imagine any greater pleasure were they to join together a dozen more times that night, he shuddered as she squeezed around him, and her voice finally raised as he passed the brink, the point of no return a distant memory.

"Inside my love," she gasped, pleaded. Eyes were full of want, need, a desire so intense that it bordered on madness glinting through that golden gaze; "Finish inside me, husband mine..." she pleaded at last... and he could not hold back at that desperate request, driving into her with enough force that she dropped her mouth open in a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as each of them arched up in an intense climax of which neither could remember the like of — Bart's mind was blank but for the face of his lover, the feel of her flesh and fair mane as he emptied himself into her, again and again. He felt as if she were pulling, milking from within him a continuous rope of hot, liquid pleasure, and his vision went black as he stifled a cry to the heavens that would have woken every sleeping soul, damned and saved in ten miles, instead, it came out as a blasting hiss of delight between his teeth, her own voice cracking in a quiet needy mewl as the two rode their mutual peak, throbbing, clenching, pulsing together — hearts and souls beating as one.

He felt something... give, inside of him. Inside of her. The power between them broke, as the last tremor of climax faded. The two lovers dragged themselves to one another, wrapping themselves in arms, legs, and sweet, whispered words of love.

"I love you Bart..." she breathed to him, eyes on his. "Thank you... for freeing me."

"Freeing you... from what?" he asked, panting as they were entwined together, laying on their sides, she lay her beautiful face on his open palm, gazing into him.

"From myself. My loneliness. My sorrow. If we die on the morrow, if I am unmade... it was a worthy existence, to have walked its end with you."

"If we die on the morrow, I will find you in the Astral," He said, stroking her cheek with scarred knuckles. "I will smash wide the gates of Heaven itself, the yawning chasm of Hell would not stay my feet. I will find you if it takes eternity itself," he told her with absolute conviction, absolute devotion.

"Never again will you be alone, not in this reality, nor any other." Her face crumbled, and she wept again joyous tears as she pressed to him closely. Her orbit flared, pulling his blanket around them.

"Hold me... my love. My Husband. Hold me, and never let go." His arms pulled her close as they lay together, warmth inside and out spreading through quivering limbs on man and Unicorn alike, he stared into her eyes for a moment, and she drew his head down to her chest, where he could hear her heart thumping away.

Then, she began to sing.

There were no words to her song, none he nor any mortal man could discern — but there was tone, there was melody. There was emotion, feeling. Heart. She sang to him her love, deep and pure and full, it needed no words, no specifics — she sang her heart and soul, full-throated and joyous. In the distance, men and beast alike looked up. They heard the song. They felt her love. For Him. For them all, through him. For her husband. For her children.

Her love, unfettered and true.

Not a single man nor woman that night slept unsoundly. Not a nightmare nor woe plagued their dreams, shortened their rest, or bore down on them with anxiety or stress.

She sang to the heart of the world, to the love of men.

To her love of a man. Pure. Simple. True.

CHAPTER 2

The morning broke slowly, to a hazy dawn. The smoke and ash of the city still burning contrasted with the bright blue sky as the sun climbed above the horizon, and the dreamy contentment of the previous night faded into the grim, stark reality of the day's work.

Bart busied himself with a cookfire — a half dozen or so of them guttering merrily up and down the riverside with the company's morning rituals, all a bit muted. Everyone knew that today was the last day for someone. There was a sober mood overall, even as Cithara's eyes came to him as he poured her a little cup of coffee from his kettle over the fire.

"It isn't imported from Al-Reza..." he said ruefully as he offered her the small, steaming tin cup, and she chuckled at him, sitting heavily by the fire, her orbit catching the cup and bringing it beneath her nose.

"It is made with love, that is rare enough an ingredient," she said, sipping it gently and blinking a few times. "O-oh... that is... strong," she said mutely, smacking her lips at the bitterness as Bart grinned over his own cup.

"Like you said, I've only ever had soldier's coffee, and now — so have you." The unicorn laughed softly, sipping a bit more reservedly at her cup as Bart dished out some simple bacon and porridge seasoned with fruit and nuts, Cithara sipped in silence as he ate, her eyes on him and his food — as was their ritual, the Lady need not eat, but seemed to take some pleasure in sharing the act and scents of his meals with him — and of course, her delight in beverages. Water gleamed in his hair, and he'd scraped his beard clean with the new razor he'd been provided by Daedolon's craft — the pair had been a fright after their union on the shores, and the early morning had seen them rise with the dawn to wash private places and groom as proper, and as always — Bart felt more focused after the rituals of grooming, his mind and body both in order.

"He will test your will, beloved," Cithara said, sipping at her battered tin cup. There was something amusing about her shimmering, perfect form and his second-hand mess kit's beaten and battered surfaces clashing with one another. She met his eyes directly; "Mihai is going to attempt to unmake you, more than just death — he will want to break you to his will. You will need to prepare yourself for horrors beyond that of flesh and bone."

"Wonderful," Bart mused, taking a slug of the bitter, stout coffee again, sucking thoughtfully at his teeth as he did. "I was holding out hope he'd just want to murder me and be done with it," he said, and Cithara sighed.

"If only, but this has become a matter of cosmic forces. An accidental prophecy," she said, shaking her head; "It is the way these things happen. Fate isn't specific, but it does have a tendency to make sure certain things are always accounted for," she said, shrugging her little shoulders and folding her forelegs across each other at the hock.

"The cosmos loathe imbalance. Chaos. Order is the natural way of things, just... in a scale too vast for most mortals to grasp," she said with a flippant little smile, Bart chuckled.

"Mysterious ways and all of that?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Something like that."

The companionable silence resumed as they watched the soldiers assemble. It took little time really, even at the steady pace everyone seemed to be moving. No rushing, a purposeful feel to everything, even Bart felt it, the familiar cadence of motion. He dressed and armored with that same steady purpose, Cithara helping with the latter with surprising aplomb.

"What?" she asked as her orbit tightened yet another buckle as he worked, her invisible energy in no way tangling up with him, her expression smug. "I do have experience with this armor, you are not the first man I have put it on," she said archly, that challenging little grin on her lips.

"Or taken it off of," Bart responded with mock acidity, but she pursed her lips as if wounded still. Tsking at him.

"Nay, but you are the best by far," she shot back, settling his cloak with a flourish, tossing her mane as the half-cape settled across his 'shield arm'. He'd done some practice with what Daedolon had called 'cloak fighting', which this armor seemed keenly built for. Perhaps it would be an edge he needed, perhaps not. Another tool.

"Flatterer," Bart accused her, settling himself into his full harness with a firm shake of his cuirass by its raised gorget, settling all of the plates into place.

"How do you think I have such a history of undressing handsome men?" she teased, sticking her tongue out at him... but perhaps a touch more lewdly than the silly gesture required, a brief wink of one golden eye so subtle he almost missed it before her imperious poise resumed.

His friends filtered in, one at a time. Nazir was the first, looking up as he showed up girded for battle, his dandy attire gone, over his wiry frame he wore a hauberk of mail, it fit him closely, likely sized for him during the long siege, with a matching gambeson, greaves, bracers, and vambraces. A small buckler hung from his belt along with his oddly-curved sword. His face had been painted in its usual kohl, but his head was wrapped tightly in a covering not unlike Rashid's, the same blue color as well. A similar sash of wound material wrapped his waist and draped down his loose breeches before they tucked into his boots, it gave him a very... tightly wound appearance, making his usually bouncy and joyous friend seem very much like a coiled serpent.

"Seeing you under arms is still something of a shock," Bart observed, belting on his own sword as Cithara settled back down near the fire.

"Trust me Brother Bart, it is quite a mutual sentiment," he responded, Nazir's eyes were on her as Bart took his hand in greet, the southerner shaking his head and gesturing at the creature.

"How can you just..." he gestured at her again, and she smiled at him beatifically "... be, with all of that happening?" he asked incredulously, Cithara tittering softly as Bart shrugged. Nazir's eyes were a little wild as he turned to the Lady in White, bowing slightly.

"No offense intended, Lady. Your presence is simply..." Nazir trailed off, giving her a sweeping dramatic gesture.

"A lot," Cithara finished for him, leaning forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose. "I am aware, Bart is somewhat shielded from my presence by my mantle."

"I am also merely accustomed to it, mantle or no — she is overwhelming," he said, pausing as he raised his coffee mug mid-drink; "It is a bit like becoming accustomed to a particularly strong smell," At that, Nazir burst into laughter, his bright, straight teeth a sharp contrast to his dark mustache and bronzed skin.

"Divine odor! There's a phrase only a country lad would invent!" he wheezed, Cithara bristled a bit at Bart as Nazir sat down heavily on a flat stone, his laughter having died down to a soft chuckle.

"A strong smell?" she challenged him. The big Paladin grinned over the rim of his cup, handing a freshly poured one to Nazir, who took it happily.

"You are a bit of an experience, my love," Bart said mildly. "Walking in sight of you even now is a bit like how that first taste of coffee hit you earlier," he said, and it was her turn to laugh, tittering softly as Nazir's eyes popped open at his first sip.

"I'll say. God's Teeth, man — this stuff is practically solid." the Southerner rasped, smacking his own lips.

"I like strong coffee," Bart said nonplussed, pointedly taking a long drink.

"Language," Cithara added idly, sipping her own cup lightly.

Nazir grinned and took another mouthful, the bracing drink clearly welcome in focusing his thoughts. "Everyone is saying their piece, the important things before one takes fate in his hands like this," he said, turning the coffee cup in his hand, free of its usual parliament of rings, his gloved hands somehow seemed under-dressed.