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Many years ago on a balmy summer morning, King John had gone on a hunt.
Plagued by blighted wolves prowling around their livestock, the villagers near Forannan Ravine begged their earl for aid. Farmers were wounded as they tried to fend off the beasts, children were locked inside to keep them safe from tainted claws - though not much could be done for free-roaming cattle. With no other options, desperate to keep his earldom safe, the earl sent out a petition to the young King asking for a handful of soldiers. King John and his Royal Guards rode out the next morning.
It wasn’t uncommon for the King to take matters into his own hands. After all, the King had spent most of his youth at the neighbouring kingdom’s court, had loved training with their chevaliers as a young boy. He returned to his own court a brilliant prince and excellent military commander to his father the King until his final days. Yes, King John loved the hunt. He lived to help his people with his own sword and shield. So, he rode out at dawn with his most trusted knights, their horses galloping towards Forannan Ravine, the Suh banner fluttering in the wind.
They rode, and rested, then rode on again until they stumbled upon the forward scouts near the edge of the farmlands. Curiously, the scouts reported no sightings of large packs, except for a few blighted wolves roaming around here and there. Puzzled, but without a single moment of hesitation, King John and his squadron followed their clues further into the Ravine, the sound of their horses’ hooves beating down on the ground echoed across the hinterlands in a low rumble.
The King and his knights arrived at the Ravine by sundown, and swallowed back their disgust at the pungent stench of death and disease that only intensified as they traversed deeper into the wolves’ den. They rode on in silence, their well-trained horses not even flinching when they came upon a clearing, the once vibrant-green grass darkened from battle. There, at the centre of the clearing, among bloodied corpses and decaying flesh, rested a wounded bear.
The King’s Champion alighted from her horse and approached the Great Bear with a hand at the hilt of her sword. She readied herself to end the valiant animal’s pain through her sword's mercy.
King John followed a few paces behind her, watching the animal closely while admiring its strength. It had saved the villagers at a great cost. King John had always known that peace bore a heavy price which must be paid with blood. The poor animal, though large in size, seemed small as it had curled up in pain, devastatingly weakened. He could imagine the bear’s might and bravery, could see the extent of its power across the ravaged battlefield littered with mauled wolves.
His Champion advanced on the bear with hushing sounds, and finally drew her sword. The animal answered with a pained growl, the dark brown fur mottled with blood quivered as it warned her to stay away.
“Ser Kang,” King John called out with a steady voice, his eyes on the bear’s frightened expression as he slowly drew near. “Hold.”
“My King.” His Champion obliged, but she kept her hand at her side at his approach, ready to slay the bear if needed.
King John dropped to his knee at the bear’s head and slowly reached out his hand with a watchful eye. The animal watched him too, but did not react aside from its pitiful wheezes as it struggled to breathe. King John buried his fingers in the bear’s dark brown fur where it had not been stained with blood, and stroked in a soothing rhythm. He motioned for a knight to hand him an Elfroot potion and uncorked it with his teeth as he promptly received one. The King shushed the confused animal with quiet words, and used his clever fingers to open its snout, before he carefully tipped the contents of the bottle inside its mouth. Slowly, gradually, the harrowing moans ceased, low whimpers turning into soft pants. The King continued his gentle ministrations and unhurriedly caressed the mighty animal’s fluffy fur until it let out a soft snore.
***
Kun had lived many lives before settling in his King’s court. He’d seen kingdoms fall and rise, had drifted along the outskirts of civilizations that have never even been recorded in history, had spent much of his long life roaming around in different forms. Until he'd come upon King John, or, well, King John had come upon him.
The details of their fateful meeting escape him, though to be fair he had been injured for the most part. Also, there’s that whole ordeal of him being a bear at the time. Shape-shifting is one of Kun’s least favourite skills - he hates the sickly feeling of bones settling and re-settling, and returning to his human form in all his naked glory is also a bit of a fuss, but needs must. There are only so many ways one can defeat boredom.
He spends most of his time at the King’s court in leisure and quiet luxury. His sweet King always makes sure that he has everything he desires, which isn’t much. Kun’s sisters always mock him for not being more ambitious, but he has witnessed firsthand how their own aspirations have consumed them. It’s good that they have not mingled in quite some decades, for they will surely mock him for meddling in human affairs. He loves them dearly, but they can kindly fuck off.
His dear King, however, is filled with ambition. He burns with the need to do right by his people, and oh does it make Kun’s eyes water at the sight of his King’s need to be virtuous. His King is always attentive to Kun’s desires, but he also doesn’t hesitate to use Kun in order to fulfil his own needs.
Today’s assignment had been simple: spy on the marquess, and report back. Kun does love reporting back to his King. That morning, his King had asked him to shift in such a careful voice, but Kun had only laughed and pecked him on his full lips before flying off with a happy caw.
Shadowing the marquess, ever the troublemaker, for a day had been child’s play. The raven atop a tree branch, then a little spider in his carriage, a fluttering moth in the corner of his study - and then Kun was off again, a swift falcon soaring in the night sky on his way to appear in his King’s bed chambers.
“The marquess is planning a rebellion,” Kun says, reappearing in front of his King in his human form.
King John opens his arms wide as he sits in his favourite armchair by the hearth, smiling as his naked witch eagerly climbs into his lap. “The marquess is a fool.”
“That’s funny,” Kun sighs out, rubbing his face into his King’s broad chest, his silken undershirt feeling wonderful on his bare skin. “He called you a fool, too.”
The King’s warm fingers travel up his naked back, caressing his shoulder blades, sensitive from accommodating his wings, with sword-calloused hands. “The marquess can say what he wants about me, I’ll have him dealt with by the end of the month.”
Kun moans at the delicious touch, rolling his sore limbs as much as he can without wriggling out of his King’s lap. “That’s good, because he called me a wanton whore, too. Only you get to call me that.”
The hands at Kun’s back still for just a single moment, before continuing the massage. “He is not worth your sweet breath.”
“My breath is yours,” Kun says, mouthing the words at the base of his King’s throat.
His King laughs aloud, and Kun can feel the deep rumble of it against his own ribcage. “All mine? Surely not.”
Kun's arms snake up his King’s chest, reaching up to loop them around his neck. His King watches him closely, attentively, as he leans in to brush his devious mouth to his King’s soft lips. “Oh, but they are.”
His King’s fingers slide up his back and firmly grip the delicate skin of his throat, making Kun’s head tip back and shift in his lap. “Will you hold them for me, then?”
Kun answers with the snap of his jaw closing shut, and his King grins, his eyes blazingly bright in the light of the hearth.
“My darling witch,” King John coos, his one hand keeping steady at Kun’s throat as the other travels back down to grab a fistful of his plump ass. “My pet.”
Kun’s moan is stuck in his throat, his chest constricting with his need for air. He has killed men for less than this, has killed men for even entertaining the thought of playing with him like this. But this- the feeling of his King’s strong hands and even stronger affection surrounding him like this. It burns him like an all-consuming fire.