Chapter Text
Sweat beaded in the valley of her breasts, pooling on the creamy olive skin as the sticky evidence of their exertions. He watched the tiny drop slide to trace the contour of the muscles of her belly, lines he knew so intimately well since ages past. He had traced those very same lines — and many more — just earlier with his tongue. When she shifted to her side, the droplet fell to the silken sheets and he was reminded of the woman that lay by his side. She propped herself on one elbow, letting her dark hair cascade down to pool on the bed, and rested her free arm along her body. Once, the sight would’ve been beautiful and tantalizing, urging him forward to take her lips with his. But it had lost its appeal, like so many things in his comfortable life, and, as her now screeching voice drew attention to her now hideous face, he wondered why he even tried anymore with this disgusting excuse of a person.
“That was quick, Wolf. I remember a time when you used to last at least a year. Did you miss me that much after you failed to attend my hunt?”
“Perhaps, my dear Andruil, I just wanted this nightmare to end sooner rather than later,” he said, part mocking, part truthful, as he kneaded her breast and licked the crook of her neck. The sweat tasted foul in his mouth.
“Admit it, you love it.” Her voice rumbled beneath his tongue, the sound of it and the words sparking up the annoyance that she’d been bringing up in him for centuries. He bit her, not quite deigning to respond, but giving her as an ambiguous an answer as possible. He hadn’t still quit working on her. Yet. She giggled, unnerving, as she pushed his head away, making him fall onto the mattress with an ‘oomph’, and sat up to braid her hair with her back turned to him. “I heard the most disturbing thing about you.”
“I wonder what that could be.” He crossed his arms behind his head and sat back into the bunch of silky pillows, pleased to see that Andruil’s face was finally out of his sight.
“I heard you called for all your followers to gather their slaves in your temple. Then you freed them all except a few of your priests.” She turned back to him with a slight pause, one eyebrow cocked. “I find that extremely curious, Fen’Haril.” The title fell from her lips with utter disdain. Oh, how she loved to keep her slaves. It was fun at first, when Mythal had taken him in, to have all sorts of servants to feed him, pamper him, follow him, clean after him, and even pleasure him — though then, at the peak of his content and carefree life, he never thought to take any, there was no challenge in conquering what he already owned. Now it made him sick and angry to see the injustice he didn’t care to see before, it made him sick and angry to find it so hard to break the disgusting mindset. There was a time when Andruil’s hunts posed as an amusing month of entertainment, now he resisted the urge to vomit at the invitation. Yet the thrill to chase the prey lingered still, so he turned his fangs elsewhere.
“I do not see how such old news could pique your curiosity, Huntress.”
“Why would you dismantle your power base? Who will tend to me when I go to your place?” Her naked body paced around the room, collecting the discarded pieces of clothing they’d left on the ground. He stopped following the bounce of her firm breasts once she slipped into her tunic.
“You never once came to Tarasyl’an Te’las. And I am building my power base elsewhere. Bigger and more devoted than ever.”
Andruil began working on the clasps of her armor, clearly struggling without the aid of a servant. While their physical relationship wasn’t exactly secret, the Huntress didn’t ever want it to be confirmed, something he’d come to be thankful for recently. It was funny to see a god become confused and lost by a few straps if a low born didn’t rush in to help.
“How is that even possible? The nobles must’ve all but abandoned you.”
By Mythal, she was dense…
“Not the nobles.”
She laughed, a hearty, eerie laugh filled with mockery and incredulity. “The rabble? Seriously?” She tossed a silken robe at his face, the fabric stinging when it hit his eyes. “They have no status whatsoever to give you. How do you expect to strike fear on your enemies if all you have are some powerless peasants and slaves?”
He slipped inside the robe, sliding off the bed to help her place her shoulder and arm guards. “You say they are powerless. I say they are not. Their power is in their number. Imagine, Andruil, what we could accomplish, how much could be gained, if they gave us their faith and respect willingly.” He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and kissed along the artery on her neck. The scent of musk emanated from her hair and her skin was salty and tart.
“They are sheep, Fen’Hellan. And we are wolves. We need nothing more than their blood and obedience if we’re to defeat the Evil Ones.” She tugged exasperated at her thigh guard straps, each time more forcefully than before, but the right one always sat disheveled on her hip. “You ruined my armor.”
“I seem to recall you like it rough,” he answered quickly, he wasn’t very interested in discussing just how hard he ripped off her armor pieces, or any of their foreplay for that matter. “They are only evil because you expect them to be evil. If you tried talking with them with an open mind, you would see they are not so different from you or I. As I have.”
“Not so different? Talking? Now I know you’ve lost your mind.”
“Not everything needs to end in death. This is one of those things.”
Andruil made a sharp turn, releasing herself from his arms with force.
“You sound like my coward brother, Wolf. It’s irritating.”
He gripped both her shoulders, locking his gaze with hers.
“Understanding is not cowardice. Action is not inherently superior to inaction. The direct path is rarely the wisest. You should listen to Dirthamen. And to me.”
“Listen to— You’re lucky this arrangement we have isn’t dependant on your wit, or else you would go without for ages. Now move. I have to meet with my sister, that arrogant harpy.”
“Your doubt in my charm wounds me.” Andruil rolled her eyes at the dripping sarcasm. He moved aside to let her pass. “Give Sylaise my best.”
“I’m not your fucking messenger. Get your slaves to do it.”
She passed through him quickly without turning to face him once.
“I do not have any slaves, remember?”
“Then you should’ve thought of that before. When I return, you better be out of here. I don’t want to see your face for at least a decade,” she said. Her voice and footsteps echoed through the empty halls to die in the room.
When the silence fully set in, he walked over to the balcony and opened the glass window doors. The sheer curtains swayed ever so gently with the wind, the breeze a cooling salve on his skin, the fresh smell of the forest sucked in through his nose reinvigorating to his soul. He stepped outside and leaned against the cold marble balustrade, covered in dew and moss. Birds chirped with the rise of morning, dotting the blue of the sky with their dark silhouettes as they flew across it. Ahead, a huge expanse of forest claimed the land from the edge of the temple garden to the horizon, free of any of the crystal spires and towering cities that so characterized Elvhenan now. It was an immaculate piece of land, green and vibrant and beautiful. He wondered how such a pristine place could bear witness to such horrors brought upon by Andruil’s hunts and yet remain so peaceful and alive. A contradiction. But such was the nature of the Huntress, a quiet and enticing lure to one’s death.
Servants stirred about, down in the gardens and outside his chamber, taking notice of their mistress’ absence. Did they work solely when she was out because she preferred it, or was it because they feared her?
The noise of muffled beating alerted him to someone inside the room. He pulled the curtains gently aside to find a slave making the bed, straightening out the pillows. Andruil’s brown bow and arrows marred her face, marking her as property. She jumped when she saw him, yelping in surprise, and fumbling with a pillow until she bowed down to the floor.
“I’m so sorry, master. I not know Mistress Andruil had any guests left,” she said, voice trembling and uncertain. She was new. She looked up at him for the briefest while then immediately clasped her hand over her eyes. He realized he was dressed in only a loose short robe. If he were in Andruil’s master chamber there would be talk, but she’d never trusted him to keep decent, so they had their trysts in his own private bedroom she kept for him. It seemed she was right.
“It is fine.”
“No, I go to slavemaster for whipping, then return to clean.”
“Do not—” He sighed. “You will pay for this indiscretion by taking me to the woods outside.”
“I not allowed outside.”
“Then take me to the door that leads outside.”
“Thank you, master. For kindness.” She rose up, refusing to make any eye contact, and backed away in quick, small steps until she reached the door and closed it.
Almost eight ages ago, Mythal had told him to help her influence her daughter to take a kinder, gentler path. Almost eight ages had passed and what did he have to show for it? A series of frustrated sexual encounters and Andruil remained as bloodthirsty as ever. His quiet revolution inside the pantheon had barely progressed and the efforts seemed for naught. He wasn’t ready to give up and call her a lost cause, not yet, though it was getting close. Perhaps the Huntress was right and a more direct approach was required, but such an act lacked the subtlety and foresight he preferred, and to concede her any point would wound his pride. No, there was some other way he could work. But this, what he was doing at the moment, had failed so spectacularly he was the slightest bit ashamed. Only a foolish young man would think his cock could change minds. It was time to be wiser.
He picked up his clothes, which had been thrown across the room to land haphazardly over the furnishings, and put them on, stroking away any wrinkles to keep his neat and charming demeanor alive.
As he reached for the door, his eyes scanned the bedroom, taking in the chaos Andruil and him had left, and committing to memory the time he spent here, that, although it had grown to become a bother and a chore, had started fun and pleasant. This would be the last time he looked at the room.