Lights in the Night Sky

Out of Character:

Closed to SerCasimir. Closely following the events of A Knight's Tale, part the first. WARNING: this thread is rated S for sexy times.

The light of day and rush of combat had faded hours before. My mission was complete; I had the trinket I needed to return to my employer. My wayward group of misfits had slain each and every member of the bandit encampment. We'd delivered its prisoners and would-be slaves to freedom. We'd even found a bit of loot.

In the chaos of battle, the clamor of grateful but confused women and children, and then the bickering over the loot and the severing of bandit heads for bounties, dawn had turned to midday, midday had dimmed to evening, and dusk had settled in its gloomy murk, letting the light of the stars shine through.

I'd let the others go to return the captives to safety. I hadn't taken heads for bounties. Stars, the last thing I need is to start being identified as some sort of hero outside of Pode and her demise. Instead, I'd found myself a small copse a little way off the road. The night was cool and clear, and aside from being covered in dew in the morning. I couldn't see anything inconveniencing me. It was a good chance to let my hair out of its usual tight updo and give my eyes a rest from the green contacts I wore to hide the Star-blessed silver that had been imposed on me in Raiaera not so very long ago.

I could have returned to Scara City to deliver my prize. Part of me thought I should have. But I was still sore from blows taken in battle. All I wanted to do was get out of my tough leather armor, relax in my comfortable night-dark street clothes, open a bottle of wine, and recuperate.

Stars light your footsteps, I thought in absent toast to my companions. And sunlight keep you safe.

It had been a finely fought battle, the sort of which minstrels might sing some day. The four of them had rescued the prisoners and slain the bandits in detail. A great victory, by any reckoning, and so here it was, many hours later, and a weary but pleased Ser Casimir entered the copse where he had followed Kon, the woman who had gathered them all together in the first place. She had given him use of a sword she possesed, an ensorcelled titanium blade called Hecatoncheir. In the bustle of activity he had overlooked returning it to her, and so he had followed her from their parting to return it.

He saw her sitting under a tree, her armor piled next to her in an ordered fashion. He had still had no chance to remove his own, and the thought reminded him of his body's protestations to that fact.

"Glad I was able to catch up to you, Lady Kon. I wished to return Hecatoncheir to you."

He took the lance off his shoulders and stabbed it into the ground. He was still carrying his belongings, having in fact added a jug of wine to their number. It was then he noticed that her eyes which he had been quite sure were green previously were silver.

"Have your eyes been silver this whole time, or have I gone mad?"

Ah, shit.

Out of the three men who had stormed the camp with me earlier that day, I'd liked Casimir the best. He had the same calm, steady air and level head as another half-orc I'd known. He'd been polite, reasonable, and valiant to a fault - all traits I found specious in elves and obsequious in humans, but were somehow charming when wrapped in green skin and delivered through tusks.

Not to mention, the man fought like a demon. It was honestly kind of attractive.

But I'd heard him coming from a long way off - chainmail isn't exactly silent. And I'd neglected to put my contacts back in. Aware but oblivious, I'd let him come across me and my little hideaway, and I'd let him see the real color of my eyes. Shit, shit, shit.

"My people have superstitions about silver-eyed elves. It doesn't mesh with their image of half-breeds, so I cover them in green to avoid inspection. But they do get uncomfortable after a long day, so I take them out at night or in battle."

I stood with a little bit of a grunt; though my armor had absorbed most of the day's violence and I'd been able to heal a few deep wounds, my ribs were still bruised and my body was still sore. I don't know if he heard it; the sound was soft even to my ears. Even if he did, I moved directly on, taking Hecatonchier and depositing it next to Elendethoa and my daggers. I'd let him use the longsword because it was far too big for me to use effectively, but it had been an incredibly expensive gift. Enchanted swords don't grow on trees.

"Thank you for returning my sword. I'm so unused to having it that I forgot I'd lent it out. Were you able to see everyone home safely?"

I motioned to the ground, inviting him to take a seat if he so desired.

She seemed a bit slow in her movements, but he had seen her take a knock or two, and they'd had a very long march, so it was only to be expected. Casimir nodded and sat beside her gratefully. His body suddenly felt like it was on the verge of failure. He had not known that about elves, but it seemed reasonable that she would wish to hide such things in her situation. The world was cruel. He placed his pack down and offered her the jug of wine.
"Aye I was, everyone is well. It has been quite a day."

He bent over and removed his boots for the first time in two days.
"I saw you take a knock or two, nothing too serious I hope?"

I settled beside him, taking the jug and drinking from it. I nearly choked at the taste. Given the shape of the vessel, I'd expected some sort of beer or ale. Once the initial shock wore off, the wine was tolerable enough. If I have to drink wine, I prefer hearty Coronian reds like the one offered. It really just needed some time to breathe.

"Glancing blows." I handed the jug back, a little surprised at the question. He'd stood over me to give me a moment's respite after a particularly bad stab found its way through my armor, and he 'saw me take a knock or two?'

You're taking the orcish gift for understatement to a new level, mellonamin.

"What of you? You're made of sturdier stuff than I am and wear stronger armor, but I saw you taking some good hits, as well."

He chuckled and took the jug back, taking a deep swig. It was good enough, and helped ease the pain of his own knocks and wounds. She had fought bravely as any knight, and with a grace that was nearly poetic in it's beauty. He wished dearly for such prowess. At least one of his ribs was broken, and he had a few flesh wounds. It mattered not, his body was seamed with scars.
"Nothing wine won't cure."

He handed her the jug again, and stood to begin removing his armor. Mail was easy enough, and soon he wore only breeches and gambeson, torn in a spot or two. He sat back down, untying the front of the gambeson enough to make himself more comfortable.
"Where will you go, come morning?"

I drank a little and balanced the jug on my knee while waiting for him to remove his armor. Between the long treks and the hard-fought battle, the man had taken enough physical abuse to take me down while carrying a burden I wouldn't have been able to move under. Sturdy stuff, indeed. He seemed to shrink with the armor off, though. Before, he'd been almost as physically imposing as my Mutt, if a good deal shorter. Now...

Stars, he's small for a half-orc. Not that that takes any fight out of him, though... I let my eyes trail over some of the scars he revealed for a moment, then took another drink and returned the jug. Soft foliage and rough bark pressed against my back as I turned my gaze once more to the sky.

"Back to Scara City, then out to wherever my employer sends me next. If the weather's good and the terrain not too treacherous, I can cover two hundred miles in a day, if necessary. I prefer not to go more than a hundred and fifty, though. More than that is exhausting, and you should see the looks I get when I sit down to a meal after crossing such a distance in such a short amount of time. Have you got plans?"

Casimir heard the distance she quoted and his eyes went wide. Such a distance on foot? It would take him three on horseback to make such a journey.
"I knew you were fast my lady, but such speed is incredible. Were anyone but you to tell me such a thing, i'd laugh and call them a liar. Something about you makes me believe it though."
He took the wine back and had another long drink, letting the dark red nectar ease his aches and pains. IT was a beautiful night, and the wine was so heady.
"I plan to make for Raiaera. There are fiends aplenty there, and a strong sword arm will be most welcome, even if it belongs to one such as me."

"Raiaera is undeserving of your arm." My tone took an edge as hard as prevalida. "It forces to the margins any who are marginally different, any whose views differ from the High Bards', any who don't meet the definition of perfect. People like you. People like me. And for what? Raiaera is suffering, and there are fiends. Not ten years ago, the Forgotten One Xem'Zund stormed through the most populous regions and wiped them out; more elves died during the two years of his terror than in the five hundred preceding. And then what did the Council do? Did they seek aid from all corners of the world to help purge the curse laid on so much of the country and give their refugees something to return to? No. They sought help to purge the Belegwain I Beleg of the Forgotten One Pode, who wasn't threatening anyone who didn't encroach on her forest. The Lindequalme has been cursed for over a thousand years, so why in Haide seek such ancient vengeance when instead there is a pressing need?"

I'd have spat if I were human. My native land had my hate for many reasons, that not least among them. If the Council had sought to cleanse the Plaguelands instead of the Red Forest, most of the Raiaerans who had flooded into Corone could go home and get the hell out of my country.

Cool air, perfumed by Scara Brae's plentiful night blossoms, flooded into my lungs. A deep, calming breath brought me back to center, and I turned to the knight. The moonlight played on the noble (if lumpy) lines of his face, and even my rant hadn't shaken the optimism and hope from his expression. Well, once an orc has an idea in their head, it's not going to go anywhere easily. It's one of their best and worst traits.

"The world can use an arm like yours, Casimir." I reached out and placed my hand on his bicep. "But I would urge you to choose somewhere that deserves your valor and a people who deserve your heart. Not some snobbish lulgijakri."

She reached out and touched his arm, and he smiled warmly. He knew the people of Raiaera would treat him poorly, but was it truly as bad as she said? And if it was as bad as that, did it matter? Raiaera seemed to have the most need of someone like him. He looked into her eyes, noting for the first time how like unto the starlight they were, and he had another swig of the wine, feeling it warm his body. He chuckled at her use of the word lulgijakri, and nodded.

"Thank you Kon. I will think on this."

He had another sip and looked at her again. The moonlight shone in her hair and on her skin, and he had to look away a moment. He had never met a woman like her. She was beautiful, deadly, and she treated him like a person. Most women saw him as an eyesore at best, a monster at worst.

Her Mutt had been a lucky man.

"By which you mean you've already made up your mind, and Stars above or hells below, you're going to do what you decided to do. It's a very orcish trait. Mutt was just the same." How many times had he told me that he had heard my words with his soul, and his soul would hold them, and then do the exact thing I'd asked him not to do? I'd lost count even during his lifetime, and lost any desire to remember a handful of petty disagreements after his death.

I sighed a little bit, withdrawing my hand. Casimir knew the disdain of humans, their fear, their loathing. He did not understand that the elves were ten times worse. He would find no succor in safe places, no welcome at warm hearths, whatever noble deeds he had done, because he'd been born with an orc's face. If I was any judge, he deserved so much better than that, and he deserved it more than I did. Anything I did in Raiaera, I did for selfish reasons. He was going out of a genuine desire to defend the defenseless, to heal the hurting. These motivations were as alien to me as chrysanthemum and dandelion salad would be to him; selfless nobility didn't seem to benefit the noble.

A moment passed in silence, and my ears caught something. A hitch in his breathing beyond just the pain of a broken rib. A quickness in his pulse that didn't seem to come from simply sitting and talking. Of course; we'd fought side by side until every single enemy laid dead at our feet, then we'd shared a drink. I don't know what his human blood and training were telling him, but as far as his orcish side went, that was courtship.

Well, why not, if that's what happens? He hasn't got a lady, and Mutt is long gone.

"Timbrethinil. You'll want to start there. You'll encounter the edges of Xem'Zund's corruption and learn more about what lies deeper in the nation. It was once our greatest forest, full of silver birches. These days..." I shook my head. "But I believe you'll do fine there. You must be an excellent woodsman if you were able to track me down. I'm not accustomed to being found."

He smiled, pleased with the compliment to his woodcraft. He had another sip of wine and handed it back to her, feeling quite warmed by it, and looked at her again, his eyes playing over her form. When he realized it, he looked away again, feeling embarrassed by his impropriety. He felt an inner war with himself, the subject different but the combatants the same. On one side fought his sense of propriety, his knightly rearing. The other the ferocity of his orc blood. One side chided him for thinking of the lady elf in such a base manner, the other roared at him to continue. They had tasted each other's heart in combat. They had drank and slain together.

He looked away, forcing his eyes to the ground and breathing deep control himself.
"I have always been a good woodsman, though in truth I do not know why. My father's keep was near the forest, but he was no real woodsman, and orcs are rarely known for their woodcraft. I've just always felt a connection to the forest, an ease and comfort there. I have heard of the beauty of Timbrethinil, and in truth I have always hoped to see it. Perhaps some small patches may remain, and if not, perhaps they will recover, if the darkness is pushed back."

"Perhaps." I drank deeply; might as well, as we were getting to the last of what the jug had to offer. "It was beautiful. My stepfather took my brother into Tembrethinil often when he was a boy, but we all went from time to time. In parts, it was almost religious to my family, but I never felt the same pull."

I'd been drawn to the smaller, quieter nooks, not the grand groves. I'd found my peace there, rather than elation my mother and sister displayed in the open areas where the trees shone. I always took it to mean that the Stars felt I should hide, if they took any notice of me at all. But maybe... maybe they always meant I should take shelter and grow in preparation for the day I was needed.

That's stupid, Illara. I could hear my sister Thisearia's voice as clearly as if she was right by my side. You were a tool to be used, and used as such. The Stars never wanted any part of you. Then why did I go on to face Pode when none of the Bladesingers were deemed worthy? I still didn't understand.

"Friends of friends, and friends of theirs, are working to cleanse the Plaguelands. If they're successful, perhaps beauty will return to Raiaera." I drank again, then handed the jug back and scooted a little closer to the half-human knight. If only more people had sensitive elven hearing, they would find the world a more entertaining place. Granted, my senses are finely honed, even among my own people.

I could hear the war raging within him. And I thought it was silly.

I brought my hand up to his arm, tracing my fingers over the hard, strong muscles. My voice dropped to a murmur. "I can hear your thoughts in the pace of your heart and the rhythm of your breath, Casimir. Have you considered seeing what I thought?"

She touched him, and his breath caught in his throat. Could she really mean what it sounded like she meant? His experience would tell him of course not, but she at least had once had a half-orc lover. He chuckled slightly awkwardly and rubbed his head as he looked at her. She was quite perceptive, or perhaps he was quite obvious despite his attempt to hide it.
"Forgive me Kon, I had not realized how keen your hearing was."

He smiled and worked up his courage.
"What do you think?"

I'd seen this exact same shyness once, more than four decades ago. It was the timidity of a man who had only known a whore's touch, on the verge of his first night with a woman who would just take him as he was, without haggling over prices or recoiling from his face. That night, so long ago, I'd only known (at best) the touch of men who'd paid for me. But that wasn't the case this night. Dimly, I was aware that whatever happened next, I'd be feeling come dawn.

I slid myself up to sit on one of Casimir's legs and reached up to trace a hand over his face. My other hand planted itself on his chest, halfway for balance, halfway to feel the powerful orcish heart that beat behind the man's battered ribs. "I think that words are weak right now."

He growled slightly at the pressure on his chest, but found himself leaning into the hand on his face and looking up at the woman who straddled his leg. No one had ever touched him so, and without quite being aware his hands found her thighs, sliding up and under the tunic she wore. His hands were calloused from countless hours gripping sword hilts and lance shafts, and he ran them off onto the skin of her midriff.

"I...Aye, words are weak."

He had never been with a woman in this way. Without payment, who looked into his eyes and touched his face. Always they had faced away. He was afraid he would hurt her with his tusks, or be too forceful. Elven women were more fragile than orcs or even humans.

But yet, she had been with a half-orc for years. Surely they had lain together, and yet she seemed undamaged by him. He leaned forward and tried to kiss her, as best he could. He had no experience with it, and his tusks were somewhat troublesome, but he managed to work his lips into something resembling a proper pucker and pressed them against hers.

The kiss was awkward and clumsy, like he'd never used his mouth for anything but speaking, eating, and maybe biting. The hands that touched me, on the other hand, sang with a power I knew well, sheer brute force that was delicately restrained, mindful that I was so very small in comparison, mindful that my body was fragile.

Not that fragile.

"Relax." I bit his lower lip, dragging my teeth over it. "It's been a long time since I laid with a half-orc, but I'm not so delicate as you might think. And I'll tell you if you're going too far." I kissed him again, guiding him to an easier, more natural version. My right hand moved to his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair, but my left hand ran down his exposed chest, tracing old scars and working on the knots of his shirt.

Here in the moss and leaf litter, under the trees and the stars, we were going to do this right. We had the entire night for it.

At the feel of her teeth on his lip a flame was kindled, and at her words his hands grew bolder, sliding down over her full and perfect rump, squeezing firmly. He returned her kiss, her method more effective than his clumsy attempt, and he pulled her closer against his hard torso while she worked to undo his gambeson. When she had untied it he quickly pulled the sides apart to give her better access to his flesh, feeling her fingers play over the various scars he had acquired from blade and claw, flame and fang. His mouth found her neck, taking care with his tusks, but letting her know he respected her strength.

His fingers began to untie her breeches with surprising dexterity as the heat of her body so close to him stoked the flame her teeth had ignited.

"Mmmnnn..." My neck has always been one of those spots that makes me melt, and Mutt had never really been able to hit it just right. It wasn't his fault; he'd been too big. Casimir found the right place immediately, and his size wasn't an obstacle there. "A little...oh yeah." If that mark overlaid the one Pode had left around my neck, I wouldn't be complaining.

Speaking of size, more obvious signs of the knight's rising passion were becoming apparent than a quickened pulse and harder breath. All orc down there, aren't you?

As his shirt hit the ground, I dug my nails into his scars, acknowledging them, appreciating them, making them mine while he worked to get my trousers off. I left warm spots - bright and bruised from injuries of the day - alone to heal, but took no care about the rest of him. I'm still an elf; if I'm not using weapons, there's no way I could actually hurt him.

Finally undoing the ties of her breeches he leaned forward suddenly, putting her back to the grass so he could pull her breeches off her legs. Her smallclothes remained but he leaned back down to kiss up her smooth toned legs, to her stomach, pushing her shirt up as he did so, until he finally just chose to remove it. He drank in the look of her flesh in the moonlight, running his hands up her toned body, carefully avoiding her fresher wounds but running his calloused fingers over the older scars. His hand closed over one of her small breasts and his mouth found her neck again, her reaction it before being most pleasing.

The bitter scents of wine, violence, and passion mixed with the sweeter scents of plant life, but the moss beneath me didn't have nearly as much attention as the powerful body on top of me. I'm not conventionally attractive to any race, so I hadn't been enjoyed this eagerly in decades. It was already a little overwhelming. Just a little.

I seized his head after a long moment, kissing him passionately, then sank my teeth into his shoulder while my hands worked their way down to his trousers. There was no surprise in the dexterity of my fingers, and I wasn't about to grant him satisfaction when I could give him anticipation. I had felt where his flesh had trembled before, now I wanted it to shudder. I'd bare him fully to the moonlight soon enough, but first I wanted him to experience a taste of delicious torment.

Casimir growled with lust as her hands played on his flesh and began to open his breeches. His lips found hers again and their bodies collided in sweet agony.

Overhead the moon shone, the stars twinkled, and the wind played through the leaves of the trees, and for that moment two outcasts, far from home, took solace in each other, finding acceptance in a world where so often there was none.

I slept for an hour or two when we had had our fill of passion. Though I was naked and out in the middle of nowhere, I was warm and content, safe in the knowledge that if anything wanted to get at me, it would first have to get through the arms around me. When I woke, more out of alert habit than desire to open my eyes, I laid on Casimir's chest for a while, just listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart and the rumble of his breathing.

This isn't right and you know it. I recognized the voice as Zarae, the Alerian half of me. I wanted to call her on her bullshit. I'd been wanted, desired, and appreciated more on this patch of ground than I had been while the Bards sang my praises after the fall of Pode. Without knowing who I was and what I'd done, he'd taken my actions and judged me on them.

He judged you on the fact that you like orcs and orc hybrids and that you sliced open your fair share of bandits, the voice insisted. He doesn't know that you're Illara of Nosse Alfheim, she who slew Pode. He doesn't know your reasoning for doing it. He doesn't know that you're a criminal who has killed people you barely had a quarrel with. He doesn't know you don't lose sleep over it. He doesn't know that you're lost and misbegotten, friendless, faithless, and forgotten. And if he knew, there would be problems. He's not the type of man we can be with for long. He's not the type of man who can truly know us. He's not Mutt. He never will be. And he deserves better.

Stars damn you, Zarae. You're right, of course you're right. But Illara wanted to stay.

I slid out of Casimir's arms like a thief escaping a vault. Some of my muscles protested moving even more than my spirit did; his love had been predictably vigorous, and I wasn't used to that anymore. Silently I donned my clothes and armor, then I dug around in my belongings for a sheet of parchment and a stick of charcoal. Each snort or interruption of his breathing froze me; I really didn't want him to wake up while I was leaving. But he deserved at least a note.

Quote:

---

Casimir,

This is not an easy letter to write. While it is here and I am not, know that I very much would have liked it to be the reverse. Certain truths are hard to bear, and one of those truths is that you deserve so much better than me. You're a good man. I'm not a good woman. The life I lead comes with dangers, and I have enemies in Scara Brae. They are relentless as hunting hounds and pervasive as rats, and they are enemies you don't need to have. You haven't been seen with me by anyone tied to them, and so you should be safe. If they knew you were somehow connected to me, they would do their best to kill you. I can't have that.

Someday, you'll find a good woman, and she will love you because you are Casimir Taryndor, not because you remind her a lot of the love that she lost. When you find her, I wish the both of you all happiness.

Until then, may the Stars light your footsteps, and may sunlight keep you safe.

---

I folded the note carefully, trying not to smudge the delicately-written words, and tucked it into his hand. Standing, I gathered my belongings and turned to the forest. Scara City was about two hours east; I could be there before dawn. Just before I could slip away, though, I hesitated. I was the first woman who'd ever had him willingly. The first one who mattered.

Knights from the human tradition liked physical tokens, I seemed to recall. At the very least, I could give him that. I pulled a knife out of my belt, and it gleamed with gentle starlight. I shore a lock of raven hair from behind my ear with it, knotting the tress at both ends so it wouldn't ravel, then knelt beside Casimir and tied it gently around his wrist. Just a square knot so he could pull it apart and do with it as he would. If he left it in this copse or took it with him across seas and through wars, that was up to him.

I kissed him one last time, a light touch of lips on lips that he'd never remember. And then I was gone. Just a memory. Hopefully not a regret.

Casimir slept more soundly than he could ever recall, his arms wrapped around Kon. His dreams were untroubled, and full of the pleasant thoughts of their coupling. When dawn came it was chilly, particularly on naked flesh, and he awoke slowly.

She was gone.

At first he panicked, thinking perhaps some harm had befallen her. He shot up swiftly, calling out for her when he noticed the parchment in his hand and the hair wrapped around his wrist. He unfolded the letter and began to read. She had left him in the night, leaving him cold, naked, and alone.

He didn't know how to feel, part of him roared in anger, but his more rational side spoke as well, telling him to be calm. She didn't owe him anything, and she certainly didn't love him. They were two people fresh from combat who had sought solace and comfort together. He was a fool to think she wanted more than that, and he shouldn't be angry at her for not accepting the duties he projected on her.

On the other hand, the fact she was afraid of exposing him to her enemies angered part of him even further. Did she think he cared if she had enemies? Did she doubt he would stand against them with her? Did she think him unfit for the fray?

No, she couldn't think that. She would not have given herself to him over and again in the night if she had thought that. He felt a single drop of moisture roll down his cheek. In any case, she had left him. She had snuck away in the night leaving him only with a note and a lock of her hair.

He thought of the hair, how it was carefully cut and tied together, then tied around his wrist. If she truly didn't care, would she have done this?

He just didn't know, and would never know. He would likely never see her again. Part of him considered tracking her down, he was confident he could, and getting answers.
What's the use, as fast as she is, she would be far ahead by now.

He untied the hair and placed it in a small pouch in his pack. He would decide what to do with it later. He dressed and rearmored, finishing the last bit of wine, then started marching toward the next town.

Alone again, naturally.

Thread: Lights in the Night Sky
Participants: SerCasimir & The Mongrel
Judgment Type: No Judgment

SerCasimir receives 400 EXP and 50 GP!
The Mongrel receives 900 EXP and 85 GP!

EXP & GP Added