Nightingale, the Brave

After the exertions of the previous night, Aaron's cure lay between the legs of his beloved. With sadness, both had attended the funeral rites and handed over the murdered members of their household to the sacred flame. It was a sad farewell, even if the night meant a victorious hunt for the rangers. Adra maintained close relationships with most of the deceased. They had been a part of her life since childhood and were like family. Her husband had the greatest difficulty in lifting her spirits, so his tongue meant to take care of that in a better way.

“You’re pretty sore,” the lord general assessed while kissing her wound, which had clearly suffered from giving birth.

“By the goddess, Aaron. Your observations couldn’t be more inept.”

Looking over to the cradle, Adra made sure her boy was sleeping. The cosiness of the fireplace thankfully was able to warm the little one up again after having been forced out into the cold brutality of Rayan’s society way too soon in his young life.

“I’m not the one for observations as I had to learn this week.”

Her husband was still unhappy with his own ignorance towards the threat. As the leader of the Raji’Draq, he should have been more involved in those investigations. Adra stroke his hair while he was caressing her lady parts.

“Have you already spoken to lady Dragovaste?”

The noblewoman of Rubinburgh wasn’t exactly unpopular. She held great esteem among the council. Not having heard anything from her as of yet about what was happening seemed strange. But to think that she had her hands in this conspiracy, made even less sense.

“We will. But for now, I am only after you.”

Aaron’s tongue sealed those sore folds of hers.

“I will put a dozen more whelps in there, Lady Sion.”

His lady moaned at his soothing tongue between her legs, then she chuckled.

“Do you intend to appease the countess by providing her a whole army?”

The general grabbed her butt cheeks.

“To appease the countess, only one man is capable of.”

He had to learn that ages ago.

“And it’s not like appeasing you would be any less difficult.”

He looked up at her. All those questions while he was trying to spoil her.

“Do you think she’s pregnant already?”

Aaron rolled his eyes and stopped, glancing at his curious mare.

“We couldn’t possibly tell,” he explained. “A Nemesian pregnancy is different from a Rayan one.”

Adra found the inner workings of their neighbours’ society fascinating. Those dark beauties of Azwood were like goddesses among the mistresses, though they never behaved arrogant or condescending if it wasn’t to defend their honour.

“Arajon must have lost his heart to those willows by now,” she figured. “I barely see him around Redbranch anymore.”

Aaron sighed and laid his head on her belly.

“I should have unburdened him carrying all those duties way earlier.”

An heir to Dragon Peaks was desperately needed, so the general could actually prioritise his tasks as head of the military a bit more.

“Oh, so I’d see you equally seldom around here?”

Slowly, Adra became an idea about how much of a challenge devoted service to the throne could be for a couple. Her little boy started whimpering just at the right time to her thoughts.

“Don’t you move an inch.”

Her husband got up to check on the little whelp. His lungs were indeed as mighty as Arajon had joked about during their excursion to Nathum. But seeing his father’s face in all peace and quiet for the first time in front of the cosy fireplace, he quickly refrained from yelling. Being picked up by his father, the whelp even started grinning.

“Who’s going to tell him that he’ll be the godfather of this little rebel here?”

Adra laughed, watching her two men getting familiar with each other.

“You, of course. If he declines, you can order him as his general.”

Her husband gave his best jester face expressions to her son, just to maintain the boy’s entertainment for little longer.

“And what if he still declines?”

Lady Sion gave it some thought.

“Then I will complain to Aza about his lack of taking responsibility.”

Her cheekiness amused Aaron as always.

“You women are so mean.”

Their little boy got tired again after his sudden outbreak of joy. In a few moons, it would take much more effort to reign in his energy. Aaron put him back into his cradle, covering him with the fluffy silken blanket Aronya had sent as a welcome gift for his birth.  

 “Now. Where was I?”

 His naked body stood illuminated by light of flickering flames in the fireplace as he turned back to his wife on the bed.

“I think you were about to play doctor and treat my soreness.”

Playfully, Adra wiggled with her legs to lure him back into bed.

“Oh, yes indeed. Medical treatment requires great tact of… tongue.”

Not having granted his lady the necessary attention she deserved after labour was another thing Aaron deeply regretted. When he crawled back onto the sheets, he’d again apologise for it with a deep kiss placed under her earlobe. Her hand started playing with his golden hair before guiding his head back between her legs, where he would make up for his abstinence.

Another pair was way less romantic. Their reunion after the fight at Dragon Peaks hurt. It hurt so bad, that Arajon craved for those iced spirits his countess was about to carry to her living room. She damn sure took her time with it. But then again, she had no obligation to serve him any drink at all. Right now, he didn’t even deserve to be treated on her couch by the most experienced hands in entire Soulwater.

“OUCH!”

She emptied out the high percentage alcohol in one of the glasses right across his chest for disinfecting measures while taking a sip from the other. Afterwards, she pinned her drink into his hand. He got but one sip himself, when she again tortured him by reopening the crust that had built around the wound during his hasty ride back from his cousin’s estate. The countess did so with a tempered claw scratch that clearly was meant to pain him.

“OUUUCH! Aza! Why are you so rude?”

Her azure eye lights didn’t grant him a single gaze. The wound needed to bleed out properly in order to clean it.

“Did you whine that much while you were beating up those black scales?”

Azana took the soaked cloth out the bowl with herbal water, which she had placed on the couch table. Then she sat on his lap, starting to thoroughly clean the wound below his chest.

“Now… that’s more like it…”

Arajon relaxed and watched his night nurse do her nature magic, his free hand carefully seeking closeness to her thigh. This woman really knew how to turn from a harsh hit to a soft sensation within seconds. Stubborn she was, just like him. That’s why they ended up with each other.

Aronya deemed her cousin immediate at one point. He always found a way to upset the mistresses she tried to couple him with. Most of the times, he didn’t even show up to the arranged inspection. He was fully aware that fancying his luck like that was a privilege of the matriarch’s male relatives, so he made use of it whenever one of those aristocrat harpies in Rubinburgh lusted after him. Never would he serve under a mistress ever, no matter the cost. That he had sworn to himself. But then she came along.

He’d never forget that afternoon, when he was trespassing borders and crossed the glade, where she was out harvesting herbs with her sickle. He had made his escape to Aaron’s stronghold from another of Aronya’s coupling conspiracies and meant to get his head off things while hunting. Back then, he didn’t care much for territorial arrangements regarding hunting grounds.

She had sensed him long before he got aware of his surrounding and challenged him to a duel straight away. Citing to him the law and order of her land while crossing blades, he’d catch more fire with every strike. He let her win, just so she would get closer. Granted, she might have won anyways, but it would’ve taken way longer until her blade threatened his throat, so that he could take a closer look into those shiny azure gazers. It might have been their first dance, but surely it wasn’t their last.

”Careful there, sweety.”

His countess stretched the wound to examine the sore tissue below.

“It is infected,” she diagnosed and laid her lips around the wound  to suck out potential contaminants.

“Is that some new seductive technique of yours?”

His inappropriate joke should cause him some more pain as she started sucking harder. Another quiet “Ouch!” came over his lips, yet he still enjoyed her mean kiss.

The second time they met was during an avian exhibition at Dragon Peaks. Arajon had been looking for a new winged messenger to deliver his orders to his men. There she stood with her white mane and posh posture, having a look at one of the most magnificent silver horned screech owls he had ever seen. She appeared so professional speaking to and stroking the bird on her falconer’s glove that Arajon couldn’t help but act all clueless to lure some more lovely teachings out of her. He desired to be educated about things he already knew, just to hear her disciplining lectures. His heart betrayed his pride that day and would continue to do so every time they met afterwards.

“What sort of blade was it that pierced you?”

Her question ended his sentimental flashback for a moment. The countess spit some strange tasting fluid on the cloth. It changed its colour after making contact with the herbal infusion on the fabric.

“It seemed a bit short for a warrior’s blade. More like dagger. Why?”

His dark beauty seemed concerned.

“Did you taste any sort of bitter afterwards?”

What was she on about?

“Not that I’d remember.”

His memory wasn’t particularly in a state of proper function while she sat on top of him with nothing but a black night gown on, whose sides were slit open up to her hips.

“I need to send this to the headquarters for examination.”

She folded the cloth and put it back on the table.

“I might need some more examination too,” Arajon let her know. “I think I have a few fractured bones; one especially feels hurt pretty bad.”

His sass finally won her look over as she proceeded to bandage his wound.

“You mean that one right here?”

She started moving her hips on top of his lap.

“Oh yes, exactly that one.”

Arajon’s suffering facial expression made her lips struggle to remain serious.

“It is in desperate need of your attention, countess, I swear.”

His mistress was getting closer after finishing up her wound care, pressing her boobs onto the bandage and looking him deep in the eyes.

“You don’t deserve it though.”

The dramatic facial expressions went on.

“How can you say this after all my efforts to secure your forest in the past few days.”

He dared to go for her lips.

“As always, I was and am your humble servant.”

Azana let out a high-pitched laugh.

“Humble.”

Her lips did not escape his attempts, but still wouldn’t complete a kiss.

“My dear, as long as I can think, you have been anything but humble.”

His smirk revealed his hungry fangs to her. Way hungrier even was his free hand, wandering from her thighs to her lovely butt.

“I know you like me bold and tempting.”

A soft bite into her lower lip would finally fulfil his intention. She was laying so enticing on top of him that he almost forgot his manners towards a lady of her stand.

“How bold you want me tonight, mistress?”

He hoped for the words her first answer to that question included, when he was asking at the avian exhibition after she had taught her newfound student all kinds of interesting details about owls, falcons, ravens and nightingales as messenger birds. He hooked her on the nightingale and how the single males of the species would charm ladies with their bold songs after nightfall.

“I’ll put your boldness to the test, nightingale,” was her response that day in fall. Then she left, making him come after her the following night.

Sweet tunes of desire her Sir Nightingale played on his lute beneath her window in Silver Merlon’s Tower, annoying the living hell out of her neighbours whilst doing so. She’d be greatly embarrassed by all that attention, but he kept playing for her every night until she finally granted him an evening at the autumn fair in Redbranch. There he would kiss her for the first time, under the scarlet-golden treetops of a maple, struggling to hold back his lust but doing so nonetheless, for her to recognise his interest sincere. That play would go on for months, under maples, birches, willows, oaks —wherever he got hold of her at a hidden spot between the borders. He’d seduce her without any sexual act involved, but solely by kissing her so fiercely, that she would run hot from head to toe.

That’s where Aza got an idea of what his way of fighting was like. How he left an opponent no space to breathe and stripped them of any defence against his unyielding nature.

“Let me be your blade,” he’d propose while she panted heavily beneath the trees. “And I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”

The night she gave in to her songbird’s request, he’d lift her up against the tree and love her right where they stood. So would he do each year again at the exact same date and spot where he took her first. Only once did he fail to renew his oath, and it was tonight.

“I think I might as well do without your boldness today, nightingale.”

Aza made sure he felt every bit of that butt in his hand slipping away, together with that drink he held in the other. Pouting, she got up from the couch and headed for her chamber.

“Mistress, don’t you dare!”

Her sudden swing of mood caught him off-guard.

“My heart is literally bleeding for you!”

Like a sick man, his body was toiling on the leather sofa, his arm reaching out to her in dramatic a manner. But that sweet butt he was looking at vanished into her chamber.

“You’re bleeding indeed and that’s why you won’t be allowed into my bed!” An unforgiving voice yelled at him.

“Don’t do this to me. Please, forgive a man for being late!”

He didn’t get answer. Oh, that wasn’t good. She was genuinely piqued. That situation screamed for unfair tactics.

“I brought you sweets from Rubinburgh?”

It took a few moments, before that silver-curly head of hears spied around the door frame again, but it did.

“What kind of sweets,” a pouting voice demanded clarity.

Arajon gave her his most seductive smile and voice.

“Almond nougat pralines,” he allured her. “With white chocolate, just how you prefer it.”

His wildcat pondered. It was indeed her favourite.

“If you cause any blood stains to the sheets, I will throw you out,” she threatened with a dark enchanting tone, turning around just close enough to the door for him to notice that she was naked by now.

The Raji’Draq couldn’t grab for his bag quick enough under the table.

“Oh, honey, I promise it won’t be blood dripping to your sheets,” he whispered to himself.

Her beast would feed her those sweet pieces of deliciousness, while she sang to him sweeter than any nightingale ever could. She’d wrap his name up in longing melody as his oath dwelled deep inside of her, renewed with feral bites of burning passion. Picking up the box of pralines, he followed her into her chambers and closed the door.

While his skills in seduction conquered the countess, a piece of cloth on the table in the living room began to glow. First, the shine was fiery red, but then, it sank into a deeper colour of black and purple. The dagger that had hit Arajon was poisoned with an alchemistic solution so aggressive, it sticked to its target even if removed. It would consume the blood of the victim and aim for certain death in cardio-vascular environment. Even worse, that dagger wasn’t the only of its kind used in the battle at Dragon Peaks. Nor was Arajon the only one affected.

The first symptoms caught up with him in the morning, when he left his woman’s chamber. A sudden grabbing pain filled up his chest and veins pulsing with black blood came to reveal themselves. Azana woke up way to soon, catching him while scheming his escape to not worry her. She saw the darkened veins and the completely blackened cloth on her table and knew that this new enemy had set their mind behind nothing less but total destruction. She tried her best to stop poisoning, casting quarantining runes around the wound. Since it was located closely to his heart, he might have felt the symptoms sooner than the others.

While she was rushing to the headquarters, Arajon would rush back to Dragon Peaks. He found the Red Rangers in confusion, for a good third of them had fallen sick overnight. No signs of pain yet, but a delirium, an increased rate of heartbeat, disorientation and occasional hallucinations. Aaron and Adra were alarmed. That’s why they agreed to Arajon’s proposal to take the sickened rangers back with him to Soulwater. They should not return to Redbranch the way they used to be.