The Crowned Captive
Whispers on the Wind

He was behaving like a child. Two and a half centuries of life, and he had still not managed to get his emotions under control. His heart beat like a frantic bird within his rib cage as he stood outside the door of her new chambers, waiting for her lessons to be done. The fact Ilda was inside did not calm him either, for whilst he knew she was not one for gossip, she was also not one to shirk from the truth. If Morana asked of him, she would surely answer.

Cordan’s spiralling thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the opening of a door beside him. Hurriedly, he stood up straight, turning towards Ilda and a surprised Morana. He had not heard them coming at all, he realised, and scolded himself for his lack of attention. After a quick goodbye to Ilda, Morana turned to him.

Every word he had thought of died on his tongue the moment that their eyes locked. The apologies, the explanations, the ways he had thought he could make things right, all of it was gone in a flash. He stood there, mouth slightly ajar, struggling to make the words make sense once more as Morana stared up at him with sadness on her face. After a prolonged pause, she sighed.

“Did you want to go for a walk? I’d love to just spend some time in the gardens this evening,” Morana asked. Cordan smiled in reply.

“Of course, I would love nothing better.”

They were silent as they walked, Cordan still trying to still to calm his racing heart and slow his ragged breaths. Anxiety clawed at him as they walked slowly through the dimly lit halls. He did not miss Morana’s deep breaths as they exited the castle proper, being bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. He took one of his own, seeing if that would help his wrought nerves. It did not.

It was beside the pond that Morana finally sat, motioning for him to join her. The ducks had gone to find somewhere safe to sleep at night, and the surface was motionless, reflecting their image back like a mirror. As the rest of her guard positioned themselves, he wished he had the sense to bring a coat against the chilling wind of early winter. A second later, the air warmed around them as if by command.

“Ilda has spent the day teaching me shielding. Apparently, when I believe I can actually use magic, I am quite good at it,” Morana explained as a look of confusion washed over his face. He turned from his reflection to look at her. “I haven’t quite got the hang of making them solid or moving them, but whilst we sit here we will be warm and nobody will hear us at least. Not even the rest of the guards.”

“How long did it take you to learn this?” Cordan asked. He had not known that Morana had even had time to squeeze in learning magic, let alone something which most elves struggled with greatly.

“Three hours,” Morana replied proudly, a smile on her lips. She picked at the grass absentmindedly still, not making eye contact. “Cordan, I wanted to apologise to you. I let my own want for pleasure cloud my judgement and ended up doing something that hurt you. I... I can’t deny that I feel a bond between us, but I don’t think that pursuing it would be wise. I am sorry if I made you feel otherwise at any point.”

There was the complete shutdown Cordan had been expecting. He ignored the sickening summersault his heart did and nodded. He did not protest that she refused him despite having feelings for him, did not protest her dismissal of what was between them as “a bond”. He simply nodded, taking a deep centring breath.

“None of anything you did upset me, Mor. I’m dumb enough that if I knew everything was going to pan out the same way, I still would have eagerly joined in.” He snorted at himself, a sucker for punishment through and through. “Do you remember me telling you I didn’t come here a free man?” No backing out now, he was doing this. He merely hoped that Morana would be gentle with him afterwards.

“I do.”

“Would you like to hear the story?” There was silence, and he turned his head from the heavens down to her face. Concern sat there, those beautiful blue eyes staring up at him with such care.

“Only if you want to tell me, Cordan. There is no pressure,” she said, and despite the mess between them she still reached out her hand to hold his in comfort. With a deep breath, he began.

“My mother was a beautiful woman, with kind brown eyes and gorgeous brown curly hair. She had the misfortune of being born a prisoner of what is now the Rebellion, the product of a soldier raping someone too important to be killed. Because of that, she was raised a slave and given to one of the wealthy lords that supported Draigh as soon as she came of age. She told me that she started with simple chores, cleaning and the like, but before long she caught the eye of that same lord. Lord Baldwin was his name, an ugly man with an ugly temper. He decided he wanted her, and so that was that. He began raping her whenever he pleased, beating her if she tried to fight it. She took her contraceptive each month, and for half a century she endured it all. Then one month, for reasons only the gods will know, the contraceptive failed.

“Pregnancy is rare enough amongst elves that she was left alone as soon as she started to show, fed well and even given somewhat private rooms instead of sleeping in a hovel with the rest of the slaves he kept. She told me it was a hard pregnancy, and she prayed to the AllMother every day for forgiveness, sure she was being punished for the Lord’s attention. She was sure she was going to die in childbirth, and she laboured for a whole day without any assistance from a healer or midwife. Finally, by some miracle, I was born alive, and she survived. She was given time to heal from her birth, and then the abuse began anew.

“My mother protected me from the worst of it, helping me find easier tasks once I was old enough to help and teaching me how best to hide from the Lord’s wrath. I kept my head down and did my work, getting fewer beatings than most of the other slaves, but it didn’t protect me as I got older. Fully matured, I was taller and stronger than all of the other slaves, than most in the household. I became a source of fun for the Lord’s son, somebody to pick on to make him feel better for his own shortcomings. My mother saw one day and tried to stand in, to stop it. The prick beat her within an inch of her life whilst his guards held me back. When his father found out, he snapped her neck, just like that, then had me whipped for all to see.”

“Cordan, I am so sorry. That must have all been horrible for you,” Morana began, moving closer to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He leant into her embrace, simply thankful for the support as he ripped open old wounds once more. As he began talking again, his voice broke, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“It gets worse, Mor. So much fucking worse. The Lord himself dolled out one hundred lashes before he got bored and handed the whip over to his son and daughter to do with as they pleased. I passed out in the end - from the pain or the blood loss, I am not sure. I lost count of the lashings far before then, though. But through that sickening ordeal, the Lord’s daughter decided she had a better punishment. I woke up, bound to her bed, and was informed that I was my own half-sister’s personal whore.

“I outright refused the first day, was too disgusted by the thought. So I was hauled back out to the whipping post and whipped again. When I next awoke, I was healed and bound to the bed once more. And so the cycle went on, day in and day out until I finally gave in. It took six months. She tried to reason with me, telling me I wasn’t really her brother as I was just a slave, barely a faerie at all. In the end, I was just so sick of the pain, of the hurt. When I gave in, she was nice to me at least. She fed me as if I was a lord if I made her happy, let me have free reign of the grounds without the wrath of the other nobles hanging over my shoulders. Eventually, I began to nearly enjoy it. I was a step above everybody other slave, and was treated well.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he remembered all the memories he had shoved away for so long. Morana simply held him as he fought the lump in his throat for control of his voice. For a long minute, he sat there, watching the last of the rays of the sun slip away and twilight set in around them. He felt sorry for the other guards in the cold, noticing them shifting uncomfortably, but he could not stop his story now. He took another deep breath, then continued.

“For three centuries I lived like that, a lady’s pampered whore. I had heard whisperings of the war developing, but none of the other slaves really talked to me anymore. So when the attack came, I was completely unaware. It was Rowan and his mentor, a red-cap named Thanis, that found me naked in her bed. When I saw them, covered in blood and blades out, it was like my sanity snapped into place. I begged them to kill me, to put an end to my suffering, and Rowan damn near did, the ass. Thanis stopped him, put a dagger in my hand and told me revenge was more fun than death. I will never forget the look on Rowan’s face, utterly disbelieving. If he hadn’t been so young, he probably would have done something about it or killed me anyways. But he didn’t, and so I put on my trousers and followed them out.

“We found her in the hallway not even a minute later, on her way back to me as promised. Thanis took one look at my face and let me past. And I killed her. Not a quick death - I didn’t know how. I just kept hacking and slashing until she stopped moving, and then some more for good measure. Thanis took one look at the mess I was, took the dagger from me and told Rowan to tie me up in case any more screws came loose. After a short stay in the dungeons, I was deemed by some miracle to not be a danger, and was released into the streets and told the next time I was found in the hands of the enemy I would suffer a fate worse than death.

“I went to the nearest temple, the Temple of Gwendolyn, and begged everyone for anything they could spare. The Gods had supposedly spared me a lifetime of suffering, so surely they would help? There I met Ilda, just a priestess at the time, who told me begging would get me nowhere in life. She found me a few options for work, paid work. I was shocked that being a whore was on that list and that it was even considered worship for the AllMother. So that is where I spent another few decades, hating every second of my life. What more was I worth, though, for the wrongs I had done? So I punished myself with it every day, taking what money I needed to survive and donating the rest back through to those who deserved it better than me. Ilda taught me how to function in society, and we fell in love for a time despite how much I hated myself.

“That is how Rowan found me once more, visiting the temple to find pleasures of his own. I was sitting on the steps, wondering why the Gods had cursed me to such a painful existence. By that point, Thanis had found his demise and the newly-promoted Rowan was supposed to be looking for more soldiers to replace those lost in recent battles. He told me I was likely to be useless anyways, but if I ever needed to get some anger out on unarmed women he could find a place for me on some sort of mission. I took him up on the offer, thinking that jumping into a fight with the skills of a whore would finally end my miserable existence. Instead, I trained up faster than most and was appointed as a member of the royal guard instead. Ilda and I parted ways, and I started my new life slowly hating myself a little less.”

There was a moment of silence as he finished, a moment of Morana weighing his words. He did not turn his face from the sky throughout it, not wanting to see her face if she was disgusted or disappointed in him. Slowly, she lay a hand on each of his cheeks, ignoring the tears, and turned his face down to hers. Despite the depravity of what he had just confided in her, her face was open and kind and caring. They locked eyes, and his heart skipped a beat despite himself.

“Cordan, do not think for a second you are lesser for what was forced on you, for what you had to do to survive. It changes nothing, except now I think you all the stronger for still being such a good person despite all you have been through.”

He nodded, looking away again as soon as she let go of his face. He stared at the reflection in the pond instead, focussing on his breath to get himself under control. Morana did not move her arm from his shoulders, instead stared beside him. A smile rose to his lips as a rock neatly plopped through the centre of his forehead, scattering the images.

“Bullseye,” Morana proclaimed, her smile still showing through the ripples in the water.

“You are as simple-minded as Rowan some days, Mor,” Cordan replied feeling around to find his own rock on the little hill.

“You mean Mr Stick-Up-His-Ass can have fun sometimes? You must be talking about somebody completely different to the Rowan I know. Hey, that was rude!” she replied as Cordan threw the rock through her reflection’s open mouth as she talked. She pushed him then, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Morana was the first to notice the change in the night, the lights that followed the wind through the forest. She turned and Cordan followed her eye, smiling at the sight. Her face was alight, glowing as the wisps of flame floated from between the trees, dancing through the air to the garden. Her shields dropped, the bite of the cold bringing a flush to her cheeks as she watched them. More and more came, dozens more will-o-wisps than Cordan had seen on castle grounds before flowed before them. He didn’t watch them, though. He watched the sparkle of her eye, those beautiful lips upturned in joy as one of the tiny balls of flame bobbed in front of them. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to lean in and kiss her then, do everything how he should have from the start. He squashed that instinct down, knowing it would only cause pain for them both.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, the tiny flames went out. He watched as her face dropped, that girlish fascination extinguished as quickly as their fires. She looked over his shoulder, a heavy look on her face. As the footsteps crunched through the grass behind them, he did the same.

“Thank you for your time, Cordan. Your services will no longer be required tonight,” Rowan seethed behind him.

“Rowan-” Morana began to protest, standing up to tell her suitor off.

“You should know better than to be sitting out in the open in the dark, where somebody could sneak in and out without anybody seeing. And you,” he said, turning his attention to Cordan, “should know better than to allow her out here, especially with wisps watching. Who knows what information they could be gathering for the Rebellion? The spirits are not without the ability of sight and hearing.”

Rowan allowed no time for conversation, no time for explanations as he grabbed Morana by the arm. He dragged her away despite her protests, and for the second night in as many weeks, Cordan had to resist the urge to deck the asshole. It was not worth the effort of interjecting though, so Cordan sat there in the cold, watching the pond silently.

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