A Fine Afternoon

Afternoon rays of sunshine pierced the black, heavy curtains over every window here and there, little lances spreading light that Silendiel had once loved like nothing else. Having stayed with the nocturnal kaldorei for several weeks, now, somewhere at the back of her mind, she had started to waver, uncertain about whether or not the night elves had the right of it or not. Something she would have found preposterous, not too long ago.

Similarly, of course, she would have found the very idea of carrying water and food for someone, like a servant, preposterous as well. Nevertheless, that was what she was now doing. Ascending the stairs in the quiet of what, to the sentinels, was the equivalent of very early morning, balancing a tray with both a small, steaming basin and an assortment of food. Not a full meal, not for a kaldorei of Neryn’s size, but something to start the evening with. Enough for that, at least. Enough to demonstrate her commitment to serving her mistress, the Lieutenant.

Not for love of being a servant, but rather to ease Neryn’s position among the sentinels. Who, for reasons difficult to grasp, considered it a reflection upon Neryn, weakening her authority and perceived strength, when Silendiel did not carry water, and food, and did not demurely stand behind her beloved sentinel, and forgot to have her eyes downcast.

Idiots.

She had, mentally patting herself on the back, some skill when it came to opening doors with both hands occupied by the tray. Could have made a splendid servant, had fate decided to cruelly intervene so as to not make her Lady Flameborn. But some divine hand had selected her for her station, after all, and so she saw no point to trying to confuse matters. At the embassy, where her own staff would not see it, she could pretend. But it would stop once they were back home. No matter her ability.

Inside the chamber that was, technically, Neryn’s, but which she thought of with no compunction at all as theirs, together, Silendiel set the basin aside for later, and then arranged the food into twin portions. One for Neryn, the vast majority of the bread, and pears and blueberries and cheese and grapes, and a comparatively tiny selection for her. When she ate at all, she felt like a bird, next to her towering sentinel. But it took much to maintain Neryn, and, in truth, much of the time, she more or less fed Silendiel, too.

Not this morning. For once, she did not feel that possessive, uncompromising grip of her head. Her skull was not protectively cradled, her lips not straining, aching, stretching around her beloved’s monster of a cock. So, for once, she would eat. Experience a day closer to what Silendiel of three months ago might have considered normal – wake, get dressed and proper, eat, and then set to the tasks of the day. Collude with her political and social allies. Something she had not done since the priestess had called both her and Neryn to the embassy, but would now have a chance at. Instead of getting her stomach pumped full to the point of looking pregnant, more than pregnant, she was to appear proper, as Silvermoon City understood proper, in order to meet with and convince one of her political allies to cease harassing the kaldorei embassy.

Whether it was really not a little too depraved that the kaldorei of the embassy considered it perfectly normal to interact with small sin’dorei bulging with colossal loads of cum, bellies domed for large portions of the day as they near waddled to see to their duties that did not involve relieving their towering kaldorei, was something Silendiel idly wondered. Could not come to a conclusion about. A lifetime of propriety told her one thing, and she understood, as well, that some of what excited her about the whole deal was precisely that it was wrong. Still, why should it be more right to hide such things away than to wear one of the specially made garments she had made, which left much of her front open and free, so that she could wear it whether freshly finished getting fucked, or merely displaying her delicate, fine skin after a long day of processing the vast, sloshing gift of her beloved sentinel.

“Malanore,” Silendiel said, then, recalling her name for Neryn from when they had first met.

“Mmarrrwebacktothat?”

Neryn slurred, clearly still half-**** by sleep, turning onto her back. After a moment, she raised both hands, examining them. When not called by the strict schedule of a sentinel, or by Silendiel’s excitation to carnal action, Neryn was terribly lazy in what was, for her, early morning. And much too big for Silendiel to pull or push her out of bed, if she decided that she was too comfortable to move.

“For today,” Silendiel said. “We have to get ready. To meet Lady Silversong.”

When Neryn did not react, having dropped her hands and seeming very likely to be trying to go back to sleep, Silendiel let out an exasperated breath and crawled onto the bed, covers creased and messy, in order to reach over and poke a small finger into Neryn’s flank.

“Up.”

“You are a harsh mistress,” Neryn mumbled, rolling again. To her side, face squished a little as she employed no strength at all to hold up her head. Cheek resting flatly against the mattress. For a long moment, her eyes met Silendiel’s, revealing that though she was emerging from sleep, she was not quite as dulled as she had let on. Eyes sank down over Silendiel’s comparatively petite frame, and then back up. Rested upon lips for a long while, before finally reaching up so that their gazes could meet once more.

“I know,” Silendiel said. “It is cruel to be confronted with beauty and nobility of such purity, and yet not be allowed to touch. But it is upon us to meet Surielle, and convince her to stop her madness.”

“Would it be that much harder if you were—”

“Yes,” Silendiel interjected, though she reached for one of Neryn’s hands, found it, took it, raised it to her lips with the aid of its owner. Pressed a kiss to the back of a few fingers. “You will last a few hours, o, depraved mistress.”

Neryn’s expression cracked, an amused puff of breath from her nose, the beginnings of a grin on her face. Not that Silendiel was allowed to enjoy it, her beloved sentinel choosing to use her great strength, speed, to lunge for and capture her, tackling her to the mattress where they bounced, together, briefly. Neryn used her momentum to keep them rolling, until they reached and then went over the edge of the bed, sliding and crashing to the floor. Silendiel safely cradled atop her sentinel’s body, arms around her midsection. She felt a stolen, swift kiss against her neck, and then the hands that held her fast released.

“How restrained of you, mistress,” Silendiel said, huffing once with pretend annoyance as she sat up, employing Neryn’s muscled physique as a throne for one glorious moment, after which she stood.

“Of course, I am the instigator. You care not at all for our unions, my pure, graceful maiden,” Neryn said. She remained on her back, on the floor, having turned her head just so in order to look at Silendiel. “Yesterday was but a fluke, a demonic invasion of your mind. Otherwise, you would never have asked me to—”

“If you stay on the floor, you and my ass will no longer be on good terms.”

“Fine, fine,” Neryn said, rolling once more onto her side, and then rising to her full height. Towering well over Silendiel. “For your sake, and mine, I will keep relations between me and it cordial.”

Silendiel rolled her eyes, though she still reached out to place a hand against Neryn’s chiseled midsection. Without thinking. Just to physically appreciate her beloved, possessed of no other impulse than to feel the sense of safety that Neryn imparted in her. It was easy to forget, when they fooled around, that there remained fangs in that mouth. That nails could just as well be claws. That Neryn could and, likely, already had ripped enemies apart equipped with no other weapons than those granted her by nature.

When she looked up at Neryn again, in the next moment, she saw, too, next to the pleasant, silly sentinel, the slight bumps of fangs hidden behind her lips. Saw how the piercing, white eyes might shine with fury, how the red facial markings would look all too much like fresh blood, should her expression contort into feral rage. It was all there, below the surface, no matter how many times Silendiel had observed Neryn not to be that savage. No matter how many times her trust had been shown to be true. Despite every moment in which Neryn had insisted that she decide for herself, even if it would be terribly easy to trample and rule with an iron fist.

“...what?”

Silendiel swallowed, exhaled through her nose while an oddly neutral smile spread her lips. Despite it all, perhaps because of it all, rather, she cared far more for Neryn than she should. In some sense, Surielle Silversong was entirely right in her shock at what seemed to have become of Silendiel, but it was a sensibility to which Silendiel no longer found herself tied.

“We should eat.”

“Silly,” Neryn said. Letting the quiet, tender moment pass, perhaps without even realizing that it had been there at all. She put on the trousers of the previous night, and then shuffled over to the table, where Silendiel had arranged the simple meal for her, already. Sat down, and took a decidedly ignoble handful of grapes, shoving three of them into her mouth.

It was possible, Silendiel knew in that moment, to both disapprove of someone, and love them anyway. A most peculiar feeling. She narrowed her eyes just so, a judgmental expression coming over her which she waited for Neryn to spot. The sentinel never even looked, of course. She picked up a handful of berries, instead, but thankfully ate them one by one. The unbelievable mess of blueberry juice everywhere was avoided. Silendiel, at length, joined Neryn at the table. Sighed, and yet, after but a few small mouthfuls, found her left hand resting upon her sentinel’s right knee. For no reason. She let out the faintest, still audible, huff. Considered withdrawing the hand, but decided against it. It was too comfortable.

Neryn but continued to eat. Did she know, at all? Did she feel similarly? The almost cloying warmth in Silendiel’s chest, tingling in her cheeks, flagged for only a moment. Resumed, then, its steady strength.

She was lost. Nothing to do about it, anymore. May as well continue down the road, though she knew not where it led. It was, theoretically, possible to turn back at any point, though that option, once a comfort, no longer seemed a relief.

They ate together, halting only when Neryn, still chewing a mouthful of cheese and grapes, reached up to curl fingers around Silendiel’s head, pulling her closer, into a kiss. From which she felt as if she gained fragments of what her sentinel was eating, and though she ought to be disgusted, she could summon only mild chastisement in the form of a raised eyebrow. Another afternoon might see her more combative. Not that one.

Once done, Silendiel took upon herself the role of servant and squire once again, first washing and drying Neryn, then assisting her in putting on her ceremonial uniform. The one thing Silendiel did not, leaving instead to Neryn, was the polishing and maintenance of the ensemble, which she knew very little about. Thankfully, near nothing needed to be buffed or cleaned, and so, within ten minutes, purple-haired, red-marked, towering Neryn stood before her in the black and silver and purple of her unit, strong, and imposing. Less elaborate than the most absurdly decorated noble and spire guards of Silvermoon, perhaps, but rather more dangerous.

Silendiel then, to the extent possible with what few tools available in the embassy, saw to her own getting ready. Applying sparse cosmetics, a little eye shadow, and then remaining still while, to her surprise, Neryn brushed her hair. Humming some unknown little ditty over, and over, as she did so, never stopping to explain what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

While immobilized so, Silendiel’s fingers settled on fidgeting with the thin little silver chain granted her by Iralis. Given to Neryn, who gave it to her, so that she would not get pregnant from her beloved sentinel’s titanic efforts and potency. It had laid against her skin for weeks, was the temperature of her body, and so, rarely noticed. But it was a kind of barrier between them, too. Something sensible. Imposed by her worries, and yet, even the quiet, pervasive warmth she felt when close to Neryn could not extinguish the thought which kept the necklace in place.

If she removed it, something she could not ever change would happen. Her lineage, her family’s line tracing back to the old empire, would become something else. Change. Disappear? So she would have thought, once, but that was no longer a recognizable thought. Her and Neryn mixing would likely be something more kaldorei than sin’dorei.

The old self that still occasionally clawed its way up out of the murk at the back of her mind roared to life, then, and reminded her of the destruction she would wreak upon her family. Of the damage merely contemplating the entire thing was doing. She should instantly reject it, if not for her own sake, then for the sake of the child, who would be something of both worlds, and likely at home in neither.

A knock at the door disrupted Silendiel’s thoughts, and, really, Neryn was long done with her hair anyway. Still, with unnecessary speed, Silendiel shot up. Stalked to the door. Why, she was not quite sure, as almost every piece of news that made it to their door was for Neryn, not her. Perhaps the sinking, disappearing warmth made her eager to create physical distance between her and Neryn, just then. She ripped the door open.

Liriel.

Fiery, azure light blazed from the rune on her forehead. Her shirt was unbuttoned, her belly bulging not quite to the level of obscenity Silendiel had witnessed in the priestess’ chambers the night before, immediately after Tessa had finished, but not terribly far off. An unforgivable laxity in a noble home, but in the kaldorei embassy, practicality won out. Silendiel had had special garments made to accommodate just what Liriel was in the middle of, in that moment. One had to deal with the results of one’s kaldorei obsession.

“Liriel,” Silendiel said. “Seneschal.”

“Lady Flameborn,” Liriel said, straining somewhat as she tried to bow, but settled, after a moment, for a mere dip of her head. She raised her eyes from Silendiel, then, as Neryn came up behind her. “Lieutenant, the priestess asked me to inform you that ‘she’ is now on her way, though it will be some time until she arrives.”

At this, Neryn merely nodded. No further explanation was offered, no more cryptic words spoken on the topic. Instead, Liriel produced a single, already opened envelope, looking much like kaldorei nails had ripped it apart, as opposed to a knife cleanly severing the fold. Two pieces of paper were within, both clearly having been taken out, straightened and flattened, and then, later, replaced. This, at least, Liriel seemed content to offer to Silendiel and Neryn both. Silendiel took the envelope, snatched it from Liriel’s fingers, really, and pulled out the first letter to hand.

In it, Surielle – Lady Silversong – regretfully informed the embassy in general, and priestess Iralis specifically, that her tolerance of the kaldorei presence in Silvermoon was at an end. The cause was laid at Silendiel’s feet, even, Suri naming the priestess’ refusal to release the prisoner, Silendiel, as the cause. It was a brief and terribly infuriating read, one Silendiel imagined she found so distasteful precisely because it could have been something she would have written not all that long ago. Worse yet, it was unlikely that Surielle would be swayed by a single sentinel standing in her house. She had no experience of being held by a kaldorei prisoner of war to draw on, to feed the fire of an illicit fantasy.

The second letter, which Silendiel realized had to have arrived separately, was official. Written on the understated, officially decorated and stamped paper of city administration, it was not something that would merely be given to Lady Silversong to include in her little screed about a hostage.

A most generous three months had been allotted to Iralis to sell the mansion that had been bought to serve as kaldorei embassy, and to wind up the priestess’ ambassadorial activities, and then to vacate the premises and Silvermoon City as a whole. Not complying with this decree would result in forceful expulsion from the city.

Finishing the letter and handing it off to Neryn to be read again, Silendiel let out a forceful sigh. Narrowed her eyes, finding nothing worthy to direct her ire at – Liriel did not deserve it, no matter her status as a mere commoner.

“We should go, my sentinel,” Silendiel said. Her voice hard. The pretense of deference to Neryn as her superior momentarily forgotten, consumed by the same flame that she felt to burn so bright that her eyes shone with uncommon intensity. Dispelling, for a moment, the soft, gray-ish darkness within the embassy.

Once Neryn had finished with the second letter, Silendiel meticulously replaced them both in the ripped envelope, and handed it back to Liriel, who still stood there. Waiting. Stomach domed with the Captain’s efforts.

“Inform the priestess that we have left for our meeting with Lady Silversong,” Silendiel said to Liriel. She stalked off, then, Neryn soon catching up, and walking alongside her out of the embassy, out onto the city streets.