Legends of Belariath
Eraelabryn
Haunted and Hunted
So then, you wish a story, let me tell you one. One as woven as a spiders web, one where heroes have no place, and virtues are things that you call sins. Sit with me a spell, and let me weave you a story of deception, of control, lust, and betrayal. At the end, you can tell me if the greatest Sin against the Dark Mother was committed, or if nothing else, her little ones kept her honor, cruel as it is.
Tradition in the Moriel customs to send the youth out, deeper into the Gloom, protected and guarded in deeper caves. Securing their House's safety this way, the ability to thrive, securing the Birthright of the females. Heavily guarded, sequestered away within the very darkness that would forever be their home. Away from the debauchery of the Cities, of the House's wars, trained and tutored in all things Moriel. Raised in these Caverns, protected and shielded, taught all the ways of the adults, honed for deception, games of murder and chaos they were. Brought forth only for Festivals, tradition stating when a young priestess was close enough in age, she would be summoned forth, along with House sisters, to lay claim to one who would be her Patron for a season, a term of breeding, meant only for procreation.
Men brought forth like cattle, the Male of the breeds, the Elder High Priestess selecting those pairings which would bring Kirva the most glory with offspring. Only this time, in their life’s, would the Female live with the male that was chosen for her, a way of training for the female herself, the very handling of a submissive, a way to teach them how to glean information, learn manipulation, and hone those skills they were taught. The males selected from the fraction House, also trained, their Teachers in war in, in all things allowed to come into the Grand Hall for the festivities.
It was for their own safety. No better way to ruin a House then to bring down the next generation that would run it. Different Matrons, for different lesson, bringing their females to be taught. Always schooled, trained, and ready for the next lesson. To not be would be to fail, and to fail when adult, would mean certain death. Ceremonies, those times for them to witness their Elders in full bloom, to take part in worship of Kirva, and then to be sent away again. Even in this -innocent- state, they would not escape the Games of the Matrons. Chosen, picked over, set against each other in games, even in the play yard. Teething themselves on one another, each and every movement, whisper, game noted. This is what it was to have grown up a female. Set against one another, the fittest survives, learning to crawl, as well as lie. Learning to become what the word Moriel means.
Stirring shadows, the movement of blankets and sheets, the connection of two bodies beneath. A grunt from the male, as female slipped from the warmth of arms, the shielding of war forged chest. Unable to sleep, the constant of her mind to race, even during the times of comforting rest. Unlike him, so able to sleep, when time allowed, the training of a solider, to know when it was time to sleep, and time to rise. A brush of nails to scarred pectorals, her lips following it, as she then pulled away. The movement of fingers, as crimson robe was placed around ashen flesh, the slightest of shimmers in the darkness. Curling up on the chair beside the bed, so not to disturb his slumber, content to watch. Fingers reaching over, the taking up of a bit of armor, polished substance, the play of fingers over an indention. Surely where weapons blow had been deflected. Even now, he slept with it within arms reach, habit hard to break. Plush lips curving into a smile, as she leaned her head, back, sinking into comforting leather chair, legs curling underneath her. Memories, those haunted things, passing through thoughts, listening to the gruff breaths taken by him, the way the blankets sealed around him. almost hording the vision she held of him in her mind.
Back, to the days of youth, the memory of it, gossiping girls and slaves, speaking of the Time of Keltor to come. The celebration of Moriel Males, the timely choosing of the young to Males, who would serve in the ranks of House, warring until the female who chose them, would be of age. A reprieve for some Males, to be chosen, sent off, and not forced to deal with the constant inner politics they would one day bleed for. Or to be spared the constant attentions of Females, who used them as pawn pieces in their inner games. It was the rumors that caught Eraela's ears. Never realizing that she was walking into a web far larger then she could imagine.
Never realizing that the Male had pulled a boon owed to him from one of her tutors. Told to select him, simply because her greatest threat, another female Priestess was planning on taking the male Di`Ssan. Older creature he was, the survivor of many a Day of Keltor, his spawn having been delivered the blessing of Kirva, simply because of the birth of females. Strong he was in battle, cunning, and all the essentials of a Moriel born. Perhaps it was this, the mystery of how such a male could live, almost held as a legend amongst the other males, for in fact being smart enough to survive. Believing that Di`Ssan was in fact the favored of her Challenger, when the Night of Keltor claim, she made a bold move. Selecting him, demanding it, as the right of the First Female of house, even though her Term of Mating could not take place, for many years. Challenged to ask Kirva herself, the little Moriel took out her dagger, and bled her palm, spitting crimson to the runes that would answer for the Dark Mother. The right of a Priestess, even if she was still in training. That night Di`Ssan gained 5 years of reprieve, and she gained the power of knowing her form would not be forced to breed with anything less then perfection.
Five years passing, they would speak often, the Solider and the Priestess. He in fact, taking the role of advisor, teaching her the wicked games Moriel women played beneath the surface. Using his command in the armies, he would glean bits of information for her, at times, she would seek him out even when the Glooms battles waged on to long. It was this that started the rumors, that perhaps she herself, held him in some weak part of herself. In fact, nothing was further from the truth. An infection their relationship, each using the other. Tit for tat at every turn. In private she would have to surrender bits of information for him, in exchange for what was given. Still it worked. Quickly she would rise to power, him watching her back, because for these years his survival was tied with her power. No pretense of emotions, they needed one another, her to secure her power, and him for that position.
When the time of mating came neigh, she however decided to change those rules. Rumors had flown that Di`Ssan had taken a lover, in fact the same priestess Eraela had chosen him to anger. Strange thing when she sought out a healer, having blade poisoned. If it was a game he wished to play, father offspring, with another, give the seed Kirva had selected for Eraela...then this was a game he would lose. Her pride being her shield, she could not bear the thought of his lusting after another. Could not bear the taste of another’s sex upon his lips, could not bear the concept that she was not his hunger, as he was hers. Dinner, he was invited to, Priestess once more preparing for deception, if for no other reason then to keep him. The ritual complete; they were bonded unable to kill one another, until the first child was born. Jealousy perhaps marring her actions, maybe she did feel more then she let on, perhaps it was merely that she was angered he would dare insult her as such. It was after dinner, in the mating bed, that she would plunge the dagger into his stomach, breaking the tip off, and reciting the words that would make him unable to give the seed. A whisper, nothing more, as she looked to him...”Mine. Forever." cursing herself and him with that one action, as she rose upwards, denying his right for procreation. Leaving that chamber not to return for some time.
It was the next 30 years; time no real issue for Moriels. No touch between them, as he would deny her even the wisdom he had once given. No flesh, no deception, not even scorn. Vicious games they played. He would haunt her lovers, other male Moriels, finishing them off, and she when hearing of his fucking other females would target them for her own games. Never a kind word, however needing, using one another, for status, for power. Slaves would speak of the arguments in their quarters, of her temper, and his apparent lack of concern or fear at her actions. Times of stillness between them, where there was but whispers of their affections, rumors of their natures, and then violence, bloodshed and screams. A double edge sword, what she had wrought had become. You see his position as bonded, would never change. He had no fear of death, for her to kill him, would be to spit on Keltor, therefore Kirva might intercede. With that, he garnered power. Use to one another, that way to enrage and then walk away, keeping the other in a constant state of need and hate, some bit of pride that their other half would be so wicked. Feeding one another on loathing, one unable to advance without the others aide, be it forced or out of some affection neither would admit to. Was she ever not all or nothing? Was he ever not tempered in control, wise, and more cunning then she?
He grew older, and so did she. When the time came for her sacrifice to the Mother, she gave what she thought was best. This point that major turn. Unwilling to listen to him, to her advisors, she believed in truth, if she was Kirva's Daughter, chosen to be a Priestess, why should she be forced to obey any law, any rule? Her banishment came down like a crack of thunder, to be removed from her Home, her House, sent to the surface, a punishment worse then death for one such as her. Unknowing why, she made way, in that last night given to her before a second count of votes would damn her to the surface, to Di`Ssan's chambers. Finding him in lustful position with one of the Matrons whose original had sentenced her to death; she slunk back into the shadows. Never knowing that he had sought to create a boon, a change of vote, which would have saved her, had she but stayed to hear the vote recanted. But Pride and Temper are wicked things. Striking out in the only way she had left, slaves and belongings left behind. He was left behind.
Not waiting to hear, she would leave, take only what she had with her, if he wished them, so be it. They could choke on it all. Have it all. Let him see what it was she had done for him, for them. Never realizing until that moment her own weakness was herself. She needed them not, and she needed Kirva not. True to her nature she would bring herself to the surface, give none of them the joy of seeing her cast out, into the sun, into the damning light. Weak as a kitten she was, there, in the light of day, fate playing major goal in this, as she fell in with a band of travelers, believing her sick...her garments left behind the blood from her first fight, surface side, soaking the cloth. Let those who would search for her find them, declare her dead. It was done. Until Kirva would show her another way, she would walk it on her own.
Years passed, but what are years to those who no longer count the days of their life? She served another, learned to kneel. Tainted with the surface she was, but Kirva never unleashed the noose around her. Simply another path, one that would teach her subtle tricks, one that would teach her service. Bittersweet really, that she learned to respect a male, so much later. Bittersweet, that the banished would be become the mouthpiece. Below those rumors, Di`Ssan believing her dead, that was until word came from spies, she was well. She was growing, and Kirva was using her as a zealot, a prophet of sorts, to the world above. Sentenced to her, he had been, by her own hand. Lost to her by her own hand as well. Rage, of course. Betrayal, lust, deceit and lies, all those things their bed fellows. But if she was growing to Power in the Sunlight, why would he allow her to not feel the thorn that was his right to be, within her side. The messenger sent to fetch her home returned with her answer carved within her flesh. Enough for him, as he would leave to seek her out, remind her to her duties. Remind her of her failure. Push her just enough to drive her. After all, that is what a Moriel does for another, feeds the loathing, feeds the drive, and fuels the fire of greed within the other.
There are rumors, you know? Even now, spoken in the darkness, within the chambers of the Matrons. That Eraela had lied to him, there was no bonding as such, no wound other then the dagger blade that the lie was simply her covering she couldn’t or wouldn’t kill him that she could not be without him. That his heart was strung upon jealousy, upon hearing she had lowered herself to serve a Lizard, and this is why he sought her. Rumors even now, as she declared him her Patron, that there was more wickedness then hate, perhaps that sin of love even. Ruthless and cunning, deception, arrogance, and hatred, woven with the root of all evil. Love it self. One form always hunting together. Fates entwined in Kirva’s web, Keltor’s chosen and Kirva’s voice, both parts in some greater game, pawns, but pawns carved from one piece. Strange thing, how surface words don’t translate into the native tongue of those who walk the Gloom. But still, those things are woven, spun and spit out of the Mouths of Liars. Truth the greatest weapon, their weakness for one another becoming their greatest asset. You see, one waits on the other for their Power, the other gleans their Power from the one waiting. Two pieces carved from stone and seeped in immoral ways. So then, you tell me who serves who? The Male who braces the Female for her games, who while striking her, will allow no other to do so, who advises and provides her with her vices, all the while reaping the rewards of her Games. Or the Female, who strives out, ruthless and hungry, amasses what pleases, who defends and protects, sets out her webs, so they both can feed, all the while knowing she is striking out those who would take from her that Male. Addiction, it’s a beautiful vice to the Goddess, amusing to think she would use even a taint to further her cause. But she is the great hand of fate.
"No."