Jermayan, Elven Knight

Indy, selective RP/ask blog for Jermayan, from "The Outstretched Shadow". Elven Knight, Occassionally Elven Mage/Dragonrider. Politely stubborn about aesthetics and other things that matter.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

needsnohero:

The words hit her in a soft spot, a chink in the armor — one she never knew, so never thought to protect. We do so with family. What Jermayan suggests right now is more than any bright wrapped gift, something she’d given up asking. Is that what he really means? Is that what they were now?

She’s saved from the task of finding some reply that doesn’t let that pent up emotion escape. Eira grabs onto this new topic all too willingly — not only to leave the old one behind, but because it’s something she’s been eager to do. “I was thinking the same thing,” she counters, matching the surreptitious smile in his eyes. She turns, making her way merrily to the door, voice echoing off the walls back to him. “Stay right there!”

Questions were rude, in that they were too direct for ordinary life. So too were many things that were known, and yet to bring them up would make them ungainly and harsh. And some things simply did not need to be said.

Of course she was family. He who had no one else of his House, and she who’d never had one, made a curious one, but suited to her.

There was rarely something sedate that followed that spark in her eyes. He had grown accustomed to it, if not exactly what would follow. Accordingly, he stepped back from the door, glancing over his house; he could not imagine she would wish to do overmuch to it, even if she had found all that he used to decorate for the holiday. He’d been putting it off, on the hope that they could do so together.

How could she not be family, when she added such warmth?

[elven-knight-jermayan]

needsnohero:

elven-knight-jermayan:

 “I…” It was on his lips to claim there was no need, but that was not the point of a present. She had gotten him a gift, because she wished to, and it was churlish to declare he needed nothing.

If the same rule didn’t actually apply to asking where it had come from, he would hold that up as defense anyways. “It was to my mind to thank you, but that seems a premature thing,” he said.

Now he most certainly had to get her a gift as well, and that was still more delicate. “We do not make a large celebration of the holiday here,” he said, a little cautiously.

“Oh. Don’t they?” For a moment, she fears she’s made some mistake; his APPROVAL is something she greatly desires, though something that Eira would never admit.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to get me one.” A pause. “— but you will have to wait before you open yours. It’s not yule time, yet.”

She did not hide her expressions particularly well. Or perhaps he could read her well. Either had him smiling in reassurance to the quick stillness of her face that meant she thought it was possible to error.  “Indeed it is not - I did not say that we didn’t celebrate at all,” he said easily. “Only that we do so with family rather than endless revels.”

He thought of spending Yule with her, the quiet morning of tea and exchanged gifts, and it was not a surprise how much the idea pleased him. “Though alas, it seems my house is woefully undecorated,” he said, so dryly it was humor, a sparkle in his dark eyes a challenge for her.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

needsnohero:

@elven-knight-jermayan

“I already got your present.”

“I...” It was on his lips to claim there was no need, but that was not the point of a present. She had gotten him a gift, because she wished to, and it was churlish to declare he needed nothing.

If the same rule didn’t actually apply to asking where it had come from, he would hold that up as defense anyways. “It was to my mind to thank you, but that seems a premature thing,” he said.

Now he most certainly had to get her a gift as well, and that was still more delicate. “We do not make a large celebration of the holiday here,” he said, a little cautiously.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

We have decided that the drow is free to go, Jermayan — on the condition that she leaves these lands immediately once her magic is given back. Your patience in enduring forced company has been duly noted.

He had his destrier Valdien saddled long before he went to speak with Kendrial about what had been decided about her fate.

"You are not only free to leave, it is decreed that you must do so,” he told her. “Seeing as you have caused no trouble, created no plots, it is seen in the best interest of these lands that you have no cause or ability to do so,” he added dryly. “I will escort you to the borders - and farther, for as long as you would care for my company.” No decree had been laid on him, after all, though undoubtedly his continued association with her would raise suspicions, true and extreme alike.

He cared little right now. He simply did not want to be parted from her, not quite so soon.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

Something stirs inside her, even as senses take everything in. It’s a war: the urge to rake nails at his skin and demand he tear silks off with a matched zeal — and a softer thing, sweeter and new, that blooms where his lips tenderly meet her skin.

She only knows one way to do this. It never occurred to her to temper her heat into drawn out warmth instead of raging flames. But the feeling he’s long been inspiring in her only seems to embolden now that they’re together, the barriers between their bodies caved in. It throws her off. Kendrial works to smooth out the wrinkle formed between her brows, thankful, for once, that he is a surface elf. It makes him much less able to see her flush.

She wants to get back to what they’re doing, but she can’t shake the niggling thoughts in her mind. The reverence imbuing his touch, the depths of his eyes, has made her wonder just what this means to him. It makes her wonder if this is some special case.

It’s only now that Kendrial realizes she’s frozen, unsettled gaze tracing over his face. “Is it always like this?” Words slip before she thinks to stop them. Yet the question does little to explain her true qualm, one she’s never needed to voice before. Doesn’t have words for, in her own tongue. A hand lifts, finger tracing the length of his arm with the same softness as he’s showing her, a far better explanation than she can say. “— For you, I mean.”

Had he given thought before to how this might be, it would not quite include the gentleness of strings or the glow of moonlight. Perhaps it would more have been a roll beneath a rosebush, quick and fun, heady with the perfume and the sense of danger from thorns. He had forgotten that the best partners in this melody were ones that could have both, one flowing into the other or each in their time, as a whim struck.

But then, it had been a very long time, though not quite as Elves reckoned such things. He could be forgiven for having let the memories fade, for the sake of his peace. They came back now, but different, still tangled with affection, but some of the bonds frayed enough to wrap around this dark elf, so confident and so unsure on his lap.

Her question tumbled, fluttered, a bird in a house unable to find the open window to freedom, and he stilled as she stroked down his arm, pleasure alighting through his skin at her touch, and that she thought to. “No,” he said quietly, hearing what hummed beneath her words, a thing difficult even for him and his kind to say. “It is not always like this. It can mean nothing but pleasure. It can mean a pledge of two souls to each other. But most often, as now, it is something between the two.”

He still had her hair twined around his fingers, and stroked, hooking it beneath her ear before drawing her down for another kiss that mingled heat and subtler affection.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

 How long had all this been building? Perhaps that one fateful night beneath a sky shaken with stars. Even through the endless days spent prowling circles round his house, Kendrial had wanted him. As a reprieve from boredom at the start, but somehow, her motives had shifted. Before, anyone might fill the inky void of her desires. Now, it could only be him.

And now she has him —— or, nearly. Need has made her patience short, yet she has no breath to spare on words that might convey that fact. The air is hitched up in her chest, held as fingers weave into her hair, silver strands tight in his grasp. He’s good at this. Tempers pain with hints of pleasure, a balance to his every act.

She’s nothing but a melody played under his expert hands. Unreserved, not in control. For the first time in memory, Kendrial doesn’t mind it.

What she does mind, though, is that he can’t kiss more of her. There’s time enough, when she pulls back, to offer him one fleeting smile, a thing feral and soft at once. Silks drape and brunch haphazardly against the backsplash of her skin. She guides his fingers towards one shoulder where a slip has left it bare. Leans close, words brushed at his ear.

“—— Why don’t you undress me?”

It would not have been right to even consider this with her, not when she was half prisoner and half guest in his house. But something had shifted, something that made him think of her less as an obligation and more as someone who desired to be where she was. Or at least, desired who she was with.

Perhaps he could have still been polite, had she not come to him, a bold and rich offering undercut with the pleased little notes as he plays fingers over her skin, learned what it is she likes most from a partner in this particular dance. If his own tastes do not tend towards the edges that hers do, her little mewls of pleasure smooth away whatever reservations he might have had.

Why not indeed.  He found himself matching her smile as he edged up, shifting her weight on him so that he could have his hands free for her to guide, to glide up over silks nearly as soft as her skin, but not so nearly as warm as when his fingers finds her shoulder. “The lady had only to ask,” he informs her, and nudged the strap further down. Finding the other, he eased that down as well, delicately, savoring.

He leaned back on his elbows, savoring a moment there, too. There was little point in telling her she was beautiful, when her smile knew it already, and she was sure to see it  reflected in his dark eyes. Instead, he pushed up and laid his mouth delicately on a freckle he was sure she would deny if brought to her attention.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

 Truth be told, she didn’t think he had it in him; he’s far too genteel to ever seem rough. But the playful sting at her bottom lip has her mouth curling, the languid stretch of a satisfied cat.

“Oh.”

Daydream shifts to life as his mouth lowers, just as she’s imagined far too times. A rise of gooseflesh washes down her arms, creeps up along the back of her neck, a delicious chill on skin gone so heated. He’s nothing like the lovers she’s chosen before ( and chosen she has, for it was an honor to grace a priestess’s bed ) but that seems to be why she likes him. That, and the feeling that it’s not so one sided. He isn’t being forced.

Fingers dance down his arms, curl against his back. Nails bite the flesh there encouragingly.

This is different because he wants her too.

This, too, is an Art, and one he has had a keen interest in perfecting. One did not savage one’s lover, but nor did one neglect any available means at one’s disposal. But he smiled, to hear her little gasp, the subtle squirm of her weight against him, and knew that she had been pleased by the edge.

She made so much of her edges, he forgot she could be soft, except when she curled into him. He wondered if she might forget that she could be, too. He knows the honor she offered him in trusting him enough to soften against him. He wondered if she understood what she was doing.

Because she liked it, because he liked the little tightness of her nails in his back, he scraped his teeth along her pulse-point, kissed the pain. He wanted lower, but more than that, he wanted to take his time.

Jermayan pushed himself farther up, a ripple of knightly muscle under her body, fingers straying higher into her hair, tangling it around his fingers so he could tug, and set lips and teeth to the angle of her ear. 

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

Dominance is not prized in the underdark, not if attributed to a male. But as with so many things, here Kendrial differed, preferring a partner who likes to push back. Where was the joy if her lover had no life in their eyes, meekly submitting to her every desire?

Jermayan may be submitting, for the moment, but he’s also the one who makes the first move — and that is something she prefers too. Behind the cultured veneer of the knight, he had a steel in him that she admired.

She wonders how hot it need be to make him melt.

With surprising ease, Kendrial’s shifted so that she has his waist straddled, careful to never let her mouth leave his. How could she, when for so long she’s sat and admired the form they take when smiling? Wondered how soft they’d feel pressed at her throat? She’s delighted to have the answers now, just waiting to be revealed beneath fingertips.

It was not in him to merely lay back and permit someone to do what they willed to him, though there was pleasure, a bright and swift bloom in his chest, in having her weight settled over his hips, a promise of things to come. 

How long had it been? How long since he’d let himself want like this, chase that wanting? It hadn’t bothered him, until it was her curving against him, and it seemed he truly would always most want what was most unwise.

Wisdom had no place here, only pleasure.

He pushed himself up into her mouth, greedy for the taste of her, as greedy as the hand that smoothed up the curve of her leg and hip, a touch that lingered against his fingertips. He broke the kiss with a nip, so that he could lower his head and find how it felt to have her pulse beat against his lips, so that his breath came as quick and ragged.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

@elven-knight-jermayan

“A poor host indeed.” But her tone is tempered by that soft touch, the likes of which has never dared to grace her skin. It’s strange to think that one so light could have any effect at all; a mere brush of butterfly wings, yet nerves awaken all the same.

She’s reminded of the harp she loves so much, how it comes alive beneath gentle hands. How different in she from a plucked chord, reverberating in his presence?

“You can help,” she starts, and he feels so wonderfully warm at this proximity, much more so than she could’ve imagined, “by starting the fire again.”

Her tongue was tart, but he was coming to find that he liked the sharp bite when it slid over his mouth, when it did not wound but warm. “Then surely I must beg forgiveness,” he said, fingers sinking deeper into her hair, twining around a strand as soft as silk to bring to his lips, daring to desire the favor of a lady.

Courage always ran apace with recklessness, and he couldn’t be sure which was on his tongue at the very scent of her, filling this room that he had been alone in for far too long. He was not a child; she would not be his first lover.

But she would be the only one. He knew the kick of desire, the riptide of pleasure, dangerous things he was tired of denying when he looked into her eyes, or caught sight of those flecks of skin subtly darker than their surroundings. “As my lady commands,” he murmured, and this time was the one to close the distance and kiss her.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

Kendrial: slips into his bed w him one night, oops (don’t judge me, it’s sinday!)

Her feet were freezing.

Perhaps it did say something that that was the only surprising part of this. He had played late this night, not for pleasure, but because there was a passage that demanded his attention, but was being coy in revealing itself. He had tried a variation, only to shake his head and stop before he was more than a few bars or even notes in, to stop and begin again.

And here she was, and the music went silent in a way that made him think that it was not gone, but lifted up above him, so that it would come back down fully formed.

“Alas, that I am a poor host who has let the fires within his guest's room die, that she must find warmth within mine,” he intoned, his lips twitching in a smile. He rolled over, dark eyes meeting her red ones, and reached out for her hair. “Tell me how I might remedy my failings,” he said quietly.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

elven-knight-jermayan:

He saw the moment he had her ensnared, the little lean and near arch to her back as he plays, and smiled as he traced another run up and down the strings, a glissando glide. No, a garden might bloom in its season, and show show a different side of beauty in every hour, but if a garden could be a peaceful setting to conduct a seduction, music was the seduction.

And a pause left his partner craving more. “Perhaps I speak too boldly for you,” he commented, “but I believe that the night turned as neither of us intended.” It was a peace-branch, an acknowledgement that she had not meant what she’d quickly been accused of.

It’s a different smile than ones she’s given before, just a little softer around the edges, not quite so smug. It reminded him of the smile she’d given within her mask that night, and he wondered again which face was her true one. It was intriguing rather than a danger. Her command was still imperious, and he smiled as he sat on the edge of the couch, lifting his harp to his shoulder. “I would not dare refuse a lady,” he informed her, and began again to play.

Her planned intentions for the night are not voiced, even now — especially now, when to speak would only mean further distraction from what she truly wants him to do. Instead, the sentiment stays in her eyes, a heated interest that seems to lay bare all that comes before it, unhindered by things as flimsy as clothes.

It’s his plans that still seem unclear; the mystery of how the ball might of unraveled is one that’s destined to elude them both.

Maybe.

Or maybe it isn’t too late, just yet. Kendrial can read signs of seduction like a book, well versed in the subtleties and dialects. Unless she’s very much mistaken, there’s something more held in his eyes than mere desire to play for her.

She leans forward to listen, chin centered in the middle of cupped hands. If only one good thing came from leaving her home, this might be it.

With bemusement, he found himself seduced as well as seducer. It was in the knowledge in her eyes, just a little smug and considerably interested, leaving the thought of that night humming between them lick a plucked chord.  Perhaps, then, he would not have brought her back to his home, or gone to hers.

But then, that had been when they were strangers, and if she was a drow, he also knew her better now. He had not wanted to see where the same person might love the gardens and still tie him to her bed as the easiest way of keeping him still; now he didn’t see how she could be anything else.

Perhaps it was his fate to find the most unsuitable mates intriguing. He could not say he minded.

He played for her, no song he had written - or at least, had not yet written down. It flowed from his fingers, and he closed his eyes, not needing to see the strings, or her, only needing to feel, like feeling the balance of a sword or the soundness of a mount. If the deep notes hummed, they might be caution or danger, or they might only add depth to something that might be frivolous.

It trailed off, and he lifted his head. “I have not the ending,” he said, nearly apologetically. Then he smiled. “Perhaps we will hear it yet tonight.”

[elven-knight-jermayan]

Kendrial: gets very bored being stuck inside and starts looking through all his stuff. Trying to cook. Sew a thing. Live without MAGIC unsuccessfully. :|

Things are in somewhat of a state when he returns. Not, he thought, to compare them to a battlefield, for all the scrolls that she has laid out, tumbled atop each other, some spread open and some nearly rolled closed. Nor would it be fair to consider the smoke-scent that lingered in the air as to a forest fire, because there was nothing he could see that was truly burned.

If anything, she was a cat who had found herself tangled in several skeins of yarn, and now glared at the one she shared her home with, both demanding to be freed and pretending she had meant to do this.

“I see you have made tea,” he remarked, a thorough neutral comment if ever he needed one. He wasn’t sure he wanted to drink the tea, granted, but there were far worse things.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

elven-knight-jermayan:

Gardens and music both make her eyes be ember instead of blood-red. He’d never before wished that he was an accomplished gardener, as some Knights were; he had set his sights higher, on a more delicate art than merely keeping plants alive.

Anyone might decide that these colors and scents were pleasing together, and ensure that they did not die over the course of the growing season. To create an art that permitted no second chances in touching the heart of another, that took greater skill. Or at least the will to gain it. He had both.

“No, hardly,” though he chuckled as he did, as if her keen interest was as well-hidden as she wanted it to seem, “including the parts I do not remember,” he added, but with wry humor. He hadn’t believed - afterwards, at least - that she’d intended to harm him even then.

He touched the strings, and smiled to himself as music flowed from him as easily as liquid. The melody that came from him seemed simple, except for the trills, except for the low notes that hummed a harmony. “But perhaps you wish something different,” he suggested, fingers momentarily stilling as he arched an eyebrow towards her.

It’s like nothing she’s heard before. No sound quite compares; more melodic than birdsong, with more depth than the rain pattering in a roof. If beauty was held in high regard for a drow — and it was, make no mistake — there was often something sinister there too. This is different. It’s beauty for beauty’s own sake, just as everything within the city of Elves. It’s unhindered. Pure.

“No.” She’s drawn from the spell as his fingers go still, something dangerously akin to a pout at her mouth. “I don’t,” she amends with more grace. “I only assumed you’d burned the night from your mind, given the direction it had turned.”

Her smile is wry too, a touch secretive, remembering how nicely it had gone at the beginning. She takes a slow sip of tea at last ( it’d be a lie to say she’d first liked the taste, but as with many things, it’s growing on her ). A tip of her head towards he instrument. “Since that’s not the case, I suggest you make good on your PROMISES.”

He saw the moment he had her ensnared, the little lean and near arch to her back as he plays, and smiled as he traced another run up and down the strings, a glissando glide. No, a garden might bloom in its season, and show show a different side of beauty in every hour, but if a garden could be a peaceful setting to conduct a seduction, music was the seduction.

And a pause left his partner craving more. “Perhaps I speak too boldly for you,” he commented, “but I believe that the night turned as neither of us intended.” It was a peace-branch, an acknowledgement that she had not meant what she’d quickly been accused of.

It’s a different smile than ones she’s given before, just a little softer around the edges, not quite so smug. It reminded him of the smile she’d given within her mask that night, and he wondered again which face was her true one. It was intriguing rather than a danger. Her command was still imperious, and he smiled as he sat on the edge of the couch, lifting his harp to his shoulder. “I would not dare refuse a lady,” he informed her, and began again to play.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

Her eyes light at the prospect of this new distraction. She had to admit, he had a good deal of grace. If he noticed her stiffness — and she bristles at the mere thought he did — then he was at least kind enough not to draw attention to it.

Courtesy was much different amongst drow. If the words were polite, the tone often held an edge sharp as a knife — and often, that’s typically how the encounter would end.

“You did.” She sits up a little, too curious to feign indifference. Her gaze is keen on the instrument, watching fingers dance over taut strings. She smiles, voice sweet. “And here I thought you’d forgotten that night.”

Gardens and music both make her eyes be ember instead of blood-red. He’d never before wished that he was an accomplished gardener, as some Knights were; he had set his sights higher, on a more delicate art than merely keeping plants alive.

Anyone might decide that these colors and scents were pleasing together, and ensure that they did not die over the course of the growing season. To create an art that permitted no second chances in touching the heart of another, that took greater skill. Or at least the will to gain it. He had both.

“No, hardly,” though he chuckled as he did, as if her keen interest was as well-hidden as she wanted it to seem, “including the parts I do not remember,” he added, but with wry humor. He hadn’t believed - afterwards, at least - that she’d intended to harm him even then.

He touched the strings, and smiled to himself as music flowed from him as easily as liquid. The melody that came from him seemed simple, except for the trills, except for the low notes that hummed a harmony. “But perhaps you wish something different,” he suggested, fingers momentarily stilling as he arched an eyebrow towards her.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

Something slips. It doesn’t seem as if she moves, blinks, breathes — and yet it shows there just the same, some imperceptible flicker. Whatever reply she’d thought he’d match her coy comment with, it certainly wasn’t this. One sentence disarms her more thoroughly than any combat ever has.

She’s practiced at this: games, masks, turns of conversation. What she has precious little experience in is the genuine things, and it’s that which has her falter, trying to recover.

He’s just giving an example, after all. Not speaking specifically about her.

“Hm.” Offhandedly, eyes on the tea. “Yes, I see the difference.”

It was always the smallest things with her; an instant of utter stillness, a tightness before she exhaled. The cause was not his to ask about; the directness would not only be rude, it would be a blade she would feel obligated to parry with assurance and misdirection.

If he wanted the truth about her, wanted to know just what she was, he would have to do so gently, through watching her. He could have happily reported on that to his king and the mages entwining them both in magic, but it would have been more than half a lie; he didn’t watch her to ensure she meant no harm to the city, but because he wanted to know more of her.

He already knew she meant no harm. Just as he meant no harm to her.

"But perhaps you would care for a demonstration as well,” he said lightly. He left the tea to sit, and reached for the harp-case he’d left resting on the seat next to him. The lap harp was dark wood, polished glossy by many years of use, and he ran his hands tenderly over the silver strings. “I believe I offered to play for you, once,” he said. Never mind that had been before everything had broken in quite this way.

[elven-knight-jermayan]

faernn:

@elven-knight-jermayan

Of course she’s heard. They both know that — he’s just willing to INDULGE her, at the moment anyway. Maybe she’d only been testing just how far she can push him here; maybe it’s much more to do with how pleasing those words sound. In truth, Kendrial can’t believe them — not quite, despite the show of confidence she’s always displayed to him.

The drow in her suspects a motive. Peels away the glossy shine, looking for hidden intent. The secret, hidden part of her, though, the vulnerable underbelly she kept hidden from her kin… well. It’s all too willing to believe.

Blind faith might not appeal to her, but she’s willing to trust him for now — if for no other reason than she wants to. Chin rests atop delicate hand, amber eyes fixed on the elf as he returns back to her. “If this is shameless flattery, I can’t say that I object.”

Before he’d met her, he’d known what drow were. They were utterly committed to the destruction of all who walked in the light, and as they were fiendishly clever and always lied in such a  way to make it sound the truth, could never be trusted. He had done his best to hold to that truism, and it was easy to be suspicious of her in light of it.

But though the saying was “Stubborn as an Elf“, she’d eroded his intentions. Extravagant though she was, she would not have been able to hide malicious intentions, not for this long, not without giving him some hint of what lurked behind her red eyes.

More to the point, she had shown a truth he didn’t think he wanted her to reveal to anyone for entirely different reasons. "Flattery,” he said as he set down the tea tray on the low table between their respective places, “would be to inform you that you have a melody in your eyes, and I wish to learn what it is.”

[elven-knight-jermayan]

❝ i wanted to see what it felt like. ❞ -needsnohero

And so she had done something foolish. Jermayan only wondered if he was surprised, not that he was.

For all she had a keen, scarce-hidden curiosity about her Elven heritage, one that he took careful pains to fulfill, she was swift-witted and swift-handed, impetuous at best and reckless at worse.

But there was no harm in her, nothing malicious or callous, for all her affection of a jaded outlook on life from knowledge of living one shaky step above the streets. That forgave much, including this. “And did you find it worth it?” he asked quietly, perhaps rudely, but if this did not constitute War Manners, he wasn’t sure what else did short of an actual battle.