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Queen Arta waited atop a gently rolling plain, her snow-white stallion pawing the ground in anticipation for the swift descent. She looked around her and saw a thousand banners fluttering in the wind on this misty morning, a thousand roaring dragons ready to maim and kill on command, for across the sea of green stood twice as many standards of gold and carrying the mighty boar that was the sigil of King Baurus. She and three of her best men trotted down the hill towards the forces of this king for the pre-bloodshed, brief peace talk. And it would be brief. Baurus had all but assured her of as much.
Queen Arta checked her sword, saw it glint in the sunlight, and saw the blade’s deadly keen. She knew how to use it, of course, but she always preferred to settle her disputes in other manners. Had anyone been able to see under her regal helm, however, they would have noticed an emotion hiding among that mixture of fear, tension, and adrenalin that was neither queenly nor expected of anyone about to charge to their possible death on the field of battle. There was a man out there whom she had not seen for many a month, a man who now, ostensibly, was her opponent this morning, but she knew better. And so this hidden emotion showed on her cheeks, a touch of rouge on otherwise delicate white cheeks, but, hidden under that helmet, no one could ever tell what she though. Her mind was not far behind her cheeks, her thoughts drifting far too frequently back to that one early morning in the chilly forest behind her castle on that hunting trip where she had snared something greater than any beast, leaving only her body and half her mind on the battlefield.
The gentle trot down the hill was enough to set her men’s standards rippling vigorously, but she could not feel any of this wind inside her helm, her thoughts and the close confines of her metal mantle having heated her such that no wind could cool her down. She was quite grateful to reach the front lines of Baurus’ army, as she then had no choice but to focus on where she was and what she was doing, for death could lurk at any turn. Two fully-armored knights with gold ribbons on their shoulder plates met her royal party and led the way to the tent of the fat King Baurus.
“He waits inside. Leave your horses and two of your men here. The other may accompany you. We guarantee you safe passage to your army.” One of the two grunted in a deep, rattling voice.
“Thank you, good sir.” The Queen returned, politely.
Arta dismounted and, followed by her best knight, entered the king’s tent. He sat on a wooden throne, carved and carted here just so he might look regal at all times. He was downright rotund, his royal tunic hardly containing his girth and the fully-stocked dining table just within his reach explained why. This man lived large and his form showed it. His jowls and triple chin jiggled as he looked up to the two figures entering his wartime court. The two guards beside his throne moved their spears to a position such that they could be readily applied and a third man waited in the corner. This man’s armor was steel plate, but he did not wear the gold of King Baurus, but rather the violet of his own standard, the wolf. Arta knew this armor well and looked away lest her distraction appear once more.
“King Baurus.” Arta addressed him politely.
“Arta Dragon-whore. Why even bother coming here?” the fat man almost squealed.
“I’m offering you the chance to survive with your, quite sizeable, head intact and in-place on your equally massive neck.”
“Bah!” The king roared, “How dare you address
me this way?!”
“One rude turn deserves another. Now, will you negotiate a peace or will we resort to violence?”
“I declared war. And war I shall have! I will see you next when you are on your knees and my prick in your mouth, while you struggle to beg for my protection, full as your mouth will be! Now, good day!”
“Very well. And I shall expect your surrender as well, with your prick in your mouth. No one will ever know the difference. You’re fat enough to be a eunuch already.”
With that, Queen Arta and her bodyguard exited the tent, but not before nodding to the Violet Knight and seeing his return nod. The two golden knights kept their words and led her to the end of Baurus’s army’s lines. She and her knights rode back up the hill. Battle would come soon and many men—and perhaps even women—would die.
Her knights lining up with her army, Arta remained in front and called out to her soldiers, “Before us lies a great challenge, 2,000 pigs that wish to keep us from the peace we seek to enjoy. But what does the dragon do to the pig, even as mighty a pig as the wild boar? It devours the pig. Whole. We shall break their lines and these fields shall grow ripe from the blood of their veins. Now, will you fight with me? Will you die with me? Will you dine with me, Arta Dragonborn?!”
Her army spoke as one, a resounding roar that might have resembled that of a dragon, “We shall, Ar-ta! Ar-ta! Ar-ta! Ar-ta!”
“If that is your Alanya Escort answer… charge!” With her gleaming sword raised on high, she swung it towards the golden pigs beyond.
Queen Arta led the charge herself for the first fifty feet, at which point her eager foot soldiers plunged on ahead, outpacing her horse on the downward slope. The duty of the queen on a battlefield was not an easy one, for she, at once, had to be all across the field and mustering the men to fight harder, faster, stronger, and yet she could not be killed, or defeat would surely follow and her idyllic kingdom fall to another swine of a king. Despite her focus on the battle and the skill with which she guided her majestic stallion, she could not help but think of the gallant Violet Knight on the opposite side of the battle, her thoughts amplified by the rhythmic thumping of her horse beneath her, small shockwaves rippling through her armor and up her legs to the junction in between. Damn, Arta, she thought. War first, celebration after.
She ushered her horse to full speed and found the first of many victims ahead of her. It was a young man, face covered in thick hair, who tried to thrust his sword at her side. She blocked it with her shield and sliced his head from his shoulders. Inside, she felt slightly guilty at the first kill of the day, but the guilt would not serve her well here, so she continued on, hacking her way through the poor young men forced into serving in this army. After twenty men had fallen to her once-gleaming but now red-stained blade, she caught her first glimpse of a particular violet shield some thirty yards way.
She felt half-tempted to fight over to his side and to exchange a few blows with him once more but contained her desire. It was wise that she did, for one of the two golden knights she had seen before was charging her way, his massive brown warhorse dripping frothy saliva as he whipped it faster and faster. It was almost magical the way she managed to dodge the spectacular charge, the knight’s lance striking the ground and splintering into a thousand tiny pieces. He growled loud enough to be heard over the din of the surrounding battle.
“I, Prince Henry, shall restore my father’s honor and rend your pretty skull from where it sits. Prepare to die, wench!” He screamed.
The golden knight whipped his horse into another fantastic charge, this time a battle-axe clutched in his mailed fist. The queen sidestepped his charge once more before returning his assault with her own, far more capable effort. Her longsword swinging, she cut the ribbon from his right shoulder and then plunged the blade into his mount’s flank. The beast released a sound of utter panic and collapsed to the ground, throwing the swearing prince into a cluster of three men with dragons on their tunics.
“Keep him alive! Bring him to my tent as prisoner!” the Queen ordered in a triumphant voice.
After this point, the remainder of the battle was a blur, both boring and uneventful. Boars were cut down by the dozen and the dragons rapidly drove the golden army into a frenzied stampede of a retreat. So swift was the retreat that King Baurus and the other golden knight were unable to escape. In fact, Baurus had not even managed to seat himself on his steed before Queen Arta caught up with him.
“King Baurus, if you wouldn’t mind, a moment of your time?” The Queen asked.
“Nonsense, wench.”
“That wasn’t a request. Get back inside your tent. Or I shall make my men take you there. I can assure you which will be more pleasant.”
The queen, King Baurus, and several of her soldiers entered the royal tent, which was quite crowded now. The King’s face was at once one of defiance and fear, “What do you want, Arta?”
“As you could have just surrendered the battle to me earlier and chose to fight—and lose—instead, that simple option is no longer available. You will now offer me fealty and hope I don’t fulfill my threat and make you the eunuch that you appear to be.”
“Why should I?”
Arta was impressed with how stubborn the king was behaving, “If you don’t, I’ll castrate you, shove your mutilated prick in your mouth, kill your son, and put his mutilated prick in your mouth, too.” The dragon’s maw on her helm only cemented her demand’s conviction, for its teeth and mouth were drenched in the blood of pigs.
“You’re a tenacious wench, aren’t you?”
“Quite. Now do you surrender or not?”
“Fine, woman. I surrender.” The fat man kneeled on the ground and continued in a very disgusted but serious voice, “Queen Arta, I hereby swear to follow your command and protect you as would any other fief. Do you accept my surrender and pledge of fiefdom?”
“Yes, King Baurus. But I shall keep your son as insurance should you ever betray your word. Now, take your fat ass and get along with your army.”
“Y-yes, my Liege.” The fat king scrambled to his feet, but not before unintentionally dragging his golden tunic in the mud as would a domesticated pig.”
Queen Alanya Escort Bayan Arta breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the hoofbeats of the King’s and his golden knight’s horses retreating into the distance. She was quite exhausted, every single muscle and bone aching the ache that only comes from pitiless combat on the once-green fields of her newly-expanded kingdom.
“Sir Gottfried, please locate the Violet Knight and inform him that I wish to speak with him here, in private.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Replied the knight as he disappeared out of the tent.
“Everyone else, rejoin our army and begin the celebration. I shall find you all later.”
When the other men had left the tent, Queen Arta removed her helm for the first time this day even though the sun had already shown signs of sinking beneath the horizon, the blue sky having turned a golden-orange in the west and a far deeper blue in the east. Her face was flushed, but now from the exertion on the battlefield and the heat, and not of her thoughts for the Violet Knight. Now, Arta, you can enjoy yourself. The war is over, celebrate now.
Although war was never a good thing, there was one benefit to having one’s own lands invaded—she knew the surrounding area well and could relax in the safety this knowledge conferred. She knew, for example, that there was a refreshing spring close by, and she knew how exquisitely the grass there grew and how lush. This particular grass was like a blanket, soft and comfortable and ideal for lying down and gazing at the stars. If all went as she intended, she and the Violet Knight would recline there this evening, but he had to arrive first.
Even if he were nowhere to be found, there was no longer a need for Arta to remain in her armor when her under-armor clothing was far more comfortable and far easier to move in. With practiced precision, she undid the shoulder buckles and then those at the side of her armor. The heavy metal armor fell away, exposing the supple leather of her garments beneath. She then removed her greaves and metal boots before finally undoing the sword at her side. There would be no need for weapons this evening. Arta reclined in the vacant throne and propped her feet on the table as she relaxed. She half-closed her eyes and envisioned the long, slightly wavy hair of her knight and his sly half-grin and the way his face looked in the moonlight. The other blush soon began to make its way to her cheeks and slowly spread from there, first to her heart, then to her stomach, and then between her legs.
Her eyes caught sight of a figure walking outside the tent. From the clank of the armor, she could tell it was a knight and not anyone else. The figure paused at the entrance to the chamber before striding in. The queen was momentarily afraid until she saw the wolf’s head on his shield and the violet cloak about his shoulders. She smiled openly, relishing his very presence.
“I missed you out there, Sir Lancelot. I had hoped I might be able to cross blades with you for even a moment.”
The knight removed his helm and let his long, shaggy hair spill out, darkened with the sweat of the day’s exertions, before responding in his rich tenor voice, “My dear Arta, as wonderful a swordswoman as you are, I have yet to meet a foe on the battlefield that I have not killed. It would be a shame to have to end this so abruptly when I have awaited seeing you once more for so long.”
“Oh, is that so? You would really kill me?”
“Yes, m’lady. But, am I welcome, or shall I leave you here and rest somewhere else?”
She rose, “By all means, do stay.” Her blush doubled in redness.
“Would you care to assist me with my armor?”
“Not at all, my handsome knight.”
She slid gracefully behind him, her exhaustion having abated somewhat, and undid the straps on his armor. She let each piece of armor fall away on its own, clinking lightly on the ground. She carefully removed his cloak and placed it on the throne. In a matter of moments, the two were standing there in the growing darkness wearing the leather padding beneath their armor. There was an unspoken agreement and the two melted into each other’s arms, the queen allowing herself to collapse ever so slightly onto his sturdy, fit frame. They held this position for some time, until Arta broke away and planted a kiss of such fiery passion on his lips that the knight was momentarily knocked backwards. He caught himself and returned the kiss with equal or greater passion than the queen. She moaned faintly.
At the end of the kiss, she looked up at the knight who stood some five inches taller than she did, “Now, I’ve been waiting for this all day and I’m not sure I can wait any longer. Take off my clothes. Now. And that is an order.”
“You may be my queen but that doesn’t make you my queen, so I don’t have to follow your orders. That said, it would be my pleasure to follow this one.” He smiled again in her favorite way.
Lancelot reached around his queen and began to slowly undo Escort Alanya the hooks that held her padded garments in place. As he did so, he kissed her delicately on the neck and at the lobe of her ear, sending delicate pulses of pleasure through her body. Her legs wobbled unsteadily as he continued. When the padded leather was unhooked he removed the bulky clothing and revealed the thin cotton covering beneath, the last garment that lay between her fair skin and the room beyond. He then fell to one knee and unlaced the leather breeches she wore. These fell away and soon she was left in nothing but her thin cotton slip.
The queen took a step back and slipped the garment over her head, leaving her soft, pale skin exposed, from the tender slopes of her breasts to the shapely curves of her buttocks and legs. Her very light brown hair cascaded downwards, reaching the edge of her shoulder blades. Her right hand covered the spot directly between her legs and she gave her knight a mischievous glance.
“Your turn, my love.”
The Violet Knight carefully undid the ties of his shirt and lifted it away, revealing the well-muscled torso that so enamored the queen. His arms were magnificently sculpted and his abs were defined but not to the point of looking too thin. The queen had decided that they were perfect. She could spend an entire winter wrapped up in his manly arms and her head on his defined chest. She waited in anticipation as he undid the laces of his breeches and let them fall. He still had on the cotton cloth covering his groin. He moved to take this off, too, but the queen stopped him.
“Not yet, my love. I will do that, but there’s something I’ve been dying to try. And it involves that throne…and your tongue.”
Before he could grab her and pull her to him, the queen flitted over to Baurus’s throne and sat down, spreading her legs ever so slightly and revealing the elegantly managed wisps of brown hair between her legs. She beckoned and her knight obliged. He paused in front of her nude form and kissed her almost violently on the lips. He gently pushed his tongue into her mouth and massaged hers delicately. She kissed back and, with mounting frenzy, bit his lips with increasing abandon. He pulled away and slid his hands downwards, delicately tracing her neck and upper back until they met her tender nipples and the pale curves of her breasts.
His hands flitted over the small, pointed projections off of the faint globes for just a moment before moving on to trace the outlines of her toned stomach. Lancelot kissed her neck and then, with his tongue, traced a line down to her perky breasts and nipples before licking them tenderly. She whimpered at the stimulation and pushed her chest slightly outwards and into his mouth. He sucked delicately and then carefully and tenderly bit down on her excited nipple. She used her left hand to stifle her scream of pleasure while he used his left hand to gently stroke her other breast.
At last, she could wait not longer and urged him downwards. He did not oblige fully to her desire, stopping to kiss his way down her stomach and along her thighs. She writhed, lifting her pelvis upwards, the aroma of her sweet nectar beginning to fill the air. By the time he had actually brought his lips and, more importantly, his tongue to the source of her pleasure, she abandoned all effort to control herself, lifting upwards and grinding her sex in his face. He licked up and down the delicate slit between her legs. After the third pass, he paused and found the hard, small button near the top of this sensitive skin.
She could feel his tongue swirl the tiny target and the sudden flood of warmth and wetness between her legs. Although she was certain she could already take his fleshy sword inside her, she would not let him stop yet. He continued his careful ministrations, tracing various patterns across her sensitive clitoris, as she writhed in a mixture of agony and pleasure. So pent up was her sexual energy that she did not take long to climax, a dozen tiny explosions tearing through the soaking wet region between her soft legs. She did scream this time, but Lancelot muffled the sound by kissing her softly. Arta could taste the faint sweetness from between her legs and basked in the bliss of the orgasm that had just rampaged through her.
“It’s your turn, dream. Take the throne.”
They switched places, kissing in between. She stood, bare, before him and looked at his muscular body, smiling faintly. She carefully hooked her fingers into the cotton cloth he wore and carefully slid it off of his equally muscular legs. She found what she was looking for standing halfway erect, forcing her to grin deviously. She did not waste any time, the excitement between her legs driving her faster than she would otherwise have moved. She licked her lips and opened her mouth slightly before slipping the tip of his partially engorged member inside. She swirled her tongue around the head and then wrapped her hand around the shaft. She could tell by the faint grunting sounds he was making that she was doing it right. She bobbed her head up and down, continuing to swirl her tongue and pump with her hand. Soon, her knight’s sword was fully erect and pulsing gently in her hand. It was the largest she had had the pleasure of working with and was ready to enjoy it fully.
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