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Dressed to Kill, Chapter 7 (ASOIAF FI)
🕑 Added 2024-12-17 14:33:10 +0000 UTCA broad, sweeping gesture of Ladon’s arm sliced through the air, the movement followed by stalks of grass shooting up in height and flowing together into one, molded as a man might clay. It grew, hardened, roots and trunk and canopy forming together to create a tree similar to those she had seen within Ladon’s domain. Tanglewood, as the spirit had called them, the name more fitting for those that truly knotted together their trunks and branches but the gnarled dome of roots still fit the name.
It was taking shape as they had requested it, a longhouse on the other side of the river to serve as storage, and other independent trees rising out of the ground in ringing semicircles around it. “My other bodies shall insulate the shelters beneath the roots with moss and resin,” Ladon declared, the large man that seemed to be his preferred body conveying the words. “The trees themselves will let me feel if there are any imperfections there.”
Temareh knelt down at his side, her heart swelling with an unfamiliar but heady mixture of pride, vindication, and joy. No matter what Minereh or Aramr said, she was right and not them. The evidence was staring them in the face, the refugees that had followed her staring in awe at the act Ladon just carried out. “We are grateful for the shelter, great spirit. How may we show our thanks?” She asked, voice ringing out loud enough to be heard by those she led here and evoking approving murmurs.
“If you choose to stay here, I would ask you to provide me with skilled labor and knowledge. People to work a forge, to turn wool into cloth, to teach me to work wood as humans do. Things of that nature.” Ladon explained, leathery fingers combing through the braided beard of his body, “While you stay as guests, just seeing what you can do with the foodstuffs I provide will be plenty enough.”
“A celebratory feast, then.” Temareh agreed. It would show off the skill of those who were present and might encourage more of them to stay. She had noticed Haren and his furtive discussions - nearly half the group wanted to leave and return to Kosrak. “What ingredients may we use?” She asked, eye glancing over to the herd of sheep not far from them. And Adervara’s compliments to the fruits that grew in the spirit’s garden were still fresh in her mind.
“A bitter flour ground from the wheat I grow. Fresh apples, tubers, fish, horse and sheep milk. Permission to slaughter some of them, too,” Ladon listed off, looking almost contemplative about what he permitted them to use. She did not presume to know that he was thinking of, accepting what he offered without objection or request for more.
“I shall see your will done, spirit,” She declared, rising to her feet and approaching those she knew to be better cooks - skills proven on the way here, turning monotonous fare into something more bearable. Not masters of the craft, but they would do their best, as evidenced by the spirited discussion that immediately ensued upon their notification of the coming feast. Arguments and counter-arguments were exchanged, ideas flitting about between them - a soup or stew that was not mutton to avoid reminders into their relatively recent slavery, arriving at the offered fish. An idea to thicken it with flour discarded due to the bitter taste and exchanged for milk, adding the tubers that they were permitted into it for more substance.
Mutton would still be used, but with richer fare than having chunks of it boil in a pot - fat rendered down into lard and oil, frying the meat in it. More of the tubers to go with it, an errant idea from one of the younger people in the group - baking and mashing it with milk, something new and novel. The suggestion immediately caught on, cheerful claps on the shoulder nearly toppling the one with the new recipe. They even had some herbs that could be used as spices, dried and preserved. Recovered from a raided village and overlooked due to the small volume and lack of visible, immediate use.
Another suggested a use for the flour - bitter as it may be, the apples they were given were sweet. Tremendously so. A dough with less water, more milk, and the juice and crushed chunks of the fruit would be more than adequate. Not quite a cake or tart, more sweetened flatbread.
By unspoken agreement, the cooks split apart into three group, each to prepare one course of the approaching feast, those less skilled still assisting by digging firepits, carrying firewood, drawing water from the river only to get distracted as one of Ladon’s less notable bodies simply reached beneath the surface and pulled a trout the size of its arm. They thankfully did not fall in - another of his bodies was present and caught them by the tunic, pulling them away before they stumbled into the river.
His bodies continued to assist - inhuman strength grinding wheat into flour and put to use in butchering sheep and fish, bringing woven baskets full of tubers to be prepared. A near-constant presence, unity of movement and mind meaning that the two dozen ‘men’ helping out yet never in a place where they would be inconvenient. Lard was made, more than needed at first glance, at least before Ladon requested some of it, another dish added to the lineup - the peels of the tubers he called ‘dreadroots,’ fried and crunchy, welcomed by those he gave shelter to.
Slowly, steadily, things started to take shape, crackling campfires lighting up the evening as bowls of hot chowder are passed out, cheerful conversations and songs starting to ring out across the hills. There is no alcohol, no insults and taunts slung around or brawls starting over the slightest of pretenses like at a Dothraki feast, only happiness at the promise of safety, good food, and camaraderie of shared experience.
The body formerly belonging to Ko Boro was seated near the center of the celebration, the longhouse given to the refugees looming behind him as he gazed out across the celebration. Present, but not overwhelming. Temareh busied herself chatting and encouraging and preaching, in some senses of the word - trying to convince more of the refugees to stay instead of making the return trip to Kosrak, with some success.
It was then that Adervara slinked closer to him, skirting the edges of the feast as she approached him, clearly having taken some time to make herself as presentable as possible. Long, straight silver-blonde hair was tied into a lonely tail, purple eyes peering at him, far more at ease than at their first meeting. The wool tunic she wore was freshly-washed, reaching down to mid-thigh as she left anything beneath that bare, save for a pair of sandals. There was a sway in her hips as she approached the closest thing Ladon had to a main body, moving to stand beside him and looking over the camp. “Spirit Ladon. You mentioned that we would discuss what I am offering you. Is this a good time, or would you perhaps wish to defer it further?” She asked, voice a mixture of demure submission and a husky sensuality.
It would have made it clear to anything less dense than an anvil that this was a seduction attempt.
“Going plus ultra, I see.” Ladon chuckled softly, a small smile on his face as he gestured for Adervara to take a seat, the sweep of his hand broad enough to indicate both the space to his side and his lap. She paused for a moment, before sliding into his lap, her thighs perpendicular to his as Adervara pressed her body against ‘Boro’s’. Her arms reached up, wrapping around his neck.
“The arrangement I offer is extremely simple,” The spirit explained as he leaned into the touch, a massive hand coming to rest on the small of the woman’s back, “We see to each other’s needs and wants, within reason. If you take a fancy to one of my bodies, say the word, and I will see about freeing it up from its tasks. If the urge takes me, I will ask for you to put aside some of your time to see to my needs. It doesn’t need to be any more formal than a friendly agreement like that, I don’t think.”
She let out a low, playful hum. “I’ve seen you grow trees from nothing, and I would bet that you can regrow them with ease. You have herds of sheep and a river. You have proven your ability to keep me safe repeatedly. But with the largesse you’ve shown I expect I’d need not beg for all of those.” She shifted in the body’s lap, grinding her derriere against it. “So, does the urge take you?” Adervara asked, the lilt returning to her voice, a smirk pulling at her lips as a hardening erection started to press against her.
“I think we both know the answer to that.” Ladon chuckled as his grip shifted seamlessly, leaving the woman cradled in a single arm as he rose smoothly and made for the longhouse. She giggled, the size disparity meaning she could only bury her face in his beard instead of the crook of his neck as she molded herself to him for the short trip.
In the revelry, only Temareh really took note of her being carried away, and promptly moved to attract attention while Ladon carried Adervara inside the longhouse - it was already completed, a thick carpet of soft moss serving as an adequate improvised mattress. Exploratory touches were exchanged, the smaller woman relying on gentle, teasing caresses. Ladon held back as well, the sheer strength of the body necessitating care, softer touches at her rear, her thighs, her breasts as she was laid out on the ‘floor.’ the wool tunic practically shucked off of her.
It was followed by a kiss, Ladon leaning down to capture her lips, and she briefly halted - expectations shattered from her previous experience. She had thought that, despite the changes in size and speech, the body she would have sex with would still be, fundamentally, a Dothraki.
Ladon was not. His touch was gentler yet more assured, he did not stink, his beard did not taste of grease but was luxuriously thick and soft. His hands landed on her breasts, gently settling on her mounds as his fingers pinched her nipples, the unexpected surge of sensation causing her to let out a gasp. There was a sharp sense of amusement coming from the spirit, and his fingers redoubled their efforts, the body atop her pressing down and deepening the kiss.
She let herself relax into the embrace, arms tightening as she pulled him closer, perfectly content to not be simply thrown into the nearest soft thing and ravished. Her hips shifted, legs moving to wrap around his waist, tenting pants suggesting an endowment that made her very glad Ladon was taking his time. She was not quite sure she could handle that.
Worse - or better, it could truly be either - he was attentive, precise, immediately noting down when something got enough of a reaction for her to gasp or moan into his mouth and he abused that information cheerfully, wearing away at her control of her own body. Confident seduction gave way to writhing beneath him, needy moans muffled by the kiss that only intermittently broke to let her gasp for air before their lips met once more. She rolled her hips, grinding her increasingly wet pussy against the bulge in his pants, the fabric coarse but not rough enough to detract from things.
And he kept going, kept teasing, his touch insistently pinching and rubbing at her, escape blocked by his looming presence as he gave her no respite from the rising pleasure. She could not plead for him to fuck her already because her lips were constantly pressed against his. Adervara had no choice but to give in, the sensations rising until the point where her body tensed, pussy clenching and fluttering around nothing as she came, her fluids staining Ladon’s clothes before she went limp beneath him for several long seconds. He broke the kiss, letting her pant and fill her lungs with air.
“Enjoyed the warmup?” He asked with cheerful confidence, sliding down his pants, and she could not restrain the strangled intake of breath at the size of his cock. Proportionally, it was perhaps the slightest bit above average.
In absolute terms, Ladon’s body was easily twice as large as the average man, and so was his dick. Large hands settled on her waist, lining her entrance up with his erection, and he pressed into her. She was stretched out to accommodate him, but there was none of the expected pain, only a faint twinge of discomfort drowned out by the pleasure of his cock dragging along the folds inside her with languid assurance until he bottomed out.
Then he drew his hips back with the same comfortable-yet-excruciating slowness, the withdrawal leaving her momentarily feeling hollowed-out. It continued, Ladon’s movements relaxed while she wriggled beneath him and tore at the moss and grasped at his arms, giving up on any and all semblance of restraint, moans slipping from her with each thrust that slid into her depths. She could already feel another orgasm approaching, the only thing keeping it at bay being her pride.
She was trained in Lys, years spent to mold her into one of the most sought-after commodities in Essos: a Lysene pleasure-slave. She was trained extensively in sensation and seduction, fit to attend the bed of Magisters and their peers. She was not a blushing maiden who would- Ladon’s cock hit something very, very sensitive inside her.
Adervara’s mind went blank and her vision was flooded by white. She could feel her body quivering, hip shaking as the orgasm overwhelmed her, only tangentially aware of reality and the hot seed pouring into her. She went limp, blinking at the arch of loops above her as reality was dragged back into focus with agonizing slowness, self-perception spreading out and away from the heat and still-tingling pleasure in her crotch.
She raised her head, only to see Ladon, as well as another body of his at the entrance to the longhouse, departing outside. He helped her sit up, pulling Adervara into his lap and letting her notice what the other body was present for - a carved wooden tray, unadorned, a dozen small flat cakes on it, chunks of fruit visible in the dough and topped with a spread of crushed, cooked apples for lack of proper jam. Next to the cakes, a pair of larger mugs, still steaming with a herbal aroma seeping from them.
Wordlessly, Ladon offered her one of the cakes - she took a bite, chewing as she considered the taste. Sweet, yes, but with a faintly bitter undertone that prevented the main flavor from being overwhelming. They ate in a companionable silence - there was no need to speak now, that would only ruin the moment and she appreciated both his efforts to bring her pleasure as well as the care he was showing her after it. The drink turned out to be some form of tea made from freshly-picked leaves, the taste a cross between cinnamon and some kind of nut to her tongue. Strange and new, but very much enjoyable. It was also not something she had ever tasted before, and she wondered how much a wealthy merchant or Magister or the head of a guild in one of the Free Cities might pay for it even as she and Ladon finished the meal.
“Now that we’re fed and watered - round two?” The spirit offered. She gave it a split second of contemplation before she leant in for another kiss.
