Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative

A Confluence of Bodies and Minds

The old Warrior, Geraint, rode out of Narib city as part of the escort attending the departing Senaricans—just to ensure the Senaricans did leave and that Lord Vieri attempted no games. His bodyguard, the assassin Adelchis, was still missing, and even the Alsar Guardians couldn’t track him. But at the moment, Geraint felt pleased. Their guard contingent, which outnumbered the Senaricans, consisted of Naribian warriors, some Deieros brothers and the Men of the Boar, Prince Jehanadir’s mercenaries. Notable among the Boar warriors was their Runemaster, Bertholf, and he and Geraint were friends and lovers.

So Geraint smiled as his horse, Shade, paced alongside Bertholf’s rangy black. “We will be on the trail for three days. Do you suppose we can take some time together?”

Bertholf grinned wolfishly in reply. He was habitually a grim and forbidding man, intimidating to behold. Tall and lean, with iron-hard muscles, he had long, grey-white hair and a full, braided white beard. Shaggy eyebrows framed icy-blue eyes that bore a distant and feral gaze. He wore his customary wolfskin cape, with the beast’s head pulled over his own. His upper torso, clad in only a sleeveless leather vest, was covered in tattooed runes of power. His tribesmen both respected and feared him, but with Geraint, a veritable bear of a man, he had found a kindred spirit; indeed, he had tattooed the bear paw on Geraint’s breast three summers prior, the claw marks extending across his right shoulder and runes of strength and victory in battle beneath it.

“I know this route, Geraint. It is one that our men patrol. We’ll go through a heavy woodland towards evening: there is a thinned area which will accommodate our camp. But we’ll stop soon, though, at a stream ahead bordering a forest. We can take a walk.”

Sure enough, the stream was just as Bertholf described, and the entire company drew to a halt, the Senaricans finding space for their wagons. After food and ale, Geraint and Bertholf headed into the wood, following a game trail alongside a hidden tributary of the stream. The two men took their kit and bathed themselves, fetching water in a waterskin. When they were finished, Bertholf, still naked, took his knife and circled a spot where the green moss grew thick and soft on the forest floor, marking the trees with the runes of warding and protection. Geraint felt reassured they would not be disturbed: he had seen Bertholf’s handiwork in action before.

He lay down in the moss and waited for his friend. Bertholf approached and sank down beside the old Warrior with a contented sigh. A wordless agreement passed between them, and they kissed fiercely. They played with each other’s nipples before stretching out, head to foot, to suck each other’s stiffening cocks. Their actions displayed an intense hunger, and Geraint greedily sucked Bertholf’s long phallus. His own cock, held above his lover’s face, quickly became engorged, and the Runemaster swallowed the old Warrior’s entire thick and sizeable member.

Bertholf pulled off and paused briefly to admire the cock above him, the broad mushroom head dripping pre-cum and the pendulous and hairy balls resting against his face. He ran the tip of his tongue around the glans, then pushed into the piss slip to taste the nectar that gathered there. He took the shaft in his hand and jerked it back and forth, feeding the head into his mouth, even as he felt Geraint mirroring his actions.

“I’m going to cum if we keep this up. Turn around, my friend,” Bertholf said. “I will take your ass first, then you can do me.”

“That suits me fine,” Geraint replied, rolling over onto his hands and knees.

Bertholf knelt behind him, positioning himself to enter Geraint’s rectal opening. Distaining spit, the Runemaster instead brought lubricant from the kit beside them. He rubbed a plentiful amount onto his own shaft, stroking it swiftly to maintain its hardness before pouring it between the old Warrior’s ass cheeks and stroking his cock with his dripping hand.

Bertholf was ready: he held onto Geraint’s furry body, gripping his hips as he pushed his long, stiff rod against the rectal opening before him. The head thrust inside. Bertholf paused until he felt his lover accepting it, then he drove forward again, sinking the entire shaft to its hilt.

Geraint groaned. “Aah, that feels so good, old wolf. Fuck me and do it hard.”

“Take it, my friend,” replied the Runemaster.

Bertholf’s strokes were deep and steady, pumping with great purpose, dedicating himself to his goal. He did not bother with finesse: his need was on him. It was long since the two men had enjoyed each other’s bodies, and he intended to repair that now. He rammed his cock into its target with as much force as he could muster, and Geraint revelled in it, pushing back against the invading rod.

“I’m going to give you my seed now. Open yourself to me.”

“Give me all of it,” Geraint groaned in reply.

Bertholf pounded into the old Warrior’s rectal chute, crying out as he ejaculated, and drowning under waves of lust. He felt the sheer energy and power of their joining when Geraint shot his load in response and reached his hand down to take the hot ejaculate. After some final spasms shook his entire body, Bertholf collapsed and lay on his back.

But Geraint was nowhere near replete. Like an angry bear, he surged over Bertholf’s prone body, seizing the Runemaster’s hips, lifting them and sinking his shaft inside his friend’s ass without a pause. Geraint’s cock was significantly large and thick, and he noted the brief expression of pain on Bertholf’s face, which quickly transformed into a hunger for more. His tacit go-ahead freed the old Warrior to indulge in a burning frenzy, battering his cock inside its target. He noticed his partner’s cock getting hard again.

“Make yourself cum with me, old wolf,” Geraint said between gritted teeth.

Bertholf needed no further urging. He masturbated in time to the old Warrior’s thundering strokes until the urge to cum passed his conscious control, and he shot a thick jet of semen across his body and chest just as he experienced Geraint’s hot surge of cum up his ass. Then both men stopped, staring at each other and panting. Geraint exhaled and allowed his taut body to relax, slumping beside Bertholf. He laughed in sheer joy.

“We could teach those young bloods a thing or two, I think,” the old Warrior said to his friend.

Bertholf smiled. “I should show you the runes of copulation. They are powerful.”

“There are runes for fucking? Well, I’ll be blown!”

“There are runes for everything, my friend. I have spent my life searching for them.”

“Could you not use your rune work to search for Lord Vieri’s bodyguard, Adelchis?”

“He would need to have the runes already marked on his skin. I could trace them if it were so, but I sense nothing. We must rely on the Diviner, Dronnadh, to search.”

“Or on Brynnan,” Geraint responded.

*    *    *

In Narib’s citadel, the Warlord, Prince Jehanadir, his boy Shahin, and the Bard, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, lay naked on the Prince’s wide bed. It was an unusual venue for a serious discussion, but things had taken an unusual turn. They had decided Brynnan should visit his Father, Arawn, King of the Underworld, and he needed the sexual energies of at least one partner to fully recover from a journey which invariably taxed his spirit.

Brynnan lay between Lord Samir—his heart’s love—and Jehanadir. “I shall travel bodily to Annwn but expect me to reappear shortly. Time moves differently in my Father’s realm,” he explained. “I need to ask his permission to bring you in your spirit form, Jehanadir, when we ascend the mountain tomorrow.”

“Go then, my friend. Your Warlord and Shahin and I shall be ready to warm you and give you our seed on your return,” said the Prince.

Samir said nothing, but he did hold the Bard tightly in his muscular grip and kiss his mouth, twisting his tongue around Brynnan’s. Barely had they finished the kiss when Brynnan simply faded. As his body disappeared, Shahin, who had never witnessed it before, drew back against the Prince’s chest with a cry of dismay.

“Easy, my golden one,” murmured Jehanadir. “He will return very soon. You’ll see.”

*    *    *

As a cold wind roared around him in the Shadow-ways, Brynnan resigned himself to the strange journey. He could direct himself to Annwn but never quite knew where within it he would arrive: it depended on his Father’s strange whims. But this time, his arrival at the lake called “Mirror of Souls” shocked him.

The sky was much darker than usual, with clearly visible stars. They bore no semblance to any of the constellations that Brynnan was familiar with. The stars were reflected in the lake, whose smooth, black waters made the Mirror. Looking into it, the Bard saw the reflection of his own soul, no longer shocking to his enhanced vision. It appeared as a gigantic fiery shape cut out of the darkness, filled with whirling blue sparks. The eyes were white, burning suns. More sparks poured off its raised arm as it mirrored Brynnan’s movements.

Beside it, he noticed some of the reflected stars moving. They drew together, coalescing into a mass creating veritable galaxy. It rotated majestically before suddenly fracturing, assuming a glowing form similar to Brynnan’s soul. It seemed to approach from an unfathomable distance and swiftly drew closer. As it reached the stony beach, a man-like being stepped forward, discarding the stars like a cloak.

“My Father,” said Brynnan, dropping to one knee.

King Arawn, the Grey Huntsman, extended a hand and raised his son. “There is no need for formality between us,” he said, smiling enigmatically.

“What?” Brynnan queried.

“Your humility becomes you, but it’s not necessary. Sometimes, you must put yourself forward and seize the moment with both hands. Be bold!”

Brynnan looked at his Father with loving exasperation. The King appeared as a mature, handsome man with long, free-flowing black locks, not unlike Brynnan’s own. Father and son bore close-trimmed dark beards; their bodies were lithe yet muscular, with the King being taller. But the difference displayed itself in their eyes: Brynnan’s were soft, deep brown and lustrous, but Arawn’s were twin flares of blue fire, like torches down two deep wells. They were the eyes of death tonight, and the Bard was struck with wonder.

‘Who catches your eye this night, my Father?’ he sent.

But Arawn did not explain at first. Instead, he gestured to the dark lake and said, “Watch!”

Brynnan looked but, at first, saw nothing. Then he beheld a twisting, squiggling line of red fire that drew closer. He found it disorienting to observe as its shape kept morphing into different forms. Finally, it became vaguely man-like but grew no larger or closer.

“What, or should I say, who is it?” said Brynnan.

“It is a preview of an event that may soon occur.”

Brynnan sighed. “Father, you are clear as mud, as always.”

Arawn said, “I show you this so you may know it when you see it manifest. It poses a real threat to us.”

Brynnan felt a frisson of shock run through him. “A threat to your realm?”

“Even so.”

The Bard did not ask his Sire how it would come to be. If Arawn wanted to explain, he would do so. But he noticed the reflected form’s characteristics closely before it suddenly winked out.

“And now, my son, what of your own news? But first . . .” Arawn stepped forward and threw his grey cloak about Brynnan’s naked body. “You are shivering,” the King observed.

“It was cold in the Shadow-ways. An icy wind blew.”

“It has become more frequent. A doorway to a powerful realm is unsealed. Beware when you travel, lest you get sucked through the portal.”

“Is it a threat?” Brynnan asked.

“Not to me, but I bid you be careful as you journey. Now come into my arms. We will move from this place.”

The familiar mist surrounded them as their forms faded and just as quickly materialized in the King’s bedroom at Caer Arawn, his home. The Shadow Lord drew Brynnan to the bed and joined him without hesitation. His form rippled, and he was naked. Pulling the cloak off his son, he embraced his body and kissed him with a heady passion that only grew.

“I desire to fuck you, my son. The Powers demand your surrender.”

“What Powers would these be, Father? Your own?”

“Indeed. You are going to need my strength in the time-to-be.”

Brynnan breathed deeply with erotic excitement as Arawn grasped his cock, stroking it up and down. “My sire, can you explain?”

“No. To disclose what I know will only affect your future decisions, which may bring about the very events you are trying to prevent. Now abandon yourself to me.”

The Bard cried out as the King’s probing cock pushed inside his rectal passage. Arawn paused, then finished the stroke, burying his cock’s full length inside his son’s ass. Brynnan clutched his Father and took the offered tongue in a deep kiss as Arawn thrust in and out. The Bard was quickly transported to a realm of mind and soul, where their essences danced with one another’s. His surroundings faded, and only the pumping of his Father’s cock and the encompassing sensations had meaning. He surrendered himself. When his climax approached, their souls melded, and Brynnan knew his Father just as Arawn knew him.

He returned to awareness, still clutching the Shadow King tightly as they lay in each other’s arms, panting. Eventually, he breathed normally again and found the courage to speak. “My Father, do you remember when I travelled here with Prince Jehanadir of Narib, seeking the source of the Water of Life?”

“Of course I remember.”

“I have come to ask your permission to bring him here once more. He seeks Lady Mavrenn.”

“That is fortuitous. I will tell you that the coming events involve the Lady. I endeavoured to speak with her, but she was not talking. She stays in her tower and refuses my overtures.”

“Could you not compel her?”

“Of course. But cooperation freely given is worth far more than any enforced exchange. Do you think she will talk to your Prince?”

“She did so before. Jehanadir sees the woman, not the soul or her semi-divine aspect.”

“I trust you have cautioned him about the limits of his involvement.”

“Yes, but inside, he still hopes. We can use it to our advantage. It reminds me of the ancient saying about fools in love going where angels fear to tread.”

“I see your point, my son. Yes, he may come to our Kingdom, and I will safeguard his travels. Rest assured of his welcome, but know that risks are involved.”

“My Father, there are always risks when one enters the Shadow Land.”

They bathed, and Brynnan carefully cleaned himself of traces of his Father’s semen. It could prove deadly to anyone fucking him, except for his lover, the Warlord Samir, who had been fucked by Arawn in a necessary ritual and was now immune to the effects of the Grey Huntsman’s cum.

Father and son kissed each other farewell, and Brynnan faded into the Shadow-ways. The wind once more assailed him, and he told himself he would investigate its source one day. Then abruptly, his body materialized in Jehanadir’s bed.

Samir did not speak to him, knowing Brynnan needed time to gather his thoughts, but he did embrace him, and his massive and erect phallus pushed against his lover’s body.

Jehanadir leaned in and kissed him. “Let us warm you,” he said, then, “Shahin, suck Brynnan’s cock. Give him the heat of your sweet mouth.”

Obediently, the boy licked and sucked the Bard’s shaft, bringing it to hardness. He lay over Brynnan’s lower body between the two older men.

“Mmm . . . I’m safely back, my Lords,” Brynnan murmured. “But I am cold. There is a bitter wind in the Long Tracks—the Shadow-ways—that was not there before.”

“You are here. That’s all that matters,” said the Warlord. “Is it safe for Jehanadir and me to fuck you?”

“I am clean if that’s your meaning. My Father did have sex with me, but we washed.”

“Then you go first, Prince,” directed Samir.

The two men stroked, licked and sucked the Shadow Lord’s son while the boy, Shahin, continued to suck his cock and testicles. Before long, Brynnan felt the warm floods of sexual excitement.

“Fuck me, Jehanadir, I’m so ready,” he sighed.

Samir moved to semi-sit against the headboard, gripping Brynnan so that the Bard faced Jehanadir. When Brynnan raised his legs, the Prince seized one leg by the ankle and thrust his cock into the freshly lubricated ass. Jehanadir’s strokes were slow and deep, keeping a steady rhythm until Brynnan relaxed. The Prince began to pump his cock faster, and Brynnan’s body jerked each time as Samir held him tightly, his big hands pinching and pulling on the Bard’s nipples. Shahin moved out of the way but stroked Brynnan’s cock with his hand.

“Come up here, Shahin. I want to suck you,” the Bard said.

Shahin quickly complied, kneeling beside  Brynnan’s shoulder and pushing his smooth, firm cock against the Bard’s mouth. Brynnan took it in and sucked lustily as Jehanadir fucked him, stroking hard and fast now.

“Here, my boy,“ said Samir and the young dancer pulled his cock away to offer it to the Warlord, who began to play with it using his skilful mouth and tongue.

When Shahin switched back to Brynnan’s mouth, Samir reached up, gripping Shahin’s neck with his hand and thrust his tongue into the youth’s willing mouth. Seeing this triggered Jehanadir’s orgasm, and with an animal cry, he ejaculated into the Bard’s rectal chute. Before Brynnan could cum, Samir acted quickly, moving aside and pushing Brynnan face down on the bed. The Warlord then shifted around and mounted his lover. Barely pausing, he shoved his stallion’s cock into the Bard’s dripping ass and thrust back and forth with unrestrained abandon.

“Cum for me, Brynnan, into Shahin’s hand.”

“Yes, my heart’s love, I’m cumming ….”

The thick creamy semen pooled in Shahin’s outstretched palm, which he then used on himself, masturbating hard until his cum spurted out, combining with Brynnan’s. The boy licked his hand, tasting the salty-sweet cream. He offered his cum-covered fingers to Brynnan, who lapped them clean. Then, with a muted roar, the Samir shot his load deep into his lover’s ass.

The four arranged themselves comfortably on the bed, and Brynnan spoke. “Now I will give you my Father’s word,” he began. “He will welcome your spirit-sending into his Kingdom, Jehanadir. Not only that, but he bids you talk to the Lady Mavrenn, my harp’s soul. It so happens that she will not speak with  him.”

“Oh?” said Samir, frowning. “Is this a regular occurrence?”

“To my knowledge, she has never before refused, but I believe the threat is not just to the harp itself, in this realm, but to the soul who dwells in Annwn.”

“How can this be?” Jehanadir exclaimed incredulously. “Surely no threat can enter the Shadow Lands undetected!”

“There are many protections in place, but I …” Brynnan paused, considering if he would disclose what he had seen. Expediency won over secrecy. “I visited my Father at a place called the Mirror of Souls. I have never before spoken of this, not even to you, my dear Lord. Such knowledge is normally strictly forbidden, but the threat grows, and I no longer have that luxury of keeping things hidden.” Brynnan took a deep breath and continued, “The Mirror is a still, black lake that reflects a person’s soul. When I was with my Father, I saw an entity I couldn’t understand, but I know an enemy, or more than one, threatens my Father’s realm.”

The Warlord was silent for some moments, pondering. “That reminds me of the threat here. Now that we have imprisoned Lady Alessa and sent the Senaricans on their way, it seems that one threat is gone. I find it hard to believe that such ill-considered plots are what drew them here.”

Jehanadir said, “Dronnadh is performing a deep reading of Lady Alessa, even as we speak. I gave him my permission: her story was a pretty lie. We don’t know her deeper motives and must find out.”

Brynnan shifted in Samir’s arms. “We have not mentioned one important element: the whereabouts of Adelchis. I have not been able to trace him, which is highly suspicious. I’m beginning to think there’s more to him than we can guess.”

“The Alsar will be guarding the Place of Divination on the summit of Mount Narib,” Nijal replied. “No assassin could stand against them. But we will be prepared for a diversion tomorrow, just in case.”

Jehanadir stretched and said, “Then let us wait for Dronnadh’s report. It may shed light on his whereabouts.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .

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