Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative

This is a story of Brynnan’s World. The time frame follows “Col and Andri-The Vanna Stallions.”[1] Brynnan has recently returned from visiting the Wanderers and is back in Torrent Mountain.

A Sending from Nijal

The whip snaked through the air to strike its victim’s buttocks. Brynnan’s body jerked with the sudden sting. He stood naked in the chamber, hands tied to a chain hanging from a ceiling hook above his head.

As more strokes added a pattern of red marks across his flesh, the induced endorphins from the pain made Brynnan sigh with pleasure and sexual arousal. The whip did not cut him. His back was already marred with old keloid bullwhip scars, and his lover, Samir, had sworn never to mark him in such a way again.

Samir, Warlord of the Torrent Mountain city-state, approached the Bard and held the stock of the whip towards him. Brynnan kissed it. Then the Warlord kissed him, embracing his body and forcing his tongue into his partner’s mouth.

“I love you, dear heart,” he said.

“You know I am yours, my Lord and love,” Brynnan replied with a sigh. “And I am hard for you.”

“That was the idea,” Samir grinned as he unfastened the Bard’s wrists from the chain.

Taking Brynnan’s hand, he led him to the large, high bed and pushed him onto his back. Bending over, he took the erect cock in his mouth and sucked it sensually for some time before straightening up and stripping off his leathers.

Brynnan gazed at his lover’s powerful physique: Samir was tall, heavily muscled from his daily training workouts in the warrior’s practice arena, with strongly curved pectorals, wide laterals and a tight, rippled abdomen. The Warlord had a strong face contoured by a closely-trimmed light brown beard and cropped hair peppered with grey.

Samir’s eyes stayed locked with Brynnan’s, even while he took the bottle of lubricant from a bedside table and slicked it over his noticeably large penis, more akin to a stallion’s than an average human’s. He reapplied it to his hand and moistened his lover’s anal opening.

“You’re a desirable man, Brynnan. And you haven’t seemed to age. You’re still the young Bard who came to me many Turns ago.”

“It’s the Alsar blood Nijal gave us that extends our lives,” Brynnan replied. “You have also ceased to age significantly since you received it from him. I hope we spend many more years together, dear heart.”

Samir massaged the Bard’s cock as he spoke. “But in your case, your Father’s heritage will maintain you. As the Lord of the Shadow Land and a god of Death, Arawn’s blood will extend your life far beyond mine.”

“Ah, but after death, our souls will inhabit his blessed realm of Annwn together,” Brynnan replied.

“A thought that greatly comforts me. Even if an accident or war takes me early, I will await you, my heart’s love. Now, enough talking. I’m going to fuck you. Don’t expect my gentleness.”

“I never do, my beloved Lord,” Brynnan said, smiling at him.

He moved back on the bed as Samir knelt between his open thighs and raised hips. Bending over Brynnan’s body, Samir played the head of his huge cock over the entrance to the rectal passage. Smoothly, he pushed it inside in one stroke, making Brynnan gasp with pain and excitement. Samir placed a hand behind the Bard’s thigh below the raised knee, forcing the leg further back and opening the pathway to his conquest. He paused as his cock reached its full depth inside his lover’s ass and kissed Brynnan deeply. The Bard responded with passion, feeling impaled on Samir’s rigid staff. As Samir began to move again, thrusting hard, he gripped Brynnan by the throat above the golden torc collar with his other hand. His strokes soon acquired a pounding rhythm, taking his lover without mercy, his eyes feasting on the man that was his.

Brynnan, although experienced with years of service as Master Bard and priest and a veteran of Samir’s campaigns, was still a young man entering his prime. His body, toned by gymnastic exercises, was lithe but muscular. His dark brown, almost black, hair hung long and loose about his sculpted face, and his dark eyes, framed by winged brows, dilated softly with his surrender. He wore a close-trimmed beard, and the hair on his body grew in silken swirls over each breast, running a trail down his abdomen to his loins to nest around a well-shaped cock. The body hair could not cover the three brands on Brynnan’s chest, glyphs of power given to him by his Father.

Samir was wary of them, knowing his lover could summon great powers through them. But wariness did not stop him now from totally claiming the man who had pledged to him as his heart’s love and sexual bondsman. He felt awe that this being, half-human and half-god, was under his control as he pounded his cock mercilessly into the Bard’s rectal passage.

“Touch yourself; stroke your cock,” Samir commanded.

Brynnan obeyed, grasping his stiff penis, slippery with lubricant and pre-cum, and masturbated, lust and desire making him breathe heavily.

Then the Warlord said, “I’m going to give you my seed. Make yourself cum with me.”

Brynnan beat his cock harder, gasping now, as Samir continued to grasp his throat, controlling him. “Mmm . . . I’m cumming, Lord . . .”

The Bard’s body bucked and strained as his ejaculation took place, his cock spurting jets of pearly semen all over his chest. Samir, watching his lover cum, responded with his own ejaculation, shouting aloud and filling Brynnan’s passage with his love cream. It continued for endless moments, emptying him and washing him in a tide of completion and lust fulfilled. He stretched over Brynnan’s body, licking cum-covered nipples and smearing his chest with the Bard’s ejaculate. Samir’s arms embraced him as he rolled over until his lover lay at his side, head resting on Samir’s broad chest.

Brynnan felt overwhelmed with emotions. “I thank you with all my heart,” he said as tears of gratitude trickled down his face.

Samir kissed his lover’s cheek, tasting salt. “We belong to one another, Brynnan, and each time we fuck, it tightens our bond.”

* * *

They slept together with the afternoon sunlight streaming through the terrace’s wide stained-glass glass doors. When they awoke, still in each other’s embrace, Brynnan spoke.

“I don’t want to leave your side, my Lord, but these new responsibilities pull at me.”

“You mean concerning Mavrenn, your harp?”

“That, and I’m pledged to Col and Andri’s little son, Kham, as his guardian. My mind must stay aware of any threats he faces, and I will visit him to provide guidance. Col’s brother and his wife care for him while Col remains as assistant Horsemaster at the ArMor-ys Redoubt.”

“And you must spend time with young Andri, teaching him the duties the Servant of Ravens faces with your harp. I understand.”

“Yes. Hopefully, it will be many turns before I am forced to give up my position as the current Marec Mavrenn. I confess I can’t quite imagine what it will be like to be without my harp. Mavrenn and I have been bonded since before I grew my first beard. I speak through her, and she through me. What will I have become when I’m forced to give her up? Will you even know me?”

“Now you are being foolish, Brynnan. I’m surprised at you. You will still be mine even if you co-rule your Father’s realm. Your growing powers hold no terror for me, only the concern that you’ll fear them yourself. Accept what must be. Work with it. At least, during the occasions you fade from my arms and travel the Shadow-ways, I know you don’t have to spend extra time wandering the land. Your homeland would be a long journey, nearly two Moons away.”

“You are right, my lover. We’re still subject to the great soul of our world, the Mother-of-All, even as she is subject to the cosmic Nous. As the Keeper of Souls, my Father is also bound to its constraints. I’ll endeavour to take events as they come.”

“But I perceive something is still on your mind?”

The Bard sighed. “A mind communication from Nijal just after I awoke. He will contact me later, as I told him that you and I were engaged in a time of our own. As he agreed to delay, there must be no imminent danger.”

“I see. Let us bathe and dress. We’ll have a meal in the commons hall with my men, then there’s the meeting with the Council of Seven. As one of them, my presence is required, but I ask you to go with me and add your insights to our discussion,” Samir said thoughtfully.

“My Lord, let me contact Nijal after our meal but before the council meeting. I will be prepared if there’s anything to report to them.”

“I concur. Let’s hope it’s nothing too serious.”

* * *

Brynnan enjoyed the meal in the Warrior’s hall, allowing him to share the camaraderie. The Warlord sat with his Generals and others of military influence, sharing their opinions. Brynnan sat beside him, finished his meal early, and took his harp, Mavrenn, to the central dais where announcements were commonly given. Seating himself, he uncased the instrument, placing her on the ground next to the bench.

Mavrenn rose in height to the Bard’s shoulder. She was a wondrous creation of purpleheart wood. A carved bone figurehead of a woman’s head and breast on her pillar lent a haunting element, and the face’s ruby eyes glittered in the light of the many orbs. The tuning pins along the harp’s neck featured sharping levers that could change her tones, and the soundbox had intricate incisions incorporating glyphs of power among carved leaves and flowers. Strings wound with fine gold wire lent her tones a captivating resonance.

Eyes turned to the Bard as the first notes echoed through the hall and the conversation muted. The wordless song held men spellbound. Mavrenn had her own power: her living soul dwelled in Brynnan’s Father’s kingdom, even as her spirit lived in the harp.

When the audience was fully engaged, Brynnan lifted his rich, deep voice in a warrior’s song, employing a form of Shadow-singing which affected the listeners’ emotions, fostering feelings of companionship and resolve. Watching his lover, Samir was aware of Brynnan’s hidden talents and smiled with wry amusement, even as he, too, was subject to the music’s influence.

Supper ended all too soon, and Brynnan accompanied the Warlord back to their chambers. “Time to contact Nijal, my Lord. I’ll be out on the terrace.”

“Very well, but be mindful of the council meeting.”

Brynnan walked to the stone balustrade bordering the terrace overlooking the steep mountainside. Samir’s quarters were inside the mountain, but the view from the high balcony was magnificent. Tall cliffs surrounded it, and the nearby waterfall added its own power, sending the occasional drift of cool spray. Mountains, layered in misty purple colours of the encroaching night, filled the distant vista from the south-facing terrace, but the sea could just be observed from the west corner.

After filling his eyes with the natural beauty surrounding him, Brynnan stilled his thoughts and called with his mind. ‘Nijal, Alsar Guardian, hear me.’

Almost immediately, he received a response. ‘Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, I am here. I have a message.’

‘I’m ready to receive it,’ Brynnan sent back, making his mind open and receptive.

‘You will need to journey to Narib with Samir. Our Warlord’s input will be vital. My brother Guardians are troubled. There is a threat, and it involves your harp, Mavrenn.’

Brynnan reacted in shock and almost lost contact with his friend. What could Mavrenn possibly have to do with distant events? He knew that Nijal, while fully accepting Brynnan’s role as Master Bard, disagreed with how Mavrenn came to be. He focused once more.

‘Can you define this threat?’ Brynnan sent.

A series of images flooded his mind, but the Bard could make little coherent sense of them. Travelling in spirit form, he had once observed his planet from space, with the Alsar Guardians’ many minds surrounding him like bright sparks of fire. Brynnan saw that image again, then others of a devastated city of the Alsar, destroyed by his own people who had settled the planet in distant ages past. He had visited these ruins with Nijal. Next, images of Mavrenn being played by her previous servants throughout the ages superimposed themselves, for Nijal had met them in his long life. The sending ended with an image of Brynnan himself playing Mavrenn inside a cave studded with glittering crystals.

‘Nijal, I see your sending, but I can’t make sense of it.’

‘Then I will have to explain it more clearly when you arrive in Narib. Dronnadh and I have already informed Prince Jehanadir, who will be expecting you and Samir. Will you come?’

‘We will have to. The Warlord must counter anything that threatens us, even as he once challenged the Invaders from the Long Dark. We will do what we have to. Tonight I will bring the matter to the Council’s attention,’ Brynnan sent, feeling the beginnings of dread. He knew that Nijal did not ask for their attendance lightly.

‘Contact me afterwards. May the Mother-of-All keep you and your heart’s love, Samir. Farewell, my friend.’

The contact ceased, and Brynnan was left, thoughts whirling, to ponder what it would mean. He returned inside to speak to Lord Samir.

* * *

Brynnan sat at the right hand of the Warlord at the meeting. The other six members of the Council of Seven were present, along with two scribes. There were no other attendees; this was a private meeting.

Not waiting for other concerns to be addressed, Samir immediately brought up Nijal’s message.

“My Lords, Brynnan received the warning just after the evening meal. You all know Nijal Silverhand: as a surgeon and now as an Alsar Guardian. The seriousness of his proposal is without question. We have yet to define this threat, but it may affect us all, I am told. If Brynnan and I go, I will appoint General Mirza to take my place in the interim—I spoke to him this evening. I’ll take my personal guardsmen but will leave the Deieros Brotherhood, led by Strategos Kyros, here to help protect the city and its environs. I’ll pick up more guards of the Brotherhood from Redstone Holding when we reach it and travel directly from there to Narib. Now the Marec Mavrenn will speak.”

The Lords gave their full attention as Brynnan spoke with his usual formal eloquence. He told of the involvement of the Alsar and the disturbance in the aether they detected. Few knew this privileged information, but the Council had learned of the Alsar at the time of the Invasion. The Guardians had proved vital in overcoming that threat. The councillors listened respectfully until Brynnan had finished, and Lord Raith, Master Engineer of the city, opened the floor to discussion. There were some initial objections, most noticeably by Lord Aidan, Archivist and Keeper of Records.

“Why can’t Nijal Silverhand travel to us?” he said, frowning. “General Mirza has proved himself before, but I personally have more trust in you, Warlord Samir.”

“This new threat affects more than our people at Torrent Mountain. Prince Jehanadir of Narib is involved, and I suspect we may meet other leaders,” the Warlord replied.

The discussion ended shortly after, and the Council voted, with all six agreeing: Lord Samir and the Bard would travel to Narib.

* * *

“I hope you don’t intend to leave me behind, m’Lord Samir,” said the old Warrior, Geraint.

It was the following morning, and the three men occupied Lord Samir’s office, firming their travel plans. Maps were strewn on a wide table beside a rack of scrolls.

“No, my old friend, especially as last time you accompanied General Mirza on his foray to deal with the coastal raiders, they captured you, and I had to send Brynnan to find you.”

“A pretty set of adventures that turned out to be!” grumbled Geraint, but a half-smile was on his face.

“Yes, you just had to get yourself appointed sexual tutor to a god,” said Brynnan dryly, guessing where Geraint’s thoughts wandered.

“Pardon my misplaced levity, Brynnan. For you, it was a savage time.” [2]

“But we persevered, my friend,” Brynnan replied.

“And checked the sea raiders’ power,” the Warlord stated with satisfaction.

The three men occupied Lord Samir’s office, firming their travel plans. Maps were strewn on a wide table beside a rack of scrolls.

“We‘ll be well-guarded,” said Samir, “especially after we pick up the Deieros warriors from Redstone Holding. Brynnan, I will rely on you to scout for trouble around us this time.”

“You wish me to use my powers?”

“If need be. I will have no patience for any wolf’s head, brigands or other distractions.”

“I’m yours to command,” Brynnan replied, bowing to his Lord.

The Warlord turned to Geraint. “And you, old friend; as usual, I rely on you to guard our backs, but when we reach the Narib citadel and the Redoubt, once Nijal has briefed us, I give you leave to seek out the Men of the Boar. See how matters stand with them. We may as well learn as much as we can.”

“I’ll be pleased to do that,” said the old Warrior. “Mayhap, my friend Bertholf is still there since his people took service with Jehanadir. He is cunning, and little escapes him; he can see into the spirit world.”

Once their plans were finalized, Samir said, “I will speak to General Mirza and the commanders again later on, but now we can stand down.”

“I’ll call for some cold ale,” Geraint said, heading for the corridor and the attendant guards.

Soon, they were able to relax and converse. Samir looked at his friend, and there was a glint in his eye. “You have come back from your visit. We missed you these few days, and I think Brynnan might welcome you.”

“I’ve missed his greeting, too, m’Lord,” said the old Warrior. “Brynnan? What do you say?”

“I think I know where you both are going with this. I’d happily greet you, Geraint, and you too, my Lord Samir.” Knowing how events might turn out, the Bard pulled off his embroidered coat and shirt until he stood bare-chested before the two older men.

Geraint, with a slow grin, stood and loosened his breeches, pulling out his large and thick cock. He handled it, making it half-hard. “There: I’ve started it for you, lad. Now you do your part.”

Brynnan knelt before his friend. He kissed the side of the cock, then massaged the old Warriors pendulous, hairy balls. Licking along the shaft of Geraint’s girthy phallus until he reached the large mushroom head, he took it in his mouth,

“That’s it. Suck me good. You know how I like it.”

Brynnan’s act had a precedent: a few Turns before, he had been Samir’s unwilling captive, imprisoned on false accusations. He underwent severe torture and, during a phase of recovery, was looked after by Geraint, who became his keeper. The Warlord had directed Brynnan to thank Geraint each morning by sucking his cock. From a humiliating subjugation, the act turned into a gesture of genuine affection between friends after Brynnan was found innocent and freed. Now, he frequently engaged sexually with Geraint and his Lord simultaneously in a ritual celebrating their unique relationship.

“You do that so well, lad,” Geraint sighed, stroking the Bard’s hair.

Brynnan brought Geraint’s cock to full engorgement, using both hands and mouth to pleasure him as Samir watched with deep interest.

Geraint looked over at him. “Samir, come join me. Brynnan can serve us both.”

“I think I may just do that,” agreed the Warlord, standing close beside Geraint. He exposed his massive phallus, which was already erect, and Brynnan sucked both cocks, switching between them.

Geraint reached down and wound his fingers in Brynnan’s hair. “Can you make us cum together? Let’s see you try!”

Brynnan employed his considerable skills, stroking them with his hands and alternating with his mouth and tongue while the two men pressed their members together, their pre-cum dripping. The Bard had his work cut out for him, but he managed to skillfully direct the action until Samir spoke.

“I’m going to cum in your mouth, and you will let Geraint wash your face with his seed.”

Brynnan grunted with agreement as his hand beat Geraint’s cock, urging it to ejaculate, even as the Warlord shot his cum down his lover’s throat. Then Samir took his cock in hand and directed the remaining jets of cum over Brynnan’s face and chest and Geraint’s erupting phallus. Brynnan rubbed Samir’s cum over both cocks before licking them clean.

But the two older men weren’t finished. Samir pushed Brynnan back on the divan while he and Geraint knelt beside him. Samir took Brynnan’s cock from his breeches while Geraint licked cum off the Bard’s face and chest, kissing him with undiminished passion. Meanwhile, Samir jerked Brynnan off with a knowing hand, playing the Bard’s trembling body like an instrument.

Brynnan felt the cresting wave of ejaculation seize him and suppressed a moan. As he shot his load, Samir, gripping the cock, directed it into Geraints mouth. The Bard openly surrendered to the two men, and it seemed like his orgasm was endless.

After Brynnan finished, Geraint fetched a towel and wiped the Bard’s face and chest. “Thank you, lad. That was well played.”

“I thank you, Geraint, and my dear Lord, for giving me release.”

* * *

A short time later, the three men sat on the terrace adjoining Samir’s chambers, having shared a light meal.

Brynnan cradled his harp, and Samir told Geraint, “I think Brynnan has a surprise for you.”

“You have a set of golden dice made for me. Or is there a beautiful woman or boy you want me to meet?” Geraint responded.

“Neither. I composed an englyn for you, based on an ancient script.”

“Ah! A song to enhance my legend!”

“Indeed. Now drink the mead of poetry,” Brynnan intoned grandly, but a smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

Brynnan sang, using an old ArMorican style, with subtle grace notes and ornamentation as befitted the seriousness of his subject.

In the Hall of Geraint, the enemy of oppression,

I saw maidens jaded and angry,

And after the courtship, a helpless resistance.

In the Hall of Geraint, the unflinching swordsman,

I saw maidens jaded but reconsidering,

And after the courtship, a helpless laughter.

In the Hall of Geraint, the enemy of chastity,

I saw maidens soft and compliant,

And after the courtship, a helpless smile.

Geraint laughed loudly. “Truly, both maidens and young men cannot resist my skills!” He glanced at the Bard seated across from him on a stone bench. “But to go back to our journey and the reason behind it, I have heard that Nijal doesn’t see eye to eye about your harp, Brynnan. That seems odd to me, as he’s so accepting of you in all other ways. How can a man take exception to an instrument of wood and bone?”

“Have I never told you how Mavrenn came to be, Geraint?”

“Not specifically. Before, I just never had a need to know. Now I do,” said the old Warrior with an almost apologetic shrug.

Seated beside Brynnan, Samir said, “I would also like to know the finer details if you can speak of them. I would not strain your oaths, my beloved.” The Warlord pulled Brynnan close and kissed him. “If you can speak now, I still have time before meeting with Mirza.”

Brynnan paused, considering their requests. He made up his mind. “Then I think I should tell you. Will you listen and open your mind to a strange and disturbing tale?”

* * *

To be continued . . .

[email protected]