To Take Away His Voice

A Dangerous Game

Another sleepless night. Brynnan slipped silently out of the great bed. As if sensing that he had gone, the Warlord’s hand briefly searched for him, even in his sleep. But the Bard was quiet and managed to go outside without waking his lover and Master.

The stars were out, for which Brynnan thanked the Mother-of-All. He lifted Mavrenn’s case and took her out on the terrace.

When she was uncased, he spoke to her, “Harp of mine, this night I need your voice.”

He began the opening chords of ‘The Warrior and the Raven.’ The haunting melody threaded softly through the night. Initially, he played it slow, with gentle grace notes, then gradually building up tempo and volume. At the end, he sustained the high note then slowed for the ending.

He wasn’t surprised when the Warlord appeared on the terrace as he was playing, drawn out by Mavrenn’s irresistible voice. Samir sat on the next stone bench, naked except for his cloak. He did not interrupt but let the peace of the night and the voice of the nearby waterfall, blending with the harp, surround them.

As Brynnan plucked the closing notes, where the dying warrior surrenders to the raven, he bowed his head and was still. He and the Warlord let the night sounds speak for them as they sat in silence.

“Restless again, my Bard?” Samir eventually asked. Only the waterfall answered him as the noise seemed to grow louder then fade again into the background.

Brynnan’s reply was his gift-song to the Warlord. The beginning phrase on the harp strings wound slowly like a wind in the grass. Then, with his body half-turned away from Samir, Brynnan began to sing, using the Shadow technique. Each word was rich with intent and power. He did not hold back but varied the volume according to the song’s phrases and meaning, from soft words that were almost whispers to full-throated voice. He knew that he risked his recovering larynx, but the song demanded his full commitment.

The lyrics invoked darkness and eternal sleep, fear, and grief and despair: all the emotions he had felt when he was Samir’s prisoner under daily torture, and longing for respite, even with the sleep of death. He had worn the claw-collar that destroyed his voice, and the claw-cuffs, which crippled his hands, rendering him unable to play Mavrenn.

The lyrics of the song, though, were not specific to Brynnan’s own story; he was more subtle than that, but the feelings evoked were the same. He did not dare look at his Lord and knew he was taking a huge risk.

Shadow-singing could destroy as well as heal or bring joy, and this song was as bleak as they came. Brynnan encouraged Mavrenn to supplement his singing and lend it her own power and sadness.

Eventually, he brought the song to a close. He let the strings echo their last chord for a few moments, then stilled them with his right hand.

“Shall I play more?” he asked the Warlord in a pleasant tone.

Samir stared at him, and his look was unfathomable although, even in starlight, his eyes gleamed like ice. He arose and approached the Bard. For a moment Brynnan was unsure if Samir would strike him or curse, but the Warlord did neither.

“I had forgotten you had such power, Bard. A man could get locked up for that and his voice stripped from him. He could undergo a year of torture.”

“Just so, my Lord,” the Bard replied quietly.

Samir turned and looked out over the stone balustrade, and into the night. “That is a dangerous game you are playing. I marvel at the risks you take sometimes, but there is always a purpose in your apparent madness. What could it be this time, I wonder?”

“Do you feel it? The fear and sadness, the depth of grief?”

“Yes. Your power is extraordinarily strong. Most times your listeners don’t realize how you are manipulating their emotions. They place themselves in your song and react to the events in the way you guide them to. I have heard how invaders over the course of years tried to destroy your Order.”

“So it is said in the Histories. You ask my purpose,” the Bard arose and came to stand beside the Warlord. “The ArMor-ys Redoubt in my homeland is the seat of Bardic knowledge. We have unlocked the secret of the Deep Redoubt and know our origins. That is why we do trust the stories of the invaders from beyond the sun.”

Suddenly Brynnan knelt at the Warlord’s feet, “Give me leave, my beloved Lord, to return to ArMorica. I will return again here, bringing you the proof and knowledge you will require to convince your people of the truth of Nijal and my assertions, that in a very few years time our lands will be under threat.”

“And the song?”

“A bit extreme, I realize that, but how else was I to convince you that I am able to protect myself, or serve our mission?”

“Brynnan,” the Warlord uttered a deep sigh, as if he were utterly weary, “You speak of protecting yourself, but you took a great chance with me. Had I not loved you I might have reacted and tried to destroy you.”

“And had I not loved you, I would not have taken the risk.”

Samir stooped and drew the Bard to his feet. Holding him by the shoulders, he drew him in and kissed the Bard’s lips. Tentatively, as if unsure of his welcome, Brynnan returned the kiss.

“My Lord, let me repair the harm I may have done to you. Allow me to give you another song, one that is not so full of pain.”

“Dare I trust you, Bard?”

“Fetch your sword, my Lord. If I displease you, you can end my song in short order.”

“You are reckless, but I need no sword. You graced our court with song and story for years. I choose to trust my love for you, and yours for me.”

So Brynnan once more took Mavrenn and sang to his Lord. This time it was a simply a ballad from his homeland called ‘Cruel Sister,’ where two sisters compete for the affections of a renowned warrior. The cruel sister throws the other into the sea, and she drowns. Two bards find the body and use the bones to make a harp, and her hair to string it…

Samir, listening intently, looked at Brynnan’s own harp, with its beautiful deep purple wood, and the bone figurehead of a woman inset into the pillar at the front.

The ballad drew to a close, with one of the bards playing the harp at the Hall of the Chieftain, and the harp speaking out, accusing the cruel sister.

After Brynnan had finished, Samir shook his head, but his expression was less stern, “What am I to do with you, Bard? I did not anticipate this danger when I asked Nijal if he could give you back the voice, I had taken from you.”

“Lord… you could give me your love, as I surrender mine.”

“Bring your harp inside and attend me,” Samir ordered him abruptly.

Once inside, the Bard approached Samir at the great bed. Samir just seized him in his arms and kissed him with a barely suppressed violence. He stripped Brynnan’s cloak from him and pushed him onto the bed, face down. Roughly parting his legs, he mounted his bond-servant, and pushed his stiff cock inside Brynnan’s ass. He used no lubricant and it hurt, causing the Bard to cry out in pain.

Samir gave no mercy. He very quickly began to pound Brynnan, driving his big cock into him. When he was near ejaculation, the Warlord pulled his cock out and, seizing his victim by the hair, shoved it down the Bard’s throat all the way in. Brynnan could not help the tears of pain that flowed.

Samir knew that the Bard disliked any form of uncleanliness, so this mouth-fucking after anal sex was punishment. It was also the first time Brynnan had deep-throated the Warlord since his surgery. Samir could have damaged his Bard in forcing his cock, but the Warlord’s emotions had been deeply stirred, and demanded release.

His shout was a war-cry as he shot his cum in the Bard’s throat, gripping his long hair with both hands and pressing his cock in tightly. When the spasms had subsided, Samir pushed Brynnan away from him onto the bed. He stayed standing, breathing heavily after the brutal fuck.

“I suppose I deserved that, Lord,” Brynnan said ruefully.

The Warlord’s breathing slowed, and he shook his head briefly, seeming to come back to himself. He looked at Brynnan, with the icy expression gone from his eyes, and lay down on the bed beside the Bard.

“I have deep love for you but be careful how you use your power. Did I hurt your throat?”

“No, just my ass. I will survive. I thank you for your mercy, my Lord.”

Samir’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the Bard as if to judge the sincerity of his comment. Then he seemed to come to a decision, for he reached out an arm to pull Brynnan to him so that his head was on Samir’s broad chest. The Bard in turn embraced his Lord with a feeling of relief.

Brynnan did not see Samir for much of the next several days, as he was in council with his generals. The Bard was relieved that Samir was too preoccupied with planning to engage in ass-fucking with him, although at night, Brynnan would suck his Lord’s cock. His ass was sore from the brutal fucking that he had undergone; when he had first examined himself after the fuck, his hand had come away bloody.

He met with Geraint and the young singer, Andri, every day. Sometimes, Nijal joined them, as he came to check on Brynnan’s progress. This morning, the Bard had just finished voice and harp practice with Andri, who had arrived with Geraint, as was their habit.

Geraint said, “Just thought you’d like to know, Master Bard, that Andri and I shared a good long shower together before we arrived.”

Geraint’s expression was all innocence. Andri was blushing.

Brynnan fought down a laugh. “Is that your way of propositioning me for fucking?”

“Such subtlety and eloquence from a Bard!” exclaimed Geraint, “but, yes, we are proposing that.”

“Then I accept. I have missed sex with you these past few days, Geraint. I have only one prohibition on our play and that is no ass- “

“-fucking,” finished Geraint, “I know about it. One day I would like to hear that song.”

“Trust me, Geraint, you would not.”

“You set m’Lord off something fierce, I can tell you. He was troubled both about what the song could do, and also the danger it put you in.”

Andri looked from one to the other, mystified, “A song? Is this something I should be learning?”

“No!” said both Geraint and Brynnan in unison.

Geraint stood up and crossed to Brynnan. “Anyway, our Lord will get over it. But you…,” he shook his head, “…you take such risks.”

Brynnan stood up and kissed Geraint, “You say that, old Warrior…,”

“Yes, but I’m still alive. The goal of most of us soldiers is to survive the day’s fighting and have a decent feed at the end of it. A good fuck is extra.”

Inside Samir’s chambers, Brynnan directed Andri to stand up while Geraint took a towel and laid it on the divan. They pushed the young singer down on it. Both Geraint and Brynnan knelt beside him, and they proceeded to suck his very erect cock, pausing occasionally to share deep and passionate kisses with one another.

Andri stroked their heads, “Both of my Teachers, sucking me… I never imagined this. It’s so amazing…”

Brynnan could feel the heat of Geraint’s body beside him, and the sensation of the grey hairs that covered his chest, arms and back like fur. Andri’s body was smooth and supple by comparison, while his own body hair was dark and silky. There were stark differences in age, too - Andri the youth, Brynnan still young but mature and the old warrior, Geraint. They enhanced each other, yet the three of them blended into one being in love and sexuality

It didn’t take long before Andri was in the throes of his orgasm. Geraint, whose mouth was on the boy’s cock as he ejaculated, let go and, grasping the cock at its base, fed the still creaming head to Brynnan, who sucked it off.

They stayed resting a little time before Brynnan stirred himself, “Get up, young man. Geraint brought us together this day, but we still have unfinished business with him.”

“Yes, I’m feeling lazy. Must be my advanced age, making me feeble,” Geraint joked.

“‘Feeble’ and ‘Geraint’ do not belong together, old Warrior. And what’s it to be? Ass or cock? Or both?”

“I think that for old time’s sake, I’d like you to thank me like you used to when you were m’Lord’s prisoner, and I looked after you.”

“You did at that; I’m still grateful!” Brynnan replied.

“And what shall I do?” asked Andri.

“Watch, and learn,” replied Geraint, “I showed Brynnan how, on our Lord Samir, and he’s got tolerably good at it.”

So Brynnan serviced the old Warrior with reverence, and in doing so, felt strangely as if he were coming home.

That evening, the Bard’s sat alone by the fire when Lord Samir arrived, accompanied by Nijal and Geraint. Samir was dressed in leathers, with the studded cross harness and throwing knives across his bare chest, attesting to his exercise in the Arena. Brynnan immediately went and knelt before his Lord and kissed his boot.

Samir raised him and kissed him deeply. The kiss was gentle.

“Geraint tells me you serviced him today. It has been a few days now that your ass has been rested. I want you to prepare yourself when we bathe together.”

“As my Lord wishes.”

Brynnan was approached by Nijal and Geraint, who each kissed him in greeting. When all settled, Samir started their own small council.

“We have come to a decision concerning the request you made to me,” he told the Bard, “Much as I personally am against parting with you, the necessity must be met. If you can affirm this coming invasion, in concert with our research here, half the battle will be won.”

Although he had begged his lord to be allowed to go, in his heart Brynnan felt stricken; a surge of pain engulfed his heart at the idea of parting from the Warlord, even for a brief time, let alone the months of travel and research he would have to endure.

But the part of him that was able to bow to inevitability and remain stoic, came to the fore and he merely said, “As my Lord wills, so I obey.”

As the Bard was envisioning the long, lonely time ahead, he heard Samir speak again.

“Would that I could go with you, but the invaders from the sea have been reported raiding farther out in the Eastern marches. But this time I will not have you go alone, despite your… abilities. Geraint shall accompany you, himself.”

Brynnan was genuinely shocked and surprised, “But how can he guard you if he is with me?”

Geraint answered directly, “By guarding you, I am guarding m’Lord’s heart. We don’t want a repeat of what happened at Hesperon when you took that arrow in your back.”

Nijal, silent until now, spoke up, “And I have decided I also will travel with you…”

“That reassures me. I’m sure that Nijal will be a powerful ally,” said Samir, “I have ordered one of my Generals to dispatch companies to investigate the reports of the raiders and engage as needed. When I know that the situation is stable, you will leave. I intend to accompany you as far as Scarfell Pass. We will make camp there for two days.”

Brynnan lifted up his head, like a hound hearing his Master’s voice. A small hope, like a sparrow uncaged, lifted his spirits.

Later that evening, the Warlord and Brynnan bathed each other, and while standing under the shower Samir went down on the Bard, sucking his cock with great skill, teasing, and edging him. Before Brynnan could cum, Samir led him, naked, to the great bed.

The Warlord knelt on his haunches, while Brynnan lay on his back with his ass resting against Samir’s knees and his legs resting over the Warlord’s broad shoulders. That way they were able to keep eye contact with one another. Their lovemaking was passionate, yet Samir was gentle with his Bard. When he introduced his cock into Brynnan’s ass, there was no pain. Instead, as their fucking reached its conclusion, the Bard experienced an exquisite sense of surrender to his lover as they came together.

Afterwards, they spooned together, with Samir’s big cock resting inside Brynnan, and his arms embracing him. Brynnan put aside his concerns about travelling far from his lover in the future, and simply immersed himself in the ever-present now.