To Take Away His Voice

Opening the Door

Snow-capped Scarfell Mountain drew close. The day had been thankfully uneventful after the previous day’s attack by Wolf’s-heads who acknowledged no Lord or state. Dangerous and desperate men, yes, but fortunately, these were not highly skilled in a fight, especially against men like the Warlord’s picked guard.

Eventually, the company reached the turnoff to Scarfell Pass. Their chosen camping site was halfway up, beside a lake nestled in a natural bowl in the mountainside. When they arrived, Brynnan felt a wave of nostalgia, remembering their own camp, higher up the pass, where the Warlord had shared a terrible tale with him. A brutal fucking afterwards had turned into lovemaking the next day.

When they reached the lake site, Captain Alanus swiftly delegated his men to tend the horses, set up tents, gather firewood and dig latrines. However, Samir and Brynnan planned to continue to the waterfall clearing and stay there for two days. It would be their farewell.

Geraint helped Brynnan re-arrange gear on one of the pack horses.

He tightened a strap, saying, “I’ll meet you on the afternoon of the second day, with Nijal, so that we can leave from the pass. Look after m’Lord well. He doesn’t show it, but this is hard on him now that he’s got his good sense back and has come to love you instead of torture you.”

“Before we leave him, I will give him a Shadow-song that will bring him peace,” answered the Bard.

“Mind you do, and not that other one you composed for him,” Geraint said sternly, “What, by the Great Mare’s Tits, were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that for over a year, I was in despair. I was thinking that sadness and fear were my constant companions. I was thinking that I had nothing to look forward to but death, or worse than death,” Brynnan said with uncharacteristic savagery. He pressed his forehead against the horse’s shoulder. Then, in a voice choked with emotion, he added, “I just wanted Samir to experience what I had felt.”

Then he looked surprised at himself, “Forgive my indiscretion, Geraint, I — “

The old Warrior sighed deeply, “No, lad, don’t apologize. Frankly, I don’t know how you held up. I don’t know of anyone else that could have endured what you went through. I was there for some of it, remember?”

“I’m unable to forget, even if I wanted to. It’s the curse of a bardic memory. What is more, some situation or stimulus that reminds me of the torture will plunge me back into the initial experience . . . “

Geraint squeezed Brynnan’s shoulder, “We both know what that is. It’s a known hazard of soldiering, but there are ways to deal with it. And you have a great gift for survival, lad, despite what you say.

“There, the pack straps are all tightened. You’re good to travel. Take a deep breath and come over to the fire. Have a hot drink before you go.”

Brynnan nodded and sought to recollect himself, as Geraint’s practical advice suggested.

Before he and the Warlord left to travel further up the Pass, Brynnan said farewell to each Guardsman, especially Danan, who had cooked their meals and smuggled treats to the horses.

“Bring us back new songs,” Danan told him.

Samir and Brynnan left shortly afterwards while they still had some sunlight. The brisk mountain air invigorated the Warlord’s horse, Malpaisan, who pranced like a colt. At one place, a deer darted across the trail in front of them. Rhiannon, the Bard’s horse, and the pack-mare both started in surprise, but Malpaisan just shook his mane with a nonchalant air.

They reached the mountain waterfall at the pine grove just as the sun was touching the trees. Brynnan picketed the horses, except for Malpaisan, who roamed unfettered. The Warlord had trained the stallion to stay by him in any circumstance, becoming a powerful deterrent against threats.

They pitched their tent, then Brynnan gathered wood as Samir made the fire. Afterwards, they swam in the deep pool, despite the chill air. The two men warmed themselves by the fire with a cup of wine in hand and their cloaks to keep them warm. They talked of many things, but finally, the conversation just involved themselves.

Samir took Brynnan’s hand in an intimate clasp while they talked, “Since I admitted my love for you to myself, my Bard, it opened the door to an unaccustomed realm. I now feel concerned for your safety on this journey. Geraint and Nijal are effective protection for you, but there is always that one unforeseen circumstance.”

“Such is life, my Lord,” Brynnan remarked philosophically, “We seize each day, for good or ill. We cannot always protect the ones we love, either, despite our best intentions.”

“You and I have known that, to our cost,” mused Samir. Then he was silent for a while.

Brynnan, changing the subject, said, “We plan to travel safely and avoid unknown habitation. Nijal thinks we should keep to the mountain route. It’s slightly longer, but it avoids some known hostile territories.”

Samir nodded, “A wise idea. In particular, I wanted you to avoid Redstone Holding, an evil place. It’s where the rapids on the Ironstrike River are impassable, on the spot called the Carrying Place, as goods on the river had to be shifted by hand there.”

“Why do you say it is evil?”

“I lost two messengers at that Holding. They lay up there for the night and went missing. The third messenger survived to bring me the tale. Messengers, like bards, are generally considered sacrosanct and may not be harmed. I fear what would happen to you if you travelled that route.”

“We will avoid it.”

“That gives me some relief. Geraint, and I’m sure, Nijal, also know its reputation. Anyway, let us put our minds to more pleasant things.”

He turned to the Bard, “Come closer, my lover.”

Brynnan obliged, and Samir leaned in and kissed him. The Bard reciprocated, and their kissing became all engrossing. In unspoken agreement, they moved into the tent. They undressed each other while continuing to kiss. Tongues intertwined, mutually exploring. Then Samir, now naked on the bedrolls, leaned in closer and bit his Bard on the neck. Brynnan shivered in a growing ecstasy.

“You will be my hound,” Samir murmured.

His lover took the cue and obediently rolled to all fours. Samir worked his fingers into Bynan’s ass, then lubed his own cock. Pushing his cock up to the hilt, he used a steady rhythmic stroke to fuck his lover. Then, urging Brynnan to kneel upright, he pumped his cock into him until, wrapping his arms around the Bard’s body, he pulled him back so that he lay on top of his Lord. Samir seized Brynnan’s cock in one hand and played with his nipples with the other hand as he fucked him.

The Bard twisted his shoulders until he was able to kiss the Warlord. The heat from his lover’s body bathed his back, and he almost couldn’t prevent his orgasm from happening with the multiple stimulation points arousing him.

“Do me, my lover. Your cock dominates my ass and my soul. I can feel every inch. Harder, my Master, please fuck me harder.”

Samir rolled Brynnan onto the bedding so that he was on his back facing him. Kneeling upright again, the Warlord spread Brynnan’s legs and pulled one leg onto his shoulder, thus exposing his lover’s anal opening even more.

Samir was sweating, and he pounded the sweet ass without mercy.

“Make yourself cum, Bard,” he ordered.

“Yes, Master.”

Brynnan jerked his cock hard and rapidly as Samir continued to pound him, “I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum right now. I’m giving myself to you . . . “

“Do it for me, my cock-slut.”

Brynnan’s cum splashed up his torso and spilled out onto his stomach. Samir watched with the gaze of a bird of prey.

He drew out his cock and, without changing his position, began to beat it fast with his fist, “ You’re going to get mine now, cum-loving slut,” he growled.

When it came, it shot onto the Bard’s chest and on his face. Samir breathed heavily and pulled every drop from his huge cock. Then he lay on top of the Brynnan, smearing the mixed cum on his chest and kissing his fuck-slave deeply, then licking him clean.

Without rolling off his lover, he embraced him, and they rested in that position, sharing the occasional kiss. When the cold air began to intrude, Samir got up and pulled the Bard by his wrist, guiding him out of the tent.

Brynnan guessed what was coming and protested, “Not the pool. Have mercy on me, Lord.”

“I have heard you beg, but this is the first time you have explicitly requested my mercy. Had I known you were so afraid of cold water, I would have done this more often,” Samir teased as he jumped into the pool from a rock ledge, pulling the helpless bard with him.

They hit the icy mountain water with a splash, and both gasped as they acclimated to it. Brynnan dove under the water and swam to the rock face that backed the waterfall. The half-moon gave them enough light to see their surroundings.

Samir surfaced beside Brynnan. They played in the waterfall’s spray and the swirling foam of a large standing wave in the current, where both men experienced a sense of release and freedom.

The stallion, Malpaisan, cantered up to the water’s edge and jumped in off the rock to join the men, his massive body creating a giant wave. He swam over to his Master, and Samir took hold of the long, black mane, directing Brynnan to do likewise. The stallion did not object: he knew the Bard.

Then Samir shouted, “Malpaisan: to shore!”

With powerful strokes, the horse swiftly reached the shore where a sand and gravel beach curved. When they waded up to the beach, Malpaisan shook his body and mane, making water droplets fly everywhere. Nevertheless, Samir moved in and made much of his horse, slapping and stroking his neck and flanks.

“I’m impressed, my Lord. I did not realize he had that trick!” Brynnan exclaimed.

“Many skirmishes take place by the water. Crossings are good places for an attack. If you are wounded, and in the water, that trick can save your life.”

“Now I know why you keep his mane long. I shall have to teach Rhiannon.”

“Geraint will help you. Now come. Let us warm each other in the tent.”

This time they curled together under their cloaks. Before the Warlord fell into sleep, he tenderly stroked Brynnan’s face and kissed his forehead.

The Bard lay quietly, listening to his Lord’s steady breathing. He marvelled that the hands that had given him such pain and suffering just a short time ago could now transmit love. But it was true: they had loved each other for a long time. Neither Samir nor Brynnan had physically or verbally expressed it to each other, and now it seemed that they were making up for time permanently lost.

Out in the forest, a pair of ravens flew overhead with the distinct sawing sound of their wings clearly audible in the tent.

The next day and a half passed like a dream for Brynnan. He and Samir attempted no great endeavour. The Bard drew out Mavrenn, his harp, and played for his Lord. They sat by the fire and talked, or they physically interacted in various ways, from fierce, raw fucking to slow sensual lovemaking. And then the Warlord flogged him . . .

On the afternoon of the second day, Samir brought out a coil of soft rope. He tied off one end to a tree and flung the free end over a sturdy pine branch before tying the Bard’s wrists. He made the binding thick and supportive, so there was no painful pressure. Then he drew the line tight enough to stretch his arms above his head.

When his lover stood naked and bound in the sunlight, Samir went to his pack and brought back a flogging whip. Brynann recognized it as the heavy, multi-stranded leather whip Samir had used the night Nijal tied him with red silk ropes. Its purpose was not to cut but to impact the flesh, making it capable of inflicting a different kind of pain.

“Do you remember the protocol, my Bard slave?” Samir held out the whip to Brynnan’s lips.

“Yes, Lord,” Brynnan kissed it.

The Warlord began by stroking the leather falls of the whip over the Bard’s body and allowing them to slide down his back. Then he flicked them, causing a light impact. The flicking evolved into spinning strokes that beat against his body like bird’s wings. Gradually the force increased until Brynnan was aware of biting stings. Finally, there were full-handed blows that thudded against his skin. These hurt, but at the same time, Brynnan felt intoxicated by the pain.

Samir ended the flogging but did not untie the Bard. Instead, he stepped up to him and caressed his body, then kissed him.

At that point, the stallion, Malpaisan, neighed loudly, and the sound echoed through the clearing. The horse stood tall, with his ears pricked forwards.

“We have company, I believe,” Samir remarked.

Shortly after, two riders, one leading a packhorse, entered the clearing: Geraint and Nijal arriving as planned.

Samir walked over to greet them and held Geraint’s horse, the blue-roan named Shade, as the old Warrior somewhat stiffly dismounted. Malpaisan stretched his neck over his master’s shoulder and greeted Shade by huffing air over her nose.

“Well met, m’Lord,” greeted Geraint, embracing the Warlord with feeling, “You both look good, especially our Bard.”

He grinned and walked up to Brynnan and kissed him, “Nice marks. Were we interrupting something?”

Samir smiled and replied, “Not at all. We were expecting you both. I have plans.”

Brynann felt a stirring of consternation. Whenever Samir had ‘Plans,’ it meant pain, humiliation or pleasure. He awaited the Warlord’s explanation.

“I wish to see how you will care for my Bard. I invite you both to flog him and take his ass, or whatever you wish to do. Does this suit?”

Nijal answered, “It is some time since I have done a flogging. The practice will be welcome, I think.”

The Warlord nodded and said to Nijal, “You may take him first and do it bareback. From what I understand, your cum will be beneficial.”

Brynnan started with surprise. Did Samir know about the blood Nijal had transferred to him during the surgery on his throat? He resolved to speak to his Lord later.

Nijal approached the Bard and spent a little time embracing and kissing him. “How do you feel about me taking you anally?” he asked in a low voice.

Brynnan sighed, “You may as well. It seems everyone else has. Is your cum really beneficial?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Nijal took the flogger from Samir’s hand. He started to flog the Bard with skill. Rather than pain, the strokes induced thrills of pleasure. Nijal paid particular attention to Brynnan’s buttocks and beat them until the skin reddened. Then he handed the whip to Geraint and moved in close behind. Nijal’s hands caressed the Bard’s chest and nipples, then slid down to the hips. The surgeon’s exposed cock stiffened. He moistened Brynnan’s ass and introduced his erect cock. For some reason, there was no pain as it slid inside.

“Are you alright?” Nijal asked.

Brynnan felt Nijal’s loins beating against his reddened ass. The heat and sting from the flogger combined with the impact of the thrusts to produce a hot excitement.

“I am indeed alright. Please don’t stop, Nijal!”

Nijal slapped Brynnan’s ass in response and increased his thrusts. Occasionally, he licked and gently bit the Bard’s neck. His hands gripped Brynnan’s hips as Nijal pulled in tight and pumped with rapid strokes. He slowed and edged the Bard until he was begging.

“Finish in me, dear friend; mmm, I thank you for this . . . “ he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

At this point, Geraint approached. He grinned at Brynnan, and taking the flogger; he applied targeted strokes to the Bard’s cock. They stung, but then the pain began to blend into his deeper sensations. When Geraint ceased flogging him and knelt to suck his cock, Brynnan thought he would cum on the spot. But then Geraint began to edge him also. The two men tag-teamed the Bard, with Nijal increasing his thrusts when Geraint slowed his sucking, alternating the speed and intensity of each other’s actions.

“You both are driving me insane. Please, have mercy.”

Somewhere behind him, Samir laughed, “Our Bard just recently learned to beg for mercy. If I had only known this earlier . . . “

Geraint paused in his sucking to say, “Surely we aren’t as cruel as you, m’Lord Samir. Nijal, shall we show the lad some mercy?”

Both men plied their skills on the Bard. Geraint deep-throated him, and Nijal thrust with unregulated intensity.

Brynnan raised his head and shut his eyes, breathing deeply, “Do it! I am cumming now!” He cried out as he ejaculated into Geraint’s throat. Simultaneously, Nijal came in his ass. The Bard’s body sagged, all his weight resting on his bound wrists.

“Don’t rest, my lad; there’s still work to be done,” Geraint said.

He stood up and moved into Nijal’s place. Swiftly exposed his thick cock, and without hesitation or foreplay, he plunged into the Bard’s ready ass.

As Geraint thrust, he commented, “You’re well-primed, I’ll say that. Maybe I can reap some of those magic benefits.”

Nijal chuckled, “Maybe you will, at that. I’ll prescribe a course of treatment for us.”

Geraint didn’t hold back: he delivered a straight, hard fuck. It did not take him long to cum. He pounded Brynnan violently, gripping his hips tightly to hold the Bard in place. When he came, he roared like an angry bear, startling Samir’s warhorse, who responded with a battle cry of his own.

Geraint pulled out and flopped back happily on the pine needles, but Nijal asked, “Lord Samir, do you want to take Brynnan now?”

“No, my friend, I will wait until he has recovered. He has been some time in bonds, and I would release him.”

Samir strolled over to Brynnan. He picked up the whip from where it hung on the big pine. He extended it to the Bard, who put his lips to the leather falls, and thanked his Master.

Then Samir moved in close and kissed Brynnan with tenderness, “I thank you, my lover, for indulging my whims. When you’re ready again, I will take you.”

“I will gladly submit to you, my Lord.”

Nijal helped Samir release the Bard from the rope restraints on his wrists. He inspected them for any marks or swelling, but Samir had done his job well.

Then the Warlord gave Brynnan an evil grin, “You know what comes next. . . “

Brynnan raised his hands in mock surrender, “Please, Lord, no need to drag me; I’ll jump in myself.”

He went to the rock ledge overlooking the pool and dove in, the cold water soothing his skin. He looked around to see that the others had shed their clothes and joined him. Then a now-familiar huge splash indicated the arrival of Malpaisan.

Geraint, treading water, groaned, “That confounded beast of yours, m’Lord, he’d jump in a bathtub with you if you let him!”

A loud neigh drew their attention to the shore, where blue-roan Shade stood fetlock-deep in the pool, drinking.

“Oh, no, you don’t, my girl!” Geraint waded ashore and led the mare away from the edge. He swiftly removed her harness before moving to tend to the two pack horses.

Three remaining men and one warhorse left the pool together. Geraint made a welcome campfire for them and hung a pot of water to boil. After they had dressed, Samir sat cross-legged on his fur-lined cloak near the fire and Brynnan, now exhausted, stretched out beside him with his head on the Warlord’s lap.

Nijal announced, “I think I will skirt the perimeter,” and slipped into the forest.

The others were drinking hot tea when he returned, carrying a bundle formed from his scarf. He accepted tea from Geraint as he sat down and announced, “Something for the stew-pot tonight.”

Nijal opened his scarf to reveal a respectable pile of fresh mushrooms and a large handful of bulbs Brynnan recognized as belonging to an arrow-leaved water plant.

Samir said, “Report, Nijal.”

“All quiet, Lord Samir. Some small thing troubles me, but I can’t put my finger on it. The ravens beyond our backtrail are disturbed.”

“Perhaps it’s just an animal kill-site, perhaps nothing, but when I head back in the morning, I will be careful,” the Warlord said, “and tonight, I think we will post a watch. Considering the circumstances, the Bard will be exempt. You two can arrange a schedule to your liking.”

“It shall be done as say,” said Geraint, with a more serious demeanour.

Samir continued, “After our supper, we shall have music from our Bard, with all the wilds to hear it.”

In answer, Brynnan kissed the Warlord’s thigh from where he lay.

And so it was that after a supper of rich mushroom stew, the Bard brought out his harp.

At first, he did not sing. He played haunting themes from his homeland that evoked rainfall, the wind in the trees or still moonlight. Then he gave his companions ballads and love poems.

The night passed all too soon. Brynnan and Samir did not get much sleep: they lay in each other’s arms, making love. Samir came three times, and the Bard had no difficulties with repeated arousal either. But then he had the effects of Nijal’s blood and its promise running in his veins. They spoke of things neither had ventured to say before and pledged their commitment to each other.

But at last, morning came, with a low ground-mist but also the promise of sun. Samir and Brynnan had one last swim in the waterfall pool, thankfully undisturbed by the Warlord’s horse. When they returned to their tent to dress, Nijal and Geraint had a fire going and hot drinks ready.

Samir put a hand on Brynnan’s arm to stay him, “Don’t dress yet,” He turned to Nijal and asked him, “Do you have any of your special rope?”

Nijal just smiled and got up to rummage in his pack. He found a coil of red silk bondage rope.

Samir dressed, then came and took the rope from Nijal. Meanwhile, the naked Brynnan stood patiently beside the fire, trying not to shiver. The Warlord uncoiled the rope and began to knot the rope around the Bard’s chest, creating a harness with a star pattern. Then reaching into a pocket, Samir produced a ring of plain steel. When Nijal approached to observe the process, Samir handed him the ring.

“When you use my slave, attach this cock ring to the harness and put it on him.”

The Warlord spoke, “I cannot hold onto you, my slave and lover, but you wear my binding to remind you of our connection and love.”

Brynnan dressed and joined the others at the fire, where Geraint handed him hot tea and a bowl of gruel with dried fruit. The four friends discussed their plans once again and then talked about less consequential things. When he had finished eating, Brynnan brought out his harp.

He gave them an uplifting tune about the dawn breaking and sunlight coming, but after that, he sang a Shadow-song specifically for the Warlord. Samir raised an eyebrow when he realized what the Bard was doing, but he listened intently.

The song spoke of returning home after a long journey and the welcome of friends. There were hardships surmounted and the encouragement of a waiting lover to strengthen the traveller. Brynnan’s rich voice caught and evoked emotions of joy, relief, determination, resolve and hope. The melody was intricate but uplifting, and Mavrenn’s harp voice sent deep harmonies into the listener’s souls. When he finished the song, silence descended as Samir, Geraint and Nijal lost themselves in reflection.

Brynnan let his mind drift. His song was a parting gift to his lover, and the Bard sincerely hoped it would bring him comfort and peace.

Perhaps it was working because Samir beckoned him over. When Brynnan reached Samir, the Warlord embraced him tightly, holding onto his lover for long moments. Brynnan responded and initiated a deep kiss, and Samir responded with passion.

“I thank you for your song, my Bard. It is indeed bringing me comfort and strength. I will look to the days of your return with an open heart.“

They dismantled the tents and the camp. Geraint arranged the gear on the packhorses and helped secure Mavrenn to Brynnan’s horse.

Geraint commented, “Quite the song, Master Bard. Now that one, I approve. I think you have touched m’Lord’s heart in the right way.”

“I hope he will be alright returning to the Guardsmen’s camp alone.”

“I wouldn’t worry on that score,” said Geraint, with a conspiratorial smile.

A few moments later, the Warlord’s horse trumpeted a loud call. The group looked up to see a rider appear in the clearing.

“Danan!” called out Nijal.

Danan dismounted and walked up to clasp hands with Nijal before meeting the Warlord.

“My greetings Lord. Please forgive me if I have I have intruded. Geraint forgot his medkit, and I know he would want it with him for the journey.”

Samir, amused, looked at Geraint, “Old warrior, you must be losing your memory to ‘forget’ your kit.”

Geraint looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the ground, trying unsuccessfully to seem abashed.

Samir continued, “And I suppose I will have to accompany Danan back down the trail to protect him.”

“That might be a good idea,” mumbled the old Warrior, but he was trying to suppress a grin.

The Warlord came and hooked an arm around Geraint’s neck, “What will I do without you, my dear friend?”

“We’ll be back before you know it, Lord. And I will return the hound pup in one piece for you.”

“Do that, old Warrior. And I’m grateful for your deviousness.”

Then the Warlord said to Nijal, “Look after them both, Guardian, and be safe!” They embraced, and Samir turned and mounted Malpaisan. He rode over to where Brynnan waited on his dappled mare, Rhiannon.

“Go now, my beloved. We have each other’s hearts. May your mission be successful, and may you return to us soon.”

“Look for me in the spring, with the coming of the snow geese from the north. Farewell, Master of my heart and soul.”

The Warlord could no longer speak. He nodded and returned the salute Nijal and Geraint gave him. As the small company headed out, Samir turned Malpaisan.

“Let us go back, Danan,” he told the Guardsman and urged his warhorse down the trail.

Thus ends the story of how the Warlord Samir tried to take the voice of the Bard, Brynnan. If you would like to read of Brynnan’s further adventures, you are welcome to leave a request in the comments.