The Truth about the Runaway

Writers: Miriah, Suzee
Date Posted: 14th November 2020

Characters: Bryvin, Praker, Oufelle
Description: What really happened to Oufelle?
Location: Sunstone Seahold
Date: month 5, day 10 of Turn 10
Notes: Occurs after Bryvin's proposal dinner and before "My Lady's Gone" (PG-17 for implied activity)
Mentioned: Asaile, Yriadha

Bryvin

She couldn't believe it. He had chosen that dim-witted, skinny little
girl as his betrothed. It wasn't fair! Oufelle glared at Asaile as she
slept while tugging up her cloak. The girl had been mooning about
their quarters, giggly and would not stop talking about a kiss. A kiss
of all things! Well, she'd show her. There was no way that stupid brat
was going to get a Lord Holder while she was forced to go home and
marry some old man old enough to be her grandfather.

Slipping out of her quarters, Oufelle tiptoed down the hall. She heard
some murmuring out of the other rooms, but she passed by quietly
enough. Her heart pounding, she made her way to the Lord Holder's
chambers. She stood before it, then quickly adjusted her bodice,
making sure that her breasts were on suitable display. They'd always
worked well for her; perhaps they'd work again. She knocked twice,
quietly and set about forming a sad look on her face.

Bryvin opened his door in his shirtsleeves. He hadn't expected a
visitor this late at night. "Oufelle? What's going on?" He looked past
her to see if there were any witnesses to her presence. Seeing none,
he pulled her inside and shut the door. "What do you want?"

Oufelle mentally whooped with glee as she was quickly ushered in. "I'm
sorry, my Lord, but I simply had to speak with you. I know it's
improper of me, but I just couldn't help myself." She pushed back her
cloak, allowing her bulging bodice to be on full display. "I'm to be
sent away soon." She thrust out her lower lip and stepped forward to
boldly place her hand on his chest. "I didn't want to leave without
trying to make things right. I've been so badly behaved and I wanted
to apologize to you personally."

"Oh?" A slight smirk lifted one eyebrow and he tilted his head. There
was nothing ladylike in her display and he was fairly sure she knew
it. But she didn't know who she was dealing with really. "Is that why
you're showing me your tits?" He ran a finger across the top of her
bodice where one nipple peeked over the edge just as she intended.

Oufelle softly gasped at his touch, feeling her body react instantly,
and then smiled. She didn't react at all to his crude term for her
bosom, though it irritated her just a little. "I saw you looking
before. I know you like to look at them. And you obviously want to
touch them." She undid the clasp of her cloak at her neck, letting it
fall down. "I'm here for you, my Lord, in your loneliness. Let me..."
She caressed down his chest to the waistline of his trousers and bit
her lower lip. "make things right. Let me prove to you I can." She
dipped her hand lower, lightly over his trousers with a soft sigh and
a smile.

His smile grew wider at the evidence of her experience.This one was no
blushing virgin and had no idea what she was getting herself into.
"And does this have anything to do with having to marry old Tiron?
Maybe you'd just like a good ride before you go off to the old man. Is
that it?" He began lifting her skirts and backing her toward his
bedroom. He took her mouth in a hard kiss.

**Yes. It worked!** Oufelle groaned against his mouth, scrambling to
unbutton her bodice as she was moved backwards. **Give me a good ride
and I'll have you instead.** Hungrily she returned his kiss, panting
in eagerness. The man's hands, Faranth, he knew what to do with them.
She'd have this instead of Asaile now. Asaile could marry the old man!
She felt her legs hit the back of the bed and fell back onto it, her
breasts falling out of the bodice and in open display. She spread her
thighs willingly and pulled up her skirts, an expression of triumph
and lust on her face. "Take me, my Lord."

~fade to black~

He thundered to his own conclusion and pulled back and looked down.
**Of course she did** he thought after a moment of confusion. Then he
remembered the hand and grabbed the offending appendage, "And what did
you think was going to happen now," he asked mildly as he plucked the
red stained vial from her fingers.

Panting and still trembling with release, it took a moment for
Oufelle to realize what he'd found. Her brow furrowed. "I don't know
what you mean, Bryvin." She half sat up and winced; her thighs were
sure to be bruised, but at the spilled blood between her thighs, she looked
up at him in triumph. "I'm to be your wife." She laid back with a contented
smile. "You're bound by honor to wed me for taking me into your bed."
She stretched with satisfaction. "I look forward to your bedchamber
even more now. I've never had anything like that."

**Honor?** he mentally laughed. "Unfortunately for you," he said. "I'm
already engaged to Asaile. It appears that you tried to fool me into
offering for spoiled goods or shame me into it." He waggled the vial.
"But I checked before I entered you girl. You're no virgin. What is
that anyway, egg fowl blood? Waste of a perfectly good egg fowl." He
pulled a towel from a drawer and wiped himself off before getting
dressed. "What I suggest
is that you get a new one and use it on the husband your father
promised you to on your wedding night."

Her eyes narrowed in frustrated anger and she sat up, lifting her
chin. "It's on my gown now." She didn't deny his accusation. "What do
you think's going to happen when I show Asaile what you did? Show her
my thighs? I can tell her that you ravaged me and she'd believe me. Do
you think she'd want to marry you then? Or that her proud papa would
allow it?" She smirked. "And my father would believe me too. He'd go
to the Council and demand that you make it right." She began buttoning
up her bodice. "My father's promise to an old, tired man won't mean a
thing now." She pointed to her gown. "This will."

His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck. "You have no idea who
you're dealing with slut," he growled. He squeezed until her eyes
widened. "Let's try that again shall we? What do you think is going to
happen now?

Her eyes bulged in sudden panic and shock as she tried to pull away
from the grip that was strangling her air. She beat at his arm in wild
alarm, choking against his grip as she struggled to speak.
"You...can't... I'll..." She shook her head frantically. "Sto..." She
kicked out, breasts bouncing as she fell back, feeling his weight on
her. "Plea.."

"My Lord," he said. "Please My Lord." he lessened the pressure.

"Please...My...Lord..." She inhaled, tears leaking out of her eyes as
she spoke quickly, now desperate. "A child... I could be bearing your
child now. Please. I'll be a good wife...I swear! Better than Asaile!
She can't do for you what I can!"

"Alright," he looked down on her with narrowed eyes. "You have
horribly misjudged your target. I'll give you a choice but you can
only pick one. I beat you every night for the rest of your life," he
held up one finger. "I kill you right now and get rid of your body,"
two fingers. He tilted his head and snarled. "Or you go to the Weyr
and never speak of this to anyone. That last offer comes with an
assassin who will kill you if you do," three fingers.
"Now tell me which you prefer."

Her eyes widened in very real fear. "You wouldn't. You couldn't do
that." She felt his fingers around her throat and swallowed hard,
feeling sick, then looked at his eyes. They were utterly cold, utterly
ruthless, like the eyes of a venomous tunnelsnake. He _would_ kill
her, she realized, and think nothing of it. Faranth, did anyone know
this man and what he was like? He was a monster! Suddenly she was
thankful that Asaile would be marrying him. Let that skinny, flat
wretch be pounded into the furs! The girl would do nothing but weep!
Then she burst into tears. "You're crazy! Don't kill me, my Lord,
please...don't kill me!" She shook her head. "I won't say anything, I
swear! Even if I'm with child! I'll say I'm a slut if anyone asks!
Please, just let me go!"

He pointed to his desk. "Write a note to Lady Brina and say you're
going to the Weyr. You can't bear marrying an old man. All that
shrieking, moaning and complaining you did the other day. Then you're
going to go get your things and I'm sending you to the Weyr. If you
say anything to anyone either here or there... you die."

Oufelle got up, clothes still in a disarray and hurriedly wrote the
note that Bryvin demanded. She sniffled, wiping her nose and eyes, her
throat feeling sore from the rough handling. She couldn't believe this
was happening to her. The Weyr? She'd never be able to go home; her
father would disown her as soon as he heard. Maybe she could tell him
something. Anything that would let her come home. She couldn't stay at
the Weyr! As she signed it, she looked at the Lord Holder, simpering.
"My maid...she has to come with me. I've never been without a maid.
Can I fetch her?" Surely he wouldn't deny her her servant but his
threat scared her to her core.

"No," he said flatly. "Get your things. "

"But..." She sputtered. "She is part of my things." Her voice fell and
she shrank back. Her body felt sore and she still felt his fluids
running down her thighs. It made her shudder. She picked up the note
and with a trembling hand, handed it to him, then quickly buttoned up
her bodice, shoving her breasts down. She whimpered. "Yes, my Lord."

By the time she returned he had a guard there to escort her to the
waiting dragon. "Back stairs," he said. "No one sees her go."

"Yes m'lord," the man saluted with a fist over his heart then took the
young woman's arm. "Am I gonna need t'gag ya miss?"

Bryvin turned his back on the two of them.

The guard's hand was rough and she tugged at it fruitlessly, before
sulking at the Lord Holder's back. Bitterly upset, she had to say
something out of her spite, something she hoped would at least sting.
And she'd say it in front of the guard. Let the rumor spread! She
hoped it would! "Asaile's not so innocent! She's no sweet
little thing like you think. She's no virgin either!"

Bryvin whirled back and backhanded her in the face, knocking her to
the floor. He sneered down at her. "Spiteful bitch."

The guard chuckled as he grabbed her arm again and pulled her roughly
back to her feet. "Ought not to back talk his Lordship!'

It was like the sun exploded painfully in her skull as Oufelle
crumpled to the ground with a squeal of pain. Her face throbbed as she
was jerked back up, tears streaming from her eyes as blood dribbled
from a cut lip. She'd never been struck before and was stunned and
dazed by the blow. She stumbled in the guard's grip and held her hand
to her face. Her words were thick but whiny. It wasn't fair! If she
could ruin this match, she would. And if she could ruin Asaile's
reputation all the better! "She's not. She's a whore. You'll find out
and wish you hadn't treated me like this. "

"You know what Praker?" He smiled at the guard. "If you don't mind the
mouth on this bitch, shove her face into a wall and lift her skirts.
She seems to like that. If she keeps talking, give her to Polson too.
But make sure she gets on that dragon before change of shift with no
one else the wiser."

"Yes, m'lord," Praker grinned at the prospect after all he could gag
her and then wouldn't have to listen. He chuckled as he pulled her
into the secret staircase. "You sure don't got a brain girly."

"No!" Oufelle began struggling in earnest, terror filling her eyes.
She shook her head wildly and inhaled to scream as she was pulled into
the dark corridor, but it was quickly muffled as something was shoved
into her mouth and the door slammed closed.

Bryvin decided he should take a bath before visiting Yriadha.

Last updated on the November 22nd 2020

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The Truth about the Runaway