Note to readers: Hi.! This is my very first published work. I'd like to mention two distinctly creative authors from Literotica, who made me want to type up a story in the first place. DocCIS and Iwroteathing. My writing style, which is a mixture of longform, slow-burn character study, is largely a direct result of reading the works of DocCIS. Him, and the erotic, yet melancholic encounters in many many, many unique situations from the deliciously wicked mind of Iwroteathing. This work is a direct inspiration from 'Queenfall' by Iwroteathing. Even long after reading it, I was left with a craving for more. Specifically the tension, and the complex chemistry between its two main characters. In the weeks followed, they grew in my mind, into Elanor and Agrafena. The Queen and the Horse Whisperer. They began telling me their encounters, their backstories, their dreams and hopes. And mostly about the way fate seemed to play with them. All I'm doing is taking notes.
If you enjoy this, chances are you already know my inspirations. If not please checkout their works. If you are into longer, episodic narratives, please give this one a try.
A Queen's Dilemma
The streets of the town of Templeton were unusually quiet, a strike contrast to the city famed for it's vibrant nightlife in the whole of the Imperial kingdom of Wolkenshire. Pavements and corners seemed deserted as the midnight moon lit up the cobbled roads against the silent night. The royals, ministers, vendors, workers, wives, virgins, courtesans and even most of the homeless were busy celebrating elsewhere, leaving the city to have a peaceful rest. And like from a dream of the streets, the clopping of a horse hoofs cut through the quiet. A wild dark horse galloped across the bridge and into the deserted streets. Upon the horse sat a young woman, her thick lush auburn hair trailing them, dancing in the wind. Her eyes were wide open in dread, her wrists chained to the horses neck and bosoms bouncing wildly, as her hips straddled the horse back. She was Elanor the Chaste, the Queen of Wolkenshire. The ruling monarch.
Riding through the streets of her subject city, she wasn't suppressing a civil war, catching up to the enemy, nor being chased by the bandits. Yet her panic wouldn't seem unreasonable for any lucky onlooker. For the Queen rode the dark beauty, a strike contrast to her complexion, clad in nothing but her frilly loin cloth. Which seemed more than translucent now, soaked in her own juices and sweat. A result of the constant straddling, the resulting ecstasy of which was her only relief in that state of panic. She hoped no one had stayed back at their homes or shops. She hoped the ones who did were long asleep, and didn't bother to check the noisy clopping. She saw the disbelief in one of the homeless vagrant who stood frozen at the corner. She saw his shock turned to a lustful grin, as her horse rode past, leaving him to his fantasies. This was the third tonight, and Elanor wasn't bothered about the possible gossips and rumors starting from a few feeble vagrants. What worried her was the possibility of eventually running into any of her own men patrolling the streets. And that despite her best efforts the mare showed no signs nor interest of stopping.
"This is a disaster." Elanor muttered to herself, still hyperventilating. Well aware of the futility, she could not help but wonder.
'How did she get here?!'
The Meeting
Two weeks before.
Elanor walked past the gates of the Cathedral. It's sacred ground beyond this point, so no more royal companions, nor weapons of any kind. There isn't much to worry about, she's here on a direct invitation from the High Priest, Bishop Benedictus Flavius himself. Her security had already swept the premises and additional guardrails had been put in place. It's been a week since their last meeting, when she had confided in him the current dilemma. The solution which hopefully awaited her inside.
She remembered the first time they met. Benedictus had officiated her wedding to King Barthomius, her one true love. King Barthomius Wolkenshire and Queen Elanor of Wolkenshire, the royal couple and soon to be ruling monarch. Barthomius had always looked up to the High Priest, which alone was enough for Elanor to confide in him. But that deep trust only fortified with what she saw in the Priest's eyes, the same look she grew up seeing in her own father. The look of unconditional goodwill. The blessing countenance of a proud old man.
As she walked past the visiting hallways to the High Priest's official chamber, she noticed the only other person in vicinity standing at a corner. It was a short young woman, impeccably dressed, lost in admiring the fresco that adorned the hall ceilings. That's when Elanor first met Bellatrix, the Horse whisperer. Or formally addressed as Lady Agrafena. Bellatrix was taken aback by the sheer grandness of the Cathedral, her first time inside the sacred grounds. Even though she had known Father Benedictus all her life, since he was a junior priest and her a little girl in his orphanage, she never realized how influential her benefactor truly was. This was all still a dream to her. So she didn't realize the Queen herself had just walked past beside her, a true rarity for a mere commoner.
The servants opened the door to his study, as the Queen walked in to a welcoming smile. Benedictus was not just happy to see her, but proud of what she had achieved in a short year as their Queen. His eyes brimmed with pride. Elanor felt at home unusually, but made sure she stayed vigilant. For such was the purpose of the visit. After exchanging pleasantries and sitting down at his table, a more serious expression appeared on his face. He said.
"Daughter. Without going into the details I must tell you. Your dilemma, and the nature of it, it's alien to a man of faith by design. I do not judge you for what you have told me. But I'm certain you had judged yourself enough, based on the facts you saw fit to omit from your own account. But I am at no such liberty, I simply shouldn't lie, even to heal. So, I do not have an answer. Even if you did the unthinkable, and god forbid told your account in it's entirety, I still won't be able to help. I believe it is by design. The path I chose prevents me from advising on such extremes, advice of any immediate utility, that is."
Benedictus saw all hope drain from Elanor's body, except for that glimmer which still shined in her eyes. 'That is my child. Never give up hope, daughter.' he thought to himself. And said, sounding much positive.
"Although, I do have the next best thing. The only person I can vouch, to be able to get to the bottom of such.. unconventional problems."
Elanor's whole posture changed again, going from despair to hopeful in an instant. She asked gently, almost uncharacteristic for a Queen, "Tell me Father, who is it?"
"Your Majesty. Elanor. What do you know of Lady Agrafena?"
Elanor remembered the name.It was a legend they all heard from their childhood. The last surviving member of the great witches of the north. All banished or burned a few decades ago at the last great purge of the Northern Kingdom. The stories of which were so violent and vivid, she almost thought them to be myths. The remaining sisters were believed to evade the public wrath and take refuge amongst Wolkenshire's horse tribes.
"The Lady Agrafena? The 'Witch' of the North plains?! How could she be real? Or even alive, after all these years?" Elanor couldn't make sense of the Priest.
"You are not wrong, nor mistaken. Lady Agrafena is real, and long gone. I thought you knew, unlike my predecessors I do not believe in persecution, of any sects. I'm talking about her surviving daughter, Lady Bellatrix of Agrafena."
Elanor couldn't help but interject. "It's not just what I know, but admire about you Father. The ways see all as equal before the Almighty. You are aware how hard I try to alleviate such tensions in this Kingdom. But I cannot imagine you'd suggest the solution for my troubles await in witchcraft."
The Priest just smiled. "Oh, I wish your solutions were as simple as witchcraft. But no. For one, Agrafena the original was no witch. She was a special child of a rare spectrum. Possibly autistic and misunderstood. She could notice things that people couldn't and when she predicted the obvious they called it magic. When the obvious was an impending disaster, and even if all she did was predict, they called it black magic. And of course witchcraft. It is true that the sisterhood of witchcraft took her in, and helped her flee. To the best of my knowledge she was not a witch. Believe me, I've met witches who couldn't help but be amazed at what she did naturally. But enough about the mother."
Elanor leaned in as the Priest continued.
