Dorian the Everlasting

This story follows "Dorian The Everlasting Ch. 01". I strongly advise you to read that story first before continuing into this one. This chapter has a lot of narrative in it besides the moments of erotica. I hope you will enjoy it.

NOTE: This version has edits based on feedback and some revisions.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2 - War, death, and The White Lion

In the months that followed, Arla and I shared passionate nights together, and even after she became pregnant just a month later, our lovemaking only grew more tender as her pregnancy advanced. Exactly nine months after our wedding night, Lady Arla Tor'Riken gave birth to a perfect baby boy. His pale blue eyes, olive skin, and tufts of silver-white hair marked him as a true heir to our line. Another lion had been born, the future lord of Harvest Hall.

In celebration of our son, Dario Tor'Riken, the White Cub of Vel'Loren, a grand feast was declared. As the years passed, we were blessed with two more lion-born children: a daughter named Mera and another son, Durant. The love Arla and I shared became a well-known story across the kingdom. Adored by our people, Arla's grace, beauty, and intelligence made her a beloved figure in our lands, which prospered under our rule. My father grew old and tired more often, so he handed over many of the administrative duties to me.

Here, I will need to provide some detail about the feudal structure of the kingdom. The Del'Mari Territory was situated in central Tell'Dora, bordered by the great Northern Ocean to North, The Ada'Lucian Republic to the West, Firoa to the South, and the Gurssian Alliance to the East. The governing regions of Del'Mar was split in five regions. The rich agricultural valleys of the South, the mineral-rich mountains of the East, the bustling trade ports of the North, and the West with its vineyards and culturally rich history. The fifth region was the Crown Lands, which was the administrative and industrial heart of the realm.

The duchies and their ruling houses were as follows:

The South:

Tor'Ruk Valley - House Tor'Ael

Era'Token - House Ko'Era

Du'Tora - House May'Shire

The West:

Gha'Shael - House Dia'Nez

Ja'Vez - House Cor'Toza

Lu'Mana - House Jaz'Vez

The North:

Nor'Fazen - House De'Rollo

Kor'Haven - House Var'Shan

Ost'Naben - House De'Golan

The East:

Gor'Esky - House Min'Koz

Tor'Khal - House Nev'Zen

Tor'Est - House Pet'Rov

The Crown Lands:

Har'Lund (Home of the Royal Capital) - House Du'Warru (Royal Family)

Har'Ost - House Kath'Aris

Har'Nor - House Du'Praal

Har'Su - House Ku'Taal

Har'Est - House Du'Vaal

In total, there were sixteen great houses of the Del'Mari kingdom, ruling over sixteen duchies of varying wealth, influence, and power. The events that would lead to the Del'Mari civil war were set in motion soon after my marriage.

Tragedy struck the realm when the old king, Gerald Du'Warru III died in his bed from illness, leaving the throne to his beloved heir, Gent Du'Warru II. The kingdom welcomed the popular heir to the throne, and all looked forward to the blessed reign of a beloved leader of men and women. However, it was not to be; just months into his reign, a devastating fire swept through the Royal Palace, claiming the lives of Gent, his wives, and all five of his children.

The people of the capital were shocked and horrified by the tremendous tragedy. More than sorrow was fear and uncertainty. As the next in line to the throne was not beloved but reviled and hated. With Gent's passing and leaving no direct heirs, the crown passed to his sister, Gida, a woman widely known for her bitterness and vengeful nature; many whispered that she had played a role in her brother's death, though no proof was ever found.

What followed were the years of the tyrant, Gida Du'Warru. She passed harsher laws, increased taxes, and implemented a draft, swelling the ranks of the Royal Guard. Many of the great houses resisted the new laws, especially the peacetime draft. For years, the discontent simmered, and many whispered that Gida needed to be replaced. She had not yet wed and was without an heir. Around the birth of my second son, Gida announced she would take Duke Orin Kath'Aris as her husband.

Duke Orin, was a cowardly weasel of a man who was as ambitious as he was devious. Besides the poor quality of the man chosen by the Queen, was his status as a Duke. Marriages were not permitted between ruling lords. In the few cases this occurred, the lesser land would go to an heir, and the marrying lord or lady would forsake their claim and lordship. Although love is a powerful force, no ruling lord or lady would ever consider giving up a Duchy even to marry the ruling monarch. What created even more tension I the real was the queen's decree that House Du'Warru would absorb the lands of House Kath'Aris as part of the marriage agreement.

Many saw this as a severe overreach by the Queen, and many more lords spoke of holding a Wi'Tan, a council of the great houses, to vote for a new monarch. A Wi'Tan was not called however, but instead came the darkest moment in the realm's long history.

Which would forever be remembered as the Black Wedding, marked the massacre of the remaining members of the Du'Warru household. Gida, the Black Queen, her moniker after this terrible event, orchestrated the slaughter of her remaining family members, their spouses, and their children. The details only became apparent years later, but apparently, it was right after the queen left the feasting hall when her Royal Guard and retinues of Duke Raven Du'Vaal entered the feast hall and murdered every member of House Du'Warru and any guest who tried to stop it.

The devastation extended beyond the royal family. Many of the great houses were intertwined with the crown through marriage, and nearly half of them lost sons, daughters, and grandchildren in the slaughter. High-ranking nobles who attended the wedding also met a tragic end. Duke Travian of Reapers Rock, Arla's father, was among them, struck down while trying to protect his daughter, who had been wed to the Queen's youngest brother only a few years prior. Others, such as Duke Lucias Du'Praal and Duchess Uthia Ku'Taal, were taken hostage, ensuring their houses' forced loyalty, as they controlled territories bordering the Crownlands.

The massacre sent shockwaves through the realm, shattering alliances and casting suspicion across noble families. Gida's unbridled cruelty not only claimed lives but also fractured the kingdom, sparking the first signs of rebellion as grief and fury spread through the surviving houses.

While open rebellion and civil war seemed almost unavoidable, some strong leadership sought to address the issue legally. Duke Grendal Ko'Era of Era'Token sent ravens to the southern houses, calling for a great council to discuss a southern response to the queen's madness.

Normally, such leadership would have fallen to Duke Travian, but his untimely death meant his son, Duke Lourell Tor'Ael, a young man of just twenty-five, now held the reins. Though capable, he did not yet command the same respect as his father. It was decided that the Earls of Tor'Ruk Valley would join the Duke and ride together to the council at Era'Token. Our house guard prepared, and we set out from Reapers Rock.

Upon our arrival, there was confusion over the absence of Earl Portshy Hur'Jaal, the lord of Val'Gordahl and master of Crisper Rock. Val'Gordahl, in stark contrast to Val'Loren's splendor, was a stain on the duchy--mismanaged into ruin by the Hur'Jaal family, whose inbred offspring were known for their lack of intelligence and honesty, though they often compensated with cruelty and greed. Lord Hur'Jaal had fallen ill and could not attend, sending his regrets and vowing to support any decisions made in his absence.

Our delegation included Lord Verry of Val'Toren from House Dir'Athon, Lady Cyrell of Val'Ethal from House Tyr'Shin, and Lord Morsden of Val'Orthal from House Di'Shar, as well as Duke Lourell and my father and me, representing House Tor'Riken. The group, consisting of over two hundred knights and men-at-arms, set off for the To'Ruk Mountains, traveling through the Gleaming Pass.

What we encountered there was nothing short of treachery--a carefully orchestrated ambush intended to slaughter the lords of Tor'Ruk. In the first moments of the battle, my life changed. Duke Lourell was the attacker's main target, who was struck by four crossbow bolts, he died before his body hit the ground. My father was struck by a bolt to the eye and fell in his saddle. His horse reportedly had charged off a cliff in the chaos. His body would later be found bloated and half-eaten.

After the initial volley of bolts and arrows was chaos and brutality, our forces were caught out of position to provide an adequate defensive line. Though the soldiers of the various houses fought valiantly, it became clear that retreat was our only option.

Lord Morsden, shouting for retreat, was silenced by a bolt through his throat. Blood erupted from his neck in a grotesque bloom. I commanded my guardsmen to fall back, as did the remaining Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell, but our attackers anticipated our retreat, cutting us off. Both Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell were knocked off their horses and I lost sight of them. My household captain and I, in a desperate attempt to survive, veered off onto a narrow goat path, leaving the ambush behind.

My Lion Born lineage made me stand out like a candle in a dark room, which made me an easy target. Several riders beset upon us, and I took a bolt to the side. The pain threatened my consciousness, but fear kept it at bay. Eventually, my luck ran out, and my captain and I were cornered in a close-off alcove. With the only hope of escape being on foot, I bit through the pain and directed my captain to the slope. He shook his head, "Run my Lord, I will keep them as long as possible."

There was no time to argue, I ran. All I could hear was the furious screams of men dying and the defiant shout of my captain before it was abruptly silenced. My pursuers were persistent, and I was finally cornered, exhausted, and bleeding out. The fools chose to engage me rather than let me bleed out, and I was able to strike four of the rogues down before the final rider blindsided me and crushed my knee with his mace. I roared in pain and collapsed, bloodied and broken, awaiting the final blow.

Instead of a quick end, the insufferable git wanted to insult me first, "The mighty Dorian, The Everlasting, The White Lion of fucking Vel'Loren. Look at you now. Dying and bleeding like a common git. Not so great now, are we, lordling?"

I looked at him, and to my surprise, I recognized the bastard, it was the bastard son of Lord Portshy. "Ah, if it isn't the bastard of the Sister Fucker? So, this treachery is your inbred father's doing?"

A scowl appeared on the man's face, "That's right, lordling, a bastard will strike down the "great" Dorian of Val'Loren. From now on, I will be great. Bratly, the Lion Slayer they'll call me."

I laughed at his hubris, "You? Great? A bastard from an inbred line of layabouts and thieves. What do you know of greatness? You strike me down, wounded as I am, while I slaughtered your companions like sheep--you lot, like filthy hyenas, weak and pathetic, attacking a wounded lion. No, you will never know greatness. Even after today, you will be known as either a coward or a liar. You know why?"

He snarled, "Why is that lordling?"

I spat blood onto the rocks, "Because everyone will know that a pathetic swine like yourself would never be able to beat me."

The toothless villain smirked, "Well...you will never know now." With that, he raised his mace. I closed my eyes, awaiting the blow that would crush my skull. My final thoughts went to my beautiful wife and the children she had given me. Instead, what followed was a thunderous roar and the cries of my attacker, "No, no, no."

Opening my eyes, I saw the man drop his mace and run, but it did not save him. Over my head flew a massive beast, cream-white in color, a blur. It was so fast. The creature chased down the fleeing man with ease and proceeded to maul the man to death mercilessly. It was not quick, and his screams finally ended with a sickening crunch. When the beast turned towards me, I finally saw what it was. It was a Tur'Rouk, a Silver Lion that gave the mountains their name.

They were thought to be extinct; they were deemed too dangerous and killed off centuries ago. Yet here one stood blood-faced and staring its cold stare right at me, the beast's most likely next pray. What happened after this, I am not certain, as the blood loss and pain finally made me lose consciousness. My memories of this moment are shrouded in pain, fear, and heavy blood loss. I only vaguely remembered several instances where I swore, I was being dragged somewhere by the beast. Something I could never prove.

What I remember vividly was the fever dream that overtook me. I perceived a grand white marble hall darkened and abandoned but for a figure on a throne at the very end of the hall. I recall moving towards the dias; my injuries were gone. Once I was several feet away from the raised platform, the figure became clear enough to make out. It was an Impossibly tall woman with alabaster skin, glorious in appearance, wearing a revealing white dress with silver hair flowing in waves down her back. Her golden eyes, those of a lion, stared at me for long moments before she spoke a simple phrase. One I will never forget.

"Aye far lethale, tor maya dal ortho, charto."

Although I did not understand the words then, I would much later discover that they were an ancient form of Ar'Kodean, the language of our ancient ancestors, the people who inhabited the valley so long ago that almost none of their history remained. A rough translation was eventually provided.

"Son of the lion, the ancient blood has chosen you!"

After that, there was only darkness. Instead of death, I awoke up in a straw-roofed hut. As the fog of my unconsciousness faded, I shot up and screamed, "Father!"

My sudden movement startled a young girl, probably only twelve years old, at my bedside. We stared at each other for the shortest moment when she ran through the hut door and shouted, "He is awake! The Lord is awake."

I did not have to wait long before a man I knew rushed through the door. It was Alderman Farrow, an honorable man of Val'Loren, who governed the village of Klibel. Upon approaching me, he bowed, "My lord, we thought you would never wake."

My eyes widened, "What day is it?"

The man looked worried, "It is the fourth day of Irune."

It had been more than a week since the ambush. I looked at Farrow; his face was blanketed with concern. "Alderman, tell me everything."

I was apparently found unconscious but otherwise completely uninjured in a field near the village, which was situated on the slopes of the Tu'Rok Mountains. According to the alderman, my sword, a gift from my father, was even sheathed in its scabbard next to me. As for the Dutchy, the news was harrowing. An army under the banner of House Hur'Jaal had laid siege to Harvest Hall, while another host had beset Reapers Rock.

"What about the other Earls? Any word of Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell?" I asked, worried.

"No news, my lord." The Alderman replied.

"What is the situation at Harvest Hall? My family?" I asked, fearing the answer.

"The lady still holds the castle, my Lord. She is safe behind the draw bridge, and the house guard is with her, but siege engineers have been seen constructing a large wooden structure. It will not be long before there is an assault on the keep." Farrow described the grim situation.

I took everything the Alderman said in and already formulated a plan. Under the circumstances, my mind should be consumed with emotion, worry, and stress. But I felt amazing. My mind was clear and sharp, absorbing details in the surroundings I normally would not even observe: the crowd forming outside, the grunts of oxen, and the web of a spider in the far-left corner of the hut.

I was not sure what, but something had changed in me. I felt in control more than ever before in my life. I was intimately aware of the speed of my heartbeat; in the same instant, I knew I could slow it down or speed it up at will. I could sense every vein in my body, every muscle, and every organ. I could feel the energy of life within my groin, the sparks of thought firing in my brain, and every detail of my clothing touching my skin. With all this information, I was not overwhelmed; I was just aware.

I observed all this while taking in Farrow's news. And even before he mentioned my wife's situation, I already formulated what I would do next.

"Alderman, are you loyal?" I asked bluntly.

The man bowed again, "Yes, my lord!"

"You have thirty-two horses, as I recall?"

The man thought momentarily, "Thirty-one, my lord, the older mare was eaten by a wolf..."

"That is good. I will need a quill and paper. Afterward, organize riders to the other villages furthest from Harvest Hall; two per village is best. I will send with them orders for the Alderman to raise the militia; each able body man and woman capable of swinging a weapon or firing a bow must gather at Able's Watch. From there, we move to break the siege, first at Harvest Hall and then at Reapers Rock. Do you understand?" I ordered.

The man nodded, "Tilly!"

A stout woman came into the hut, "Yes, Alderman?"

"Take the lord to my office; he will need ink, quill, paper, and wax. Provide as much as he needs." Farrow commanded, to which Tilly nodded, "Yes, Alderman Farrow. My Lord, if you would follow me."

I grabbed my sword and headed out. I was greeted by a crowd of onlookers with worried faces. I took but a second to form a response, "People of Klibel, people of Val'Loren. My father is dead." There was the cry of distress, but I quieted them with held hand, "I am Dorian Tor'Riken; as heir to Val'Loren, I am Lord of these lands. My wife, the lady Arla, is at this very moment besieged by the snake that is most likely responsible for my father's death. Will you stand with me to repel this invader? Will you show our enemies what happens to those who threaten our peace?" A loud roar erupted from the crowd.

I nodded, "Good. Every able-bodied man and woman must answer the call and gather what weapons and provisions they have. We have two days' worth of marching to Able's Watch. Alderman Farrow will give you detailed instructions. We leave at first light on the morrow."

The group looked at each other, their will strengthening with direction from a well-loved noble: "Be encouraged, my people; Val'Loren will triumph. These vermin have struck at us like cowards, and like cowards, they will flee before our anger."

The crowd had now doubled in size, cheered loudly.

I turned to the Alderman, "Alderman Farrow, see it done; I want a report by this evening. Have the riders gathered in front of your office by noon!"

The missives to the other Aldermen took time. Still, much faster than I could've managed before--details of each village, reports of provisions, tools, weapons, and the number of hunters, populations, and livestock were all available to me as if I had the lists in front of me now. These were reports I had skimmed over, not even taking the effort to put to memory, but it was there, readily available to me.

My handwriting was neat and quick, providing detailed instructions on the number of men I expected from each village and the provisions required. If the records in my mind were accurate, I could rely on assembling a peasant force of over two thousand mixed spears, five hundred archers, and three hundred horses. Only a fraction, around two hundred, would be trained soldiers.