Mercenaries Prologue

AN: Hello!

This is a new story, detailing the journey of a broken man in the back stages of his life. It's set in the same world as my other story, Marianne at Court.

This is a far darker tale, dealing with themes of trauma and is complete with moodiness and violence. Oh, and sex. Definitely sex. Just a forewarning, in case you are coming from the more romantic Marianne at Court and are looking for something similar - while this story is a romance, of a fashion, it is intended to be much different in tone.

For those of you who like 'Marianne at Court', worry not, I am still writing that story. 'Mercenaries' is outlined as a much shorter tale. Less of a slow romantic burn, and more of an exploration of some darker themes with characters who have already lived long lives. It's something a little different. Hope you enjoy it.

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The bed rocked loudly as he fucked her.

The creaking wood and the girl's breathy moans hummed above the uncaring din of the establishment beneath the floor. Eldon "Witchblood" pistoned into her with primal fervor. His powerful, wide frame was traced with scars over most every muscle, accumulated from over forty years of hardship. Life as a mercenary was hard - especially for Eldon - and that was apparent on his chiseled body.

He was fifty six, but he didn't look it. Glistening slicked silver hair only came just unkempt at his onslaught of her body, wispy grey strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his brow. His muscles bulged and flexed as he held the girl in his hands - powerful digits digging into the skin of her thighs and hips as he lifted her from the bed so he could better impale her on his thick, glistening manhood. A trail of coarse dark hair racing up from his prick gave way to a carved, battle-hardened, chest that would have given him the look of a man fifteen years younger, were it not for the faded color of his hair.

The cream of her juices coated his throbbing, rapidly moving cock. They ran down the length of the shaft, beading down his heaving balls. Their sweat and their essence had begun to soak the bed, but Eldon had scarcely noticed. His pale blue eyes were fixed in a determined, daggering stare: her soft tan skin and the way sweat coated her heavy, swaying breasts. Her hardened and proud brown nipples gesturing to the ceiling as best they could as he rocked her body. Her back arched gorgeously feminine as her face twisted in undeniable pleasure. Eldon knew her name: Ynette. He couldn't, however, recall if he'd had her before. She was pretty, and confident, and took his thrusts far better than he anticipated.

Regardless, the aging mercenary never had any intention to take it easy on the girl. True pleasure came to him so rarely these days, immaterial of how many times he visited this place. His body would move on it's own, driving into women just like Ynette in a foolish pursuit of satisfaction that never quite came.

The girl's moans grew louder as she strained for the iron bars of the headboard, grasping at them haphazardly as his invasion continued. "Oh...oh, fuck!" she moaned, eyes slamming shut as her hips bucked and convulsed as her body racked with release. Her sex milked Eldon's cock but couldn't slow his determined thrusts.

A low growl began to escape his lips. Sweat dripped from his beard. How long had they been at it? He imagined he would end up paying the longer rate, that was for certain. Nevertheless, his orgasm finally began it's approach. That ever-familiar tightening brought his balls to a heaving swell as his strong thrusts sent him over the cliff.

His voice was a low, gravely moan as he unleashed. Rope after rope of his hot seed flooded Ynette's neatly shaved pussy. Eldon's vision failed as lights flashed despite the dim torchlight of the simple bedroom.

Once his filling of her was complete, he let her body slip from his grasp. His wide frame was nearly twice the size of the girl, and he rolled over next to her and closed his eyes. He wheezed slightly as he thought to himself how much harder this seemed to get as he grew older. He wasn't sure if he was bitter or satisfied.

A powerful arm brought his hand to his head and he ran his fingers through his hair as he lay there naked on the bed.

Long moments passed, in silence. All that filled the air was the laughter and loudness of the bar, and the slowing breath of Ynette. Eldon was near to dozing off when she slipped from the bed, sliding on a simple lace red robe, and moving to the nightstand. Her dark hair was messy, and she pushed it out of her brown eyes as her thin fingers dug into his coinpurse. A silver piece came out, which she quickly deposited into her pocket. The longer rate.

Her head hovered over Eldon's. She was undeniably pretty, a woman anyone would be honored to bed - paid or not. But Eldon still felt pangs of regret vibrate through him as she looked down into his eyes, a curious look on her face. She looked as though she was ready to ask him something, but after her soft lips wavered, all she said was: "Thank you."

She kissed him, and made her way gingerly to the door.

Eldon lay there for what seemed like a long time after she left. At one point, the door swung open and hushed, startled laughter billowed into the room. A young woman with her client, from the sound of it. Eldon didn't bother to look toward the door, and when the two of them saw the musclebound, naked mercenary sprawled on the bed, they quickly were on their way to try a different room.

Finally, Eldon got up and stalked across the creaky floorboards. He didn't bother to dress - his softened yet still-thick member swayed slightly with his powerful strides between his wide thighs. He reached down and felt around in his cloak for the letter. Once his fingers met with parchment, he pulled it free and walked over to the simple desk against the wall.

It was old wood, and slanted. It would suffice, as would the flickering candle towering up near the corner of the desk. His arms flexed as they lifted and unrolled the letter. He'd read it several times since he received it at dawn, but his eyes drank in every single word as if they were brand new.

"Eldon, my love

I know it's been five years. I'm sorry for not writing to you sooner - if you're reading this, that means you're still in Sandham. The town crier announced one day that the Braves had taken up service with the militia there. I hope that it's been good work for you, Witchblood.

I'm sorry for not saying goodbye. I wish I had. That place, those people...I knew that they were bad for me, and that I had to leave. But what I realize now is that they were bad for you too. Perhaps not in the same way, but bad nonetheless. And I know that despite everything that happened...for me, you were the very best part of those long years.

And I miss you.

Please come and see me. I'm living in Norhall, in the Bone Coast. It's wonderful here, and I've felt a kind of peace that I've scarcely felt my entire life. I bet it would be good for you too, Eldon.

Yours,

Fira Alfuss"

Eldon put down the letter and stared into the flame. He had carried guilt for many things over the years. Usually about the dead. Fira wasn't dead, but for the past five years, she might as well have been. It wasn't that Eldon had malice for her - quite the contrary. She didn't deserve anything that happened to her when she was with the Braves. And she was with them for a long, long time. When she finally left, it seemed to Eldon like she was going to a better place. Some unearthly paradise that evaded understanding. He had figured the best way for Fira's suffering to end, was for her to die.

It was hard for her, being a woman in a mercenary company. It wasn't unheard of. There were many women warriors - but they were usually wealthy. Fira had highborn blood, he recalled. But her family had met with so much misfortune - she was as poor as the rest of them when they found her. Her youth and beauty made her a common pursuit among the men of Beckett's Braves. At one point or another, most of them had spent nights with her. She had never said no...but Eldon wondered how often she'd really said yes.

Memories of the times he'd been on top of her were equal parts sweet and painful. Her gentle touch and soft moans. The way her breasts would heave at his thrusts. The warm kisses they laid upon each other. He was never sure if she slept with him because she felt she had to - like every other man who came to her tent. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Eldon got up and put his clothes on. He wore a simple roughen brown shirt and black riding pants. His things were quickly packed up - he didn't have much more than a small pack with him - and he made his way down into the bar.

Anselm was in the corner drinking when Eldon found him. The pocked man with the wild brown hair looked more like a bandit than a mercenary. Oftentimes, he acted more like one as well.

"Ah, Witchblood. Come, sit. Listen, has that girl always been here? The one with the lips." he gestured his frothing mug towards a girl in a green gown, held tightly by a tipsy bargoer. Her name was Jeneane.

"Yes." Eldon said gruffly. "She has. Been here at least a year."

"Well I'll be. Why havent' I had her, yet?"

"I don't know, Anselm." Eldon said. A barmaid glided past and deposited an ale in front of him. Anselm was the closest thing Eldon had to a friend in Sandham, but he could scarcely stand him most of the time. He was a whoring, brutal, fellow. Only a feeling of deep hypocrisy kept Eldon from knocking him around, usually. But that was eroding.

The fellows nearest Jeneane began to shout. At each other, from the looks of it. Then came the shoving, the flailing spray of beer...then the fighting. Fists flew, and Anselm jumped his table before adding himself to the fray - on whose side, Eldon couldn't tell - or bring himself to care.

Heaving his pack over his shoulder, Eldon moved to the exit. It was an ocean of violence around him. Beer drenched wenches and thoroughly sauced patrons grappled and kicked and fought. But none could get in Eldon's way. He was too strong and too big to be impaired by drunken fools, and within moments he was stalking outside of the nameless tavern, making his way to his horse.

"C'mon, Moira. Let's go. She awaits us." he said to the jet--black animal, leading her from the adjoining stable and into the street. He clambered onto her after tying up his things. With a kick, they were trotting out into the night, and down the road. They were leaving Sandham behind.

Eldon was pleased to do it. He'd decided he was going to see Fira after all. He wasn't sure she was right about what she said - that this village of hers would be good for her. He suspected not. He suspected he'd not be able to stand being around her too long, and that he'd be engulfed by guilt and shame every minute he spent with her.

But...

Something pushed him onward. Curiosity? Love? Did he want to make amends, somehow? He wasn't sure. But ever since he got that letter, it was the only thing he could think about. Her.

He had to see her, after all.