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If unfamiliar, be aware, these are a little... grim.", "count": "8", "submission_left_submission_id": "3362838", "submission_left_file_name": "5104434_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_5.rtf", "submission_left_thumbnail_url_huge": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/5104/5104434_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_5.jpg", "submission_left_thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/5104/5104434_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_5.jpg", "submission_left_thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5104/5104434_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_5.jpg", "submission_left_thumb_huge_x": "300", "submission_left_thumb_huge_y": "300", "submission_left_thumb_large_x": "200", "submission_left_thumb_large_y": "200", "submission_left_thumb_medium_x": "120", "submission_left_thumb_medium_y": "120", "submission_right_submission_id": "3392736", "submission_right_file_name": "5155603_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_7.rtf", "submission_right_thumbnail_url_huge": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/5155/5155603_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_7.jpg", "submission_right_thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/5155/5155603_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_7.jpg", "submission_right_thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5155/5155603_GuiltyDen_making_heirs_part_7.jpg", "submission_right_thumb_huge_x": "300", "submission_right_thumb_huge_y": "300", "submission_right_thumb_large_x": "200", "submission_right_thumb_large_y": "200", "submission_right_thumb_medium_x": "120", "submission_right_thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "description": "Here it is. The most melodramatic part, but pivotal to what will transpire.\n\nI actually really enjoy this part for its imagery, and return to it every so often. I'd have finished rewriting it sooner, but, well, life happens doesn't it. And it's an emotionally draining one with its action element.\n\nI think of this one being the counterpart of part five, as in that one we got to see more of what Luna wants, how she hoped their relationship would be. Whereas here we have how Linden perceives it, how his mother's \"Jests\" and her view of him were more damaging than just simple scorn or inattentiveness had been.\n\nThe majority of the rewrites were to loop in elements that came later, but also clean out a lot of redundancy. I feel that too streamlined writing is lacking, but also I have far too much back and forth. This is meant to be more like a novel, not a stage play.\n\nOh, and as a side note, fetal alcohol syndrome is not a joke, but we didn't really learn that until shockingly recently. So, while a terrible idea by our modern standards, this one can't really be added to the \"Luna is a bad person\" tally, she's just an alcoholic.\n\nAs always I hope those of you who follow this story enjoy. I'll be trying to make a new one-shot before I edit the next part (also, part seven is a mess, it's going to take a while). Feedback appreciated, critique included, and if anyone feels I have earned it, I have a [url=http://ko-fi.com/guiltyworkshop]Ko-fi available[/url].", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Here it is. The most melodramatic part, but pivotal to what will transpire.

I actually really enjoy this part for its imagery, and return to it every so often. I'd have finished rewriting it sooner, but, well, life happens doesn't it. And it's an emotionally draining one with its action element.

I think of this one being the counterpart of part five, as in that one we got to see more of what Luna wants, how she hoped their relationship would be. Whereas here we have how Linden perceives it, how his mother's "Jests" and her view of him were more damaging than just simple scorn or inattentiveness had been.

The majority of the rewrites were to loop in elements that came later, but also clean out a lot of redundancy. I feel that too streamlined writing is lacking, but also I have far too much back and forth. This is meant to be more like a novel, not a stage play.

Oh, and as a side note, fetal alcohol syndrome is not a joke, but we didn't really learn that until shockingly recently. So, while a terrible idea by our modern standards, this one can't really be added to the "Luna is a bad person" tally, she's just an alcoholic.

As always I hope those of you who follow this story enjoy. I'll be trying to make a new one-shot before I edit the next part (also, part seven is a mess, it's going to take a while). Feedback appreciated, critique included, and if anyone feels I have earned it, I have a Ko-fi available.", "writing": "Linden sat on the balcony, watching the snow. It was a heavy fall, thick and soft, covering the ground in an inviting, deadly, blanket. He sighed, resting his head on his knees, feeling the cold through the fabric of his tunic. He pulled his cloak tighter, wishing he had a heavier one. But as a slave, he had only what was given. And what he could take.\n\nQueen Luna, Bitch queen of Rusgard, his owner, his mother, had been good to her promise, and yet so cruel in its fulfilment. Her reward to him for putting an heir in her womb, had been a set of fine new clothes, a full panoply spun from the exotic bolts of cloth her warriors and coastal raiders had brought home. And truly, what she had had made was of fine quality, too fine.\n\nThe gaudy garments were so thin spun that he felt the wind tease every lick of warmth from him. In rich red, and ochre, and silver, he was as impractical an ornament as any looted banner upon Luna’s walls. But that was not the worst. No, the worst, was the embroidery. Upon each shoulder, each thigh, his heart, back, the diaphanous cloak, and even the wretched cod-piece, was a name.\nLuna Helti.\n\nJust as she’d branded his flesh, now all he wore was hers, and she wished him to know that. Though she said it was so others would understand he could be looked at, but not touched. Linden knew better, he knew how her cruel humour worked. But as a thrall, he only had what he was given.\n\nAnd what he could take.\n\n He held something he shouldn't and the nature of it chilled him more than the snow.\n\nIt was simple, crude even, yet so pure in purpose that ornament would have diluted its meaning. That purpose was what had him sitting there in the cold, considering his possession of it despite the suffering he underwent. He shivered, rubbing his arms, pulling his cloak tighter, looking again at his stolen prize, wondering why he had taken it and what he would do with it.\n\n\"You look cold,\" came a voice from the darkness, \"why don't you come in?\"\n\nHe jumped, shoving the gleaming metal into a puffed and gaudy sleeve, looking up, seeing the shape of the queen sitting on her bed.\n\n\"I... I'm fine, your ladyship. I was just thinking.\"\n\n\"Thinking, eh?\" She chuckled, never taking a no as anything less than an invitation, climbing free of the furs to stalk towards him in the night. \"Come on, let's get you warm.\"\n\nThere was no refusal of a direct instruction, or a whim of hers. So Linden relinquished his perch on the old stone, and clambered back into the comparative warmth while the slat doors shut and battled the early winter winds.\n\n\"You know,\" she said, stoking the cooling fire with a twisted poker, looking back at him with that single gleaming eye, \"I'm surprised you're still here.\"\n\nHe blinked, looking up at her, ears flat. \"I... what do you mean?\"\n\nShe smiled, leaning against the wall, paws on hips, no care paid to her nakedness despite the heavy chill.\n\n\"Well, I'm surprised you're still alive. Every winter since you were born, I was sure it would be your last. So many nights I was sure you'd be dead by morning, that I'd find your body frozen as ice in your cot. I remember you'd get sick, real sick, so sick I'd think that that was it. But you always survived, no matter how close you got. Whole castle thought the same.\"\n\nLinden swallowed at the talk of his own death, looking down to keep his eyes off her. To keep any rebuke from his thoughts. Instead he spoke truthfully on such matters, as was his default, and sometimes his curse.\n\n\"I had good nurses, your majesty, and... a carer once.\"\n\nHe didn't name him, didn't dare speak such a word as Father, knowing how angry the memory of that figure made her. He kept his brow lowered, waiting on her as she stoked the flames.\n\n\"A carer, eh?” A dry chuckle broke her lips. “That old northerner, you mean? Well, I suppose I can't blame him for being too gentle with you. Daft fool died of cold before you did.\"\n\nIt took a heartbeat to recognise that she spoke of his one and only teacher, an old cripple who’d kept the castle's lore and books. He was as much dust to Linden's memory as he was to history now, and after his passing the small sum of knowledge he'd protected had been given to the chaplain, and she had no interest in letting a male, let alone a runt, study it. But still, it appeared she remembered, or was willing to remember, the old ghost of a wolf more than the man that had shaped both their lives.\n\n\"He was kind,\" Linden seized upon that misunderstanding, \"and patient.\"\n\n\"Well, that's all you need, isn't it? Kindness and patience. Not for me, but then that's why we've got slaves isn't it.\" She put the poker back in its stand, turning to him, leaning on the mantle. \"So, boy, what are you thinking about that needs night's chill to bring it on?\"\n\nHe looked up at her, feeling his stomach churn. \"It's... it's nothing, your majesty. I was just thinking about... tomorrow's work.\"\n\nLuna Helti laughed a dirty and evil little laugh. She stalked over to him, eclipsing him in shadow with the fire to her back, in a room painted red and blue by angry flame and moonless night. \"You know you're a bad liar, boy. You ain’t got the guts for it. So, you decided what you're going to do with it?\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\" He asked, trying to keep his voice even despite the flinch that took him.\n\nThe cyclops was done with games, but laughed all the same, grabbing his muzzle in her paw, pulling his face up to look at her. \"You know exactly what I'm talking about, boy. You're as lousy a thief as you're a liar. Why do you think I'm still awake? Been waiting to see if you had the guts. Come on, take it out now, let me see it.\"\n\nThe dead wolf froze, heart hammering in his chest in defiance of his obvious demise. He felt dizzy and nauseous, circling a whirlpool as his amateur deception was laid plane at his paws. When she released his chin the world spun for a moment, nearly taking him to the floor. With all the fatalism of a death cultist, Linden reached into his sleeve, pulling out the dagger.\n\nThe blade was long, sharp, blackened from cooking fires but still easily able to puncture hide, meat, a body. It was a plain thing, well used, simple, just the kind of knife that a diner would use to skewer their food, or an assassin would use to puncture the chest. A weapon of no special value, save that he had it.\n\nHe held it up, trembling, holding it by the pommel, not quite daring to grip it firmly, or turn the point near her.\n\n\"You... you're a... a monster!\" He said, eyes narrowing with hot tears. \"You... you let me take this... knowing... knowing I would...\"\n\n\"That you'd what, boy?\" Said monster asked, following perfectly with one eye while his two watered and broke. \"Are you going to kill me? Follow your father's steps into hell and try to take my other eye?\"\n\nQuick as a flash, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm, forcing the blade down to graze and scrape her belly. A gasp left her lips, as they both felt the puncture, the grind of razor edge on flesh. And all at once, Linden let go, a gasp of his own breaking free. Only hers ended so much quicker.\n\n\"Didn't think so,\" she tossed him back, the ruse finished, picking up the blackened steel and flipping it over in her hand a few times. \"What would you have done, I wonder? Slit my throat like your father tried to do, or slit your own like what I told you I'd do if you failed? A warrior in the end, even when it was your pup’s mother you looked to murder.\"\n\nShe tossed the knife back to him, and he caught it with a fumbling paw.\n\n\"You don't even know what you want to do with it, do you?\" She spoke plain, knowing a faltering fighter from her decades of experience. \"You're just a silly little boy with a toy he doesn't know how to use. No balls to do what you want, to even try and die with some fucking dignity\"\n\n\"I…\" Linden felt a fire burn, felt the boiling in his gut, teeth grit, gums aching. The roaring conflagration of emotions assailed his fear, drowned his mind, fed him so many fantasies of what that simple spit of steel could do. All he needed was to grasp it, steady it, listen to the anger and then...\n\nThen he stopped. He dropped to his knees, the metal clattering on the floor boards. He was blind with tears again, but not with the rage that she’d goaded within him.\n\n\"You... you're trying to... you're trying to make me do it... to make me try, and lose, so you can kill me... or hurt me…\" he sobbed, shaking violently with his head in his paws. \"You're so cruel... you don't even care that... that I... that I hate you!\"\n\n\"I know, boy, I know,\" she knelt before him, a hand between his ears, \"you're right, I'm a terrible bitch. I don't care how much you hate me, boy, I know you're mine. You'll never run from me, or escape me, or do anything to harm me. I gave you a perfect opportunity, could have stuck me as I slept, or just now when I even put it to my gut. But you didn't take it. You're mine, boy, you’ve got no stomach to be anyone else's.”\n\n\"One day... one day... I'll... I'll be... free of you...\" he tried to spit defiance, even as his face transformed into a waterfall of misery, voice choked and dying in the icy reality.\n\nBut the titan simply sighed, knowing that flame was snuffed. Luna sat cross legged, dragging him against any autonomy he dared pretend, to sit on her thighs so she might better elaborate her truth.\n\n\"If you try to do that, boy, I swear I'll make your death so much worse than the alternative. You live tonight, because you couldn't do it, and you never will. You’re too weak and soft, too pathetic. You know what’ll happen if you try, and you’re not stupid enough to dare.” She stood with him, forced to stoop so she might continue her cruel mockery of consoling him. She stroked his ears, his neck, his back, then reached up to the mantle, grabbing the jug of wine left there to warm. She popped the cork, took a long pull from it, then handed it to him.\n\n\"Here,\" she said, pushing the vessel into his paws, her honest, mocking charity. \"It'll help calm your nerves.\"\n\nThe broken thing didn’t hesitate, drinking it down in one go, wincing at the taste. Acid poison laced his innards with painful burns, but he tipped the last of the stinging stuff down, hoping for oblivion, or the insanity and surety of the drunk. The latter he knew would come soon enough, and it was the only thing that could break him from this place of misery his mind lived in.\n\n\"Come on,\" she tossed the small vessel onto the flames, shattering it in a sputter of sparks and hissing wine, \"come to bed, your bitch wants you, it’s where you belong.\"\n\nSpirit broken like the jar, he obeyed her commands to follow, to strip, to sit with her, all with the same silence and expression of resignation, all while she watched. Her eye wandered over his body, noting again how his muscles had tightened from months of toil. He was a pathetic runt, but he was growing up.\n\n\"There you go,\" she tried her hand at a seductive tone, pulling him under the thick furs and tucking him in against her bulk. \"Isn't this better? No need to snap at each other now, you can just curl up in my arms. Maybe stick your head in my tits a while.”\n\nHe didn't reply, didn't say anything, even in the face of her advances. He didn't push her away, but he didn't respond either. Her coaxing, petting, supposedly loving touch, failed to melt the ice of his refusal.\n\n\"Come on, don't sulk. It's getting boring, and I don't like seeing you like that. I told you, you're my mate, my lover, you're special to me. I'm going to have a baby, Linden, a daughter. So feel proud already, you've done well for yourself.\"\n\nHe didn't reply, so she pulled his face to hers, kissing him. He struggled, but only for a moment, then he just lay there, eyes closed, letting her do as she wished. She bit his lip, forcing her tongue into his muzzle, licking at the roof of his mouth and after that first fight, he simply submitted, no struggle or conquest to be had.\n\nAnd that was worse for the warrior queen, than any degree of screaming.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" She said, pulling away from him. \"Not interested? You know I hate it when you sulk, I’m tired of it, boy. It’s dull and pointless.\"\n\nHe didn't reply, closing his eyes, waiting for her to take her fill of him and fall asleep.\n\n\"Fine, be a miserable dog. You don't want to share my bed then get on the floor,\" she cursed, rolling over and turning her back to him.\n\nHe blinked, looking at her, then climbed off the bed with no argument, before making his stand and walking back to the fireplace to curl up away from her. He wrapped his tail around his waist, his ears flat, no words needed in that moment.\n\n\"Really, boy?\" Disbelief drove her upright. \"I'm your mother, your lover, your mate, your queen. And you chose the fucking floor? What's the matter, not happy with me yet? You think you can do better!?\"\n\nHe starred at the embers as they smouldered and sparked, feeling a kinship with the tiny flames. He was too tired to deal with her, too drunk to care. He just wanted to sleep, to escape her in dream.\n\n\"Well fuck you then! Miserable, useless, runt! Should have left you in the snow!\" She spat, and tossed on the bed till she'd filled the vacancy with furs. The night was home to muttered cursing for a while till falling silent.\n\nSoon it wasn't fear, or anger, or lust that ruled in the bedchambers of queen Helti, but misery.\n\n***\nWinter howled, a keening note of hate, scouring any who dared brave it. Every home was an island, drowning in a sea of white, small shelters of defiance within which each wolf snarled their own refusal at the land that cursed them so. Atop the archipelago of stones and timbers, the mightiest howls of defiance battled that remorseless tide. The halls of Helti, deep in the den of earth, beneath the mountain of iron and stone, were a riot of noise, of feasting, drinking, and the insistence of life even in such a dreadful place.\n\nLinden walked between two long trestles, tray in paw, head down, a dot of red and gold in a buoyant crowd of Rusgard’s best and greatest. It was the custom, the high feast of winter, the casting back of the cold with food, family, and roaring fires. He served with the army of thralls and servants, ferrying dish after dish, and jug after jug, the most colourful of the servitors, reserved for only one, the highest bitch in all the land.\nOr at least, that had been the intent of his costume.\n\n\"Hey, boy,\" one of the denizens of the great orgy snatched at him, her speech a slur, her face a scowl. The she-wolf was young, and by her pelt of red, not a heartland wolf, or of old blood. She and her retinue wore the looser woven dress, in it’s mismatched and garish patterns, of the Hasgran coast. Sea raiders, and mixed bred dogs, every one of them. A refusal was never an option, not with a bitch so deep in her cups, and somehow clutching his promised defence of his mother’s name, like a holy ward against evil, did little to dissuade the entitled bitch’s interest.\n\n\"I think I remember you, the royal runt. So, you're the queen's pet now, eh?\" She said, dragging him into the cloud of her breath. \"I bet you get lots of attention from her. Do you know what we do to boys like you on the coast?\"\n\nHe kept his eyes down, tail between his legs, he pulled the useless half cloak on his shoulder a little further into view, but if she cared that he was the property of the queen she didn't show it. How he'd moaned that this kept happening, and how his mother had swatted it off and told him no one would mess with her property. No-one cared, and as soon as the queen was deep in her cups, or lost in past glories with her warriors, she couldn't spare a glance his way unless it was to order more wine for her thirst.\n\n\"We cut off their balls, boy, and fly ‘em from the rigging for luck. I don't think you'd like that much, do you?\" Her grip took the ridiculous codpiece, as her bootlicks howled their laughter. \"You know, boy, you're a cute little thing. I bet you'd look nice with a few new holes. What do you say?\"\n\nHe pushed her hand away, and she growled her defiance of his will, pulling him closer, her breath hot on his neck, her paw delving behind the stuffed facsimile to grope and menace the real meat within. \"Come on, boy, be a good slut and let me have a feel. Don't worry, I won't take your manhood, I'll leave that for the sail makers.\"\n\n\"I... I'm not, for you!\" He yelled, trying to push her off, \"I'm the queen's mate, I'm not some whore!\" Such protests were less than the impotent wind, battering the stone, serving only to fan the boisterous merriment of the drunken reaver. She forced his tail aside, pulling his leggings down, while he screamed and kicked. Red and gold flew, as she unwrapped her stolen plunder, and thrust him down upon the bench to the laughter of the dinners\n\n\"What's the matter, boy? Not used to being fucked like this? Come on, be a good slut, let me have a look at that arse.\" The last garment, the failure of a cloak, fluttered to the floor, leaving him mostly bare, plucked upon the table. \"Look at that people! Someone's put their name on it! What say we add some more?\"\n\nThe drunken revellers set about carving him with claws and drizzling him with sauces, adding him to the courses they were devouring. And by the time word of this cruel game reached any guard not drunk, or the high table itself, he had already been reduced to nothing but fur and what cloth he could reclaim from the filth they left him lying in. Naked, shivering, humiliated the lady of Hasgran was laughing in drunken confidence, knowing him to be a whore, a toy, an animal, and that he deserved everything they'd done to him and more beside. That it was what he was for. All Linden could do was crawl away, clutching that useless cloak about him, the only piece of cloth that was somehow whole, stealing a moment of calm on the stone floor, while the cooks ignored his troubles. He didn't blame them, he'd never been a favourite with the servants, and the other thralls saw him as someone only playing at the misery of their life, as if his suffering did not count.\n\nEncroaching footsteps, heavy and plated, made him flinch, expecting to see one of the ladies coming to finish what they'd started. Instead he saw a tall dog, wearing the armour of a captain of the guard.\n\n\"She wants you,\" the looming bitch barked, her tone flat and soldierly.\n\n“I'm naked.\" The point was true, standing to demonstrate as small moat of rubbish fell from his fur. From meats and cheese to wine flecks and blood, he was a mess again in nothing but a useless half-cloak. The implication should have been obvious, but not to a guard with orders and a soul that had crawled away and died years ago.\n\n\"She didn't say she wanted you clothed, now move.\"\n\nNo argument to be had, he was ejected back into the melee of the feast. He could feel the eyes on him, the laughter, the jests as he tried to cover his person, but it was little use, and he knew it. The blood pounded in his cheeks and ears. He wanted to curl up, to hide as he was marched through the crowd, towards the high table where his mother was seated, surrounded by her captains and earls, publicly humiliated yet again by her, yes her, for these were her people and she had ignored all his warnings. He kept his head down, not wanting to see her, not wanting to see the rest of the room.\n\n\"Linden,\" she said, beckoning him over. \"Come here.\"\n\nHe hesitated, and the captain growled, shoving him as he stumbled, fell, then got up, walking to her.\n\n\"Yes, your majesty?\" He asked, voice flat and defeated.\n\nThe great she-wolf reached out, grabbing his chin, forcing his eyes up. Her cyclopean gaze burned with jealous anger, drunken wrath, and perhaps a flick of something more.\n\n\"Tell me which bitch ruined my gifts to you, and I will make example of them. No-one takes what is mine.\"\n\nDid he have brief hope in that moment? A feeling of vindication that his faltering faith in her symbol had held? Perhaps not, but he knew an instruction, and he didn’t hesitate to name the guilty.\n\n“The lady of Hasgran, and her party, they didn’t believe me, when I said… I was yours.”\n\nShe nodded, too far gone herself to hear the bitterness of his admittance. Luna Helti, Bitch queen of Rusgard, snapped her fingers at her loyal captain, a gleam of blood-thirst in her burning eye.\n\n\"Go fetch the bitch, and bring her here.\"\n\nThe captain nodded, then marched away, barking orders to other guards, while Lady Helskath began urgently whispering in the queen’s ear. Pleas and entreatments to consider the timing of any display of displeasure, and the nature of who she voiced them on. However the white wolf’s vengeful streak had awoken, and her target would not be spared, she gave only the vaguest promises to her Steward. Not before long, thinking themselves well to do and in good company, the band of salted hounds and their lady stumbled drunkenly towards the high table. Some saw him there and grinned wider, those wiser did otherwise.\n\n\"Ah, your majesty,\" the lady said, bowing. \"I was hoping to speak to you again. We were speaking earlier, and I was wondering-\"\n\n\"You were playing with my thrall, ruined his clothes,\" her growing rumble cut off the vapid issuance, \"and you will answer for it.\"\n\nThe red wolf blinked her confusion, bluster rising quick as her sails. \"He was asking for it, your majesty. He was being insolent, disrespectful. I just made sure he understood his place.\"\n\nThe mountain of muscle rose, and threatened avalanches, towering over the guest as she did all save the tallest of the earls, but even they seemed small beside her. She leaned down, growling, eye narrowing. \"You dare?\" She asked, voice low and dangerous. \"You dare to touch my property? You dare to lay paws on what is mine? You dare rob from me? While in my hall, under my protection?\"\n\nThe lady from the coast swallowed, backing away, eyes wide, tail between her legs, the animal instinct to live driving fear through her skull. \"My apologies, your majesty,\" she bowed low to bear her neck, \"I mistook your hospitality, I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It won't happen again.\"\n\nThe queen snorted, looking at the crowd, expecting blood. Then her Steward, begging with vocal eyes, then back at the cowering courtier. \"You're drunk,\" she said, \"and you're a disgrace to your house. I don't care if you say it won't happen again, I'll make sure it doesn't, and that you never see my hospitality again. Guards, take this bitch away and let her sleep it off. I'll see to her when I've recovered from my wine.\"\n\nThe guards moved forward, grabbing the spluttering bitch, pulling her away, making a small wave in the festivities as the party accompanying her followed in uncertainty. All this gained the attention of the remaining feasters, an opportunity Luna Helti was not going to pass.\n\n\"You all know I share my spoils!\" She bellowed, \"and I have done so, you feast on southern meat, drink southern wine, and each have had your choice of southern slaves. But this one...\" her heavy paw grabbed the naked boy, forcing him to be even more a spectacle for all to see \"... is mine! Marked with my name! You wouldn't steal my bed warmer would you? Then leave my royal cunt licker be! Speaking of…\"\n\nThe nightmare not ending, Linden was shoved to his knees to the sound of unclasped buckles, and soon a white mound was before him.\n\n\"Make free with any others you see here, my fine wolves, but this slut is mine!\"\n\nHer proclamation rang in his ears, as her protection took its terrible price. He felt her hands on his head, guiding him forwards, and he opened his muzzle, no alternative left but to please as he’d been ordered, and pray she was sober enough to remember his service.\n\nThe queen of wolves sighed, relaxing back in her chair, letting him work. He'd been doing this for months, now, and he was skilled enough at it to make her orgasm without any help or guidance. Still she liked to hold him, push him to her whims, touch what was hers. His tongue ran over her slit, digging through thick tufts to lap and pleasure her, dousing him in her scent as she held nothing back. All about the great hall people indulged in their thirsts, and every thrall and servant there spared a filthy look to the boy they considered responsible for starting it. But he couldn't see, his eyes were burning in fury as he was ground deeper into the queen's pelvis, all while she drank, and joked, and accepted compliments on how well trained her fuck-toy had turned out to be.\n\n\"What do you think of him?\" She asked one of her generals, leaning back, looking at the boy on his knees.\n\n\"He's not bad, your majesty. He's certainly skilled with a tongue. But is his dick any good?\"\n\nShe laughed, possessively pressing her plaything even deeper, holding him firmly in place as he struggled to breathe between her clamping thighs. \"It gets the job done, and it's all mine,\" she demonstrated with a mighty slap to the swell in her gut, ripe and visible now they were deep in winter. “You should get your own, why bother with a husband when a good tongue-slut is all you need!\"\n\nThey laughed, exchanging jokes, all while Luna rubbing herself against his muzzle till she had soaked and marked him thoroughly. He made a plea with a paw to be allowed air, but she held him there, forcing him to press on, and serve her more, as she finished her meal. When she'd had enough, she pushed him away, and he collapsed on the floor, looking up at her, eyes full of fury, and jaw running with strings of fluids.\n\n\"Now,\" she said, wiping her sodden cleft with a cloth, \"go clean yourself, and bring me another cup of wine. And remember, you're mine, you belong to me. No-one takes what is mine.\"\n\nHe got up, then left the hall, head down, tail between his legs. He didn't dare speak to her, he knew better than that. She watched him go, then turned back to her guests, resuming her conversation, blind to what it was she had stoked in him that night.\n\nLinden stalked through the castle like a hunted beast, feeling the cold stone on his paws as ice compared to the fire inside. The torches and lamps cast a warm glow within the halls and bedchambers, but here in the corridors it was cold and empty. He reached the bathing chamber and, seeing no-one, took his chance and claimed a private tub to cleanse himself of the physical evidence of his shaming. He scrubbed at his fur, attempting to flense himself of everything that had occurred. The supposed protection of the queen, his so-called lover, the humiliation it brought, while those who hurt him simply missed a meal, it galled him, and the water seemed to steam. There were no pleasures left to him in this castle, no friend to which he could turn. Even Wella could only do so much to salve him, burdened with work as she was, and bound to not be seen with him whenever comment might be made. And that poisoned cloud veiled his rational mind, as he wrapped himself in the awful cloak before climbing the stairs to her chambers and sitting by the fire.\n\nThe dirtied fabric, so proudly bearing her name, was too thin to warm him and he cast it off. But when it landed by the hearth a splutter of sparks, kicked up by the breeze, marked the dark flax with smoking holes. Not bothering to attempt to save the well ruined rag, he found a devil's thoughts in him, taking him to lift the cloak up and toss it on the flames. He watched her runes burn, and felt a vengeful happiness in doing so, one he wished to feed. Soon every one of the clothes she'd given him were on the blaze, smoking up the room as the chimney struggled to cope.\n\nThe fire roared, and he stood, naked and triumphant, looking down as all her works were reduced to ash, feeling a sense of freedom long forgotten. He did this, he had set her name aflame, and it felt good. She'd given him this life, and he'd done nothing to deserve it. He deserved to be free of her, to be away from her, to be able to choose his own fate.\n\nBut by the curling of his hackles, he knew he was not alone. He saw the shadows thick and swirling with life, the flickering light, the animate billow of curtains and drapes. No-one would have heard the noise of his destruction, and no-one would have thought twice about the smell of smoke. He was alone with the fire, and the only witness was a figure who stood by the doorway, watching him.\n\n\"You!\" He hissed, stepping back, heart hammering, as the figure stepped forwards, their solidity driving off the etherial ghosts of his imaginings.\n\n\"Those were fine clothes, boy, a gift. A little respect wouldn't go amiss.\"\n\nHe glared at the owner of the name, backing up till he felt the heat singe his fur, ears flattening, tail between his legs.\n\n\"L... li... like you respected your promise?\" He spat back, feeling the hate burn hotter still, \"You swore to be fair and kind! That you'd only punish me if I did wrong! What wrong did I do that deserved being humiliated in front of the whole country!?\"\n\n\"What was that?\" She questioned, walking towards him, and he did not know if it was due to her refusal to hear, or the wine clouding her mind, but still he flinched. Yet the fire would not let him yield his ground, filling his glare with a mad light.\n\n\"It's not enough that you use me, that you hurt me, that you make me your toy and took everything from me, you can't even keep a promise to me! You're a disgusting, evil, spiteful, lying, WHORE!\" He was screaming, eyes streaming, teeth bared. He burned, seared and shrouded in the smoke, the flames behind him roaring as if in echo of his voice as he boiled in his skin.\n\nFor a brief moment, the fury in his eyes, the hatred on his muzzle, halted the avalanche. She had to admit to herself a grain of pride in the boy, and a flutter in her chest at seeing the blue sky of his eyes turn red. But still, she was Queen, and he had no right to defy her, or stand in her way.\n\n\"How dare you boy!\" She roared, stepping towards him, raising a paw. \"I'm your mother, you belong to me, and I'll not be spoken to like that! Do you hear me!?\"\n\nHe remained firm, glaring at her, even after she struck him with the back of a paw. He stumbled, ears ringing, but he didn't go down, animated by a roaring furnace that had taken root in his heart. \"You're a liar! A monster! An unlovable whore who RAPES HER CHILD!\"\n\nHe screamed, launching himself at her, trying to scratch her, bite her, do anything to hurt her. But the bitch queen grabbed him, lifting him off the ground, tossing him across the room where he landed hard, head hitting the floor, sending sparks dancing before his eyes.\n\n\"Ungrateful brat!\" She advanced on him, \"You're my property, my thrall, my mate, and you'll never speak to me like that again!\"\n\nHe struggled, getting to his knees, then standing, backing away, jaw filled with the taste of blood, knowing he could have no victory in fighing. He saw an open door, and made for it, hoping to get away, to escape her.\n\n\"Stop, boy, or I'll...\"\n\nBut he was away, and taking flight. Behind him, the open door to the balcony swung, then it was above him and he was falling, falling, free, free. Giddy madness and liberation whipped through him as wind tore tears from him for those brief seconds. He saw the oncoming ground and felt a final spike of fear, but it was brief and gone.\n\nThwump.\n\nCold.\n\nBlackness.\n\nSilence.\n\nBut not, an end of pain.\n\n***\n\nAn hour had passed. They'd dug him out of the snow, barely scathed but freezing in the deep drift. In a frenzy Luna Helti had rushed through the castle gathering guards and onlookers, only to find the chill grip on her heart ease when his survival was discovered. Now she had him, the doors of the chamber locked, even those that never were before. He sat in front of the blackened hearth, a mug of spiced wine forced into his hands, and she paced, considering the insanity that had overcome them both.\n\n\"Why?\" She asked, looming over him, dominating the room by mass alone. \"Why did you do that? You could have died!\" When that failed to raise his gaze from the floor, she stepped closer still, voice raised in warning anger, \"Linden, look at me!\"\n\nWhen he did as asked, they could both still feel the fire in his eyes, cooled by his plummet, but still refusing to vacate his exhausted form.\n\n\"Why? Why would you do that?\"\n\n\"Because I hate you,\" he said it plain, \"because I hate everything you've done to me, and everything you've made me do. Because I wish I could be free of you.\"\n\nShe snorted, sitting down on the bed across from him.\n\n\"You're dead without me, boy. I gave you everything, life, clothes, food, purpose. If you'd been born to some peasant somewhere they'd have tossed you in the snow to die. All I want from you in return is obedience, respect, and a warm body when I ask for it. That's not so bad.\"\n\n\"I thought you said I was your lover and mate, but those were just more lies weren't they. I'm nothing more than a toy for you to use whenever you feel like it. It doesn't matter if I try or not, you just treat me like dirt because you enjoy being cruel. I'm tired of it, and I've had enough.\"\n\nShe glared at him, then looked away, growling. \"You think I want this? You think I wanted to take you? I need heirs, Linden, and I chose you to do that. If I'd married someone then you'd be dead in the snow, they'd-\"\n\n\"I don't care!\" His reedy cry interrupted her, throwing the mug and its contents into the fire, filling the room with the hiss of burning wine and the flickering shadows of a dying flame. His voice was broken with tears but it came heavy with truth, \"You keep saying that, like you saved me by doing all this. You could have done anything else, mother, you could have sent me away, or had me married off, or just forgotten about me! You did this because you wanted to, because you knew that if you had a husband, that he'd try to kill you like father did. And you know what mother? You'd deserve it.\"\n\nShe snarled, rising to her feet once more, seeking to cowl him back into submission, break him like she knew he would. He'd never been brave, but this time he did not cower, and she realised he had run out of fear, all that was left were embers and ashes.\n\n\"I'm your mother, boy, and you will respect me. If you don't I'll-\"\n\n\"What?\" He asked, fixing her with a look of serene, pure, contempt. \"Hit me? Burn me? Drag me in front of everyone naked to humiliate? Take away everything I like? Take my life?\"\n\nHe rose, swaying, and put a hand on the mantel, looking down at the dying flames. \"You already did all that, and you did it for fun. So why should I do anything for you anymore? Why should I try and live with you when you don't care about me at all? What's the point?\" He turned his back, when his hand came down, it held the dagger. She'd left it there as a reminder, saying she could always trust him to never use it.\n\nShe licked her lips, knowing there was no way he could best her in a fight. She’d win, prove her strength, her dominance, and this would be settled. \"Finally found the guts to do it then? Come on, Linden, see how that goes for you! See what-\"\n\n\"Here,\" he turned, holding it by the blade, point on his chest, hilt waiting for her hand. \"You want to kill me, just do it quick please. I'm tired, and I'd like to see father again.\"\n\nFor a long time, she could only look at those eyes, blue, but burning like the sunset. Then she saw the blade, and looked back at what she’d made. \"... You... you're too weak to fight me, is that it boy? Not strong enough to-\"\n\n\"You're right, I'm not strong enough to fight you. Why are you too weak to kill me?\"\n\nThe blade was long, and sharp, and it would do the job easily. It would crack his ribs, puncture his heart, pierce a lung, he would die sputtering blood all over his fine white fur.\n\n\"You know, if you wanted me to die, you could have done it before now. I can't fight you. But you couldn't do it, could you? You can't bring yourself to kill me. All the evil you do, but you can't do that. Here, I'll make it easier.\"\n\nThe point moved till it was at his throat, his chin high, both his paws held the blade, a small red line formed as it broke the skin. He swallowed, closing his eyes, ready to be free of this misery.\n\n\"Stop it, Linden, don't be stupid!\" She barked, taking a step back, wanting no part of this but unable to look away from the ghastly scene before her.\n\n\"Why not?\" He asked, voice flat. \"It's all you ever do, take things from me, why shouldn't I help? This is what you want, isn't it mother.\" He felt the sting, the acceptance of the end.\n\n\"Linden, please...\"\n\n\"Just do it, I don't want to live anymore. I've been nothing but a toy for you to play with, to use for your amusement, I'm tired of it. So be the evil queen of the wolves, punish me, and let me sleep.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes, bracing himself for the trip to the afterlife. He could feel the heat of the fire on his fur, the warmth of the blood trickling down his throat. The scent of wine, and the smoke from burning clothes, hung in the air and filled his nostrils. Her footsteps came, the soft pads on the floor, the rustle of her cloak. He felt her fingers on his, pulling the blade away as inexorable as gravity.\n\n\"Why?\" He asked, letting go of the dagger, letting her take it.\n\nThe breaking mother looked at the bead of red on its tip, then sent it skittering across the floor in a rejection, sitting on the bed across from him, more drained than any battle. \"I... I can't do it,\" she said, looking at him, tears in her eye. \"I can't kill you. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Sorry?\" He asked, looking at her. \"You're sorry? You're sorry for not having the decency to kill me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Linden. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this, I didn't mean to hurt you, I just wanted you to love me, I thought you would. This, this was never my intention for you.\"\n\nHe glared at her, then turned away, looking at the last embers, feeling their refusal to die inside his own heart.\n\n\"[i]Coward[/i].\"\n\nThe loaded curse slid from his lips without a thought, and curled in the last of the smoke.\n\n\"You're a coward, you say you're sorry, but you're still doing the same thing you always do. You're still taking what you want, you're still hurting me. You're just a coward that can't admit it.\" He turned with the last rage of that ember in his eyes, \"There, I've said it, now you have to kill me. I'm calling you, the bitch queen of Rusgard, a coward. I've burnt your things, spat on your name and refused your commands, I'm just a thrall so kill me or you will lose your honour!\"\n\nHeart clutched in her throat, Luna was filled with ice, and not the great wrath she was famed for. She could never take that challenge, not from this wolf, any other but this one. \"I'm no coward, I just won't kill you! Stop this madness boy and accept that I am sorry!\"\n\n\"You're sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! But you never change! Coward! Liar! Murderer!” His spat curses failing to raise her from her chill, he pushed all the more, determined to fan the madness to its inevitable conclusion. “I'm... I'm going to fight you, I'm going to attack you! Now kill me or... or I'll kill you! Come on! Do it!\" He launched himself at her, and she grabbed him, lifting him up and throwing him behind and down onto the bed with ease. He landed, then a heavy weight pressed him down into the pillows, her claws dug into his shoulders, her muzzle close to his.\n\n\"Come on,\" he whispered with his last few breaths, \"one bite. Almost there.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" she growled, pinning him down, legs trapped beneath her hips. \"I'm tired of this. I'm sorry I've driven you to this, I am. I'm sorry I made you do all that, I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, I'm sorry I didn't understand. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. How many howling times must I say it boy? I am sorry. So please, stop this!\"\n\nHe looked at her, tears in his eyes, then nodded in resignation, resigned to live.\n\n\"[i]Coward[/i].\"\n\nThe ember died, and nothing was left but ashes.\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" she released him. \"I'm a coward, who's scared to lose what she loves. I love what you do to me, and I'm not willing to give it up. I'm selfish and I've taken everything from you, because I love what you give me and I want more. And maybe, sometimes, I do feel like your mother, who wants to hear you call me that because you mean it, not because I order it. So please, I am sorry, don't do this anymore.\" Her fingers reached out to touch him, but he slapped her paw away.\n\n\"Don't touch me,\" he said, looking at her, anger spent, but the pain and betrayal still remained. \"You don't get to pretend to love me, stop lying.\"\n\n\"I'm not lying,\" she said, leaning over him, looking at him, trying to hold his gaze. \"Maybe it's not the love you want, but I love having you here Linden. I love the feel of you when I wake up. I love knowing you'll be here when I come back. I love the look you have whenever I surprise you. And yes, I love when ever we mate, and the child we've made.\" With each declaration she sunk ever closer in till she was as close as could be without touching him.\n\n\"You're just saying that,\" he said, turning away, looking at the blackened fireplace, misery streaking the sooty grey and black. \"You're lying to me, you always lie. Then you hurt me, humiliate me, or demand something from me. You say you love me but then you take everything away. It's not fair, and it's not right. I'm tired of it.\"\n\n\"Linden,\" she had put paw on his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to her, breaching the cold air between them. \"Listen, if I didn't mean it, then why am I doing this? I'm queen, I killed my own sisters for the crown, no-one would care if I killed you. Why would I keep coming back, keep bringing you to my bed, and keep you from others? I can have a dozen, or a hundred boys for my bed if I wanted, but I only took you. I kept you, and I want you to stay. Please, believe me.\"\n\nHe looked at her, and she could see the hurt in his eyes.\n\n\"If you're lying then I'll...\" he looked away, not finishing the sentence, but she knew what he meant.\n\n\"I'm not lying,\" she pulled him into an embrace, quenching him in the coolness, and then the warmth, of her own body. \"I want a future with you here, Linden. I want to keep seeing you every morning, every night. I dream of days where I'll come back, filthy from war, to find you smiling and ready to welcome me, to make me feel like a woman and not some beast. I want to hear you call me mother, not your majesty, not queen, but mother. I want to be able to look at you and know you're happy, that I've done well by you.\"\n\nShe held him, feeling the tension in his muscles, the resistance in his body. She could feel his shivers, his breath, and the beating of his heart. She could hear the blood pumping in his veins, and feel the fever heat of his body. She could smell the scent of him, the fur, the musk, the sweat, and the smoke from his defiant acts.\n\n\"Just stay, and this time, I swear I will do all I promised for you. No more lies, no more demands, no more taking from you. Just... just stay with me, and be mine.\"\n\nThe hollowed out male was quiet, still, and she feared what echoes might creep out of him next. But then he looked up at her, and she saw the colour of clear skies. The fear and the rage having burned themselves out, and left only that familiar shade, one she’d never thought she’d be glad to see.\n\n\"You promise?\" His voice was soft, hesitant.\n\n\"Yes, I promise. This time, I'll keep it till my death. I swear by the gods, and by you.\"\n\nHe looked at her, then nodded.\n\n\"Then I'll stay.\"\n\nShe smiled, pulling him close, kissing him.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she whispered, \"thank you, thank you, thank you.\"\n\nKisses came, and he didn't resist. She'd broken him, made him weak, but that would not last. She'd keep him safe, happy, and cared for. She'd build him back how she knew how wanted him, needed him. This time she would be patient, she swore to herself she had learnt, that it would be different this time.\n\nThe silent embrace went on, in a room growing ever colder, each occupant stuck in a wild play of thoughts and fears and internal promises, ruled by dreams, and uncertainty.\n\n***\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Linden sat on the balcony, watching the snow. It was a heavy fall, thick and soft, covering the ground in an inviting, deadly, blanket. He sighed, resting his head on his knees, feeling the cold through the fabric of his tunic. He pulled his cloak tighter, wishing he had a heavier one. But as a slave, he had only what was given. And what he could take.

Queen Luna, Bitch queen of Rusgard, his owner, his mother, had been good to her promise, and yet so cruel in its fulfilment. Her reward to him for putting an heir in her womb, had been a set of fine new clothes, a full panoply spun from the exotic bolts of cloth her warriors and coastal raiders had brought home. And truly, what she had had made was of fine quality, too fine.

The gaudy garments were so thin spun that he felt the wind tease every lick of warmth from him.  In rich red, and ochre, and silver, he was as impractical an ornament as any looted banner upon Luna’s walls. But that was not the worst. No, the worst, was the embroidery. Upon each shoulder, each thigh, his heart, back, the diaphanous cloak, and even the wretched cod-piece, was a name.
Luna Helti.

Just as she’d branded his flesh, now all he wore was hers, and she wished him to know that. Though she said it was so others would understand he could be looked at, but not touched. Linden knew better, he knew how her cruel humour worked. But as a thrall, he only had what he was given.

And what he could take.

 He held something he shouldn't and the nature of it chilled him more than the snow.

It was simple, crude even, yet so pure in purpose that ornament would have diluted its meaning. That purpose was what had him sitting there in the cold, considering his possession of it despite the suffering he underwent. He shivered, rubbing his arms, pulling his cloak tighter, looking again at his stolen prize, wondering why he had taken it and what he would do with it.

"You look cold," came a voice from the darkness, "why don't you come in?"

He jumped, shoving the gleaming metal into a puffed and gaudy sleeve, looking up, seeing the shape of the queen sitting on her bed.

"I... I'm fine, your ladyship. I was just thinking."

"Thinking, eh?" She chuckled, never taking a no as anything less than an invitation, climbing free of the furs to stalk towards him in the night. "Come on, let's get you warm."

There was no refusal of a direct instruction, or a whim of hers. So Linden relinquished his perch on the old stone, and clambered back into the comparative warmth while the slat doors shut and battled the early winter winds.

"You know," she said, stoking the cooling fire with a twisted poker, looking back at him with that single gleaming eye, "I'm surprised you're still here."

He blinked, looking up at her, ears flat. "I... what do you mean?"

She smiled, leaning against the wall, paws on hips, no care paid to her nakedness despite the heavy chill.

"Well, I'm surprised you're still alive. Every winter since you were born, I was sure it would be your last. So many nights I was sure you'd be dead by morning, that I'd find your body frozen as ice in your cot. I remember you'd get sick, real sick, so sick I'd think that that was it. But you always survived, no matter how close you got. Whole castle thought the same."

Linden swallowed at the talk of his own death, looking down to keep his eyes off her. To keep any rebuke from his thoughts. Instead he spoke truthfully on such matters, as was his default, and sometimes his curse.

"I had good nurses, your majesty, and... a carer once."

He didn't name him, didn't dare speak such a word as Father, knowing how angry the memory of that figure made her. He kept his brow lowered, waiting on her as she stoked the flames.

"A carer, eh?” A dry chuckle broke her lips. “That old northerner, you mean? Well, I suppose I can't blame him for being too gentle with you. Daft fool died of cold before you did."

It took a heartbeat to recognise that she spoke of his one and only teacher, an old cripple who’d kept the castle's lore and books. He was as much dust to Linden's memory as he was to history now, and after his passing the small sum of knowledge he'd protected had been given to the chaplain, and she had no interest in letting a male, let alone a runt, study it. But still, it appeared she remembered, or was willing to remember, the old ghost of a wolf more than the man that had shaped both their lives.

"He was kind," Linden seized upon that misunderstanding, "and patient."

"Well, that's all you need, isn't it? Kindness and patience. Not for me, but then that's why we've got slaves isn't it." She put the poker back in its stand, turning to him, leaning on the mantle. "So, boy, what are you thinking about that needs night's chill to bring it on?"

He looked up at her, feeling his stomach churn. "It's... it's nothing, your majesty. I was just thinking about... tomorrow's work."

Luna Helti laughed a dirty and evil little laugh. She stalked over to him, eclipsing him in shadow with the fire to her back, in a room painted red and blue by angry flame and moonless night. "You know you're a bad liar, boy. You ain’t got the guts for it. So, you decided what you're going to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even despite the flinch that took him.

The cyclops was done with games, but laughed all the same, grabbing his muzzle in her paw, pulling his face up to look at her. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, boy. You're as lousy a thief as you're a liar. Why do you think I'm still awake? Been waiting to see if you had the guts. Come on, take it out now, let me see it."

The dead wolf froze, heart hammering in his chest in defiance of his obvious demise. He felt dizzy and nauseous, circling a whirlpool as his amateur deception was laid plane at his paws. When she released his chin the world spun for a moment, nearly taking him to the floor. With all the fatalism of a death cultist, Linden reached into his sleeve, pulling out the dagger.

The blade was long, sharp, blackened from cooking fires but still easily able to puncture hide, meat, a body. It was a plain thing, well used, simple, just the kind of knife that a diner would use to skewer their food, or an assassin would use to puncture the chest. A weapon of no special value, save that he had it.

He held it up, trembling, holding it by the pommel, not quite daring to grip it firmly, or turn the point near her.

"You... you're a... a monster!" He said, eyes narrowing with hot tears. "You... you let me take this... knowing... knowing I would..."

"That you'd what, boy?" Said monster asked, following perfectly with one eye while his two watered and broke. "Are you going to kill me? Follow your father's steps into hell and try to take my other eye?"

Quick as a flash, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm, forcing the blade down to graze and scrape her belly. A gasp left her lips, as they both felt the puncture, the grind of razor edge on flesh. And all at once, Linden let go, a gasp of his own breaking free. Only hers ended so much quicker.

"Didn't think so," she tossed him back, the ruse finished, picking up the blackened steel and flipping it over in her hand a few times. "What would you have done, I wonder? Slit my throat like your father tried to do, or slit your own like what I told you I'd do if you failed? A warrior in the end, even when it was your pup’s mother you looked to murder."

She tossed the knife back to him, and he caught it with a fumbling paw.

"You don't even know what you want to do with it, do you?" She spoke plain, knowing a faltering fighter from her decades of experience. "You're just a silly little boy with a toy he doesn't know how to use. No balls to do what you want, to even try and die with some fucking dignity"

"I…" Linden felt a fire burn, felt the boiling in his gut, teeth grit, gums aching. The roaring conflagration of emotions assailed his fear, drowned his mind, fed him so many fantasies of what that simple spit of steel could do. All he needed was to grasp it, steady it, listen to the anger and then...

Then he stopped. He dropped to his knees, the metal clattering on the floor boards. He was blind with tears again, but not with the rage that she’d goaded within him.

"You... you're trying to... you're trying to make me do it... to make me try, and lose, so you can kill me... or hurt me…" he sobbed, shaking violently with his head in his paws. "You're so cruel... you don't even care that... that I... that I hate you!"

"I know, boy, I know," she knelt before him, a hand between his ears, "you're right, I'm a terrible bitch. I don't care how much you hate me, boy, I know you're mine. You'll never run from me, or escape me, or do anything to harm me. I gave you a perfect opportunity, could have stuck me as I slept, or just now when I even put it to my gut. But you didn't take it. You're mine, boy, you’ve got no stomach to be anyone else's.”

"One day... one day... I'll... I'll be... free of you..." he tried to spit defiance, even as his face transformed into a waterfall of misery, voice choked and dying in the icy reality.

But the titan simply sighed, knowing that flame was snuffed. Luna sat cross legged, dragging him against any autonomy he dared pretend, to sit on her thighs so she might better elaborate her truth.

"If you try to do that, boy, I swear I'll make your death so much worse than the alternative. You live tonight, because you couldn't do it, and you never will. You’re too weak and soft, too pathetic. You know what’ll happen if you try, and you’re not stupid enough to dare.” She stood with him, forced to stoop so she might continue her cruel mockery of consoling him. She stroked his ears, his neck, his back, then reached up to the mantle, grabbing the jug of wine left there to warm. She popped the cork, took a long pull from it, then handed it to him.

"Here," she said, pushing the vessel into his paws, her honest, mocking charity. "It'll help calm your nerves."

The broken thing didn’t hesitate, drinking it down in one go, wincing at the taste. Acid poison laced his innards with painful burns, but he tipped the last of the stinging stuff down, hoping for oblivion, or the insanity and surety of the drunk. The latter he knew would come soon enough, and it was the only thing that could break him from this place of misery his mind lived in.

"Come on," she tossed the small vessel onto the flames, shattering it in a sputter of sparks and hissing wine, "come to bed, your bitch wants you, it’s where you belong."

Spirit broken like the jar, he obeyed her commands to follow, to strip, to sit with her, all with the same silence and expression of resignation, all while she watched. Her eye wandered over his body, noting again how his muscles had tightened from months of toil. He was a pathetic runt, but he was growing up.

"There you go," she tried her hand at a seductive tone, pulling him under the thick furs and tucking him in against her bulk. "Isn't this better? No need to snap at each other now, you can just curl up in my arms. Maybe stick your head in my tits a while.”

He didn't reply, didn't say anything, even in the face of her advances. He didn't push her away, but he didn't respond either. Her coaxing, petting, supposedly loving touch, failed to melt the ice of his refusal.

"Come on, don't sulk. It's getting boring, and I don't like seeing you like that. I told you, you're my mate, my lover, you're special to me. I'm going to have a baby, Linden, a daughter. So feel proud already, you've done well for yourself."

He didn't reply, so she pulled his face to hers, kissing him. He struggled, but only for a moment, then he just lay there, eyes closed, letting her do as she wished. She bit his lip, forcing her tongue into his muzzle, licking at the roof of his mouth and after that first fight, he simply submitted, no struggle or conquest to be had.

And that was worse for the warrior queen, than any degree of screaming.

"What's the matter?" She said, pulling away from him. "Not interested? You know I hate it when you sulk, I’m tired of it, boy. It’s dull and pointless."

He didn't reply, closing his eyes, waiting for her to take her fill of him and fall asleep.

"Fine, be a miserable dog. You don't want to share my bed then get on the floor," she cursed, rolling over and turning her back to him.

He blinked, looking at her, then climbed off the bed with no argument, before making his stand and walking back to the fireplace to curl up away from her. He wrapped his tail around his waist, his ears flat, no words needed in that moment.

"Really, boy?" Disbelief drove her upright. "I'm your mother, your lover, your mate, your queen. And you chose the fucking floor? What's the matter, not happy with me yet? You think you can do better!?"

He starred at the embers as they smouldered and sparked, feeling a kinship with the tiny flames. He was too tired to deal with her, too drunk to care. He just wanted to sleep, to escape her in dream.

"Well fuck you then! Miserable, useless, runt! Should have left you in the snow!" She spat, and tossed on the bed till she'd filled the vacancy with furs. The night was home to muttered cursing for a while till falling silent.

Soon it wasn't fear, or anger, or lust that ruled in the bedchambers of queen Helti, but misery.

***
Winter howled, a keening note of hate, scouring any who dared brave it. Every home was an island, drowning in a sea of white, small shelters of defiance within which each wolf snarled their own refusal at the land that cursed them so. Atop the archipelago of stones and timbers, the mightiest howls of defiance battled that remorseless tide. The halls of Helti, deep in the den of earth, beneath the mountain of iron and stone, were a riot of noise, of feasting, drinking, and the insistence of life even in such a dreadful place.

Linden walked between two long trestles, tray in paw, head down, a dot of red and gold in a buoyant crowd of Rusgard’s best and greatest. It was the custom, the high feast of winter, the casting back of the cold with food, family, and roaring fires. He served with the army of thralls and servants, ferrying dish after dish, and jug after jug, the most colourful of the servitors, reserved for only one, the highest bitch in all the land.
Or at least, that had been the intent of his costume.

"Hey, boy," one of the denizens of the great orgy snatched at him, her speech a slur, her face a scowl. The she-wolf was young, and by her pelt of red, not a heartland wolf, or of old blood. She and her retinue wore the looser woven dress, in it’s mismatched and garish patterns, of the Hasgran coast. Sea raiders, and mixed bred dogs, every one of them. A refusal was never an option, not with a bitch so deep in her cups, and somehow clutching his promised defence of his mother’s name, like a holy ward against evil, did little to dissuade the entitled bitch’s interest.

"I think I remember you, the royal runt. So, you're the queen's pet now, eh?" She said, dragging him into the cloud of her breath. "I bet you get lots of attention from her. Do you know what we do to boys like you on the coast?"

He kept his eyes down, tail between his legs, he pulled the useless half cloak on his shoulder a little further into view, but if she cared that he was the property of the queen she didn't show it. How he'd moaned that this kept happening, and how his mother had swatted it off and told him no one would mess with her property. No-one cared, and as soon as the queen was deep in her cups, or lost in past glories with her warriors, she couldn't spare a glance his way unless it was to order more wine for her thirst.

"We cut off their balls, boy, and fly ‘em from the rigging for luck. I don't think you'd like that much, do you?" Her grip took the ridiculous codpiece, as her bootlicks howled their laughter. "You know, boy, you're a cute little thing. I bet you'd look nice with a few new holes. What do you say?"

He pushed her hand away, and she growled her defiance of his will, pulling him closer, her breath hot on his neck, her paw delving behind the stuffed facsimile to grope and menace the real meat within. "Come on, boy, be a good slut and let me have a feel. Don't worry, I won't take your manhood, I'll leave that for the sail makers."

"I... I'm not, for you!" He yelled, trying to push her off, "I'm the queen's mate, I'm not some whore!" Such protests were less than the impotent wind, battering the stone, serving only to fan the boisterous merriment of the drunken reaver. She forced his tail aside, pulling his leggings down, while he screamed and kicked. Red and gold flew, as she unwrapped her stolen plunder, and thrust him down upon the bench to the laughter of the dinners

"What's the matter, boy? Not used to being fucked like this? Come on, be a good slut, let me have a look at that arse." The last garment, the failure of a cloak, fluttered to the floor, leaving him mostly bare, plucked upon the table. "Look at that people! Someone's put their name on it! What say we add some more?"

The drunken revellers set about carving him with claws and drizzling him with sauces, adding him to the courses they were devouring. And by the time word of this cruel game reached any guard not drunk, or the high table itself, he had already been reduced to nothing but fur and what cloth he could reclaim from the filth they left him lying in. Naked, shivering, humiliated the lady of Hasgran was laughing in drunken confidence, knowing him to be a whore, a toy, an animal, and that he deserved everything they'd done to him and more beside. That it was what he was for. All Linden could do was crawl away, clutching that useless cloak about him, the only piece of cloth that was somehow whole, stealing a moment of calm on the stone floor, while the cooks ignored his troubles. He didn't blame them, he'd never been a favourite with the servants, and the other thralls saw him as someone only playing at the misery of their life, as if his suffering did not count.

Encroaching footsteps, heavy and plated, made him flinch, expecting to see one of the ladies coming to finish what they'd started. Instead he saw a tall dog, wearing the armour of a captain of the guard.

"She wants you," the looming bitch barked, her tone flat and soldierly.

“I'm naked." The point was true, standing to demonstrate as small moat of rubbish fell from his fur. From meats and cheese to wine flecks and blood, he was a mess again in nothing but a useless half-cloak. The implication should have been obvious, but not to a guard with orders and a soul that had crawled away and died years ago.

"She didn't say she wanted you clothed, now move."

No argument to be had, he was ejected back into the melee of the feast. He could feel the eyes on him, the laughter, the jests as he tried to cover his person, but it was little use, and he knew it.  The blood pounded in his cheeks and ears. He wanted to curl up, to hide as he was marched through the crowd, towards the high table where his mother was seated, surrounded by her captains and earls, publicly humiliated yet again by her, yes her, for these were her people and she had ignored all his warnings. He kept his head down, not wanting to see her, not wanting to see the rest of the room.

"Linden," she said, beckoning him over. "Come here."

He hesitated, and the captain growled, shoving him as he stumbled, fell, then got up, walking to her.

"Yes, your majesty?" He asked, voice flat and defeated.

The great she-wolf reached out, grabbing his chin, forcing his eyes up. Her cyclopean gaze burned with jealous anger, drunken wrath, and perhaps a flick of something more.

"Tell me which bitch ruined my gifts to you, and I will make example of them. No-one takes what is mine."

Did he have brief hope in that moment? A feeling of vindication that his faltering faith in her symbol had held? Perhaps not, but he knew an instruction, and he didn’t hesitate to name the guilty.

“The lady of Hasgran, and her party, they didn’t believe me, when I said… I was yours.”

She nodded, too far gone herself to hear the bitterness of his admittance. Luna Helti, Bitch queen of Rusgard, snapped her fingers at her loyal captain, a gleam of blood-thirst in her burning eye.

"Go fetch the bitch, and bring her here."

The captain nodded, then marched away, barking orders to other guards, while Lady Helskath began urgently whispering in the queen’s ear. Pleas and entreatments to consider the timing of any display of displeasure, and the nature of who she voiced them on. However the white wolf’s vengeful streak had awoken, and her target would not be spared, she gave only the vaguest promises to her Steward. Not before long, thinking themselves well to do and in good company, the band of salted hounds and their lady stumbled drunkenly towards the high table. Some saw him there and grinned wider, those wiser did otherwise.

"Ah, your majesty," the lady said, bowing. "I was hoping to speak to you again. We were speaking earlier, and I was wondering-"

"You were playing with my thrall, ruined his clothes," her growing rumble cut off the vapid issuance, "and you will answer for it."

The red wolf blinked her confusion, bluster rising quick as her sails. "He was asking for it, your majesty. He was being insolent, disrespectful. I just made sure he understood his place."

The mountain of muscle rose, and threatened avalanches, towering over the guest as she did all save the tallest of the earls, but even they seemed small beside her. She leaned down, growling, eye narrowing. "You dare?" She asked, voice low and dangerous. "You dare to touch my property? You dare to lay paws on what is mine? You dare rob from me? While in my hall, under my protection?"

The lady from the coast swallowed, backing away, eyes wide, tail between her legs, the animal instinct to live driving fear through her skull. "My apologies, your majesty," she bowed low to bear her neck, "I mistook your hospitality, I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It won't happen again."

The queen snorted, looking at the crowd, expecting blood. Then her Steward, begging with vocal eyes, then back at the cowering courtier. "You're drunk," she said, "and you're a disgrace to your house. I don't care if you say it won't happen again, I'll make sure it doesn't, and that you never see my hospitality again. Guards, take this bitch away and let her sleep it off. I'll see to her when I've recovered from my wine."

The guards moved forward, grabbing the spluttering bitch, pulling her away, making a small wave in the festivities as the party accompanying her followed in uncertainty. All this gained the attention of the remaining feasters, an opportunity Luna Helti was not going to pass.

"You all know I share my spoils!" She bellowed, "and I have done so, you feast on southern meat, drink southern wine, and each have had your choice of southern slaves. But this one..." her heavy paw grabbed the naked boy, forcing him to be even more a spectacle for all to see "... is mine! Marked with my name! You wouldn't steal my bed warmer would you? Then leave my royal cunt licker be! Speaking of…"

The nightmare not ending, Linden was shoved to his knees to the sound of unclasped buckles, and soon a white mound was before him.

"Make free with any others you see here, my fine wolves, but this slut is mine!"

Her proclamation rang in his ears, as her protection took its terrible price. He felt her hands on his head, guiding him forwards, and he opened his muzzle, no alternative left but to please as he’d been ordered, and pray she was sober enough to remember his service.

The queen of wolves sighed, relaxing back in her chair, letting him work. He'd been doing this for months, now, and he was skilled enough at it to make her orgasm without any help or guidance. Still she liked to hold him, push him to her whims, touch what was hers. His tongue ran over her slit, digging through thick tufts to lap and pleasure her, dousing him in her scent as she held nothing back. All about the great hall people indulged in their thirsts, and every thrall and servant there spared a filthy look to the boy they considered responsible for starting it. But he couldn't see, his eyes were burning in fury as he was ground deeper into the queen's pelvis, all while she drank, and joked, and accepted compliments on how well trained her fuck-toy had turned out to be.

"What do you think of him?" She asked one of her generals, leaning back, looking at the boy on his knees.

"He's not bad, your majesty. He's certainly skilled with a tongue. But is his dick any good?"

She laughed, possessively pressing her plaything even deeper, holding him firmly in place as he struggled to breathe between her clamping thighs. "It gets the job done, and it's all mine," she demonstrated with a mighty slap to the swell in her gut, ripe and visible now they were deep in winter. “You should get your own, why bother with a husband when a good tongue-slut is all you need!"

They laughed, exchanging jokes, all while Luna rubbing herself against his muzzle till she had soaked and marked him thoroughly. He made a plea with a paw to be allowed air, but she held him there, forcing him to press on, and serve her more, as she finished her meal. When she'd had enough, she pushed him away, and he collapsed on the floor, looking up at her, eyes full of fury, and jaw running with strings of fluids.

"Now," she said, wiping her sodden cleft with a cloth, "go clean yourself, and bring me another cup of wine. And remember, you're mine, you belong to me. No-one takes what is mine."

He got up, then left the hall, head down, tail between his legs. He didn't dare speak to her, he knew better than that. She watched him go, then turned back to her guests, resuming her conversation, blind to what it was she had stoked in him that night.

Linden stalked through the castle like a hunted beast, feeling the cold stone on his paws as ice compared to the fire inside. The torches and lamps cast a warm glow within the halls and bedchambers, but here in the corridors it was cold and empty. He reached the bathing chamber and, seeing no-one, took his chance and claimed a private tub to cleanse himself of the physical evidence of his shaming. He scrubbed at his fur, attempting to flense himself of everything that had occurred. The supposed protection of the queen, his so-called lover, the humiliation it brought, while those who hurt him simply missed a meal, it galled him, and the water seemed to steam. There were no pleasures left to him in this castle, no friend to which he could turn. Even Wella could only do so much to salve him, burdened with work as she was, and bound to not be seen with him whenever comment might be made. And that poisoned cloud veiled his rational mind, as he wrapped himself in the awful cloak before climbing the stairs to her chambers and sitting by the fire.

The dirtied fabric, so proudly bearing her name, was too thin to warm him and he cast it off. But when it landed by the hearth a splutter of sparks, kicked up by the breeze, marked the dark flax with smoking holes. Not bothering to attempt to save the well ruined rag, he found a devil's thoughts in him, taking him to lift the cloak up and toss it on the flames. He watched her runes burn, and felt a vengeful happiness in doing so, one he wished to feed. Soon every one of the clothes she'd given him were on the blaze, smoking up the room as the chimney struggled to cope.

The fire roared, and he stood, naked and triumphant, looking down as all her works were reduced to ash, feeling a sense of freedom long forgotten. He did this, he had set her name aflame, and it felt good. She'd given him this life, and he'd done nothing to deserve it. He deserved to be free of her, to be away from her, to be able to choose his own fate.

But by the curling of his hackles, he knew he was not alone. He saw the shadows thick and swirling with life, the flickering light, the animate billow of curtains and drapes. No-one would have heard the noise of his destruction, and no-one would have thought twice about the smell of smoke. He was alone with the fire, and the only witness was a figure who stood by the doorway, watching him.

"You!" He hissed, stepping back, heart hammering, as the figure stepped forwards, their solidity driving off the etherial ghosts of his imaginings.

"Those were fine clothes, boy, a gift. A little respect wouldn't go amiss."

He glared at the owner of the name, backing up till he felt the heat singe his fur, ears flattening, tail between his legs.

"L... li... like you respected your promise?" He spat back, feeling the hate burn hotter still, "You swore to be fair and kind! That you'd only punish me if I did wrong! What wrong did I do that deserved being humiliated in front of the whole country!?"

"What was that?" She questioned, walking towards him, and he did not know if it was due to her refusal to hear, or the wine clouding her mind, but still he flinched. Yet the fire would not let him yield his ground, filling his glare with a mad light.

"It's not enough that you use me, that you hurt me, that you make me your toy and took everything from me, you can't even keep a promise to me! You're a disgusting, evil, spiteful, lying, WHORE!" He was screaming, eyes streaming, teeth bared. He burned, seared and shrouded in the smoke, the flames behind him roaring as if in echo of his voice as he boiled in his skin.

For a brief moment, the fury in his eyes, the hatred on his muzzle, halted the avalanche. She had to admit to herself a grain of pride in the boy, and a flutter in her chest at seeing the blue sky of his eyes turn red. But still, she was Queen, and he had no right to defy her, or stand in her way.

"How dare you boy!" She roared, stepping towards him, raising a paw. "I'm your mother, you belong to me, and I'll not be spoken to like that! Do you hear me!?"

He remained firm, glaring at her, even after she struck him with the back of a paw. He stumbled, ears ringing, but he didn't go down, animated by a roaring furnace that had taken root in his heart. "You're a liar! A monster! An unlovable whore who RAPES HER CHILD!"

He screamed, launching himself at her, trying to scratch her, bite her, do anything to hurt her. But the bitch queen grabbed him, lifting him off the ground, tossing him across the room where he landed hard, head hitting the floor, sending sparks dancing before his eyes.

"Ungrateful brat!" She advanced on him, "You're my property, my thrall, my mate, and you'll never speak to me like that again!"

He struggled, getting to his knees, then standing, backing away, jaw filled with the taste of blood, knowing he could have no victory in fighing. He saw an open door, and made for it, hoping to get away, to escape her.

"Stop, boy, or I'll..."

But he was away, and taking flight. Behind him, the open door to the balcony swung, then it was above him and he was falling, falling, free, free. Giddy madness and liberation whipped through him as wind tore tears from him for those brief seconds. He saw the oncoming ground and felt a final spike of fear, but it was brief and gone.

Thwump.

Cold.

Blackness.

Silence.

But not, an end of pain.

***

An hour had passed. They'd dug him out of the snow, barely scathed but freezing in the deep drift. In a frenzy Luna Helti had rushed through the castle gathering guards and onlookers, only to find the chill grip on her heart ease when his survival was discovered. Now she had him, the doors of the chamber locked, even those that never were before. He sat in front of the blackened hearth, a mug of spiced wine forced into his hands, and she paced, considering the insanity that had overcome them both.

"Why?" She asked, looming over him, dominating the room by mass alone. "Why did you do that? You could have died!" When that failed to raise his gaze from the floor, she stepped closer still, voice raised in warning anger, "Linden, look at me!"

When he did as asked, they could both still feel the fire in his eyes, cooled by his plummet, but still refusing to vacate his exhausted form.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Because I hate you," he said it plain, "because I hate everything you've done to me, and everything you've made me do. Because I wish I could be free of you."

She snorted, sitting down on the bed across from him.

"You're dead without me, boy. I gave you everything, life, clothes, food, purpose. If you'd been born to some peasant somewhere they'd have tossed you in the snow to die. All I want from you in return is obedience, respect, and a warm body when I ask for it. That's not so bad."

"I thought you said I was your lover and mate, but those were just more lies weren't they. I'm nothing more than a toy for you to use whenever you feel like it. It doesn't matter if I try or not, you just treat me like dirt because you enjoy being cruel. I'm tired of it, and I've had enough."

She glared at him, then looked away, growling. "You think I want this? You think I wanted to take you? I need heirs, Linden, and I chose you to do that. If I'd married someone then you'd be dead in the snow, they'd-"

"I don't care!" His reedy cry interrupted her, throwing the mug and its contents into the fire, filling the room with the hiss of burning wine and the flickering shadows of a dying flame. His voice was broken with tears but it came heavy with truth, "You keep saying that, like you saved me by doing all this. You could have done anything else, mother, you could have sent me away, or had me married off, or just forgotten about me! You did this because you wanted to, because you knew that if you had a husband, that he'd try to kill you like father did. And you know what mother? You'd deserve it."

She snarled, rising to her feet once more, seeking to cowl him back into submission, break him like she knew he would. He'd never been brave, but this time he did not cower, and she realised he had run out of fear,  all that was left were embers and ashes.

"I'm your mother, boy, and you will respect me. If you don't I'll-"

"What?" He asked, fixing her with a look of serene, pure, contempt. "Hit me? Burn me? Drag me in front of everyone naked to humiliate? Take away everything I like? Take my life?"

He rose, swaying, and put a hand on the mantel, looking down at the dying flames. "You already did all that, and you did it for fun. So why should I do anything for you anymore? Why should I try and live with you when you don't care about me at all? What's the point?" He turned his back, when his hand came down, it held the dagger. She'd left it there as a reminder, saying she could always trust him to never use it.

She licked her lips, knowing there was no way he could best her in a fight. She’d win, prove her strength, her dominance, and this would be settled. "Finally found the guts to do it then? Come on, Linden, see how that goes for you! See what-"

"Here," he turned, holding it by the blade, point on his chest, hilt waiting for her hand. "You want to kill me, just do it quick please. I'm tired, and I'd like to see father again."

For a long time, she could only look at those eyes, blue, but burning like the sunset. Then she saw the blade, and looked back at what she’d made. "... You... you're too weak to fight me, is that it boy? Not strong enough to-"

"You're right, I'm not strong enough to fight you. Why are you too weak to kill me?"

The blade was long, and sharp, and it would do the job easily. It would crack his ribs, puncture his heart, pierce a lung, he would die sputtering blood all over his fine white fur.

"You know, if you wanted me to die, you could have done it before now. I can't fight you. But you couldn't do it, could you? You can't bring yourself to kill me. All the evil you do, but you can't do that. Here, I'll make it easier."

The point moved till it was at his throat, his chin high, both his paws held the blade, a small red line formed as it broke the skin. He swallowed, closing his eyes, ready to be free of this misery.

"Stop it, Linden, don't be stupid!" She barked, taking a step back, wanting no part of this but unable to look away from the ghastly scene before her.

"Why not?" He asked, voice flat. "It's all you ever do, take things from me, why shouldn't I help? This is what you want, isn't it mother." He felt the sting, the acceptance of the end.

"Linden, please..."

"Just do it, I don't want to live anymore. I've been nothing but a toy for you to play with, to use for your amusement, I'm tired of it. So be the evil queen of the wolves, punish me, and let me sleep."

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the trip to the afterlife. He could feel the heat of the fire on his fur, the warmth of the blood trickling down his throat. The scent of wine, and the smoke from burning clothes, hung in the air and filled his nostrils. Her footsteps came, the soft pads on the floor, the rustle of her cloak. He felt her fingers on his, pulling the blade away as inexorable as gravity.

"Why?" He asked, letting go of the dagger, letting her take it.

The breaking mother looked at the bead of red on its tip, then sent it skittering across the floor in a rejection, sitting on the bed across from him, more drained than any battle. "I... I can't do it," she said, looking at him, tears in her eye. "I can't kill you. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He asked, looking at her. "You're sorry? You're sorry for not having the decency to kill me?"

"Yes, Linden. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this, I didn't mean to hurt you, I just wanted you to love me, I thought you would. This, this was never my intention for you."

He glared at her, then turned away, looking at the last embers, feeling their refusal to die inside his own heart.

"Coward."

The loaded curse slid from his lips without a thought, and curled in the last of the smoke.

"You're a coward, you say you're sorry, but you're still doing the same thing you always do. You're still taking what you want, you're still hurting me. You're just a coward that can't admit it." He turned with the last rage of that ember in his eyes, "There, I've said it, now you have to kill me. I'm calling you, the bitch queen of Rusgard, a coward. I've burnt your things, spat on your name and refused your commands, I'm just a thrall so kill me or you will lose your honour!"

Heart clutched in her throat, Luna was filled with ice, and not the great wrath she was famed for. She could never take that challenge, not from this wolf, any other but this one. "I'm no coward, I just won't kill you! Stop this madness boy and accept that I am sorry!"

"You're sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! But you never change! Coward! Liar! Murderer!” His spat curses failing to raise her from her chill, he pushed all the more, determined to fan the madness to its inevitable conclusion. “I'm... I'm going to fight you, I'm going to attack you! Now kill me or... or I'll kill you! Come on! Do it!" He launched himself at her, and she grabbed him, lifting him up and throwing him behind and down onto the bed with ease. He landed, then a heavy weight pressed him down into the pillows, her claws dug into his shoulders, her muzzle close to his.

"Come on," he whispered with his last few breaths, "one bite. Almost there."

"Shut up," she growled, pinning him down, legs trapped beneath her hips. "I'm tired of this. I'm sorry I've driven you to this, I am. I'm sorry I made you do all that, I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, I'm sorry I didn't understand. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. How many howling times must I say it boy? I am sorry. So please, stop this!"

He looked at her, tears in his eyes, then nodded in resignation, resigned to live.

"Coward."

The ember died, and nothing was left but ashes.

"Yes, I am," she released him. "I'm a coward, who's scared to lose what she loves. I love what you do to me, and I'm not willing to give it up. I'm selfish and I've taken everything from you, because I love what you give me and I want more. And maybe, sometimes, I do feel like your mother, who wants to hear you call me that because you mean it, not because I order it. So please, I am sorry, don't do this anymore." Her fingers reached out to touch him, but he slapped her paw away.

"Don't touch me," he said, looking at her, anger spent, but the pain and betrayal still remained. "You don't get to pretend to love me, stop lying."

"I'm not lying," she said, leaning over him, looking at him, trying to hold his gaze. "Maybe it's not the love you want, but I love having you here Linden. I love the feel of you when I wake up. I love knowing you'll be here when I come back. I love the look you have whenever I surprise you. And yes, I love when ever we mate, and the child we've made." With each declaration she sunk ever closer in till she was as close as could be without touching him.

"You're just saying that," he said, turning away, looking at the blackened fireplace, misery streaking the sooty grey and black. "You're lying to me, you always lie. Then you hurt me, humiliate me, or demand something from me. You say you love me but then you take everything away. It's not fair, and it's not right. I'm tired of it."

"Linden," she had put paw on his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to her, breaching the cold air between them. "Listen, if I didn't mean it, then why am I doing this? I'm queen, I killed my own sisters for the crown, no-one would care if I killed you. Why would I keep coming back, keep bringing you to my bed, and keep you from others? I can have a dozen, or a hundred boys for my bed if I wanted, but I only took you. I kept you, and I want you to stay. Please, believe me."

He looked at her, and she could see the hurt in his eyes.

"If you're lying then I'll..." he looked away, not finishing the sentence, but she knew what he meant.

"I'm not lying," she pulled him into an embrace, quenching him in the coolness, and then the warmth, of her own body. "I want a future with you here, Linden. I want to keep seeing you every morning, every night. I dream of days where I'll come back, filthy from war, to find you smiling and ready to welcome me, to make me feel like a woman and not some beast. I want to hear you call me mother, not your majesty, not queen, but mother. I want to be able to look at you and know you're happy, that I've done well by you."

She held him, feeling the tension in his muscles, the resistance in his body. She could feel his shivers, his breath, and the beating of his heart. She could hear the blood pumping in his veins, and feel the fever heat of his body. She could smell the scent of him, the fur, the musk, the sweat, and the smoke from his defiant acts.

"Just stay, and this time, I swear I will do all I promised for you. No more lies, no more demands, no more taking from you. Just... just stay with me, and be mine."

The hollowed out male was quiet, still, and she feared what echoes might creep out of him next. But then he looked up at her, and she saw the colour of clear skies. The fear and the rage having burned themselves out, and left only that familiar shade, one she’d never thought she’d be glad to see.

"You promise?" His voice was soft, hesitant.

"Yes, I promise. This time, I'll keep it till my death. I swear by the gods, and by you."

He looked at her, then nodded.

"Then I'll stay."

She smiled, pulling him close, kissing him.

"Thank you," she whispered, "thank you, thank you, thank you."

Kisses came, and he didn't resist. She'd broken him, made him weak, but that would not last. She'd keep him safe, happy, and cared for. She'd build him back how she knew how wanted him, needed him. This time she would be patient, she swore to herself she had learnt, that it would be different this time.

The silent embrace went on, in a room growing ever colder, each occupant stuck in a wild play of thoughts and fears and internal promises, ruled by dreams, and uncertainty.

***
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