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The Thief of Virtue Ch. 01

By: JD_Blythe



Part 1: In which a Paladin meets a thief, and loses more than he bargained for...

The text below is original content which belongs to the author. This work must not be reproduced either in part or in full without the permission of the author.

That said – enjoy! This is my first Literotica submission (as it were), so please let me know what you think! It's a three part story, and all the parts are online.

*****

Trystan saw it ahead of him in the swamp, twenty metres away through the mist - a delicate, purple marsh rose. It looked innocuous enough, but Trystan knew the power held within those rare petals. Wading through the mire, mud sucking at his armoured shins, Trystan headed for the bloom.

He heard a squelch of mud behind him and, before he could turn, a voice saying "mebra bindet". Trystan felt his arms and legs clamp stiffly to his body, as through suddenly bound by invisible ropes. His armour gave a clang as he fell face-first into the swamp, spitting out mud. He kept his eyes on the flower as he struggled to hold his nose out of the water. Straining his ears, he heard footsteps circling around behind him.

A small hand reached down and tugged at the marsh rose. A dark head descended with it, suddenly appearing in Trystan's field of vision; the cheeky, lop-sided grin seemed out of place on the doll-like face. He watched as she tauntingly folded the blossom into a roll of waxed silk. Then the dark-haired woman stood up and Trystan felt a pressure on his shoulder – she was rolling him over onto his back with her booted foot.

"That's so you don't drown," she explained, with a wink, looking down on him.

"You can't just leave me here," he protested, his words slurring futilely as her spell held his muscles taut.

"You're free to get up any time you like," she grinned. She glanced left and right; there was no one else about. "It'll wear off in five minutes or so. Just enough to give me a head start." She tipped her leather hood to him with mock-gallantry, and disappeared altogether from his field of view. He heard her footsteps splash off – shut his eyes for a moment, listening to her retreat, working out her path. She was going north.

Trystan lay flat on his back in the mud for some minutes, angry and frustrated. He took slow breaths, trying to calm himself. He was a Paladin of Arnan. His calling was to balance chaos with order, and to bring justice into the darkness. It seemed impossible that the small, dark haired thief had got around him, but he couldn't let injustice go so easily. Gradually, the feeling returned along his limbs and he was able to hoist himself up. He stood still for a moment, casting his eyes around the swamp. The ankle-deep water covered any prints but, glancing around at the scrubby weeds, he saw a clear disruption heading north. On closer inspection, it then doubled back on itself along a few rocks. She was sneaky, but he could track her. He nodded to himself grimly and set off after her. Trystan's business in Glainmarsh was finished for now, and he'd been heading to Fenacre where some sort of legendary monster was apparently terrorising the town. Well, he would finish this first - the infamous beast would just have to wait.

The marsh was eerie, and he could feel the damp breeze quashing his spirits. He muttered a prayer to Arnan as he walked, more to keep himself cheerful than anything else. He stopped short when he heard a low hum on the chilling, wet wind. Mudlings. Cursed, ugly things – they looked like homunculi, with webbed feet and strange, flat faces. They weren't very strong or very smart, but damn did they swarm. And they ate meat, and they weren't very fussy about what it was. Usually they stuck to birds, or even luckless travellers, but Trystan had cleared out some nests recently searching for local children who had been taken from Glainmarsh. He'd eventually found and rescued the children, and recovered all the bones he could find of the little girl who'd been taken first and hadn't survived their appetites. He shuddered, remembering the Mudlings' greedy, sucking faces, remembering the girl's parents as they wept. His ears pricked up as he heard a high-pitched screech, carrying across the damp air. It could possibly have been a lonely water bird, but then he heard it again. It stopped abruptly. Perhaps something else had found his thief first...

*****

Ellia was not happy. The mist clung to her, the swamp was disgusting and the first piece of luck she'd had all day – wresting the marsh rose from that gigantic oaf of a warrior – was rather clouded by her current predicament. She was trussed up like a chicken, bleeding heavily from a gash in her side as the Mudlings splashed excitedly around her. One of them was clearly very hungry, smelling and pinching her flesh, coming so close to her that she could see every fold of its grey gills. Her first instinct had been to try to talk her way out, but the creatures bubbled away with phlegmy guttering she could barely distinguish as speech, let alone copy. Her second plan had involved screaming for help – there were sometimes merchants brave enough to cross the swamp for a profit, and perhaps one would hear her. So she had screamed. Clearly the Mudlings disapproved of noisy food and had quickly gagged her. Now she felt cold and dizzy, and was covered in mud. This wasn't how she wanted to go out. Not happy at all.

She heard a clanking sound and looked up. That lumbering warrior from earlier, it looked like – his armour was thoroughly daubed in mud now, his face a grimy mess, but the heaviness of his tread and his bulky outline was unmistakeable. He towered above the Mudlings. She watched him raise his sword, slashing through the creatures, brushing them off with an iron-clad fist when they tried to climb him. Most were already fleeing in the face of this furious giant. Those who stayed to fight were swiftly dealt with. When the last Mudling lay still in the brackish water he looked about, poised for a moment. He had a ruthless efficiency in battle, Ellia acknowledged to herself grudgingly; the way he whirled and swung, predicting attacks, almost approached gracefulness.

Trystan pulled out a dirty rag and wiped his sword.

"It's you again," he observed levelly, turning to the bound-up woman. She glared at him, unable to speak with the gag in place, her eyes shining with rage. "You're free to get up any time you like," he added, repeating her words mildly and gesturing out to the marsh. Trystan tried always to be patient, but this woman riled him. Arnan had made her beautiful, and he felt somehow that she should know better than to use her gifts for ill. The people of Glainmarsh had mentioned a lovely looking woman, a thief who had come through before him and abused their kindness, stealing keepsakes and a few petty treasures. Perhaps this was the woman. He spent some time rustling through the boxes and packs of the Mudlings' camp, quite certain that she would run the moment he untied her. He found a few trinkets, mostly shiny baubles and a few rare items; the Mudlings certainly hadn't made them, and he wondered how they had come by them. He also turned up a potion-maker's pouch of healing herbs, which he pocketed. Potion-making was a rare ability amongst humans, and had become rarer still since the Dragonhorde massacres had destroyed the bloodlines. Those with the old blood, though, like the Mudlings and the giants, still practised it regularly. Trystan had the gift, which along with his height and muscular build had been the only legacy his anonymous parents had left him. His apprentice-master had often speculated with him (in private, given the taboo nature of the question) that giant's blood ran in his veins.

Presently it began to rain and he could put it off no longer. He knelt by the woman to untie her. It was then that he realised something was wrong. Her skin was greyish and sweaty, her pulse was fast and weak. Her eyes, which had been glaring at him, were now glassy and vague. Lifting her slightly he realised that the dark brackishness of the water around her was her own blood-loss – she was going into shock. He swore under his breath; his own delay might mean the woman's end.

This wasn't the best place to treat her and he was no real healer, not in any conventional sense, but he knew had to stop the bleeding. Slicing open her leathers (and wondering, not for the first time, why anyone would consider leather as sensible armour in which to leave civilisation), he looked at the dirty wound. He couldn't clean it out properly amongst all this muck but did what he could, looking regretfully as he poured his water bottle over the deep gash. He bound her up with a strip of blanket, swaddling her with the rest and fastening it in place with his own belt. The bleeding seemed to be stopping under the pressure of the binding. He lifted her in his arms and she murmured in protest, which was probably a good sign. Glainmarsh was still closest, he judged. He squinted at his compass through the increasing rain, took his bearings and began the sodden, slippery walk back to the town.

It was full-dark by the time they reached Glainmarsh and the rain had set in to a steady beat. Trystan, exhausted, thirsty and soaked-through, glared at the barred wooden gate as he approached. He knocked heavily.

"Who go-es there?" cracked an adolescent voice, suspiciously. He heard a cough. "Hghrrrmmmmm... I mean, who goes there?" tried the voice again, this time remaining baritone. Trystan recognized the speaker.

"Lees? Leesbert! It's Trystan. Let me in. I have wounded." A curious head with lank, red hair peered from a watchtower. He heard whispers of "it's Sir Trystan..." above him, and feet upon wooden steps. Finally, the gate creaked open a fraction and Trystan took one step through.

A sword was poised at eye-height, shaking slightly, but he had been expecting that. He dodged sideways, ducked and swerved, drawing his own weapon as he moved. He let his blade arc to meet the outstretched sword in front of him, his eyes locking with its wielder's. The bound woman was still clutched beneath his other arm.

"Well remembered, Lees," Trystan said with a sudden smile. "Keep your stance lower, though."

"Be vigilant, Sir Trystan! That's what you told us!" squawked Leesbert enthusiastically, nudging his buddy.

"Very good," nodded Trystan, distractedly. "I found her in the swamp. She's injured. Badly." He gestured to the woman in his arms.

"Yes, Sir Trystan – let me help you with her." The spotty teenager sheathed his sword, and reached out to help the knight. His demeanour changed instantly when the blanket fell from her face.

"The thief! Throw her back in the marsh!" he shouted indignantly.

Other townspeople had finally been roused by the noise, and were coming out wearily to investigate. Leesbert, tripping over his words, began to announce that "Sir Trystan had caught the thief". There were angry whispers and calls for 'people's justice'; Trystan didn't much fancy the thief's chances of getting a fair trial unless he took her part. 'People's justice' usually translated, in his experience, as stoning.

"Alright, that's enough," Trystan said to them firmly. "I'll take her to the Old Smithy. She's injured. She needs help now, whatever happens after." He recognised the face of the Mayor's secretary in the crowd. "Please tell the Mayor I'll come see him on the morrow regarding justice for her," he said firmly, deliberately leaving his last sentence ambiguous. Justice was in the eyes of the beholder. No one would contradict him tonight at least, he thought, as he turned his back on them and trudged through the darkness. Hopefully the Mayor, at least, could be persuaded to see reason.

The Old Smithy looked very different since the first time he had come to Glainmarsh. It'd been abandoned back then, and haunted. Now the Women's Council had refurbished the house, and even added a wooden plaque – 'Sir Trystan's Retreat'. They had built a lean-to stable for his horse, which the town children love to spoil with apples and carrots. The town was trying to claim him as their own. Stepping inside, he carried the woman straight upstairs to the bedroom, lying her down on the bare paillasse. She still looked feverish, but her pulse had normalised now.

Trystan sighed, dog-tired; there was still work to be done. He pulled off his iron gauntlets and carefully unbuckled and unwrapped the swaddled woman. The tightness of the swaddling had put pressure on the wound, as well as keeping her warm, but as he pulled the woollen blanket away fresh blood began to ooze down her side once more. The gash was ragged and deep and, knowing the filthiness of the Mudlings, probably already infected. Maybe in a city with accomplished healers she would stand a chance - out here, it wasn't looking hopeful for her. Trystan remembered the herb packet he had taken from the Mudlings – pulling it from his pack, he unfolded it, searching through the dried leaves. Within an oiled silk roll he found the marsh rose - the Mudlings must have found it on her. Maybe the thief would get the use of it after all, he mused sardonically. Retying her bandage and covering her with a dry blanket, he left her in the darkness and hurried downstairs to prepare the necessary potion.

*****

Ellia awoke with a start to the sound of heavy boots on wood. Excruciating pain in her side and chest made her wince as she squinted into the darkness around her. It was shivering cold here, and every inch of her body ached brutally, but this wasn't the marsh. There had been walking, and voices, and the clash of metal. As the footsteps arrived it became lighter, and she could understand that she was in a sparsely furnished bedroom.

"Where have you taken me? Who are you?" Ellia demanded of the unseen figure. Her voice sounded weak and croaky, which made her feel even more vulnerable. That made her angry.

"You're back in Glainmarsh," said Trystan softly, trying to keep her calm. "You're safe," he added, when he saw her panic at the town's name. "I won't let anyone hurt you." He sank down into the chair beside the bed, letting out a sigh of exhaustion as he finally rested his feet. He was still wearing parts of his armour, and periodically the dry, crusted mud fell in lumps to the floor.

"You from the swamp? It was you with the Mudlings..." she trailed off. "I can't stay here. They... don't like me here," she protested, weakly.

"I'll keep you safe," he repeated. "Here, drink this," Trystan changed the subject, handing her an egg-cup of unctuous, dark liquid.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"It'll make you better," Trystan said awkwardly, unpractised at deceit. Even in her addled state, Ellia saw through him.

"It's a potion, isn't it? You must be loaded-rich to be able to afford one of these."

"Come on, drink up," he encouraged.

He slid his hands beneath her back, and gradually sat her up enough to drink, supporting her with a straw-filled pillow. She sipped slowly at the liquid - he thought that she would protest, but she was quiet. Soon the little cup was empty, and she turned it over in her hands, thinking. Trystan remained silent, waiting beside her for what was to come and trying not to fall asleep.

Ellia had been musing on what exactly this man expected of her, and how she was going to escape Glainmarsh yet again. Then pain, so much pain, made her gasp, and she grabbed the blanket reflexively with both hands. Poison? Her insides were boiling. Her side burned. She tried to scream, but somehow she didn't have the air. There was a war going on inside her. As this happened, she felt Trystan's large hands holding her down, heard him whispering "it's OK, you'll be fine, it's just for a moment". His worry-lined brow was the last thing she saw before she sank into the cool blackness.

*****

It was dim in the room when she woke again. Watery light beamed from the window, where the shutter failed to close properly – daylight then, though she couldn't guess what time. Opening her ears, she heard the patter of persistent rain. She lay back, her muscles still stiff and sore. The gripping pain inside her was gone, although there was still a throbbing ache in her side. Now that she was better, she would have to figure out how to leave Glainmarsh with her head attached. She'd lifted a couple of valuable-looking items whilst she was here before. She'd thought she had more time but they'd caught on quick, for country folk, and clapped her in the cells. The locks were pitiful and she'd slipped out in the night. But that had meant going into the marsh, where she'd wandered around for days lost. She'd thought she had a stroke of luck when she met that big warrior – not just the marsh rose she'd 'found', which would make a tidy profit with perfumeries on the market, but she'd intended to double back and follow him out. Neat and tidy. She hadn't counted on those disgusting Mudlings, she thought, shuddering. She heard footsteps again, coming up the stairs, and feigned sleep.

"How are you doing this morning?" he asked cheerfully. Ellia opened her eyes, as if just waking. He seemed different without his armour; with peasant clothes over his muscular form and those wide, blue eyes he looked almost like a simple and rather astonished farm-hand. Still, there were signs of the warrior on him - his arms were knitted with scars, and he had a long slash down one stubbled, brown cheek. A tray of food looked strangely domestic in his powerful hands.

"Breakfast?" he asked, smiling cheerfully and placing the tray on the chair beside the bed. She sat up gingerly, wincing – looking down she saw that her entire torso was bandaged.

"You'll still be healing for a day or two," he explained, helping her prop herself upright. She enjoyed the warmth of his hands against her skin, and he smelled deliciously of wood-smoke and earth. She berated herself instantly. This was no time to get soft.

"You won't have to face the town until then," he continued matter-of-factly, laying the tray on her lap. "And as long as they get back their possessions they won't be after your blood. I spoke to the Mayor this morning." He sat down in the chair and reached to take a bowl; there was porridge, jam and tea, in rough, mismatched crockery. "I'm Trystan, by the way," he added as an afterthought, between mouthfuls.

Ellia stared at him, but couldn't take a reading. She thought she had caught some moment of attraction seconds ago; now he seemed cheerful and earnest, but utterly closed off to her. She wondered what he was hiding.

"Is this your house?" she asked after a while, looking round. The place was devoid of uniformity – every piece of furniture had a different style, every blanket and bowl was a different colour. The spoons they ate with – hers was tiny, like a teaspoon, and Trystan's was a serving spoon, though it looked moderate in his large hands.

"I suppose so," said Tristan vaguely, looking around. "Not for long, perhaps."

She looked at him quizzically

"The town gave it to me..." he shrugged.

"They gave you a house?"

"S'a long story."

"Tell me anyway," she insisted.

Trystan sighed, and put down his spoon. "Well, it was haunted. As far as I can tell the previous occupant - that was a hundred years ago or something - was a smith. Just a normal smith in the beginning, only he started binding souls to his pieces to give them an edge. Apparently everything seemed fine, but when the pieces were gradually destroyed the souls broke free. Of course, they came back here - wanted revenge on the smith, only he was dead too, by then. So they just started tearing up the town." Ellia looked around, suddenly fearful. Angry ghosts were bad news, she'd learned that her first time crypt-looting. Trystan chuckled.

"It's OK," he assured her. "I appeased them – they're at peace now," he shrugged at her casually as though talking of the weather, whilst Ellia gawked at him. "Knights in my order aren't supposed to own property, though, so I don't know what I'll do with the house. Only it seemed a bit rude to refuse a gift. Maybe I'll, I don't know, turn it into a hospital or something..." he tailed off, looking around him.


The Thief of Virtue Ch. 01



"Are you finished?" he asked after a silent moment, nodding at the porridge. "I should check that wound of yours again – I'll need to look after it carefully if it's to heal right."

"Oh. Urrr. Thank you," said Ellia in a small voice, caught off-guard by his concern for her. It made her feel vulnerable and off-balance – he had no right to care for her. She changed the subject abruptly. "What was in that stuff you gave me? That potion?"

"That was the marsh rose you stole from me yesterday, amongst other things" Trystan said with a smile, enjoying the irony as he stacked the breakfast things.

"What?! Do you know how much that thing is worth?!"

"Worth more than your life?" He looked at her seriously. "Your wound was severe and infected, and you'd lost a lot of blood. You wouldn't have survived with normal treatment."

Ellia was silent, unsure of what to say. She should be dead. Failing that, she should be in a cell somewhere. This seemed better than both of those options, but perhaps that was just because she hadn't found the catch yet.

"So you can make potions, then?" she rallied, after a moment. "Isn't that a bit..."

"...unusual? Yes. I'd be grateful if you didn't tell anyone."

"How did you learn? The Dragonhorde executions... I mean, I thought the knowledge was gone?"

"That's not important," said Trystan, lifting the tray. "Can you remove that bandage yourself?" Ellia tried, but her shoulders were so stiff that she could barely lift her arms. Trystan sat on the bed beside her, untied the knot and began to unravel the long bandage. Ellia couldn't work out why his movements were suddenly so awkward until she realised that he was somehow trying to avoid touching her bare skin with his hands.

"It's OK," she said. "You can touch me, I'm not poisonous."

Trystan blushed, continuing his work without looking at her. The bandage was gradually falling free.

"I mean," continued Ellia, perversely enjoying his discomfort, "you must have stripped me to put the bandage on in the first place. So you must have seen me naked." If possible, Trystan's cheeks became an even darker colour. She noticed a vein in his neck throbbing ever so slightly. Looking down, she saw a pronounced bulge in the front of his leather pants.

"Maybe you had a little feel, too," she teased him. He retracted his hands from her bandage as though burnt and stood up, staring at her in horror.

"I would never touch a woman without her permission," he protested, disgusted at the thought. Ellia looked at him with her head on one side, trying to decide if this strangely prudish behaviour was genuine. After all, he was a man first, even before he was a paladin. At that moment, the rest of the bandage slipped down, revealing her naked breasts to the cold air. Ellia made no move to cover herself, and Trystan's eyes seemed to bulge for a moment as he stared at her, transfixed, unmoving. Then he turned tail and fled down the stairs. Ellia heard his heavy foot falls retreat, then the slam of a door as he, presumably, left the building. Well, she mused, he could vanquish vengeful ghosts but couldn't face a naked woman. She wondered if he was queer, but his physical arousal seemed to indicate otherwise. Quite a mystery.

*****

Sometime later, Trystan returned. Ellia had fallen asleep again, and looked up at him blearily.

"Forgive me for leaving so abruptly," he said, bowing formally.

She rubbed her eyes, vaguely. "What? Oh!" she said, remembering finally, staring at him in wonder. "You're... forgiven?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," she replied, stretching and twisting experimentally whilst holding the blanket up in front of her, wincing when she pulled the still-healing skin. "Less stiff, anyway," she conceded. She paused distractedly, sniffing the air. "Is there something.... burning?"

Trystan thought for a moment. "Oh, Arnan – the stew!" he cursed, and he disappeared down the stairs, feet thudding heavily on the wood. Ellia followed, wrapped in the blanket. Trystan was bent double over the fireplace, furiously stirring a pot set up on little stone feet. It was boiling relentlessly, and burning flecks of greasy liquid spattered his arms.

"Lift it off the fire – it'll just keep boiling otherwise," she suggested, staying well back. Trystan looked at her for a moment, then did as she said, his muscles bunching as he lifted the heavy pot.

"What was it supposed to be?" she asked. Even without the burn, it didn't look very appetising.

Trystan shrugged. "I'm no cook," he said, by way of explanation.

"No, I can see that," she replied. Ellia lifted the giant wooden spoon from the ruined stew, and sniffed it theatrically. She blew on it, and took a small taste. It was so bad that should couldn't help giggling.

"It tastes like the inside of a giant's shoes," she said, laughing.

"You've been inside a giant's shoes?" inquired Trystan, with mock-seriousness.

"Now THAT is a long story," she joked, winking. Trystan grinned at her.

"Well, what do you want to eat, then?" he asked.

"What do you have?" A determined search of the kitchen produced a large sack of flour lying forgotten in a cupboard, and a basket of eggs which had been given to Trystan when he had returned.

"OK," Ellia nodded. "We can work with this..."

*****

The forsaken stew had been fed to the next door pigs. Under Ellia's guidance, Trystan had painstakingly boiled water and clumsily mixed batter. Now, finally, they sat downstairs eating at a small table, talking comfortably about nothing in particular. It was dark outside and still raining, but the crackling fire cast a warm glow over the wooden walls.

Ellia sat back in her chair. Trystan had changed, she thought, as she watched him explaining about the Order of Arnan. In the morning he'd been gallant and polite, but thoroughly guarded. Over the afternoon, Ellia had seen him relax in her presence, becoming less formal and laughing more. Beyond his quiet modesty he had rather a sense of humour.

"How does someone become a Paladin of Arnan, anyway? I mean, it's a strange choice, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Well, I grew up in the order. Most of us do, you know, one way or another. They get so many babies on the doorstep they've installed a special flap," Trystan joked. She giggled.

"And, what, you go around slaying dragons?" she teased gently.

"Mainly, I go around solving problems for people. And that's about as glamorous as it sounds," he grinned wryly.

"What if the solution isn't clear?" she asked, thinking of her own predicament.

"Then I pray to Arnan."

"He's very chatty then, is he?" Trystan was silent for a while, considering his answer.

"Arnan favours mercy and equality," he said after a while. "That's what we try to achieve on his behalf. You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm very curious."

Trystan shrugged. Honestly he didn't mind; he rather enjoyed her company. She wasn't afraid or in awe of him, which most people seemed to be for some reason, and she was refreshingly honest, especially for a thief.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier," Ellia said, after some silence. Trystan looked awkward, but nodded silently in acknowledgement.

"Are the Knights of Arnan all virgins?" she asked curiously after a while.

Trystan changed the subject abruptly. "Do you want more food?" he asked, something steely in his voice.

"There's no shame in it," she persisted; "I suppose we all were once. Come to think of it," continued Ellia, "there's a Sir Theron of Arnan that I've heard stories about from some acquaintances of mine. 'Three-legged Theron', they called him, so I don't think HE could be a virgin..."

Trystan's mind flicked unwillingly back to the day when the monks had taken him, about seven years old, and the other orphans out into the fields. It was spring, and they were made to watch a bull mounting a cow, whilst one of the brothers droned on, describing the process. Trystan hadn't understood most of the words he'd used, but he had remembered the sound of the cow, bellowing and screaming, as it tried to escape the bull. The subject had not been mentioned again - perhaps that was all the monks thought necessary for a young boy's education. And though the Order of Arnan by no means enforced celibacy for its Paladins, Trystan had been left with an unshakable feeling that sex was contrary to Arnan's decree of equality – after all, what did the woman get out of it, except discomfort? Throughout his travels he had seen rape and abuse, only strengthening this belief. Men were beasts, who could not be trusted with women, and Theron was no different – brutalizing women with his manhood, and unworthy to bear Arnan's name.

"Sir Theron is a disgrace to the order and an abuser of women..." blurted out Trystan, before he could stop himself. Ellia stared at him in disbelief.

"The women I talked to said he was rather charming, and they enjoyed him immensely between the sheets," she said, with one eyebrow raised.

"They enjoyed him?" asked Trystan incredulously. "Impossible! You mean, he enjoyed them."

"I heard he was very talented..." she purred. "Wait," she said, an idea striking her suddenly, "do you somehow think that only men can receive pleasure from a coupling?". It was her turn to stare in disbelief, as his beetroot blush confirmed her notion. "Have you lived beneath a rock your entire life? I mean, I've heard of innocence, but this is ridiculous..." she tailed off as Trystan silently took the dishes from the table and returned with herbal tea.

"This will help you sleep," he said, stiffly, not meeting her eye.

"Now I've offended you again? I do seem to be rather good at that, don't I?" she grinned at him impishly, and he glared at her. "Forgive me? I was just curious. That's not the first time it's got me into trouble."

Trystan's steely expression melted into a smile once more, and their conversation turned to other matters. Before long Ellia was yawning in her chair.

"It's time for you to sleep again," said Trystan.

She protested mildly, but stood up anyway. Her head rushed dizzily as her blood pressure dropped, and she sat back down again heavily.

"Are you OK?" he asked, concerned. She nodded.

"Head rush," she explained.

"I shouldn't have let you stay out of bed so long," said Trystan. Before Ellia knew what was happening, Trystan had scooped her up without apparent effort and was carrying her up the stairs. She felt strangely warm and safe in his arms. These were not usually qualities she looked for in a man but combined with his smoky, masculine scent, she was finding him rather irresistible.

"I want to whisper something to you," she said softly as he carried her. He obligingly put his head down to hers. Ellia kissed him lightly on the cheek, his stubble tickling her lips.

"W- w- what was that for?" he stammered, caught off guard.

"A thank you?" she said. "You could have left me out in the swamp. Or you could have turned me over to the townspeople."

"I follow Arnan's wish for mercy," Trystan explained, trying to brush off the thanks, "and they would have given you none." He lowered her to the bed gently, sliding his arms from beneath her. She caught one of his hands in hers, and held it tightly.

"What's wrong?" asked Trystan with concern, sitting on the bed next to her. Ellia drew his hand to her, and placed it over her blanketed breast. Trystan said nothing, but his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. She felt resistance in his arm; he could easily have drawn away, but he didn't.

"You don't owe me anything. Don't do this..." he protested quietly, not removing his hand. Trystan was torn. She could see that he was arguing as much with himself as with her.

"I want this. For my own pleasure. Let me show you..." She left the words hanging in the air as she slipped the blanket away and pressed his warm hand to her skin. Trystan felt the supple flesh beneath his fingers, kneading and grasping without meaning to. He was transfixed by the smoothness of her skin, by the way her little pink-tipped nipple pressed into his palm. He thought guilty about how aroused he had become when he had bandaged her up the night before. He had avoided touching her as much as possible, but every time he did, he felt his swollen manhood jump. Downstairs in front of the fire he had tried to sleep with his raging erection, finally giving up and manipulating himself to orgasm; images of her body flashed unbidden in front of his closed eyes. He had never thought in his wildest dreams that he would lay his hands against her like this, and that she would welcome it.

Then Ellia sat up and kissed him, closing the gap between them, his mouth opening instinctively as hers did. He felt a strange, astonishing tension inside his chest as Ellia lapped at his tongue. She withdrew, trailing small kisses along his jaw line as she moved her lips to his ear. He found that his arms were around her naked back, and wondered how this had happened.

"I want you," she reassured him again, slipping her hands beneath the loose linen shirt and tugging it. She caressed his skin as she drew the fabric upwards and over his head, revealing a tattoo emblazoned on his chest - "Devoir me lie" in curling, monastic script. She lay her head against his shoulder and he cradled her there for a moment, as he had done when he had carried her across the marsh. Her fingers traced over the letters on his hair-speckled chest and he mimicked her, stroking his fingertips up and down her spine. For a moment they remained there, a calm silhouette against the oil lamp's glow. Rain and wind beat the roof above them but, inside the warmly lit room, all was still.

Ellia though, her ear pressed to his chest, heard the race of Trystan's heart which betrayed his quietness. She looked up to kiss him again, touching his chin lightly. He reciprocated more fiercely this time, taking some initiative to deepen the kiss. Reflexively, he tightening his grip upon her, and one hand slipped down to explore the curves of her hips beneath the blanket. Ellia moaned louder at his engagement, running her fingers through his hair and down his flanks. Trystan stopped instantly and pulled away from her.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked fearfully, afraid that his long-held belief had been true and she was moaning in pain. Ellia was so small against his over-sized frame, and he was terrified that he would overwhelm her. Ellia just giggled.

"No, I... I was enjoying it..." she smiled into his concerned eyes, wondering how she could help him overcome his fear.

"Come," she said after a while. "Lie beside me." Trystan looked at her nervously, but did as he was told. Lying on their sides Trystan and Ellia looked at each other, one fluent in the motions of love and the other completely naïve. Ellia took Trystan's hand and placed it lightly on her cheek, moving her own hand to his face. Gently, she traced the curves of his features, encouraging him to do the same. She felt his touch feather against her skin as his fingers tentatively drew the curve of her nose, her jawline, her lips, mimicking her own touch.

As Ellia's hands moved lower to his chest, Trystan obediently copied. He gasped with surprise at the tingle of pleasure she released in his nipples. He copied her gentle stimulation, tapping and teasing the rosy points, which hardened even more. Trystan felt Ellia stroking the muscles of his chest and realised that she was asking him to do the same for her. Tentatively, he took her breasts in his wide palms, testing and kneading them. Her pressure increased, which emboldened his own touch. She felt deliciously pliable and soft, and she moved against his body in a way which aroused him immensely. He was already extremely hard and her undulation was both tormenting and delicious.

She kissed him, her breathing heavy and her cheeks becoming flushed as his attentions increased her desire. Her hands moved to cover his as the game changed, and she directly controlled his touch according to her pleasure. She tugged his hands to go lower, guiding them over her ribs and naval, stroking her waist and hips. Trystan's whole mind buzzed in his fingertips as he drew them over her soft skin. His heart thundered in his chest, and time seemed to flow oddly around them, so that he could not tell if minutes or hours had passed.

Trystan felt Ellia shift to her back and suddenly his fingers, entwined with hers, were being guided inside her yielding thighs. He felt her movements become smaller and more precise as his fingers were drawn to her entrance. He touched her and felt her wetness pooling, felt her hand grasp harder at his as together they explored her intimacy. Ellia was now gasping, and her face was flushed. She held tightly to Trystan's hand as she guided his fingers in circles over her clitoris, demanding his persistence, bucking her hips. Their motions grew faster until Trystan watched her head tip back into the bed and her body contract, feeling her hotly spasming beneath his touch. Her grip relaxed on his fingers and he slowed his movements, discovering her folds with his fingertips. Sliding lower, he found her slick and open. He pressed slightly inside her, and she gasped again, her eyelids fluttering. She squirmed on his finger, and her hand reached down to push him further inside her. Under her more relaxed guidance, Trystan explored her tight, sensitive walls, pulling out and re-entering her in a way which made her gasp over and over. Finally she could take the stimulation no more, and drew his glistening fingers away from her.

Trystan looked at her with his head on one side, as if asking approval. She reached up and kissed him. "Did you have pleasure?" he asked her. A wide smile spread across her face.

"Very much," she replied, kissing him. "Do you believe me now?" He smiled bashfully, and nodded. Ellia tugged at the elbow which he propped himself up with, until he finally understood and lay down beside her.

"Do you wish to sleep? Should I leave you?"

She shook her head, and tried to pull him into the middle of the bed. He chuckled gently and shifted, obligingly turning himself over to her will. She ran her hands over his chest and down to his belt, opening the buckle.

"I can't leave you like this," she purred, running her hands over the front of his trousers. A low groan rose from his chest as she stroked and teased him through the material. His member had been stiff for what seemed like an age, and her touch both eased and intensified his suffering. Unconsciously, his hips rose to meet her fingers.

Ellia grasped the sides of his loosened trousers and pulled them down. Trystan's manhood jutted out against his belly. It was larger than any Ellia had seen, but considering his height and build she was grateful that it was not even larger still. She had heard rumours that the manhood's size was relative to a man's sexual drive – if this was the case, Trystan's celibacy must have been truly torturous for him. Trystan stayed still, unsure of what to do and waiting for Ellia to act. She dragged his trousers off, considering the best way to approach this. Given his inexperience, he might come to completion before he was even inside her. That would be a real shame, she thought lustfully.

Ellia straddled Trystan's hips, steadying herself on his chest. Her hands seemed tiny against his broad shoulders. She rocked her hips above his, spreading her moistness over him. Then Trystan's hand came up to her breasts, his other cupping her buttocks, and she was unable to think or plan. She needed him inside her, now. Adjusting her angle, she slid just the glans inside her. It was Trystan's turn to gasp. Despite his intention to give her control he thrust up into her, burying another inch or so. Ellia rocked over him, gradually taking him all inside her. Gods, he was big – he stretched her even further open, filling her with a decadent pain as her body adjusted to accommodate him.




The Thief of Virtue Ch. 01



Trystan, meanwhile, was sure that he was in heaven. He had never felt anything like this. She burnt around his manhood with an erotic tightness which was already causing warmth to spread throughout his body. He was barely conscious of his fingers digging into her skin, as he looked up at her dancing above him in the flickering light, as he felt himself buried to the hilt inside her over and over again. He had been hard for too long, and he longed for release. He grabbed her hips and pumped into her relentlessly, his pace becoming wilder with urgency. It was too good, too wonderful. With finality he pulled her hard down onto him and thrust into her, holding inside her as he reached completion. He let out a bellow of ecstasy.

When Trystan came to he saw Ellia above him, her hair hanging down in strands, shadowing her face. He could just make out her eyes shining in the dim light, studying him. He pulled her down, her head to his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, stroking her hair. "I think I got a bit carried away towards the end..."

"It was great," she reassured him. It had ended rather abruptly as far as she was concerned, but she didn't expect more from his first time. Besides, whatever had been in that tea was making her cripplingly sleepy. Even now, she was struggling to keep her eyes open. She shifted a little and his manhood, still inside her, began to stiffen again. She drew her hips from his, feeling him slide out of her deliciously. Too sleepy for anything else, she curled up beneath his arm, enjoying the warmth which still poured from his skin.

"Is it always like that?" he asked with awe after a while, staring up at the ceiling. "Is it always that... amazing?"

A quiet snore was Ellia's only response. Pulling the blanket over them both and extinguishing the lamp, he held her closely in the darkness.

*****



The Thief of Virtue Ch. 02



Part 2: In which a thief is tried and tasted.

The text below is original content which belongs to the author. This work must not be reproduced either in part or in full without the permission of the author. 

That said – enjoy! This is my first Literotica submission (as it were), so please let me know what you think! It's a three part story, and all the parts are online.

This story will probably only really make sense if you have previously read Parts 1, which you should be able to find in my author's page.

*****

Trystan awoke the next day to find Ellia still curled up beside him. The moment he shifted position she woke with a start, glancing nervously around her. Her expression spread into a smile as she saw his face and she extended one arm over his chest, looking up at him. They lay still together, both separately wishing that the day did not have to begin.

"What does this mean?" asked Ellia after a while, running her hands over the tattoo on his chest.

"It's the oath of the Order of Arnan - 'devoir me lie' – it means 'duty binds me'. We all take the words to our skin when we become paladins." He spoke with a quiet pride, as his fingers stroked through her brown hair.

"Didn't it hurt?"

"A great deal," Tristan nodded emphatically. "But it's a great honour to bear the symbol. And this one," he added, rolling over suddenly onto his front, and displaying his broad back. A sword, with scales balanced on the pommel, was emblazoned down his spine. It was nicked and crossed by long scars across his skin - she hadn't seen this in the golden glow of last night's lovemaking.

Trystan rolled back over and with a wide grin he scooped her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead, on the nose, and on the lips. Ellia had never seen him playful before. The kiss became more passionate, and her arms wound round his neck, her hands slipping into his hair. Her lips left his, kissing his neck; again, he copied her motions, laying his lips over her pulse point, over her collar bone, his tongue coming out of its own accord to taste her skin. She could feel his lust pressing hard against her thigh.

His fingers slipped down between them, between her legs. Gently he explored her dewy folds. Ellia drew away the blanket, revealing her fully naked self to him. For a moment he froze, transfixed. Last night they had coupled in candlelight but now, in the light of dawn, he could appreciate every curve and hollow of her body. He brought his face closer to his exploring fingers. He opened her legs to see her centre more clearly, still teasing his fingers over her pleasure centre and causing her to shiver, as he examined her curiously. Ellia found herself feeling strangely vulnerable,

"It's very strange looking," he murmured, almost to himself. "Very pink and sort of wrinkly..."

"Well, sorry," Ellia replied, with a bitter tone in her voice, suddenly stiffening.

She pulled away from him. Trystan looked up at her, trying to understand what he had done wrong. She was drawing the blanket back around her curled form, defensively. He sat naked on the side of the bed, feeling foolish, his manhood still ragingly erect.

"I made you sad," he said to her forlornly. "I'm sorry." He waved his hands around futilely, trying to explain. "I don't know anything about this." He looked at her with big, pleading eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again, desperately. Her expression softened, and she moved to him, allowing him to grab her into an embrace. He kissed her hair and nuzzled into her neck, feeling simultaneously contrite and aroused, his lust reigniting hers.

Ellia turned in his lap, and straddled him as he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes opening wide. She had already been wet from last night, and Trystan's teasing stimulation had aroused her further. Gradually she impaled herself upon him, enjoying his sounds as much as the feeling of him stretching her open. His head was level with her breasts and she pulled his mouth to them. He looked unsure, but as his tongue connected with her delicate flesh she gasped, her grip in his curly hair tightening. She began to undulate above him, rocking back and forth, feeling him swell further inside her. Determined to climax herself, she slowed, enjoying every inch of him caressing deeply within her and the pressure against her clitoris as their bodies fully connected.

Trystan felt himself enter her even further than last night as she opened up to him. He flicked his tongue over her breast, trying to emulate the way her fingers had guided his the night before. He was desperately trying to prevent himself from finishing, running over honour codes in his head, counting the transgressions of Nim, or anything else he could think of to distract himself.

Suddenly Ellia sped her pace, her hand coming up to her unattended breast as she rode him furiously. Her pace became erratic and her breaths shallow, as her thighs seemed to shiver around his waist. Her head tipped backwards as her spine arched and Trystan recognised that, as last night, she had found pleasure. He was surprised to feel spasms inside her, massaging his shaft, which seemed to draw him in further. He could wait no longer and he pounded, again and again, his pace wild as some feral need inside him found its escape at last. He plunged into her, raising a loud gasp from her as she rode another wave of pleasure. With a roaring in his ears, which he realised was his own voice, they slammed together and his seed rushed into her in hot spurts. A moment of light and blackness followed - as if he were suspended in still water. He thought he heard Arnan's voice, but it was his own panting which awoke him; they both glistened in sweat, despite the cool air of the room. He cradled her to him, swinging them both back onto the bed, still connected. Her breath felt hot against his chest where her cheek pressed against him. Their breathing gradually slowed, and Trystan tucked the blanket around her shoulders as they lay back, entwined.

Trystan toyed idly with Ellia's breasts, enjoying their suppleness beneath his hands. She was lying against him with her eyes closed, but she hummed with delight and nuzzled against him in pleasure. Trystan gradually felt his passion rising again inside her, and began to move slowly back and forth beneath her. She moved with his relaxed pace as together they luxuriated in the sensations of coupling.

A hard rapping at the door downstairs disturbed them. They looked at each other, and Trystan groaned, whilst Ellia giggled impishly. He pulled out of her and she turned onto her side to watch him pull on his trousers, the erotic bulge still prominently evident in the front. He looked around desperately, searching for his tunic. Ellia found it beneath the pillow and flung it across to him.

"Look asleep," was his plea to her as he ran downstairs, pulling the shirt over his head.

Trystan ran his hand through his hair and opened the door. On his doorstep stood the Mayor of Glainmarsh. He was a very tall man, almost Trystan's height, but his build was slender. His clean shaven face made him look strangely youthful, though there were wrinkles around his eyes, and his prominent lips seemed too colourful for his pale skin and faded hair.

"Good morning, Sir Trystan. How is the prisoner fairing?

"She seems almost well enough, Councillor. I was just checking on her in fact." In his head, Trystan apologised to Arnan for the blatant lie.

"Might I come in and see her?" the Mayor asked, with what Trystan thought was too much enthusiasm. Unsure of how he could refuse, he led the Mayor up the stairs, talking to him loudly in order to warn Ellia of their approach. As they opened the door, Ellia lay feigning sleep. The blanket was pulled up to her neck, and Trystan's still-throbbing member guessed that she was totally naked beneath. After a few seconds, Trystan shut the door again rather firmly.

"Sleep is the best healer," he said seriously. "I'll bring her along to the town hall this afternoon for her official sentence."

"Very well," said the Major, grudgingly, making for the door. "My people are very grateful for all your help in apprehending and guarding her, Sir Trystan. I shall have some suitable attire sent along for her," he added, licking his lips, as he turned to leave.

*****

Some hours later an unwilling Ellia, dressed in a blue, rather low-cut dress, was led to the town hall by Trystan. It was a large, cold building, and currently appeared to contain almost the entire population of Glainmarsh. There was a strange seating system with a line of six large chairs in the front, and benches behind. As Trystan entered, Leesbert appeared beside him. The level of chatter around them increased as gradually people noticed them.

"You should take the thief to the stand there at the front," hissed Leesbert beneath the noise.

Trystan led her over to the stand, and she sat in the chair on the little raised dais. There were manacles there but, when Leesbert tried to lock her in, Trystan shook his head slightly. Leesbert dropped them back down with a wink at Ellia.

"So, what's going to happen today, Leesbert?" asked Trystan softly.

"We're waiting for the Mayor now," Leesbert whispered. "When he comes in he'll hear the testament of the accusers, decide if he thinks you did it, and what he thinks is the right punishment. Then the five families will give their opinion. An' the women's council."

"He just decides whether I did it? Like that? I don't get to say anything?" asked Ellia incredulously.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he'll call for evidence and stuff. And sometimes other people stand up and talk, too. Didn't used to be like that, not with the old Mayor, but then court used to go on for days and days here and no one could get anything done. People'd piss in the corner so they could go on with the trial. It's simpler now – mostly the five families just agree with the Mayor."

"Wait... the five families?" asked Trystan. "Who are they?"

"Well, they're the five richest families in the town, see? Well, not the whole families, just the head of the family. They're always arguing with each other, and amongst themselves, so if it was the whole family they'd never agree on anything. To be honest, if there was just one man left he'd argue with himself..."

"All stand for his Excellence, the Mayor of Glainmarsh".

Leesbert fell silent and scurried back to the hall.

The Mayor walked in and sat in the prominent wooden throne at the centre of the room, upon a raised dais. He wore ceremonial robes over his regular fine clothes.

"I will hear the complaints against the accused," he said rather grandly, smiling condescendingly at Ellia. Several accusers came forward and, one-by-one, detailed how they had freely offered their generous hospitality to Ellia, only to have precious items stolen from their houses. Ellia found this rather unfair - most had offered her their "hospitality" out of lust, whilst others had clearly expected her to work for them in return. It was certainly not freely or charitably given, and Ellia had not felt particularly guilty about making off with their possessions. Trystan had already handed over the items found in the Mudlings camp, which were displayed at the front of the hall. 

During the butcher's testament, a man in the hall suddenly stood up and started shouting, saying that the butcher had stolen several of the trinkets in the first place. There was sudden outcry from the listeners, some upholding one or other story, and some shouting general abuse. Old feuds between families resurfaced and, as someone began recounting a 20-year-old slight at a third-cousin's wedding, Ellia and Trystan exchanged meaningful looks. After some time, the Mayor finally managed to restore silence, mainly with the threat of executing everyone who was still talking.

"I think that is enough. Let the accused stand". Ellia stood up, trying desperately to look innocent.

"Today's testament, along with the earlier private testament of Sir Trystan, Paladin of Arnan," the Mayor paused, nodding respectfully to Trystan, "leaves me in no doubt that this woman is guilty of theft. However theft, when the goods are returned as in this case, becomes a crime against honour alone. The Counsellor proposes that a half-day's labour for each of the accusers is worked by the accused. Does the town hear justice?" he looked around pointedly at the five families. 

"The Fryas family hears justice," said a grey haired man, standing solemnly.

"The Alson family hears justice," said another quickly, almost before he had stood.

With astonishingly little discussion, the other men stood up, assenting the verdict. Everyone turned expectantly to an elderly woman, almost invisible under an array of shawls and scarves.

She stood shakily, helped up by a young girl.

"The women's council hears justice," she croaked, "but adds the proviso that the accused should be rehoused. The women's council finds it morally reprehensible that a single woman should remain in the house of an unmarried man."

Trystan blushed - ordinarily he would have been offended by such an implication against his honour and virtue, but he could hardly deny it.

"Sir Trystan is a Paladin of Arnan - he is beyond reproach!" shouted a voice from the back. It was Leesbert, his flame red hair and acne shining greasily as he shook with indignation on his hero's behalf. "Besides, he's probably the only one who can keep the thief from running off," he added. The townspeople looked to each other, nodding. No one could afford to lose a half-day's free labour because some old women had more morals than sense.

"The Counsellor moves to overrule the proviso of the women's council. Who hears justice?" demanded the Mayor.

Again, one by one, the heads of the families stood and spoke agreement, this time with more lustre. The old woman sat muttering angrily under her breath.

"The Counsellor's secretary will define the specifics of the work detail," announced the Mayor with finality, standing up. There was a thunder as the whole audience of the circus-like court stood up, suddenly chattering. Some arguments were clearly breaking out once more, in an insistent and rising whisper.

Trystan turned to Ellia and grinned. "There," he said under his breath; "I told you it wouldn't be too bad."

"Well, I'm going to be stuck in this mud-hole for the next week doing chores," Ellia grimaced. Leesbert came up to the pair of them again, winking conspiratorially. 

"Hope you don't mind I spoke up on your behalf, only those old women don't have no right saying what they said. Although," he lowered his voice to a whisper which only they could hear beneath the bickering around them, "I heard you two last night making some kind of noise when I was on my rounds, so as I don't know that it might be true what they said. But they got no business being so old fashioned an' interfering and the like." He grinned at them in a way which made them both feel rather uncomfortable. Trystan was blushing again and even Ellia felt rather awkward, though she kept her expression carefully blank. Before Trystan could thank or caution him, Leesbert had turned away, looking pleased with himself.

There were still a few hours of daylight left, and the townspeople gradually filed out of the town hall to carry on with their chores before the sun set. Trystan wandered to the market with Ellia to buy some food. Several of the women selling in the market had been mothers of the children stolen by Mudlings. They cooed with joy when they saw Trystan, fussing over him, packing baskets full of produce and bread, and refusing to allow him to pay. Ellia had to put up with dark looks from them all, and several of the women complimented Trystan on keeping the prisoner from running off again. One women kept pushing her teenage daughters forward, asking Trystan which he thought was the most beautiful. Making some excuse that all were beautiful in the eyes of Arnan, he led Ellia away, laden with gifts.

When they returned to the Old Smithy, the Mayor's secretary was waiting for them. He presented them with a schedule of Ellia's work detail. Tomorrow morning was to be spent at the baker's, and the afternoon was with the Widow Pincer, a sour old woman who kept a smallholding on the edge of town.

"The Mayor's put himself on here," she said frowning, scanning the list once the secretary had gone.

"Really? He seemed very eager to come see you today. It was he who chose that dress for you, I'm certain of it," added Trystan darkly, nodding to Ellia's low décolletage. Ellia smiled to herself at his protectiveness - take a man's cherry and he thought that he owned you.

Ellia spent the rest of the day sitting at the table, mending her rather battered leather armour. Trystan did press ups in the middle of the room, reciting the Honour Codes of the Order of Arnan, until Ellia pelted him with small objects. After that they chatted quietly. At one point he tried to start cooking, but Ellia shooed him away - one stew had been enough to understand that he had, if anything, anti-talent when it came to the kitchen.

When darkness fell they ate together, discussing the warped and chaotic justice system of the town with quiet companionability. It was rare that Trystan found someone he felt comfortable talking to; he was rather shy and travelled so much that, by the time he got to know someone, it was already time to move on. Equally unusual was that Ellia found someone who didn't annoy her too intensely to spend time with. He had not once lectured her about her theft, nor tried to convert her. He had refrained from asking her too many questions about her past. That had pleasantly surprised her. Gradually they finished their meal, and washed the dishes. It became later. Ellia announced that she was going to bed and Trystan looked about awkwardly, uncertain if he was welcome to join her, or if last night and this morning had been a single gift, not to be repeated.

"Are you coming?" she asked with a smile, beckoning him upstairs after her.

*****

A knocking awoke them before dawn. Disengaging himself from Ellia, Trystan opened the door to find the youngest boy from the bakery standing heavy lidded on the step.

"Daddy says I'm to bring the thief to work," he said seriously. Trystan nodded, and beckoned the boy inside. He handed the child a biscuit, and the boy sat contentedly munching downstairs as the adults dressed.

At the bakery Ellia was put to carry in fuel for the fires of the huge ovens. When a cart piled with bags of flour arrived from the mill up the road, she was sent to unload it. All the heaviest, dirtiest jobs were reserved for her and when finally she thought there was nothing else, the greasy bread forms, still hot from the oven, were given to her to wash in a large, outdoor sink in front of the bakery. The hot pans spat and bubbled as they hit the freezing water, and she could barely feel her blistered fingers by the end. Throughout the morning the townspeople brought dishes to be cooked in the large ovens, since most had no oven of their own. They all stopped to watch the thief working, and to sneer at her. Trystan did every task with her, though, helping her along. The baker had originally complained, but Trystan had reasoned that he was tasked to watch her, and that "idleness is the bedfellow of idolatry", as the abbot's favourite expression had always been. At the end of the morning, they had thrown her a hunk of yesterday's bread as reluctant thanks.

Without rest, Trystan led his weary charge to the Widow Pincer's smallholding on the edge of town. The ramshackle old cottage was surrounded with scrubby hedges which could barely grow in the marshy soil, and the flea-bitten sheep chewed glumly in the mist. They spent the early afternoon cleaning chicken and goose feathers in a bath of soap and vinegar, brushing them through to remove the dust, dirt and droppings. The smelly, elbow-deep mixture was freezing cold, and slopped all over them. Together Ellia and Trystan worked quickly, and the Widow was struggling to find other tasks for them of appropriate unpleasantness. They ended up carding wool, until their hands were sore from the evil metal combs, and greasy from lanolin. At last the sun went down, and Trystan stood, announcing that the day had finished. Widow Pincer looked at him furiously, but didn't dare to contradict him.




The Thief of Virtue Ch. 03



The Thief of Virtue or The Paladin's Choice

A Novelette by J.D. Blythe

Part 3: In which costs are weighed, and prices paid.

The text below is original content which belongs to the author. This work must not be reproduced either in part or in full without the permission of the author.

That said -- enjoy! This is my first Literotica submission (as it were), so please let me know what you think! It's a three part story, and all the parts are online.

This story will probably only really make sense if you have previously read Parts 1 and 2, which you should be able to find in my author's page.

*****

The butcher's runner came to the Old Smithy the next morning. Ellia had just finished washing her newly-repaired leather armour. She was looking forward to burning the hateful blue dress, she thought, as she hung her own clothes up to dry on the porch in the weak morning sun. At the butcher, Ellia was put to work plucking chickens. It was a light task, at least compared to the baker's the day before, but the smell of the shop was hideously unpleasant. Trystan offered his assistance and was put to work lugging heavy carcasses and barrels around, which he did without difficulty or complaint. The butcher was very friendly and chattered away to him inconsequentially, frequently praising him for his vast strength and asking what kind of meat he had eaten as a child to grow so tall. He kept a lecherous eye on Ellia, though, and grinned openly every time she bent over and revealed a glimpse down the blue dress.

Around noon, the Mayor's secretary appeared, with six members of the guard.

"The Mayor offers his thanks for your tireless efforts, Sir Trystan, but he will not be requiring your presence this afternoon."

"It really is no trouble; I'd feel lax in my duties if I stopped guarding her now. Besides, I'm sure I could be helpful with whatever tasks the Mayor feels are suitable punishment for the prisoner," Trystan added, wanted to stay close to her.

"No indeed," said the secretary looking rather harassed. "The Mayor insisted, quite forbade you from accompanying her. Urrrr, I'm sure he means only that you deserve a rest..." he added quickly, tailing off with a frightened squeak as Trystan took a step towards him, looming dangerously.

Trystan shrugged, but there was nothing he could do. Unless there was clear evidence of exploitation and abuse, his orders were clear - he was not to unbalance the status quo or interfere with the local government. He had to follow the rules of the land. In the past, Paladins had rushed in to overthrow an over-taxing Duke or a louche Prince, only to abandon the region to chaos and anarchy when they moved on. The Order of Arnan frowned upon such short-term thinking. Still Trystan, who was usually reticent to use violence, felt his fists itch whenever the Mayor was mentioned.

*****

The Mayor's house was the only stone building in Glainmarsh, set back on the opposite side from the swamp. Despite the poor soil, some attempt had been made to grow a tree-lined approach and the door itself was carved grandly in wood, with metal-work riveted to it. It opened as the small party reached it.

"Ahh, Miss Ellia, do come in," smiled the Mayor. His lips seemed overly red against his pale cheeks.

"That will be all, watchmen, you may wait outside," he ordered sternly. "I'm sure that Miss Ellia has no intention of trying to flee her justly appointed punishment." His eyes never left her.

"No, your excellency..." she said, looking down to feign respect.

"Mr Mayor will be fine," he corrected her, with another thin smile.

The secretary ushered Ellia into the reception room of the house, and was subsequently dismissed.

"You can read, I assume?" asked the Mayor.

"Yes."

"Very good. I have some papers for you to organise. But first, perhaps you would care for some lunch?" Ellia looked at him warily, and nodded. He opened a door into an adjoining room. The dining table there was spread with an array of luxurious dishes. She was surprised to see china plates and even real blown glass on the table. Fine, white candles in ornate candle sticks were dotted amongst the feast.

"What's all this for?" demanded Ellia, suspiciously.

"It's not often that I get such attractive help around my office," he said, bowing gallantly. She shuddered a little, but the food smelled delicious and she hadn't yet eaten today. Besides, he doesn't look very strong, she thought; she could handle herself if he tried anything. He courteously pulled out a chair and waited for her to sit, tucking it beneath her. Seating himself at her right hand side, he helped her to the various dishes and poured out two large glasses of wine.

"Please do start, no need to stand on ceremony. You must be hungry after the past few days. I do my best to see that Glainmarsh doesn't go hungry but... well... peasant fare..." he finished, dismissively.

She sniffed the food with suspicion, then tasted it. It was delicious. She tucked in more vigorously, enjoying the different dishes.

"Do try the wine," he urged her after a while. "It melds beautifully with the venison."

She took a sip, and nodded despite herself as the ruby liquid flooded her mouth with flavour, complimenting the tender meat. She drank deeper, a little spilling down her chin. After a while she noticed a strange, expectant expression on the Mayor's face as he watched her. He had barely touched his own food.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked him.

"My appetite is for other things," he said, with a predatory smile. Ellia, her head becoming foggy, nodded foolishly for a moment before realisation dawned on her. Did he mean her? As if in answer, he slid his hand over hers on the table. She pulled away, clumsily knocking over her glass. Strangely, her chair was now too heavy to move back. She tried to slide out from behind the table, but all her grace was gone. She fell to the floor without ceremony, her skirt flicking up above her knees. It seemed unbelievably hot in the room suddenly, and the Mayor's face was getting closer and closer to hers. Her last memory before she blacked out was of his smug, supercilious expression inches from her eyes.

*****

Ellia awoke in a dark room. Her arms and legs were in shackles, which were themselves driven firmly into the floor. Her wrists and ankles ached as the metal dug into her flesh and weighed her down to the hard stone. Damn the Mayor. She should have listened to Trystan - he had said that there was something untrustworthy about him. At the time, Ellia had put it down to jealousy. Perhaps there was more to it than that, she thought ruefully.

She fidgeted in the chains, but they were too heavy for her to move. Finding it impossible to struggle free, she lay back and thought. The Mayor would return at some point -- otherwise what was the point of locking her up? Ellia was pretty sure she knew what he wanted; she remembered the revolting lechery on his face just before she had passed out.

Still, Trystan knew that she was here, she thought, trying to reassure herself. Come to think of it, so did the other townspeople, and the guards. She was supposed to show up for work tomorrow - there'd be outcry if she didn't appear to complete her punishment, unless... the Mayor was going to keep her here. He could say that she had run away, and who would contradict him? She had no idea where she was, but she doubted that many people knew about a room with shackles sunk into the floor. If he was willing to drug her and tie her up, it seemed doubtful he would let her go. Certainly few would believe her story, but Trystan would cause problems and the people respected Trystan. How much more convenient for the Mayor if she just disappeared, she mused despondently.

And he'd waited until she became conscious. He could have used her body while she was drugged, but he hadn't touched her, as far as she could tell. He wanted some kind of personal victory over her, wanted her to be aware of what was happening. That was worse. That was definitely worse...

A clunk and scrape from a nearby lock and a door opened, bringing with it a triangle of light from beyond. Ellia squinted in the sudden brightness, until a tall silhouette became visible.

"Did you sleep well, Thiefling?" he asked with a sneer. Ellia remained silent, unwilling to play along.

"You know", he continued, still standing in the blinding light. "It's not often that I see a woman as fine as you. Glainmarsh has little to choose from. I brought you down here because I hoped to... persuade you, to show you how good things could be if you stayed here. With me." She could hear the smile in his voice.

Ellia's face remained carefully impassive, but inside she was thinking, "He wants to win me over?" A man who has hope is easy to fool -- she remembered that lesson from Three Fingers Buggy, the kidsman who had found her on the street and taught her to steal. Perhaps she could turn that to her advantage. The Mayor watched her blank face for a few moments, and then turned out of the room, leaving the door open.

Maybe this was a good thing, she mused. She'd been playing by the rules all this time because of Trystan. Because Trystan was supposed to be her guard, and if she slipped out on him then he would be in trouble. Because she felt gratitude to Trystan, because she - dammit, she liked him and that was the truth. She sighed at her own childishness, but she couldn't deny it. Still, this was not the time for revelations. The point was that, without Trystan here, the option of running from Glainmarsh was again open. Of course, she had to deal with the Mayor first, and she was hardly in a strong position to bargain.

The Mayor returned as she weighed her options, now holding a wooden cup.

"Drink this," he said firmly, squatting down closer to her.

"You're mad if you think I'm going to drink anything you give me," she retorted instantly.

"What makes you think you'll have a choice?" smirked the Mayor, relishing her discomfort. "Now, are you going to drink this, or am I going to have to force you? I warn you, I'll only enjoy that more." He leered at her, yellow teeth catching the light beneath those too-red lips. Ellia remained resolutely and uncharacteristically silent. She wasn't going to help him. If he wanted anything from her he was going to be disappointed.

The Mayor shrugged, and knelt down next to her. She couldn't move well because of the weight of the shackles but she still struggled, trying to stay away from him. He grasped her jaw painfully, digging his fingers into her cheeks. She kept her teeth firmly clenched. He grinned at her tauntingly and brought his other hand up, holding her nose closed.

"Come on, little thiefling," he coaxed. "You have to breathe some time."

Ellia held her breath for as long as she could, the Mayor's sweaty hands clasped over her nose and still digging into her cheeks. Finally, as the sides of her vision went dark, her body made the decision for her, and she gasped in air. It was the moment the Mayor had been waiting for. He forced a wooden rod between her teeth and poured the liquid from the cup down her throat, her head yanked back and held fast, his fingers still pinching off her nose. Suddenly it was simple; she had to drink the liquid - it was that or drown.

When the cup was empty, the Mayor set it down beside him on the floor. He let go of Ellia, moving easily out of the way with a high laugh as she kicked out and fought awkwardly. All she managed to do was hurt herself as she sent the cup skittering across the hard stones. Or at least, she thought she had hurt herself. She felt shooting pain in her elbow as the blood rushed to where she had bruised it. I'll have a shiner there tomorrow, she thought absently. But it then didn't hurt. It tickled, it fizzed and... it felt good. Really good. Like she wanted to do it again.

She looked up in horror at the Mayor.

"What did you give me?" she gasped. Her wrists and ankles felt delicious where the shackles bit into them. He reached into her hair and yanked her head back, and she moaned in pleasure before she could help herself. The Mayor grinned maliciously.

"Feels good, doesn't it? A little gift from the Mudlings in exchange for some... of the younger citizens of Glainmarsh. Little cannibals, of course, but they are so good with their potions. Alas, it doesn't last long, or I'd have mixed it into the sedative. But, long enough, I should think. And if you like pain, you'll find that pleasure feels even better", he drawled. Then he kissed her.

She should have been repulsed. He was disgusting, and he had drugged her. Twice. But as their lips met, it was all she could do not to fall into the kiss. Her eyes closed. There was warmth, and some incomprehensible electricity, and her body started to heat up. She wanted him. And he had her right where he wanted her.

The Mayor produced a key as Ellia lay blearily on the floor, drunk with waves of pleasant feelings. She felt the shackles fall away, and moaned afresh as the blood rushed into her joints, causing pain which her body could only interpret as pleasure. Her whole skin was quivering goose bumps. She was totally helpless as he tore her dress down and caressed her. He ripped at her nipples and tugged at her breasts with a cruel sneer. She moaned loudly as his fingernails dug into her skin and her drugged brain told her this was delicious, and begged her for more. Moving back, the Mayor unlaced the front of his trousers, pulling his member out. It was already hard - clearly he had enjoyed having Ellia at his mercy. For one second, she hoped that he would ram it inside her and fuck her immediately. Coming to her senses, she was horrified to realise that she was already damp, her body lustily preparing itself for an onslaught she dreaded. The Mayor was now leaning forward, shuffling up her body and straddling her shoulders. He grabbed her breasts roughly again, causing her to let out another open-mouthed moan, and then shoved his cock between her lips.

He tasted of rank sweat and stale piss. She drooled as he forced her mouth open again with the wooden rod, and rubbed her spit over himself. Then he started to pump in and out of her mouth, hitting the back of her throat with the fat mushroom of his stubby, foul-smelling cock. The back of her head knocked a few times on the stone beneath her as the Mayor became carried away with riding her face, fucking himself deeper into her throat. The strange drug in her system converted this into surges of lust, and she moaned around the Mayor's cock. This final, vibrating stimulation caused him to orgasm, pumping his sperm wildly into her mouth. He drew out, and again held her nose and mouth closed, stroking her throat almost lovingly until she was forced to swallow his sperm. Once he had finally felt her throat muscles contract, he released his grip and she gasped for air, her face red and filled with disgust.

"Now, now, where are my manners?" he tutted. "You've been a good little whore and sucked my cock. I think it's about time I pleasured your cunt."

Ellia was still coughing for air as the Mayor moved from his position over her shoulder and face. He settled himself between her legs on the floor, and hiked her dress up to her waist.

"My, my, look at this. You're wet." He pulled her open, and taunted her as she gasped. "Either you pissed yourself, or you're more of a whore than I thought." He ran his hands over her damp thighs, and up to her swollen labia. He rubbed his fingers into her pooling juices briefly, then rammed two inside her canal. She was very wet but incredibly tight, and it should have been intensely painful. Instead she felt waves of pleasure start to crest. The Mayor grinned at her as she struggled to focus on his face. He was sawing his fingers roughly in and out of her, his chain of office swinging back and forth on his chest with the effort. He pulled them out for a moment and reached up to jam them into her mouth.

"What do you taste like, whore?" he demanded. "Are you sweet? I don't suck off whores until they're mine but maybe soon, when you beg..." he left the words hanging in the air as he shoved his fingers inside her again, adding a third. His onslaught was even rougher now, and Ellia's whole body was shaking with pleasure as well as with his motions. He waited until she was almost there, and then pinched her clitoris hard. Her orgasm was tipped in pain she could almost, but not quite, feel. Exhausted, she lay on the cold stones, panting. The Mayor paused his rough manhandling in order to gloat.

"If only Trystan could see you now - his little project. He wanted to save you, but I know that you can't be saved. You're a filthy whore. You want this. Otherwise you wouldn't be enjoying it." He drew out his hand, and then re-entered her, pushing in four fingers, digging his fingernails into her intimate flesh. Ellia was riding a chain of successive orgasms, now. She couldn't resist, and she hated the Mayor. Hated her body for obeying him. Hated what he was saying. Her mother had been a whore until she'd died, had made Ellia swear never to be. She tried to tune out his words.

"Well, Trystan isn't here now," he goaded.

"Trystan..." The thought was a beacon of logic on these waves of unwanted pleasure. She liked Trystan. He was kind, good to her. Her previous thoughts surfaced, weakly, over the tumultuous mess which was her consciousness. Escape. Something about... She knew this... Oh, yes...

"Membra bindet," she croaked, trying to focus on that calm sensation. Nothing happened. Trystan. Concentrate. Focus. The eye of the storm, where the madness acts as a focal point for the calm inside. She didn't have a lot of magic, she'd never needed it. This one spell, combined with her own skills, had been enough. She concentrated, took a deep breath, and tried to channel her hatred into a cold calm.

"Membra bindet," she tried again, struggling desperately to focus.

This time it worked. The Mayor's body went rigid above her, his limbs clamped to his sides. Finally. Now, what was she doing? Trystan. Escape. Yes.

Blearily, she wobbled to her feet. She still felt disoriented, and there were some strange, jagged humming sounds just out of sight. If she concentrated very hard, she could move without swaying. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else. She realised that her legs were wet and sticky - gods, she'd been gushing. The Mayor was trying to say something to her, but since he was lying on his face on the floor, and every muscle in his body was simultaneously flexing, he was rather difficult to understand. She ignored him.

At that moment, she heard approaching footsteps, still far away. She dragged the body of the Mayor behind the door. He made the occasional grunting noise. She slipped into the shadows at the furthest part of the room as a figure appeared at the door. He was clearly a fool - he ran straight in before his eyes had accustomed to the darkness, giving Ellia the initiative. She clubbed him over the head with the Mayor's heavy chain of office, and he stumbled to his knees. With less than her usual grace she tugged the sword out of his scabbard and held it to the back of his neck. She didn't have any magic left and didn't really want to kill this poor idiot for just doing his job, but if he was going to make things difficult then she would have no choice. The town would never believe her story against the Mayor's, even if that mattered. From what she'd seen in the court, the Mayor of Glainmarsh usually got his way.

The guard was remarkably still.

"Ellia?" cracked a hesitant voice, after a few seconds. She realised that the neck she was currently threatening had greasy, red hair above it. That meant... She wracked her gradually clearing brain.