One Stormy Night
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The Dark And Stormy Night free porn video
The Dark and Stormy Knight
By Ellie Dauber
Copyright 2001
Here's a little medieval tale that popped into my head today and wouldn't
shake out. It can be posted at any free site. The FictionMania crew, Paul,
and Crystal have permission to do so, of course.
A quick caution: this story contains an "on-camera" rape.
* * * * *
The fires burned low in the Great Hall. Here and there, a lord thought
about taking that last sliver of roast, or a lady considered the taste of a
sweetmeat or a piece of marzipane. But, no, the feast had been elaborate,
and there was no one in the hall who was still unsated.
The Baron rose from his place at the high table, and his voice rang through
the Hall. "Elgion, Elgion, my jongleur, give us a tale to fill the time.
It is too early for bed, et there is none, I think, who feels like dancing
after this most lavish of meals.
Elgion uncurled his long legs and rose from his place on the steps beside
the high table. "Indeed, my Lord Baron. This feast of Master Jassom will
happily weight us all down for several days." He puffed out his cheeks and
did a mime as if he had a most monstrous of bellies on his spindly frame.
When the laughter of this jest had died down, he ran his fingers through his
great thatch of straw-colored hair. "Now what tale to tell? This one." He
made a face so that he looked to be an old woman. "Or that." Now he howled
like one of the Baron's hounds. "I have it. On this winter night, there
can be no other."
He bowed low, first to the Baron and his Lady and then to the others in the
Hall. "My Lord Baron and Lady Baroness, Father Timson, my noble lords and
ladies, I give you the tale of Sir Ansolm."
* * * * *
Sir Ansolm was a fierce knight, well trained and most skillful in the arts
of a warrior. Yet, while he knew the ways of a knight: how to fight, to
ride, to shoot; he did not know - and did not care to know - their true
meaning: honor, humility, protection of those who could not protect
themselves.
He fought not to test his skills against a worthy foe or for some noble
cause. No, he fought for the pleasure of a wolf, to devour, to destroy his
foe in body and in mind. And he fought for the prizes that could be taken
when there was none left to stop him.
In his life, Sir Ansolm made many enemies. Yet none could put an end to his
evil ways. For Ansolm was not only a fighter of great prowess. He was also
the eldest son, and, so, the heir of might Lord. He had the power that his
family name commanded as well as his own strength to fight for him. Even
his own liege lord, the King could do nothing, for this was a time of
disorder, and the King needed the power that Ansolm and his family brought
with them.
Winter had come to the land, covering forest and farmhouse and field in its
great white cloak. The King sent messengers throughout his realm. He was
holding Court at his castle in the West at Twelfth Night. All the great
houses were to send their leaders that enmities might be resolved and the
kingdom united for the war that seemed likely in the spring.
Ansolm's father, Baron Sir Malcolm, was, perforce, invited. He rode off to
attend with Ansolm's younger brother, Rickhardt, and his finest retainers.
Reason was found that Sir Ansolm stay behind. The King, after all, desired
that the Court be a time and place of peace.
Man plans and Fate laughs. As they neared the castle, Sir Malcolm took a
chill. The chill became a fever with a great hacking cough. Ansolm's
father retired to his rooms to be nursed by the King's own chirurgeon. If
his family's voice were to be heard in the King's Court, it must be Sir
Ansolm, as the oldest son, who spoke as that voice. Against his better
judgement, the King sent for Sir Ansolm.
Sir Ansolm arrived in great humor. He full well knew that he was not
wanted, that the King had been forced to not only send for him, but to honor
him for the coming. He thought that he had the license to act as he willed
at the gathering.
Sir Ansolm was rude, and he was arrogant. He strode the King's halls as if
they were his own. And behind his back, plots were laid and knives were
sharpened.
In the end, Sir Ansolm betrayed himself into his enemies' hands.
* * * * *
Lady Bertreise was the daughter of a house as noble as Sir Ansolm's own.
Yet, where he was dark of feature and spirit, Bertreise was fair of face.
Her form was slender as a reed, and she moved with a grace like that the
swans in the King's moat. As fair the outer form, more fair was her spirit
and her soul. She was kind to all, ever cheerful, and devoted to her family
and her friends.
Sir Ansolm saw her the first night, and he knew that he had to have her. It
was not a love that touched his heart, though. It was an animal lust that
regarded the lady as no more than the servant or the peasant woman. She was
a pretty toy to be used for his pleasure and abandoned without a thought.
He tried, it must be said, to woo her in a manner that befit their station.
But the Lady Bertreise had heard much of Sir Ansolm, and none of it was to
his merit. She did her best to avoid him, and, when she could not, she made
it most clear by her words and actions that she would have naught to do with
the man.
On the third night, the King gave a ball for his guests. By chance, Sir
Ansolm and Lady Bertreise were matched for a bransle. He held her hand
tightly, too tightly. He smiled, but his eyes looked down at her bosom
beneath her silken dress and not at her face. When the dance ended, he did
not release her hand. "Another dance, my Lady." He smiled, but it seemed
more of a leer.
"I think not, Sir Ansolm." Lady Berteise smiled, but her teeth were
clenched. "If I may have my hand back, now."
"Who are you to refuse me."
"I am Lady Bertreise de Trovel, daughter of Baron Sir Nicholan de Trovel,
and I will not be treated as some man's property, especially when that man
is a cur and a brigand like you."
Sir Ansolm reached for his knife. He stopped when he looked round the hall.
A full dozen men stood ready to meet any challenge he might make, hoping
that he would draw live steel, break the King's peace, and give them the
right to slay them where he stood. And at their head stood Sir Kay,
Bertreise's brother and the King's Champion at sword and shield.
"Bah!" Sir Ansolm dropped Bertreise's hand and stormed out of the room. He
was not a man to run from a fight, but he knew enough to fight when the
advantage was his and not his enemies. There was time enough before the
Court was at an end.
* * * * *
To say that Sir Ansolm was the height of courtesy for the remainder of the
Court would be to say a lie. Yet he was quieter than most had ever seen
him. He seemed almost chastised, though he was seen to glare at Sir Kay
when he thought none were looking. His manner towards Lady Bertreise was
cold but respectful. He watched her, too, at times with a look that a
hungry man might give a hot meal.
There were no revels the last night. Most retired early for they planned to
leave at first night. Home and hearths were a long distance away, and the
days are short in mid-January. Only a few of the great Lords attended the
King. Sir Malcolm, his health restored, was among them. Sir Ansolm was
warned to be on his best behavior and left in his chambers.
Had he obeyed his father and remained there, I would have no tale.
Sir Ansolm waited, passing his time with some of the King's wine. After a
time, a servant of his house knocked at the door. The King and the great
Lords were in council and would there remain for some time. Most of the
rest of the guests were themselves abed, and, yes, the Lady Bertreise was
herself in her chambers not far away.
Sir Ansolm wrapped himself in a fur robe. He lit a candle from the fire in
his hearth and made straight away for the rooms of Lady Bertreise. He
knocked on her door and spoke in a small voice as a maid might do.
Bertreise thought it was, indeed, her maidservant, whom she had sent on an
errand. She opened the door but a crack and saw Sir Ansolm. She tried to
slam the door in his face, but what was the strength of a young girl against
the arm of a trained warrior?
He was in her room in a moment and locked the door behind him. He smiled as
he looked upon Lady Berteise. Her blonde hair was undone and hung down far
below her shoulders. Her gown was replaced by a light chemise that more
than hinted at the form beneath it. She read the lust in his eyes and
backed away until she was trapped against the side of her bed.
Sir Ansolm moved to her side. He took her two wrists in his one large hand
and held them above her head. With his other hand, he grabbed the collar of
her chemise and yanked, ripping it away from her body. He smiled at what
was revealed beneath. Then he shrugged of his own robe. He was as naked as
she, and she felt his erect maleness press against her thigh.
Lady Bertreise screamed and kicked at that maleness. Sir Ansolm dodged and
used her movements to force her legs apart, to force her back onto the bed.
She screamed again, but he cut her off by forcing his lips against hers,
sticking his tongue into her mouth.
Bertreise felt a hand on her breast. She felt him moving up between her
legs, then she felt him enter her. He pulled his head away from hers, and
she screamed again and again. She had been a virgin, and she was not ready
for such an experience. Sir Ansolm's brutishness drove any pleasure she
might have felt far from her mind or her body.
There was a noise at the door, a hammering. Sir Ansolm, in the midst of
ravishing his prize did not notice, but Bertreise did. The door crashed
open. Sir Kay, Sir Nicholan, even Sir Malcolm rushed in and pulled Sir
Ansolm off of Bertreise, even as he screamed and howled that he must be
allowed to continue.
The King convened a closed Court to mete justice. Only Sir Malcolm, Sir
Nicholan, and their children were present of all of the nobles in the
castle. Lady Bertreise came in, still shaken, but carrying herself proudly
for she had done nothing wrong. Indeed, she had shown great courage in her
own defense.
Sir Ansolm was tied to a chair. His eyes were wild. He demanded to be
released. It was his right, he claimed, to continue ravishing Lady
Bertreise, and he demanded justice against those who had stopped him. Even
against his own father and brother.
Sir Malcolm sadly shook his head. "My son is mad, Sire. I offer no
defense, save that it was my love that might have spoiled him so. If there
is a way that he may be shown mercy and allowed to live, I ask that it be
done. If not, then I will not say 'Nay' to the justice he deserves."
Then Hrolant, the King's chirurgeon and sage, rose slowly to his feet.
"Your Majesty, my Lords, there must, perforce, be justice in all things, but
there is an innocent here whose fate must needs be addressed."
"My daughter will see the justice that Sir Ansolm has called down upon his
head," Sir Nicholan said.
"Not your daughter, my Lord Baron, but your grandchild. Lady Bertreise is
this night pregnant by Sir Ansolm's deed." There was an uproar in the hall,
and Hrolant allowed it for a few moments before he continued. "I do not
like this any more than the rest of you, but it happened. It is a fact, and
the question is how you will deal with this fact."
"Let the two of them be wed."
Lady Bertreise glared at the men. "Is that your answer? He ravaged me like
an animal. And now, because his vile seed is within me, his punishment is
that I am to be his wife. I would sooner use his dagger to cut out my own
womb and the thing that grows within."
Hrolant took her hand gently in his own. "There will be no need for that,
my child. If the King, your brother, and Sir Malcolm are willing, there is
another way."
"What other way, and why is my permission needed?" Sir Kay was suspicious.
His sister was pregnant by this arrogant animal. "Why not simply kill him?"
"To kill him is to leave your sister the mother of a child whose father died
in disgrace. What future would she have? What future would her child, your
own blood, have in this world?"
"So what would you do with Ansolm and with my grandchild?" Baron Nicholan's
curiosity was getting the better of his anger.
"If Ansolm were a woman, he could bear and raise the child. And if he, if
she, were married to Sir Kay, then it would still be your grandchild."
Hrolant seemed taller and more filled with power than any, save the King,
had ever seen him before.
Sir Kay laughed. "Ansolm as a woman would be a fate he deserved, but do I
deserve to be married to the harridan he would most surely become?"
Hrolant laughed. "Of a certainty not, but she would not be the shrew that
you fear. As I create her new body and use my magicks to move the infant to
her new womb, I can re-shape her soul so that it more closely resembles your
own gentle sister. You would have a most kind and loving wife."
Sir Malcolm put a hand on Kay's shoulder. "I do not like the bad blood that
now stands between our houses thanks to my mad son. There is no means, no
normal means, by which this blood may be set aside except the shedding of
more blood. Hrolant's wild idea has merit for how can bad blood exist when
two great houses marry?"
The King nodded in agreement. "I will have need of both your houses in the
spring. What you decide will have a force felt throughout this kingdom."
Sir Kay looked over at Ansolm who was just beginning to understand what was
happening. "Then let it be done. Rid this land of Sir Ansolm and bring me
my?bride."
Sir Malcolm and Sir Rickhardt, Sir Nicholan, even the King agreed. "Let it
be done."
Ansolm screamed and tried to break free from his bonds, but the knots were
well-tied, the rope was new, and it held. Hrolant left the chamber for a
few moments, then he returned in a long blue robe embroidered with odd
symbols in green and yellow silk. He carried a large box that he set down
and unlocked with a key on a chain from around his neck.
He took out a small pink gemstone, wrapped it in white silk and tied it to
Ansolm's wrist. He mixed several powders with a small bit of wine to form a
paste, and this he spread in an odd pattern across Ansolm's bare chest.
Ansolm shivered at the old sage's touch. He tried to move, but found that
he could not. Something seemed to rob him of his will. He no longer
struggled but sat quietly as the man went about his strange work.
At last Hrolant seemed finished. "The charms and potions are laid. It is
now time to evoke them, to fill them with the power to do their work." He
stood and began to mutter in a strange language. These were all learned men
as well as skilled knights, churchgoing men as well. And, in their youth,
both Sir Malcolm and Sir Nicholan had traveled to the Holy Land with the
King's father. Yet, none of them recognized more than a few words of what
Hrolant said.
There was a glow of power around the old man, a sort of Saint Elmo's fire as
one might see on a summer night. He made a final gesture, spat a last few
words, and pointed at Ansolm. The glow leapt from Hrolant to the symbols on
Ansolm's chest. They began to glow, a glow that spread out to cover his
entire body.
Ansolm's eyes went wide. His mouth opened as if to speak. Then the change
began.
Ansolm shrank until the ropes hung loose around him, though he made no
effort to escape. His muscles faded away as his body grew slimmer. His
face grew narrower, his nose smaller. His dark hair grew out, down past his
ears, past his shoulders until it hung loose halfway down his back. Ansolm
managed to whimper, and they heard his voice grow higher and higher.
His body was no longer that of a fighter. There was a smoothness, a
softness to it now, as muscles were replaced by feminine curves. Lady
Bertreise reached over and modestly closed Ansolm's robe over the breasts
that were growing out from his chest. His legs were still exposed, and the
men noticed them develop a most delightful and feminine curve. Suddenly his
eyes went wide, and his entire body shivered. A single "Yeap!" escaped her
lips.
Hrolant leaned over and tightened the robe around Ansolm's now narrow waist.
He lifted one part of the robe and peered within just a bit below that
waist. "It is done. She is done." He lowered the robe, leaving no doubt
as to what was now gone from between Ansolm's legs.
"Now for the second part of this great spell." Hrolant mixed a few more
powders together and painted a small new design on Ansolm's stomach. Then
he bowed low to Lady Bertreise. She seemed to understand. She stood and
modestly opened her robe. The other men, even the King looked away.
Hrolant painted a similar design on the Lady and had her close her robe.
He gently touched Lady Bertreise's robe just above her stomach. Then, with
a sweeping gesture, he raised that hand from her, moved over, and laid it on
the stomach of the transformed Sir Ansolm. He said a few more words in that
most strange tongue.
Lady Bertreise felt an odd tingling in her body. She looked down and saw a
glow appear at the place that Hrolant had touched. The glow formed into a
small sphere no bigger than a man's hand. It rose from her, floated through
the air, and sank into Ansolm. He seemed as unmoved as before, still
trapped and unable to react through Hrolant's magicks.
"Your betrothed now carries the child, Sir Kay." Hrolant placed his hands
on the two sides of Ansolm's head. "Now for the hardest part. It is far
easier to re-shape a body than to re-make a soul." He stood in that way for
several minutes, looking only over at Lady Bertreise. There was no evil in
his manner. It reminded Rickhardt of a painter once summoned to his
father's castle to create a portrait of his mother, a woman whose memories
he still cherished long years after her death from a fever.
"Done!" Hrolant dropped his arms to his side and took a breath. He looked
as if he had done a hard day's physical labor.
Ansolm shook his head - her head - as if waking from a dream. She looked
around at the men staring at her. Then she saw Lady Bertreise and began to
cry. "My Lady, my?sister, I have done you the most horrible evil. I do not
deserve it, but, please, I pray you, can you try to find it in your heart to
someday forgive me for what I have done."
Lady Bertreise was confused. There was none of Ansolm's male anger in the
voice that spoke to her. Instead, it was the voice of a young maid, high
and soft in tone, anxious, almost desperate to be forgiven for his crimes.
"Ansolm?."
The new woman shook her head. "No, please, no. Sir Ansolm is still within
me. All of his memories are there, but they are the memories of another. I
am Lady Annys now, and, if your brother will still have me, I shall this day
be his wife and your sister." She looked down as if ashamed. "If not, I
shall stay only long enough to bear the child I now carry. Then I will
leave the child and be gone, never to trouble any of you again." She looked
as if she were on the verge of tears.
Then a magick touched Sir Kay. Not the magick of Hrolant, though, but a
magick that passes between men and women who are truly blessed by its
presence. He gently took Ansolm, Annys' hand in his own. "Leave, Annys,
No, you will stay with me as my Lady and my wife, the binder of our family's
wounds and the bearer of the future we shall all have together in
friendship." He knelt and kissed her on the cheek. "And in love."
* * * * *
Elgion looked around the Hall. Many were still listening to him, but, here
and there, a head was nodding, fighting sleep. "And so, to use an ending
many have used before me, 'They lived happily ever after.' I thank you for
your kind attention, my lords and ladies, and wish you all a night of
sweetest dreams."
Baron Kay looked over at his wife. Baroness Annys was lifting up their
younger son, Malcolm, who slept at his place at the high table. "Did you
enjoy the tale, my Love?"
The Baroness smiled. "I was truly a thing of evil before your love cured
me."
"Not my love, but old Hrolant's magicks."
"No, Kay. Hrolant's magicks gave me the form and the soul of a woman. You
showed me the wonder, the joy, and the love that these could offer me." She
handed Malcolm to his father, kissing him as she did so.
Elgion came over carrying the older boy, Bertram, on his back like a pony.
Aunt Bertreile was also his godmother, and she sometimes teased the boy that
he was really hers and only "on loan" to his parents.
Elgion bowed low. "If your Graces wish, I will put the lads to bed. You, it
would seem have much to?discuss."
Baron Kay laughed and handed his son to Elgion. "You, my jongleur, are as
wise in your way as your father, Hrolant is in his." The Baron took his
wife's hand, kissed her gently on the cheek, and led her off to their bed.
Elgion smiled. "And, as I said before, 'They lived happily ever after.'"
The End
Emely
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