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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    could i use you as a makeshift gauge; isobell
    #1
    As the summer has slipped into fall, Ivar has spent more and more time in Ischia's northeast corner. The seagrass meadow between the big island and his smaller one has become a favorite resting place, and it is there he lingers on this sunny afternoon. His back brushes against the sand, and his eyes are half-closed from the sensation of the sunlight that warms his pale belly.

    He'd been woken from his dream by some disturbance in the water, and he rolls lazily to one side, his golden eyes traveling toward the beach. There - a set of pale legs that he knows well.

    The kelpie's head rises above the water near Isobell, a smile on his handsome face. He's been especially attentive to the piebald khaleesi of late, and the barely-there change in her scent as he presses his nose to her shoulder suggests that they have been successful.

    She'll give him another kelpie in the spring, a child as perfect as all their others. "You look beautiful today." he breathes into the curve of her throat, following it with gentle lips along her jaw. The scars they both wear are proof they are not always so gentle, but Ivar would not dare treat a pregnant Isobell the way he had only a few months past.

    The remembered sound of her breathless gasps and the taste of her blood in his mouth are enough to stir the kelpie, but he keeps his teeth from her throat with no difficulty. There is plenty of prey with which to sate his hunger, after all. While Ivar rarely returns to Isobell without smelling of another woman, he does always return to her.

    @[Isobell]
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    #2
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    His nearness draws a sigh of sigh of odd contentment. She is sated with his touch and enjoys the feel of the warmth on her back and the press of his lips to her skin. Her belly is still slim but there would be life there over the course of the year. Isobell now enjoys motherhood with her husband (always attentive and endearing) that she is happy to give him more heirs or heiresses.

    The wash of sea water has nearly erased the scent of a nameless face but on this day, a perfect afternoon, does not distract her from his affections. They have grown older, more understanding, and in this time Isobell recognizes that her mate is more beast than man and required more outlets for his cravings. She can easily overlook his outings.

    "Why thank you, sweet stranger-" Isobell teases him with a shining silver eye, girlish and coy over a shoulder, "-but don't tell my husband." Her voice lowers to a hushed manner before chucking softly. The mare presses her lips to his mouth to place a gentle kiss. Pregnancy always made her much more loving and needy for attention. Perhaps Ivar has noticed this change in her behavior as well. Isobell smiles gently to him before her eyes sweep over the tropical land. She finds a happiness here with the kelpie stallion that she had not know could have existed. Her eyes rotate back to the familiar features of the blue and gold painted man. "I love you, Ivar."  She states with with a soft voice but solid gaze. She means what she says and she wants him to realize her love for him is far greater and deeper than any others.


    @Ivar
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    #3
    The golden-eyed kelpie smiles at Isobells’ teasing, but that is because her pearlescent scales taste only of saltwater and himself. He knows her words are in jest, just as she knows that Ivar would tear any suitor of hers from throat to thigh if he so much as looked crossly at him or dared touch her on his island. Here, on this northernmost isle, which he has begun to think of as his even more than the rest of Ischia. The big island is just that – big – and the kelpie is meant for a far smaller territory. He has managed it, in the same way that he manages everything he has ever tried (that is: successfully), but he has been unhappy doing so.

    He far prefers this place, where Isobell belongs solely to him. Ivar’s curious lips trace the curve of her shoulder, and he lingers over the welted scars there. His breath is hot against the marks, and the kelpie’s pupils dialte at the memory of making them. He had never dreamed that spilling the blood of his best friend’s sister might result in this. She’d been a pretty filly, strong willed but he’d thought her otherwise unremarkable prior to their encounter in the brackish river delta. Young Ivar had been foolish in choosing to hunt her, but perhaps it was fate that had drawn him to her. It was certainly fate that had brought her to the surface afterward, fate and magic and something more.

    Now she is more than the young princess of Nerine. Now she is kelpie, savage and beautiful and his. Less savage now that she grows round with child, but such is the result of motherhood. She will be softer in these months, he knows, gentler as she cradles his children within her. Now is the time to let her know of things that might otherwise disturb her, Ivar knows.

    “I know you do,” he says when she voices her love for him. And he does know, just as he knows what that must feel like, just as he knows he does not – cannot – feel it. This absence of emotion has never bothered the kelpie. He’d felt things as a child, but with maturity came animal instinct and the shedding of unecessary burdens. Guilt is one such burden, and he deos not feel it around the words he says next.

    “That’s why I’m giving you Ischia. Not as pretty as the egg, I think, but definitely bigger. Consider it an early thank-you present.” Ivar gaze flicks to her barrel at this last, acknowledging the unborn foal within her. He is utterly certain it will be a kelpie like all their others. Isobell has never disappointed him when it comes to children, after all. Their offspring are quick and clever and kelpie, proof that she above others is the ideal wife. “I’ll keep this island, but you can have the rest of it, Khaleesi.” As Ivar speaks, his caresses continue, small circles drawn with his pale muzzle along the length of her spine. As he goes, he presses subtle hypnotic commands. Nothing he does not think she wouldn’t like, of course, just calm and relaxation and just a dash of aphrodisia. His sapphire blue ears are pricked toward her, waiting for a reaction to his gift, and perhaps an indication he might need to also subconsciously encourage her to accept it.


    @[Isobell]
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    #4
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    A lullaby of warm sun and the sound of the ocean are enough to draw a purr from between her dark lips. His presence and the blooming growth of life in her belly, conjure a placidity that normal she would not even reveal to Ivar unless it was after lovemaking and her desires and needs had been met (when had that not ever?)

    But the fog of her contentment is suddenly whisked away with his words.

    "But-?" There was a soft protest in her hushed voice but the feel of his lips against her skin, the soft press of his explanation into her skin. She would have wondered why, asked more questions, probed as to why but it all suddenly makes sense. Isobell needs nothing more than his request. The pewter eyes search for his gold but she leans into his touch, her breathes drawn in a rhythmic rise and fall as she is soothed by his nearness.

    "Yes, my love, take your leave and take your time." Isobell breathes, she is of iron and sea, Ischia will is her home and she will keep it in time just as the kelpie had. Isobell moves to curl around him with her smaller form with dark mouth seeking to nibble at crest lovingly. She would be the Khaleesi of Ischia willingly as well as the Khaleesi to the kelpie stallion still. "I know you can tell I am with child...you should name our little one this time, dear heart." The pied mare speaks with her still silken tone, low and for him alone, draping her head over his withers. The mare finds a possessive need to touch his skin despite his frolics with others. She would continue to ignore the trysts provided she remain the most important woman in his life. They are civilized beasts after all and the bind he had upon her was unable to be broken.


    @Ivar
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    #5
    His Isobell has ruled before, and the kelpie knows that she can do it again. She can certainly do so with more passion than the kelpie can muster. He’d taken it simply because it was freely available, after all. No, he remembers, free save for the small cost of taking on the granddaughter of the previous king and giving her a rank. She might be upset to lose it (he can’t claim to know the woman well enough to say for sure) but since she is already growing wide with his child for the second time he does not intend to give her much chance to be upset.

    The kelpie does his best to keep the mothers of his children happy, after all.

    Isobell is no exception. Giving her Ischia will surely keep her happy, just as it will surely free Ivar to pursue other – more interesting – things. He’s no intention of taking a true leave, though he might venture farther from the tropical island in the coming months. There are new lands, after all, places in Beqanna that he has never seen. Isobell will be content here, he is sure, and she might even find some of his other women to be passable companions. The idea of her meeting Wrena brings the flicker of a smile to his face just before Isobell offers him the chance to name their child.

    The smile remains there in spite of what she has said. Naming a child that has not yet been born does not mesh well with the sapphire scale stallion’s superstitions. He knows better than to say as much to Isobell, who has named their three others well before they slipped into the sea. Doing so might make her pull away to question him further, and the kelpie enjoys the weight of her head resting across his shoulders and the slide of her scales against his own.

    “Sverre,” he says decidedly, “if it is a boy. And Svana for a girl. Good, strong names for future leaders of Beqanna.” Though many of the realms of Beqanna are landlocked, Ivar has faith in his offspring. Giving up the sea is not a burden he is willing to accept (again) but he’s no doubt that the more diplomatic Isobell might be able to guide their children onto thrones far from the water’s edge. The idea widens the grin on his toothsome mouth, and he turns in the water to nip teasingly at the dark column of Isobell’s throat.

    @[Isobell]
    Reply
    #6
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    She is pleased he has trusted her to keep his lands safe (but perhaps it is all just so he may enjoy the true fruits of his labors). Either way his nearness and warmth are all she needs to be coaxed into the responsibility.

    A satisfied smirk is pulling at her lips as a feeling (dormant and sleeping) is awaken with the delicious fulfillment that she had not known she had missed. The weight of a crown is now upon her pretty head once again and it suits her silver eyes and swaying hips. The old Isobell, the Queen Isobell, is slowly waking. 

    Ivar's scent mingles with her own as an ear is offered to gather the names he offers and Isobell is pleased with the choices. "They are strong and wild names, suiting for our young." And what lines they did have. All their children have slowly become more kelpie than equine with each birth. They skills are homed and savage when they hunt, fierce with their tongues, unforgiving. Her own lips reach for the warm place beneath the length of his mane to inhale his essence deeply, pressing to that spot so her tongue may taste the salt that rested on his skin.

    He drove her wild and she was a slave to him (though she would never admit it). Soon, in the next spring, she would grow large with their child. Isobell wanted him to be with her for the pregnancy and to witness the lives they created.


    @Ivar
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