Dark Knights Keep

by Drakkon

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© Copyright 2001 - Drakkon - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

Lorelei was awakened by the sound of footsteps approaching the door to her cell. She had been here for some days, but she was no longer sure just how many. The cell, although clean and vermin free, did not have a window, so she could not count the passage of days and nights. She had slept four times, so it had to be somewhere between three and five days.

At least the Dark Knight had some honour, she thought ruefully. Although treated with rough hands at the time of her capture, she had to admit that she tried to fight. She still wore her gown, although it was rather the worse for wear. Wrinkled, stained and torn, it definitely could not be considered modest. Especially considering the rip up the right side that stretched from her ankle to just below her ribs, revealing at least a finger's breadth of the lace that hemmed her corset.

She had not been ravished. At least, not yet.

Looking around the cell, with it's plain cotton filled pallet and minimal facilities, her eyes were soon drawn to the Knight's own clear signs he considered her his. Around her neck was locked a thick leather collar. Her wrists and ankles wore similar decorations. Between wrists and between ankles, there were locked polished steel chains less than three hand-widths in length. The leather was thick and the cuffs were at four fingers wide. She knew, she had measured them herself.

The Knight would also not give her the opportunity to try to cut the leather. She was given no implements with which to eat her food. She had to use her fingers.

Again, she had to admit that the Knight had some honour. Although plain, it was healthy. Although the meals were usually thick stews and broths, and they contained no meat, they were clearly made from the juices of roasts and steaks. He even allowed her to have bread with which to soak up every drop. It was clear, though, that his title was earned. He never allowed her to have enough to be satisfying. She was always left a little bit hungry for more.

He would also allow only minimal contact with others. Over these days of captivity, the only person she has seen or talked to was the man who brought her food. At least she tried to talk to him. He had not once answered her questions. He never responded to her demands or pleas. He would unlock the door of the cell and pull it open. Behind him was a stool, upon which rested a tray containing her meal.

He would then stand in the doorway, feet slightly apart, with his arms folded across his chest. He wore black boots, pants and shirt. He also wore a black hood that hung loosely to his shoulders, with only his eyes showing. He looked like the headsman and was as imposing and frightening as the executioner. 

She backed up to the far wall and knelt down with her back against it. She held her hands in her lap. Then he turned and placed the tray just within the cell. It must have taken her over two hours to discover what would satisfy him.

The footsteps were louder, closer. Her Lord would have sent his Champion to her rescue by now. It was five days ride to the Dark Knight's keep. Was she about to have her freedom restored?

She heard the jangling chatter of keys, the click of the lock to her cell's door. Was it her Champion? Was she safe once again?

She felt her skin suddenly cover itself in a coat of gooseflesh. Was it Him?

The door opened. She was already in place, kneeling against the back wall when the door opened.

Her food was placed in her cell.

* * * * *

Lorelei believes that a fortnight has passed now. Her Lord's Champion would have rescued her by now. If he was able. She can no longer hope for rescue, now.

She hears footsteps approaching. She takes hers position at the back wall of the cell. She gazes at the leather manacles about her wrists and ankles, their gleaming chains. She hears the opening of the cell door.

Lorelei doesn't look up, but continues her introspection. It's only a matter of time before He comes for me, she thinks. It's only a matter of time before the Dark Knight comes to make her his.

She notices that there has been no further sound since she heard her cell being opened. Was it to be now?

Fearfully, she raises her eyes, to see it is the Hooded Man. In one hand, he holds a key. With a circular motion of the fingers of his other hand, he indicates for her to turn around. What was happening? Was she about to be freed after she had all but given up hope?

As quickly as she could, she turned her face to the wall. She could hear him step towards her. She could feel the heat from his legs against her back as he stood there a moment. He knelt, framing her hips with his thighs. She felt his hands gently lift her hair from the back of her neck. He stroked the nape of her neck as he took the thick leather collar in one hand. She heard a click and the weight suddenly fell from her neck.

The Hooded Man quickly rose and left the cell, locking it behind him. He had taken the collar with him.

* * * * *

She had been left with her thoughts for more than a day, she reflects. She had not even been fed. What could the meaning of this be? Her collar had been removed, but she was most assuredly a prisoner, for her wrists and ankles still wore their leather cuffs.

Once again, after so long, she heard footsteps. She took her position, once again kneeling against the back wall. Her heart was beating. Would she be given some answers? She certainly would be happy to be fed, she thought ruefully.

A stray thought took her by complete surprise. Even if it was only the Hooded Man, she found that she also looked forward to even that little bit of human contact.

The door was unlocked and swung open. It was the Hooded Man. But, behind him, she saw two trays, one with steam rising from it. He motioned for her to remain where she was.

He took one tray and placed it to the left of the door, almost halfway towards the side wall. Again, he indicated for her to stay as she was. She looked at the tray on the floor. It held a bowl of cold barley porridge. It clearly was not enough to fill, let alone satisfy.

He took the other tray, the one with the steam rising from it. He placed this tray to the right, opposite from the other tray. Radiating from it were the most enticing aromas she had ever smelled. She saw thick stew, bread, cheese and an apple. She looked up at the Hooded Man, her questions clearly read on her face.

He took from his pocket some long black item. He held it up for her to see it. It was a thick, black leather collar. Clearly emblazoned on the front was the Dark Knight's sigil, a golden dragon. He placed it on the floor before the tray with the stew on it.

He stepped towards her. He slowly caressed her neck, then slowly pointed to the cold tray. Again, he caressed her neck. Now he slowly pointed to the tray of stew. He stepped back to await her choice.

Remain a prisoner and uncollared, or become the Dark Knight's