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The start of a fantasy slow burn story.

 

Sia ran on, through the thick woods and the dying autumn sunlight.

 
With every crunch of her steel shod feet through the brush came an accusation: "The King is dead. The King is dead. The King is dead.'
 
Black spots blinked in her vision, fatigue from a day of running and fighting without rest and only a single skin of water clamping down on even her frame. Every breath came with a gasp and the paladin's armor, usually so light, weighed down like lead. Each muscle burned with fatigue, save for three marks of pure agony where the devil-spawn's spears and axe's had touched her flesh. Those writhed with corruption, a poison that would at some point in the near future kill her. 
 
Stumbling, ready to collapse, the sole survivor of the King Guard almost missed the goat headed spawn that lunged out at her from behind a tree. But a decade of constant training was with the young woman, the barbed blade hissed down her shield while her gleaming relic-blade plunged into the monster's neck, almost slicing off the demon's head. She didn't break stride, because the howl's of the spawn's pack picked up behind her. 
 
'Goddess of war and valor, be with me today,' she stammered, pressing on up a ridge.
 
Sia had no hope of safety or help. In this demon haunted wilderness of trees and mountains there were no other humans for a hundred miles. The only possible source of help was the small army of the royal guard, ambushed, betrayed and dead around its blood spattered standards and the mutilated body of its young king.
 
'The King is dead. The King is dead. The king is dead.'
 
All that was left to Sia was to run, to find some cave or crevice where she could hide the golden signet ring of Savona and keep the relic away from the spawn's corruption. Her younger brother's symbol of office could be a great boon to the holy or in the hands of the monsters that had slaughtered its bearer, a permanent curse. The spawn packs chasing her knew this, which was why the simple minded brutes continued their pursuit. Barbed arrows flashed over her head, one of the poisoned shafts sinking into the back of her thigh. 
 
The Paladin bit down a curse and said a prayer to the War Goddess, asking for preservation, just for a little while. Lamed, she tripped on a root at the crest of the hill and went tumbling. Sia lost her shield and her helmet rolled away, even her relic blade was lost in the thick underbrush as she tumbled and rolled. At last she came to a rest, laying prostrate and gasping upon the ground. 
 
'Io preserve me,' she gasped, forcing herself up and feeling a litany of bruises upon her body.
 
In front of her was a small lake, it's shore covered in gravel and boulders. It's waters were crystal clear and very deep. Barely able to think, the paladin dragged herself forwards. Her throat burned with thirst and the depths may do well to hide the ring...
 
Shambling and crawling, the woman scooped a hand into the water and brought it to her mouth, only for an angry shout to stop her.
 
'Stealing from my lake? While wearing so much disgusting metal?' A voice like a mountain stream of rocks chimed from above her, 'the very nerve of you!  You should be on my knees, begging for me to not transform you into a rat!'
 
Sia looked up, finding the speaker upon a tall boulder. A young woman lay sunning herself in the autumn light, completely naked and of stunning beauty. Her body was that of a dancer at first glance: her hair less legs were perfectly shapely from her arched feet to her lean calves to her long thighs. But she was a dancer with a patron that spoiled her with too many good meals: her thighs were plush at the top, her hips womanly and round, as she sat up her belly formed a small bulge that spread slightly onto her legs and her breasts had a bouncy fullness to them. Not that this softness took away her beauty at all: her face was a soft, perfect heart with immense orange eyes and the longest, most beautiful auburn hair spilled down to her knees.
 
'Run!' The paladin gasped, forcing herself to her feet, 'Lady, I beg you to run before they see you!'
 
'What are you even talking about you fool?' The naked woman demanded, 'Hey, don't you turn around from me!'
 
Sia turned around, because the spawn were on them. If Io was merciful today, the beasts would be on her and let the woman run. Snarling, she drew the magical ring from her belt pouch and hurled it behind her, hoping it landed in the depths of the lake for eternity. Then she drew her dagger and resolved to sell her life dearly.
 
The first spawn to reach her was a lupine faced thing, with glowing green eyes, slavering fangs and an axe like a plough share. It was seven feet of mutant muscle and hate, but the paladin charged it fearlessly. Sia hopped back from its swing and darted forwards, stabbing the point of her dagger into the thing's neck and throwing it over her hip. 
 
'My name is Sia Avilni,' she spat to the half dozen monsters that charged her, 'princess of the royal house, captain of the king's guard, paladin of Io. Come and be the next one to tell that to the devil.'
 
Some huge fusion of man and pig charged, heads lowered and tusks raised. Sia managed to dodge it, but she couldn't dodge the club a bear faced monster slammed into her side with the crack of ribs. She felt herself fly through the air, smashing into a tree. The paladin crumpled to the ground, blood dribbling down her nose and her legs numb.
 
The pack howled in joy, prowling closer to her. Growling, squealing the pig faced beast scrambled towards her, blooded maw open to eat her broken flesh. Sia drifted momentarily out of consciousness and when her eyes opened she saw the hog monster laying dead on the ground, an arrow through its eye to the heron feathers.
 
'YOU DARE!?' The beautiful voice from before boomed, now like a cathedral at high mass, 'YOU DARE MOLEST MY FIANCÉ!'
 
Wheezing, Sia turned her head to see the plush woman from the rock striding up the beach. In a scant few seconds she'd managed to don a pair of thigh high doeskin boots, a long cloak of feathers from a dozen species of raptors and a short dress of silk that barely closed around her small paunch and plump breasts. Impossibly, the immense mane of auburn hair had been intricately braided into four long tails. She had a long bow seemingly made of one arc of gnarled wood at hand and as Sia wheezed, the woman drew and loosed, plunging it into the eye of another beast.
 
'FOR A HUNDRED YEARS I HAVE WAITED FOR RELEASE!' The woman cried, 'AND I SHALL NOT BE FOILED NOW!'
 
Sia's vision dimmed. She glimpsed the pack of spawn charge the woman, who seemed to be a towering, darkening shadow. Losing consciousness, she came to with the strange girl kneeling beside her, a hand outstretched over Sia's mangled ribs.
 
'No, you're not dying yet,' the strange woman ordered her, 'not now.'
 
Her rescuer said something Sia did't understand and her hand began to glow, bright green light gleaming off it. As her soul spiraled towards death, Sia noticed that the woman had delicate, graceful fingers with long, clean nails that were covered in blood.
 
And that the ring of Savona was fit snugly upon her finger.
 
 
 
 
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Rage gripped Mor'wen'Alvagassa'Korrinat'Barborinar, replacing long decades of boredom and despair. 

 
Salvation from her century of solitude was at hand and these disgusting, corrupted flesh sacks were trying to toss her back into her sylvan cage? Trying to gobble up the promised Prince who had so idly tossed her a ring? These new fiends would soon learn why she had been the Warden of New Growth in centuries past.
 
Leaping from her sunning spot, Mor'wen summoned her panoply from where it rested. Her striding boots wrapped snugly around her plump legs, the raptor cloak draped down from her shoulders, her spider silk dress hugged too tightly to her belly and hips, the singular snap that could fasten straining in the gap between autumn padded paunch and fall enhanced breasts. Her hair bound itself up into war braids at a thought, ready to trip and entangle. By the time she hit the ground, the auburn haired woman was fully dressed and rising up she summoned Wolf's Fang, the mighty war bow materializing with a flash in her hand.
 
'YOU DARE!?' Mor'wen roared out, putting all of her might into the roar, 'YOU DARE MOLEST MY FIANCÉ!''
 
Long had it been since she'd used her bow in any sort of anger, preferring to let her animal servants hunt for her. But time had not dulled Mor'wen's hand, she hauled the immense weight of the war bow back and an arrow appeared on its string. Loosing with an exhale, it plunged though the eye of the hog beast intent on eating her new fiancé.
 
The knight had been horribly mangled in his attempts to protect her. An effort beyond gallant, but foolish given his lack of weapons. Mor'wen could have said something similar about herself, but she was a high noble of the people and the Lady of Falling leaves would not let mere danger keep her from what was surely her love. With another breath she killed another beast and then as they closed the distance, made herself change.
 
Magic flooded her: feathers burst from her skin, her smooth nails darkened and lengthened into immense talons, her soft flesh hardened, multiplied and bulked, her long nose and sharp chin formed a tearing beak. In a moment she was in the form of an owl bear, a chimeric monster of claws and anger. Mor'wen killed the startled monsters with half a dozen swipes in as many breathes, leaving their corpses upon the beach.
 
Bloodlust and power ran through her body, a desire to use her power again at long last. But a glimpse at the mangled body of her savior put that away. It was time for her other powers to be put to use.
 
She changed back to her lovely form and ran across the beach. Her breath came quickly, an abundant fall had been too kind to her body, covering the hard muscle of summer with more lazy fat that ever before. But she ignored the pinch of her high boots on her over plush legs, of how her full thighs brushed on each step and how the soft curve of her belly and the now heavy swell of her chest bounced. Mor'wen ignored the pleasing signs of what fall had given her when usually she'd focus solely upon it, her salvation was slipping away.
 
'No, you're not dying on me now,' Mor'wen demanded as she knelt at the side of her knight, summoning her spells.
 
Broken ribs shattered into pieces, punctured lungs filling with blood, annihilated vertebrae, a crushed spinal cord and a broken pelvis were merely the largest injuries. Even when she'd first seen Mor'wen on the beach, this man had already had half a dozen other injuries, each enough to fell a warrior of the people. Once she had cursed the brute constitutions of humans, but now it was all that was keeping her chances of freedom alive.
 
Mor'wen summoned power, more and more long stored energy. This happening in fall gave a chance, just as fruit ripened in the fall so did her power grow. It had been a good season, very good and while her body was plumper than it had ever been, so her power was at its apex. She used it recklessly: knitting bone, patching lungs, sealing nerves and expelling arrow heads of hateful metal. 
 
At the end, Mor'wen gasped in exhaustion. She'd used a sea of magic to heal her love, but the echoes of the damage remained. A poison from the weapons of those monsters was still within the knight's veins, defeating it would take time but now there was time.
 
'You are mine, mine, mine,' Mor'wen vowed, running a shaking hand over the knight's face.
 
It was a beautiful face, oval shaped with high cheek bones and alabaster skin. The hair was a little long for a man, but jet black and when washed would surely be silky. Young as humans went too, perhaps twenty summers, which was fortunate, almost feminine. She'd tasted a very faint touch of the divine in his soul as she healed him, an Aasimar then, one who's distant kin had danced with angels.
 
'I am blessed and further blessed, but let us get you inside. Night falls and winter comes soon,' Mor'wen called her mount as she carefully maneuvered the healed warrior down onto the ground, 'Kirrthax, attend me!'
 
The knight still slept, Mor'wen's spell insured he would until the last of the maddening venom was banished from his veins. She took an obsidian dagger from its sheath on her boot and began cutting off the straps on the knight's hateful metal armor, while her steed arrived with a rumble of hooves.
 
'You failed in alerting me of intruders,' she chided Kirrthax, a moose larger than any warhorse with a rack of antlers large as a castle door, 'but carry this one for me and I will forgive you.'
 
The moose snorted and knelt, while Mor'wen cast off the metal plates and then the padding and cloth beneath it. That was unnecessary, physically soft as she was once the armor was gone it would be within her power to lift up the knight. But after so long she was hungry for a glimpse of the flesh of her liberator. 
 
She had been able to tell that her promised savior was tall and broad shouldered, but narrow waisted. But once the armor was gone, she could see lean, corded arms and a flat, hard belly. Not the brute body of a laborer, but a honed machine, crafted to fight beautifully. Strangely, the knight's waist was tapered down to relatively broad hips, like Mor'wen's was when the summer sun made her muscles bloom.
 
'You're built like a maiden almost,' she exclaimed as she tossed away the belly plate and began on the chest piece, 'Mother Nature has smiled on me, making you so handsome. I've always liked men lean..'
 
Her stone-glass knife cut away the last straps and Mor'wen removed the breast plate with a gasp. The armor was aptly named, instead of the lean, hard chest Mor'wen had expected, she found a pair of firm breasts. Not large, but a distinct, unmasculine handful of tit flesh.
 
'No,' Mor'wen gasped, 'not...'
 
Disbelieving, she turned to the knight's armored legs. Careful slits of her knife removed greaves, showing a hard pair of runner's legs and what was a final and assured sign of woman hood.
 
'You are not a prince,' she accused the unconscious woman, 'but...'
 
Her sentence and curse had been to wait, bound to the lake until a prince of the humans returned what was stolen. A valiant warrior and strong, who would woo her and take her as bride.
 
Her liberator had been valiant and strong, had returned the ring that was stolen. That was close enough.
 
'You'll do,' Mor'wen promised.
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On December 27, 2018 at 2:21 AM, Troika said:

Huzzah! Weight gain and paladins and such!

Follow’d!

Oh yes, I've wanted to do a full DnD story I could finish for a while.

 

18 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said:

Haha! I didn’t really know what to expect when she discovered who her prince was. Now I wonder what she has planned next?

Prophecy is shitty like that.

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This one got a little longer than I anticipated.

 

Chapter 3: The Dowager

Two Weeks after the King's Death...

Dowager-Queen Regina kept herself from smiling, as her gold toed shoes clicked on the polished marble of the High Council floor in the city of Iodun, capitol of the Kingdom of Savona.

'Friends and colleagues of old, it is with a heavy heart that I must take up the burden of leadership onto my shoulders again and so soon,' Regina announced loudly, stepping into the center of the  before the High Priest, War-Duke, Treasurer or Whisper-Master could say anything, 'it seems my beloved son was barely grown before I am cursed to take up regency yet again.'

'Dowager, we have made no decision here as to who will become regent,' War-Duke Filvan objected, loudly from his seat on the U-shaped table, 'to proclaim yourself such, when King Rolvin's body is still in state...'

Filvan Alvini was a big man in his late thirties: his face was weathered and scarred from demon venom, he was tall and powerfully built but was fat, with the growing gut that warriors no longer active in the field often grew. Right now his eyes were red from crying over the late king, a man he'd seen as a son. Many years ago, when he had been a young knight, handsome and ambitious Regina had put him through his paces until he could barely breathe. He'd always been over eager and Regina found it both reassuring odd that he was still so very head strong.

'King Rolvin's body is in state because of the failures of his army Duke Filvan,' Regina said, putting a coldness chill as the aboreal hells into her voice and stepping forwards towards the duke, 'an army that you commanded. You assured him that the frontier was safe, that the nearest threats were five hundred miles away, that the hundred knights of the royal guard were all that were needed to guard him as he quested for the Armor Eternal.'

Physical violence was far beneath the Queen-Regent, it had been for countless years. But the War-Duke cowered back from each statement like a hammer blow. Regina had to keep herself from laughing. Filvan was a beast of a man, and she was a but a slightly tall woman, slim as a breeze and forty five years old and he was retreating from her as if struck.

True, few would believe she was of that age, the skin tight mourning dress of black velvet hugged an ethereally slender body: small breast high as a maidens, a perfectly flat waistline and only slightly rounded girlish hips, with an ass as round and tight as the first time the now boarish Filvan had ridden it as a fit cadet. Her angular face beneath the mourning veil of jet silk was marred only by the finest of lines on her forehead of at the corners of her green eyes, most of which were covered with well applied cosmetics. Further, hair was still golden, without a touch of grey to it and worn long and unbound in defiance of the sumptuary laws she'd ensured hadn't been enforced in fifteen years.

Regina could have smiled at the cringing War-Duke, but smiling gave you nothing but lines. Instead she glowered at him, as if she was barely keeping a rage in check.

'You were wrong Filvan and now my son is dead. Now your cousin is dead and I cannot help but wonder if you had planned it that way,' Regina snapped.

'My lady, I...,' the War-Duke stammered, '...you know that I have never been nothing but a loyal servant to the throne...that I would seek the King's death...'

'A servant who's ineptitude led to the death of the King, his nephew and left his line as the only certain male branch of the Alvini left!' the High Priest interrupted with a roar of righteous anger.

Fin Io-Servant was another big man, but more than a decade younger than Filvan. He, Regina noted, seemed hewn from polished marble with a face only marred by ritual dueling scars beneath his eyes. The body under his ritual robes and half plate was magnificent from his toes to his cock to his shaved head, as she had gotten to know over the past months. Devoted servant of the war goddess he might be, but the man was in other areas extremely corruptible.

Another benefit from maintaining ones body, Regina considered.

'You..you accuse me of seeking the throne? Not you Fin..,' Filvan stammered, turning to the high priest.

'I accuse you of seeking the throne through ineptitude so great it edges on sin,' Io-Servant accused, with an anger that Regina knew was aimed at least partly at himself, 'you've served the hells, if not through intent than in weakness.'

'The War-Duke has fought the mutant and the fae for twenty years without losing a battle,' Treasurer Agia objected with a wobble of chins, 'only a fool would think him a traitor.'

Regina hated Agia, had always hated her since school. Both were pretty noble girls, near identical by some twist of fate save for Agia's dark hair, they'd been rivals for the old king, a rivalry that Regina had won via low means. Afterwards, when the Queen had seen Agia's family ruined and courtly beauty reduced to marrying a merchant, Regina had thought she'd seen teh end of her. But Agia had rebuilt her families wealth through shrewd investment, so shrewd Regina's husband had made her treasurer. Regina had removed her of course, but her foolish son in his scant time on the throne had brought her back. Regina made note to have her removed again and preferably imprisoned this time.

Although that would take doing. Agia had swelled fat in the intervening years: nine pregnancies and a marriage to head of the baker's guild thoroughly burying her once svelte figure in ungainly lard. The Dowager could tell the treasurer wore a corset, but her waist was still immensely thick, the whale-bone supported valley of cleavage threatened to burst through the matron's dress and her jowls were near hypnotic. Regina's glee at watching her yard wide ass wobble up the long stairs had only been matched by her disgust that anyone could so badly let themselves go.

But the hog had a point. Only a fool would think Duke Filvan anything but loyal. Luckily,  Regina was prepared.

'Will the commons believe that?' Regina responded, gesturing to the stain glassed window and the howling beyond.

A long dead king had insisted his council tower be constructed in the very middle of the city, far from the fortified comfort of the royal keep, out of some insipid desire to keep the common touch. A successor had insisted it be built to a dizzying height, but high as it was, the council tower could not keep out the howling mourn of twenty five thousand peasants risking the first winter storm to pay their respects to the dead king. Regina's children had been loved since her belly had first started to strain the stitching of her gowns, symbols of peace that they were of a realm long split by civil war and ravaged by the monsters beyond its walls. That she'd born the old king, King Redogar, twins, a boy and a girl, was counted a miracle. But it was always the son, happy and open, paraded before the crowds from his first breath that had charmed them. His father had made sure he rode through the commons daily, talking to all and they had loved him for it.

Just for that, Regina had almost killed her husband and son on the same day but was now gladdened to have stayed her hand.

'The King's funeral crowd is a moment away from being a mob, it will not take long for them to connect your failure with the King's death,' Regina went on, 'a public gesture must be made, by a high official to ensure that said mistake won't happen again. I will accept your resignation Duke Filvan and wish you a happy retirement on your country estates.'

'This is an outrage!' Filvan snapped, pushed past grief and into anger, 'all the service I've given this nation!'

'This is politics,' Regina said, fixing him with a stare that went on too long.

She'd made a small mistake, putting the Duke too far into a corner and had to put a little magic into that stare.

Duke Filvan slumped in defeat as his will crumpled, his mind not knowing why it gave way. Regina felt her belly grow out two finger's breaths in response, felt the waistline of her gown pinch across a soft layer of tummy fat as a consequence. She was out of practice and her powers were taking more of a toll than they once had, arranging her husband's death had only seen a slight softening of her thighs. Regina made a note to always wear her plethora of rings, bracelets and arm bands, storehouses of mana that they were to keep any sudden growth away, mourning decorum be damned. But her gown was well made, its stitches held against the few pounds of growth and as added insurance she sucked in her stomach so no one saw or no wardrobe accidents occurred.

'You resignation will be happily accepted,' the Dowager smiled, sitting down on the vacant throne, 'and this counsel can turn to how it will be announced and a new candidate for War-Duke put forth. You may leave, Filvan.'

The Marshall rose slowly and shuffled from the room, defeated like he'd never been on the battlefield.

'Now if we may begin...,' Regina said, 'I will be crowned regent officially tonight. My poor son will be put to rest with the diadem upon my brow. I'm sure he will go to his eternal reward happier knowing his kingdom is back in my hands.'

'For how long?' the Treasurer demanded, Agia cautious now that her only ally was gone, 'a new king must be named and from the Alvini line. You are not in the line of succession.'

All that remained now was High Priest Fin and the Whisper-Master, a towering thing who never spoke save to the ruler. One of the stone men, the literal statue had been empowered to use its army of gargoyles and constructs to keep watch on the kingdom since the great fae wars had ended a century ago. But even he had been ultimately...tameable, Regina knew and remembered gladly.

'Fortunately, the King's young wife Corneilia is with child, it is truly a miracle,' Regina said, 'the girl is in seclusion now, resting.'

Regina hated Corneilia. Her daughter in law was kind and open, worse she smiled too much and cared little for how pretty she was.

'And should she not be regent?' Agia insisted, 'you have had your turn, Dowager.'

Regina let herself smile, for once, as she responded, 'She has already decided to take a great time of ease, to insure she does not endanger the seed of hope in her belly. I, old and weathered that I am, will gladly sacrifice myself on the altar of stewardship until her child is ready to become king or queen.'

Decided was an interesting word. It could mean, 'kidnapped to the Queen's ancestral castle and heavily guarded' for instance.

'It's unfortunate that child can't ever take the throne,' the Collegiate noted from his seat, thumbing through a spell book with a long finger.

Regina almost jumped from her seat in shock at the wizard's sudden arrival. She stopped sucking in her stomach at the wizard's words and felt a small, tiny rip in the back seam of her gown. But the sound was covered by Agia almost falling to the ground, stopped only by Collegiate Winst's spell. The thin man flicked a finger and the fat treasurer was slowly hefted into her seat, the wood groaning.

'You are late, Collegiate Winst,' Regina reminded the wizard.

'Well, so was your mother and look where that got us,' Winst shrugged, putting a book mark into his tome, 'there's a big storm coming down from the north if you haven't noticed and its bringing a lot of mana with it. Someone had to make sure that the city's wards were ready to absorb them, unless you want the next fae or demon army that comes along to be able to waltz right in. Its worth a lot more than me sitting in a cathedral making groaning noises or listening here. Anyway, your grandkid can't be king or queen.'

Regina didn't hate Winst. She loathed the thin man. He was bent, wiry and grey, without a care for refinement or pleasure where his predecessor had been willing enough to pass on enough to a younger Regina to set her down her current road.

'And why on earth not?' Regina hissed, 'their blood will be shown to be pure.'

'Because the Ring of Savona is gone,' the Collegiate shrugged flicking through the book to a marked spot, 'War-Duke' Filvan's patrols couldn't find hide nor hair of it out on the battlefield, nor can I with any of my scrying spells. And no ring means that your grandchild can't be king.'

Regina felt herself frown and stopped herself, 'This should have no impact, the ring is just a bauble.'

'A bauble worth four hundred years of war,' the wizard shrugged, 'that's a direct symbol of the right to rule, more important than the crown and an empowered part of the War Goddess Io unless I'm wrong. But more importantly, as it says here in the kingdom's laws, if the king dies and the ring is lost without a direct, already born at the time of his death male successor than the crown will not pass down their line. If one is available, the rule shall pass to the oldest sister of the previous king.'

'Cria,' Regina hissed.

Regina didn't like her daughter much either. Where the mother was secretive behind a facade of propriety, Cria was a public spectacle of wanton behavior and lewdness. Even more insulting, her in born powers didn't have the same limitations as the Queens.

'Nope, she's not the oldest daughter,' Winst shook his head.

'She's the only daughter I've born,' Regina spat, 'what are you on about?'

'There's nothing in the laws about the daughter having to be the Queen's,' Winst laughed, 'just the kings.'

'My husband's mistake is dead. Sia was with the royal guard when it was destroyed,' Regina demanded, 'that...heaven's touched bastard is dead.'

'I counted ninety nine coffins brought back to the city,' Winst explained and pulled a shining coin of polished iron from his pocket, 'and this is the match to Sia's dog tag, bound to her life force. All the royal guard have one like it. As long as she lives, this won't rust. And I don't see a speck on it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to send a student of mine to the north. There's an actual queen I need to find.'

The Wizard vanished, leaving Regina to seethe as Agia waddled away with a smile.

'Find her,' the Queen snapped to the High Priest and the Whisper master, 'I don't care what it takes, but find her!'

 

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Chapter 4: Awakenings.

The day of the King's Funeral, two weeks after the battle.

A song awoke Sia.

The tune was wordless and haunting, pure as spring rain and echoing as if coming up from a depth.

Whatever room she was in was pitch black, even the minor ability to see in the darkness her angelic heritage had given her could only give her a few feet of sight. For a moment, the paladin wondered if she was dead but had to consider that the nine hells likely didn't have warm beds and that she wouldn't have a painful thirst in the seven heavens. Casting her eyes around, Sia found a clay pitcher set by her bed of furs.

Rolling into a sit, Sia felt the muscles of her back and belly strain with unfamiliar difficult. The arm that reached out for the pitcher was thinner, lacking the familiar bulge at the bicep and the heavy pitcher wobbled in her grip. She had to hold it with both hands to drink, finding it a tart, sugary juice that she nonetheless gulped down, almost draining the entire pitcher before sitting it down with a panting gasp.

'Where am I?' Sia asked herself, looking about for any sign of an answer, 'and how long have I been here?'

Her memory was fuzzy. The knight remembered the battle, of the horses screaming in the night as the hellspawn ambushers attacked the royal guard, of crumbling lines and collapsing defenses, of Sir Volas the banner bearer falling with the flag and at last the King himself taking his lethal wound from a horse faced thing with an axe. Her half brother, a true born prince of House Alvini was dead, cut down only months after his coronation with no son to succeed him.

Who would lead the kingdom against what was surely an invasion? The War-Duke perhaps? But the Kingdom lacked the ring of Savona, it lacked its bond to the Gods...Gods, the ring! Where was it? And why was Sia alive?

It took time for the memory to return to her: Even before the battle, Sia had been the swiftest runner among the knights and her skill with a blade had kept her from taking any serious wounds. The Ring of Savona had been pressed into her hand and she'd been bid to run while the few remaining guards made a last stand, not in the hopes of survival but in the hopes that she could hide the powerful artifact somewhere far from the hellspawn's grasp. After that...well it seemed to turn into nonsense. Finding a beautiful naked woman in the uninhabited mountains who'd somehow saved her?

Preposterous. Ludicrous. Clearly the creation of a fever.

Perhaps she'd been found by a patrol of rangers. Or kindly trappers...who could best half a dozen devil spawn. And cure the poison in her wounds. And fix her paralysis.

'Well, I'm not dead at the moment,' the Paladin sighed putting her hands on her bare knees to stand up, 'so I best find out who's keeping me.'

Her legs shook with the effort of standing and Sia's head spun with a rush of nausea. As she did, the room suddenly lit up, a steady glow brighter and steadier than any torch.

'Wizardry!' Sia exclaimed, almost falling and then gasping at what the light revealed about the room.

Its walls were covered with mirrors: hand mirrors like a noble girl would carry in her purse, vanity mirrors that would lay on a side table and even several full length mirrors worth as much as a town, mirrors so expensive Sia was sure only the dowager Queen or her slattern daughter could afford one. All of them were nailed or glued to the wall, forming an entirely reflective surface.

Sia stared back at the naked image of herself in the mirrors, realizing that some time must have passed. The Paladin had always been a thin, like her long dead mother, but the long exercises of a knight had layered on hard layers of lean muscle to her tall frame. At no point had she had a man's bulk, but her arms had been corded and muscular and her flat belly had been hard, when training for tournaments or when on campaign she'd had four distinct abdominals. Sia's swift stride and a good deal of her height had come from her legs, long and lean with big calves. She'd had narrow hips all her life, not even girlishly narrow but just narrow in general but the exercises had put a near perfect roundness to her backside.

It was the build of a disciplined fighter, but in some ways a curse. There had been suitors when she had first finished her training and joined the public ranks of Io's templars. Sia had thought herself too muscular, too small breasted, too narrow hipped and too tall to be attractive, but she'd had her mother's oval face, small mouth and the trace of angelic blood in her body made her blue eyes glow. Worse, there were those over confident, possessing noble fops who thought a woman in armor was asking to be peeled from it. Io's servants were not required to be celibate, but even then the attention hadn't been exactly welcome, painfully besting too many of them with sword or lance had been necessary.

All of that muscle was gone now. Sia stared at herself in pained shock. Her arms were as delicately thin as any noble girls' now, while her thighs had the type of enviable slimness Sia had always despised. Already small breasts had shrank further, while the roundness of her backside had noticeably deflated. The muscles across her narrower belly could still be seen, but they were clearly weaker, visible only due to her pitiful thinness rather than strength. Her face had narrowed, its bones tight beneath her skin and her ribs, pelvis and collarbone were clearly visible. Noble women foolishly starved themselves or forced their bodies into torturous corsets to be as thin as Sia was now and it made the paladin feel ill just to see herself.

'How long have I been asleep?' Sia groaned, 'this wastage would take weeks...the army needs to be warned of invasion, by Io half the kingdom could be burned by now...who's been holding me here all this time?'

In the corner, in a gap between mirrors, Sia spied her sword, her relic blade, the weapon of the king's champion. That at least had survived, she hobbled towards it, feet unsteady and knees stiff but made it despite having to put a hand on the mirrored wall for support. She felt stronger when she picked up the sword at least, even though the one handed sword was heavier than before it was still a familiar comfort.

There was a dress on the floor next to the bed, itself an immense pile of expensive furs far different than any bed in civilized lands. She bent down to pick the garment up, finding it a lacy thing that the better class of woman would find scandalous as an under garment. Whoever it was made for was more than a head shorter than her or more and built like a twig; it barely covered her sex and was too small for her shoulders. But it was better than nothing.

Barely clad, Sia hobbled out of the room, hand on the sheathed sword and following the song. The hallways confirmed that she wasn't in any castle or home, they were circular passages cut from raw rock but lined with tapestries embroidered with images of dancing, leaping, naked women and covered with a thick carpets of living moss. More lights flickered on as she walked, then turned off behind her, making her shiver at the sight of so much magical power. She passed rooms heaped with seemingly random collections of relics: one was filled with enough racked dresses to cloth ten years of debutantes, another held their shoes and one more was filled with nothing but heaped coins, a king's ransom eclipsed by the small mountain of jewels in another.

For at least half an hour Sia crept with increasing slowness through the maze of tunnels, which was good as the knight was finding her legs were shaking from the effort of walking. Atrophy had done what the devils couldn't and she fell to her knees on the soft moss, panting to catch her breath. Standing was even harder, she had to use her sword as a cane just to get up, but the song was louder and she kept going, towards the light emanating from an open chamber.

What Sia walked into was a bath or a pool, one the size of the Royal Council chamber and filled with steaming hot water, more of it was pouring from the ceiling in a thick column. A deeply tan woman was standing in it, rubbing a flowery shampoo through an enormous mane of auburn hair and singing beautifully. No longer afraid for her life, the full shock of the woman's beauty struck Sia a hammer blow.

As before, Sia had the impression of a dancer's body that had been spoiled to softness. Plush thighs were pressed together by her stance, round hips were thrust forwards as she arced her back, making the small bulge of her belly press out. There was a definite curve to her stomach, beyond a woman's mound but beneath a gut. It looked soft and pliable, decadent almost, the marks of heavy feasting. Her waist barely tapered even, standing out almost as wide as her hips. Noble women would imprison something so soft in a corset, but she didn't seem to care.

Her slim arms pumped as she ran her fingers through her hair, making her large breasts bounce and wobble with every movement. For all of her discipline and grief, Sia was mesmerized by the plump fullness and frequent bounce of the woman's soft bosom. They were youthful and pert, with big pink nipples, but had a heavy weight to them. None of the other girls Sia had been raised with in the convent had been built like that, lean hardness was the War Goddess Io's rule and the paladin couldn't imagine how soft and full they'd feel. The woman's thin fingers (which bore the ring of Savonna but Sia wasn't capable of seeing that) passed over her nipples, rubbing a lotion onto them and the stranger's bow shaped lips opened in a soft moan to reveal bright white and very sharp teeth.

There was a clatter and Sia realized she'd dropped her sword.

The stranger's strange orange eyes popped open and she gazed at Sia without any modesty or surprise, 'At last, I had feared you wouldn't awake!'

She strode through the water with a seductive grace, her round hips swaying back side to side, until she was right in front of Sia. Up close, Sia saw that the other woman was short, a few fingers over five feet perhaps and that her skin was flawlessly smooth, totally unblemished or marred and eerily symmetrical.

'But I should have known you were too valorous to die from mere hell venom. You saved me from exile after all,,' the beautiful woman smiled, taking Sia's sword hand and kissing her palm, 'Come, I am your fiance Mor'wen and we have much to talk about.'

Sia was speechless, but her stomach chose that moment to growl as a pang of hunger hit her.

'But first, let us feast,' Mor'wen smiled, 'it has been two weeks since you've eaten after all...'

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A quick chase scene, lost inventory, and an emaciated body... yep. Sia’s just started an open-world rpg as a level one paladin class 🤔💍💪. Mor’wen’s about to give her a tutorial on how to gain xp and level up, looks like. She’ll need tons of leveling up to fight that mage-boss back in the castle!

Love your fantasy writing. You’re good at taking the plot places one wouldn’t guess. I mean, Sia just LOST weight (I miss it 😔). This epic’s going places!

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Chapter Five: Identities

 

Mor'wen knew that this situation had to be handled delicately.

 
Her knight, whose name she still didn't know, was standing in shock at the sight of her beauty. This was only right of course, especially now at the end of autumn when her beauty was at a full breasted, round hipped apex and when she was using a trickle of power to amplify the already strong effect of her naked body. That would not last forever, curing the devil spawn poison in the knight's veins had taken two weeks and vast amounts of her carefully stored power, more than she'd ever spent before, even in the days of the War of Revenge. 
 
The exile detected the hand of fate there, like all the noble ranks of the people she plumped as the leaves turned red but usually it was merely a soft padding over the muscle of summer. Rarely had Mor'wen grown large enough for her thighs to brush and never before had her belly thickened so much it curved outwards and the rise of magical power that had accompanied it made her stronger than any magician of the people either. Had she been freed by her knight a few weeks later or earlier, Mor'wen's spells would have surely failed for want of power. As it was, she'd been eating even heavier and more frequent meals just to keep herself fueled and her body had responded with another half dozen pounds accumulating in her breasts, thighs and waist.
 
'I am Mor'wen. Come, we have much to talk about,' Mor'wen promised, taking the knight's bony hand in her soft one and leading her on, stopping only to grab a towel and a robe.
 
Her hair reached for it first and she had to exert will to stop the silky tendrils. Humans had odd reactions to things that were impossible for them and it was best to ease her knight into what she could do. 
 
'You were asleep for so long, the venom took great effort to defeat,' Mor'wen continued, 'I have never seen the like of those monsters before, I knew you would be a great warrior to free me, but to charge them so bravely and to kill one so easily? You are very brave indeed. But look at me chatter! It is because I have been alone far too long before you came my love. I beg of you your name, as we are bound I must know it.'
 
As she spoke, she toweled off, brushing the soft mountain sheep wool over her curves far more seductively than needed, feeling the familiar bounce of her breasts and the less typical one of her paunch. Her knight's piercing blue eyes were locked upon her with awe, which was good. 
 
For one, Winter was coming swiftly and her reserves of power were dwindling fast. The mind numbing aura would soon run out from pure exhaustion. For the other, Humans had odd ideas about sex, too many going only for the opposite sex and ignoring other, natural attractions with strange fervor. That there was some hunger in her knight meant that the other parts of the prophecy were perhaps salvageable.
 
'Sia,' the knight said softly, voice raspy from dehydration and slightly dreamy from the aura, 'my name is Sia Alvini. Knight of the Royal Guard, King's Champion, Paladin of Io. Where...where am I? And who...who are you?'
 
'As I said, I am Mor'wen, but in the tongue of my people it is Mor'wen'Alvagassa'Korrinat'Barborinar. Translated, it is Third Daughter, Lady of the Autumn, Warden of the New Growth, Kind to the Savages,' she smiled, wrapping the towel around her hair to keep it to itself and putting on the robe.
 
Made of mountain sheep wool as well, the robe was woven, dyed and cut by Mor'wen's own hand and designed for wear in fall, when she typically reached ten stone. It barely closed around her mid-section, only three of ten bone buttons could even close and she raised the estimation of her weight by another stone, at least. But at least it showed off the depths of her cleavage and the soft shape of her thighs.
 
'Sia is a beautiful name, a strong name, a kind one,' Mor'wen went on, filling the silence, 'it means...hmmm, your tongue has changed a little in the long years since before the war. Does it mean...blessed? No, blessing. You are a blessing for me, apt at naming were your parents.The Alvini led your people in the old days and you bear the ring, was your father the King I must assume?'
 
Sia's bony face soured. The dreamy expression vanished, the influence of Morwen's aura breaking and the knight's eyes narrowed. Her hand gripped the short hilt of the sword and she slowly drew it, with difficulty. The point of the hateful metal pointed at Mor'wen's throat, wobbling from effort but a clear threat of runed steel.
 
'You are not human,' Sia stated flatly, 'and what you speak of....of long years and great wars...'
 
'I am not a demon,' Mor'wen countered, some of her good will falling, 'unless they've grown far more beautiful since my exile.'
 
Idiot human brutes. Was Sia going to ruin this? Goddess of the Green, would they fight? Sia was weak as a kitten, but had three feet of foul steel at hand. Mor'wen was surely faster and stronger, but fall had padded her so thoroughly she'd actually lost some of her speed. And she had no desire to be bound here for longer, she would leave the sight of her exile with her rescuer or to at all.
 
'Then you are a fae,' the knight considered, as if it wasn't much better, 'a dryad then? One of the monsters that lures folk to die in the woods?'
 
'A dryad? A mere dryad? Am I green? Are there oak leaves in my hair? You almost insult me, comparing me to one of the mere gentry,' Mor'wen laughed, as if the situation wasn't so serious, 'I am of the high nobility, the royalty of the people. I am a Nymph, third born daughter of the Ever-Queen at that.'
 
Mor'wen may as well have announced she was a princess of hell, for how Sia reacted. The knight lunged and her form was perfect, surely the result of endless practice. But her weakened body failed her, the tip of the blade went low and her withered leg wobbled, making her slow. Nor had she fought an opponent like Mor'wen before.
 
Four feet of prehensile auburn burst out from beneath Mor'wen's towel. Wrist thick strands bound the atrophied warrior at wrist, elbow and shoulder, immobilizing her, while the last snatched the sword from Sia's hand and had the rune blade at the paladin's throat.
 
'BAD! NO! BAD HAIR! LET HER GO!' Mor'wen snapped and her hair almost whimpered, releasing Sia's thin arm and lowering the sword, her locks chastised she rounded on the paladin, 'and you! Ugh, this is why this war has gone on so long, reactions like that! I saved you, I healed you, I kept you alive when no one else could have and I plan on feeding you until you regain your strength! This is how you repay me!'
 
'You're a nymph,' Sia hissed, rubbing her wrist, 'you destroyed two thirds of the kingdom, murdered King Artas the Uniter on Holy Ground under a flag of truce and still hunt for sport any who enter your woods. I do not know what game you play with me Fae, but know that I won't play along. You should have killed me when you had the chance.'
 
'I'm not playing,' Mor'wen glowered back, orange eyes narrowing, 'this isn't a game, this is you throwing away a chance for peace and deciding to attack the one who saved your kind from extermination. And I could have killed you at any time for the past two weeks, when I was keeping you from dissolving from demon venom. Now, you've made me very, very cross but I'm still going to forgive you given how confused you must be. Now come with me to the feasting hall, you've made me angry and when I'm angry I get hungry and aroused and you're probably not willing or up to the later yet, given how you look like a starved scarecrow. Follow and take your stupid iron with you.'
 
Her hair flung the blade back, the sword sinking into the rock up to mid blade in between Sia's bare feet. 
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Ohhh, I get it! Mor'wen gains magical power in autumn when she's thiccest and that evil witch gained weight from using magic a couple chapters ago... weight begets magic, magic begets weight... those two girls are opposites! Or maybe I'm overthinking it? Fat could be a measure of their magical-power-levels... hmmm...

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5 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

Ohhh, I get it! Mor'wen gains magical power in autumn when she's thiccest and that evil witch gained weight from using magic a couple chapters ago... weight begets magic, magic begets weight... those two girls are opposites! Or maybe I'm overthinking it? Fat could be a measure of their magical-power-levels... hmmm...

Pretty much. Both are hot as fuck mage's, but ones fataphillic and ones fataphibic. Also, morwen isn't an evil murderer.

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Sia felt a strange mixture of fear, shame and curiosity.
 
She was in the presence of a Nymph, one of the diabolical queens of the fae. One of the green generals who had nearly destroyed the kingdom of Savonna with armies of living trees, rutting satyr hordes and swarms of hewing fairies. Mor'wen was by her own words one of these leafy tyrants, a terrifying combination of magical power in the form of a near perfect woman.
 
But ...but...Mor'wen had saved her. She'd killed a whole squad of devil spawn and then healed Sia's horrible battle wounds. Never, in all the hard years of education at the Church of Io's fortress orphanage had she read of the Nymphs committing an actual act of kindness, only tricks to seduce and beguile. 
 
'Where are we going?' Sia asked, massaging her sore wrist and cursing her weakness. 
 
All those years of training and conditioning were gone. Even the spoiled noble women of the Capitol could best her, weak as she was. She bent to pull her blade from the stone, but the sword was stuck fast. Sia almost stumbled as she tugged and to her horror the Nymph's living mane of hair wrapped round her to pick her up, setting her on shaking feet.
 
'We're going to the feasting hall, where I'm going to eat my frustrations and you're going to try and not starve to death,' the fae noble glowered at her, 'now come or do I have to carry you?'
 
'I'll follow,' Sia agreed, 'look...Mor'wen."
 
The plump nymph turned around, a soft silhouette with a raised red eyebrow.
 
Io, what was she doing?
 
"I'm sorry. You were in the right and I was wrong to attack you, it was hasty and ill considered, done of fear and wrath," Sia admitted," I am glad you stopped me."
 
"Apologize further by dining with me then," the nymph said haughtily, 'but I accept your initial response at least. Now come, we're wasting away."
 
It hurt her to abandon the sword. King's Champions had carried that sword into battle for five hundred years, but given her pathetic weakness it was perhaps better to leave it embedded in the rock of the bathing chamber. Sia left it where it was and followed the strutting step of Mor'wen.
 
There was quite a lot to follow, which surprised Sia. The betrayal and death of King Artas Silvini was one of the most repeated tales in the kingdom, covered in more tapestries and books than she had ever seen. In all of them, the deceitful Nymph's who had promised peace and given war were depicted as the epitome of lithe beauty, long limbed and narrow waisted seductresses that lacked even the warning horns, black wings and red skin of succubi. 
 
Mor'wen though was the opposite. Her breasts were large, her hips were wide, her belly bulged and her thighs brushed. From behind, a wide but relatively shallow set of soft, smooth cheeks hung from beneath her over tight wool robe, swaying back and forth so seductively Sia could barely watch where she was going. Her...host? Kidnapper?...was positively plump, neither truly fat nor grossly corpulent but covered in a thick layer of decadence that bespoke an athletic frame gone to seed that surprised the knight who had expected Nymph's to be svelte. Not that she was too disappointed, the jiggle of her cheeks and the swish of Mor'wen's thighs brought a blush of heat to Sia's face that soon became shame.
 
She was sinning. Committing the crime of unbridled lust over a fae. Again.
 
Drawing human women naked was fully against the sumptuary laws created and enforced by the churches of the Five Gods, but the artists had no prohibitions against drawing things of evil like Nymph's.  Great artistic advances in drawing flared hips, wasp waists, high breasts and laughing faces had been made depicting them because of that loop hole. And Sia, to her eternal guilt and shame, had near memorized those depictions in snatched moments in the library when she was supposed to be studying. Such lust was far beneath a paladin, who were expected to practice self denial. Her mother had made only one mistake  and seen a promising career destroyed.
 
'Do you prefer breasts or thighs?' Mor'wen asked in front of her.
 
'...what?''  Sia responded, a crimson blush of shame across her cheeks.
 
'I want fowl, a lot of it, as part of my meal' the fae explained, turning around 'it's the last day of fall, a snow storm is coming in and I'm near livid. My body is demanding food and I'm being polite enough to ask what you part of the goose you want.'
 
'I'll...I'll take a breast,' Sia managed to get out, trying not to look at the very plump pair that was about to escape from Mor'wen's robe, every breath the fae took threatening to make the buttons between their firm heaviness and the small slope of her belly pop off.
 
'Good, I'll have the rest of your bird as well,' Mor'wen turned about.
 
'I'll help with the cooking if I can,' Sia promised, slightly off foot.
 
What was wrong with her? She'd been ready to slay this ... Woman? monster? not long ago and now she couldn't take her eyes off of her? Was she so weak of mind now, as well as body?
 
'Of course you won't, you can barely stand up,' the Fae huffed as the two entered a new cavern, one that stretched on for hundreds of feet, 'nor is there anything to help with. To think, that I would ever stoop to actually preparing food. I, a third born daughter of the ever queen prepare food? Hunt yes, but cook it? Bah, do you think your heart's love a peasant? The feasting hall will take care of our needs.'
 
This new cavern was immense, large as the great cathedral of Io and lit by dozens of wizard lights. Hundreds of stone tables and stone benches stretched off into darkness, enough for an army of thousands and organized into tiers around a circular platform that could hold every eligible bachelor and noble girl in Savona at a dance. Mor'wen led her to a smaller table near the top already set with covered plates, a climb up several sets of stairs. Sia felt the new weakness of her starved body a quarter of the way up, her breathe coming quick and her legs trembling. Mor'wen for her part started to breathe heavily not long after, she was stronger than the paladin had expected but the plushness of her figure was clearly not just for show.
 
'What is this place?' Sia asked her host, with a gasp of tiredness and amazement, 'I've never seen a cave so...'
 
'It is the Hall of Joy, built by dragons and gnomes at the Everqueen's command for the marriage of her first daughter to a human king,' Mor'wen said a little breathily, 'it was to be the Capitol of their new realm, the joint seat where a new race would be born. No one ever used it because of the human's betrayal.'
 
'It was your kind, not us who were the traitors,' Sia risked, even knowing she was effectively helpless, 'the king was murdered under a flag of truce.'
 
'Trust me, it did not happen that way,' Mor'wen replied, daintily plopping her wide hips onto a padded bench and gesturing to Sia to sit across from her, 'do you pray?'
 
'I am a Templar,' Sia responded, 'of course I pray.'
 
'To who? We are bound and I would prefer to know more about you, let us put this...unpleasantness behind us. I will forgive you if you forgive me,' the fae offered.
 
'I...I would be willing to do that and I worship the War-Goddess Io,' Sia offered, before dipping her head and praying to the war goddess silently.
 
She asked for courage and self control. The later she knew would be needed.
As soon as she was done, Mor'wen pulled off the cover of her plate, revealing a pile of steaming hot drumsticks and breasts, accompanied by a pile of asparagus and berries. The bird meat had been wrapped in bacon and fried, as had the asparagus. Three glasses near her plate were instantly full of bubbling white wine, a dark juice and iced water.
 
Mor'wen dug into it with glee, using a knife and fork of obsidian to tear into the food as if she was starving instead of bursting out of her clothes. Sia's plate was not nearly as full, but would still be a heavy meal. She found it delicious and that she was hungrier than she'd thought. Her coma shrank stomach was soon filled to capacity, while the nymph continued eating with glee. 
 
Sia watched with amazement as Mor'wen ate. Her delicate jaw never stopped chewing, but it was with a flawless decorum that would have astounded her tutors. No drop of wine nor scrap of meat landed in the valley of her cleavage and her face lacked any smear. Within fifteen minutes the immense meal was gone, it's only evidence the redness on her lips from her berries and the swell of her belly. The nymph stopped to put her hands under the table to undo one of the buttons. Mor'wen leaned back, running a hand over her swollen stomach with a sigh. Before her belly had been a soft slope, something that a good tailor could easily hide. Now though, it swelled out so much that the nymph looked with child.
 
'To your liking?' The fae asked, looking at her with a smile, like a cat with a mouse in its cream.
 
Sia started, feeling her fair skin go red. Nervously she crossed her legs and looked away, trying to push far too many impure thoughts from her mind. When she looked back, the short fae was still smiling.
 
'It was delicious, a little rich,' the knight managed not to stammer, 'but too much at the moment.'
 
'I'll eat the rest,' Mor'wen leaned over, leaning over and putting delicate fingers on Sia's plate, 'if you don't mind me finishing.'
 
'Of...of course not,' the paladin managed as the Fae began to eat, slower now, savoring the fried meat, 'where...where did this come from...who made it?'
 
'The Hall of Joy draws food from its store rooms and prepares it according to its mistress' wish,' Mor'wen explained between mouthfuls, 'I wanted enough bacon wrapped goose to put a bear into a coma, so I got just that. As for the actual food, apart from what my many familiars bring me, hunting is one of the few ways I have to amuse myself.'
 
'You hunted all this?' Sia asked with amazement, 'I saw you shoot but...'
 
'But what?' Mor'wen asked with a raised, auburn eyebrow.
 
'You're a little well...,' Sia began, knowing it was foolish but daring to say it.
 
'A little what?' The fae questioned, leaning over the table, the darkly tan tear drops of her heavy breasts threatening to fall out of her robe.
 
'...fat,' Sia finished with a whisper.
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Another lovely chapter.  Your descriptions of Mor'wen are always delightfully delicious, and I am curious to see where things go between her and Sia now.  One thing I'm curious about is the real story behind the feud between the humans and fae--I have to wonder if it's really as simple as either woman is making it out to be...

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12 hours ago, CyrilFiggus said:

Another lovely chapter.  Your descriptions of Mor'wen are always delightfully delicious, and I am curious to see where things go between her and Sia now.  One thing I'm curious about is the real story behind the feud between the humans and fae--I have to wonder if it's really as simple as either woman is making it out to be...

It almost certainly isn't, but that's for them to work out later.

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Chapter 7: the vow

 
Mor'wen smiled, took another bite of fowl and gave a chuckle, 'Of course I'm fat, it's autumn or it is for another few hours. You think I'm like this all year? In spring I'm skinny as you are now and in summer I'm almost as muscley as you were two weeks ago. Why wouldn't I be fat? It's the season for feasting and glutting on the bounty of the land before the cold rest of winter blights the land. It's the time of year to pad your hips and thicken your thighs, so you can get pregnant easily.'
 
'Oh, is...is that a fact,' Sia said, bashfully.
 
Sia looked bashful, more nervous than when Mor'wen had had a sword at her throat. She was blushing, alabaster skin beat red and could barely take her eyes off Mor'wen' tits. The fae had been aware of the looks the whole meal, good, this would be easier than she thought. Goddess of the Green, was her rescuer a virgin? This could be more fun than she thought, she undid another button on her robe, leaving only the one beneath her breast.
 
'I never have of course. Satyrs are fun for a tryst but nothing else. But in any event, I am the third born of the EverQueen, dutchess of autumn. I grow stronger in spirit and fuller in body as the season goes. And it was a very good autumn, the trees full of fruit, the animals in abundance,' the fae sighed in happiness, leaning back and tracing her nails over the full bulge of her belly, 'I've been eating like this three times a day for two months, so it's no surprise I'm bigger than before. Most years I only get up to a little under ten stone, although I'm sure I'm well over eleven at the moment.'
 
'That's almost as much as I weigh,' Sia said too quickly, 'well, weighed.'
 
'I've never gotten this big before,' Mor'wen shrugged, making her chest strain, 'I eat more when it's fall and more when I'm emotional and I've been very worried over you.'
 
'How kind of you to worry,' Sia managed.
 
The Paladin had broken out in a faint sweat, had her legs crossed and was biting her lower lip. She was at war with herself, lust battling the foolish shame humans usually felt. Mor'wen smiled deeply, this was good, spectacularly good. Her mother's words, the curse for her kindness had returned to her as she watched Sia:
 
"For your foolish mercy, in the hall of joy you will wait,' the EverQueen had cursed her, 'never to go farther than twenty miles of it's entrance. None shall speak to you, none shall attend you, none shall see you. Alone you will be, until a scion of the Alvini returns your sisters stolen ring and takes you as bride. You will be bound to that Prince forever then. Only when you are a queen, only when an heir has been raised of your Union can you return.'
 
How she was going to manage that last part Mor'wen was still unsure. If Sia had been a prince instead of some sort of martial princess, Mor'wen was fairly certain she'd only be a few moments from getting pregnant even if her rescuer was a nervous virgin. As it was, she'd been liberated by a nervous virgin who also lacked the means to return her to the Everqueen's court with an heir in her belly. The fae played with her ring, pondering and watching the paladin carefully.
 
'That's...um...very nice,' Sia managed, tearing her eyes away from Mor'wen with effort.
 
Her embarrassment was as sweet as honey comb. The knightly Aasimar looked ready to hide under the table, just from talking about how plump Mor'wen was. How dear.
 
'But enough about me. I want to know about you,' the fae smiled, tucking her legs under the table and sitting where her belly was covered and her hands were over her tits, 'You seem an accomplished warrior and you say you are a Templar? Forgive me, but long ago there were no women among your warriors. Has this changed?'
 
Most of the blush cleared from Sia's pale skin and her focused returned. This then was firmer ground for the knight, more familiar than discussing a fae dutchess' full belly.
 
'Very little, a few girls raised in the orphanage of Io are accepted but only if they can pass numerous tests. Io blessed me though, I grew tall, strong and swift. The blade lessons were easy for me and I served well enough in five years of campaigning and tourney that the newly crowned king named me his champion,' the knight went on, 'I was one of only half a dozen women in the Royal guard.'
 
'Or-fan-eg,' Mor'wen rolled the word around in her mouth, 'what is that and why does Io have one? She's your war goddess, is it a weapon?'
 
Sia's face darkened, clearly this was not a happy issue, 'It is a place where we were raised to be priests or paladins. A home for those without parents.'
 
'Without parents! How unspeakably sad,' Mor'wen responded with a genuine frown, 'I've raised enough fawns, kits, Cubs and owlets to know how terrible that is. Whatever happened to your parents?'
 
The aasimar's face looked dark as an approaching thunder storm.
 
'As you guessed from my name, my father was a king,' Sia admitted, 'the old king, Redogar. My mother was also a paladin of Io and her name was Diana. Like me she was god touched, given to the church to be a paladin when she was born with a trace of divine in here blood.'
 
'He fell in love with his guard? How sweet,' Mor'wen said, finishing off the food, 'did they fall together in battle, as king and queen?'
 
'No,' Sia looked down, 'they were not married and the king was engaged to one of the most powerful noble girls in the kingdom, scion of a family that had spent twenty years waging a civil war against the king. Their marriage was a peace treaty, one that my mother endangered because she couldn't control herself. I was a result of their tryst, Diana was hidden away in a distant nunnery until I was born. She named me, resumed her duties and let herself die in battle to hide her shame.'
 
'Oh, how awful,' Mor'wen gasped when she'd finished, with tears in her eyes, 'that's the worst thing I've ever heard!'
 
The fae moved to her feet gracefully and wrapped Sia in a tight embrace. The paladin was still for a moment but soon let herself be hugged, nervously returning the embrace. Mor'wen's soft, bulging body pressed into the gaunt paladin, over fed curves wrapping her.
 
'It's alright, I've long made my peace with it,' Sia told her, 'I served the crown and the kingdom happily...but...'
 
'but what?' Mor'wen asked.
 
'But the king is dead. My half brother, he was slain in battle with the hell spawn. Io, it was only two weeks ago,' the knight said sadly, 'half the kingdom could be on fire from a hell spawn invasion.'
 
Sia stood, shakily, 'I beg your pardon, but I need to go. The kingdom must be warned. I have to go. It's my duty. My thanks for the care and for the food, you may keep the ring lady Mor'wen, it will be safe with you but I have to go.'
 
'No,' the fae said flatly, standing up in the knight's way.
 
She had her hands on her wide hips and knew it was not the most intimidating sight. Her exposed belly was immensely swollen, her tits were about to fall out, she wasn't wearing anything but the ready to break robe and gaunt as she was, Sia was nearly a foot taller than her. But her long red hair flickered out and pushed the paladin to her seat anyway.
 
'What do you mean no?' Sia asked.
 
'You're so weak you can barely swing a sword,' the fae went on, 'I doubt you could walk to the entrance of the halls without collapsing as it is. Outside its starting to snow and there are no winter clothes here that would even fit you, Longshanks that you are. I've used a good sized war's worth of magic keeping you alive and am at the dregs of my power, power that won't return until spring. Until then I'll weaken and wither by the day as winter gains power.'
 
'People will die,' Sia told her, 'I have to try and warn the kingdom, whether my half sister is in charge or not. It's my duty.'
 
'No,' Mor'wen told her, looming as much as she could, 'I know what it's like to lose a sibling and rushing into that will only lead to death and sadness. If your brother is dead, your duty is to stay here and grow strong enough that in Spring we can go save your kingdom together and make you Queen.'
 
'I can't be queen,' Sia hissed back, clearly angry, 'weren't you listening? I'm a bastard.'
 
'Irrelevant. I'm your's and you're mine,' Mor'wen insisted, 'you will be Queen, with me beside you and no one shall stop us.'
 
Sia sat, considering. She was also trying not to stare at Mor'wen's breasts, one of which was fully exposed. This was adorable in the Nymph's opinion. She bit her lip and then met the fae' orange eyes with her blue ones.
 
'Alright, I'll stay with you for a season,' the paladin promised, 'but as soon as I'm strong enough I go. With you or without you.'
 
'Good, we'll go as soon as you can draw your sword from the bathing chamber,' Mor'wen smiled, 'now let's eat some desert. The halls haven't had ingredients for human deserts for years sadly, that's the one culinary art you've long surpassed us in but there's rather a lot of honey, fruit and berries in the vaults. And it's delicious.'
 
'I'm stuffed to the brim,' Sia tried to deflect, hand on the slight swell of her stomach.
 
'Nonsense, you're not but a skeleton with skin and I'm going to enjoy the last few hours of appetite I'll have for months,' Mor'wen insisted, 'I will not let you walk out of here so thin.'

 

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