Chapter Text
Nim has grown used to the silencing of the world before the chimes, the way everything slows and quiets in the second before she hears their silver sounds. Always distant, a gentle, urging call with clear direction, yet also unmistakably nearby, as if she could reach out and still them herself.
As they fade the sound of the world rises back, but Nim has already marked their source. Not far at least, and not urgent. Another young Verdant Guard no doubt, head spinning with rumours from the barracks, tall tales and youthful puffery mixed with just enough truth for this one to track down a first-hand account, leading them to the Moon and Bell and the Collector's chimes.
"Wh-what was that?"
The cloaked tiefling following her stops abruptly, craning his neck behind him, eyes darting anxiously through the shadows for the source that spooked him.
Nim's eyes search the path behind them in the moonlight, a narrow and slightly overgrown sliver of passage used by gardeners and messengers. Elven ears twitch, listening for what she may have missed in the sounding of chimes, and she hears nothing but the crickets in the grass.
"Be calm, Ozrus," she says softly in a crisp, perfect Syngorn accent. A small smile teases her lips; she knows, after all, precisely the reason he's on edge. "There's no one there."
He tugs his hood down farther to cover his horns and crimson complexion. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one defying three Warden orders to sneak into the Royal Chambers of the Citadel..."
"Then let's not linger out here longer than we have to," Nim replies, and turns to continue back up the Messenger's Stairs, looking over her shoulder to ensure he follows. He does so, at a hurry, after casting another wary look over his shoulder. His apprehension is mixed thickly with a thrill of anticipation, the reading of which Nim scarcely requires her active thought detection spell to understand. Even in the darkness it's clear from the tightness at the front of his trousers what preoccupies the nerves of this tiefling.
Neither of their steps make any sound on the stone - she has seen to it they won't. Just as she has seen to it that no servants will be waiting at the door the stairs lead to, nor lingering in the quiet, lesser-known passages and winding stairways Nim trails Ozrus through as they make their way quietly along the servants corridors of the Emerald Citadel. A number of the Citadel staff have had their pockets lined with a few extra gold from Nim's purse to ensure Ozrus can be delivered without inconvenient witnesses; Nim learned long ago some problems are better solved before they become problems. The others are easily avoided with the aid of her active spell, allowing her to sense their minds and movement intentions and plot a course to avoid intersecting them.
Their passage undisturbed, they arrive at a wooden panel carved in elaborate fashion with the heraldry of Yenlara's bloodline, and Nim quietly knocks out the agreed-upon pattern.
There is a tense moment of silence while they wait, Nim watching Ozrus watch the panel with a twitching, nervous energy impossible to mistake. There is the sound of a fumbled key, then the click of a heavy lock turning, and Nim steps back to let Ozrus rush forward excitedly as the panel swings open into the candle-lit room beyond.
"Selvander!" Ozrus practically leaps into the arms of the golden-haired elf on the other side of the door, who responds immediately, wrapping him up tightly and tilting his chin up to capture an urgent, relieved kiss.
Nim steps softly into the sitting room of Selvander Yenlara, great grandson of High Warden Tirelda, lowering her own hood as she watches the two reunited lovers greet each other as only those who are young and have been unwillingly separated can: with desperate mouths and groping hands. She feels a rush of approval settle like a whisper behind her ear and there is a familiar sharpening of her sight as her master steps forward to see and hear through borrowed senses.
They have forgotten she's here, and she lets them because it pleases her master to watch their greeting and feel their spark of first contact after so long being without. When they come up for air, breathless and already flushed, Nim clears her throat, reminding them they are not yet alone in Selvander's rooms.
"Ah, yes... my apologies... Nim, thank you for bringing him." Selvander is tall and slender, with pale gold hair and ice-blue eyes. He is yet less than halfway into his first century but already has the bearing of a future High Warden when he wants to wield it, and she watches him take it on now as he steps forward, his fingers laced tightly against Ozrus' hand. "Did anyone see you?"
"Not a soul, my lord," Nim says with a smile and a deferential nod.
The young prince breathes a sigh of relief and looks back to the tiefling whose hand he clutches, eyes shining adoringly as Ozrus raises the back of Selvander's hand to his lips, kissing it gently and pressing a cheek against it.
Selvander looks back to Nim. "And the candles?"
She nods, and pulls a thin, narrow packet wrapped in cloth from her cloak, moving aside the fabric to reveal two silver candles etched with gold runes.
The elf's eyes sparkle excitedly at seeing them, and he looks back to Ozrus as the tiefling parts his lips and lets his tongue slide along the side of Selvander's thumb, pausing to suck softly on the pad. "They were very difficult to find," Ozrus intones, eyes dark and hungry.
"And you're very clever for finding them," Selvander's voice is low and breathy to match as he shifts their hold to trace the tiefling's lower lip with his thumb. "Did you use that clever tongue of yours?"
Ozrus' only reply is to slowly take the elf's thumb into his mouth, down past the knuckle, tonguing and sucking it licentiously a long moment before releasing it and arching an eyebrow. Selvander's imagination growls to the surface as a man starved against the last moments of Nim's spell before it fades, granting her flashes of what had already been and what he hopes the night will bring in equal measure.
"W-would you light the candles, please Nim..." and in a flicker the heir of Yenlara was gone and in his place is left a young man being set quickly afire by his lover, grasping to what little composure he has left to him. "Quickly if you would be so kind. One here, and one in the bedroom."
She makes short work of finding holders and lighting the candles with a spark of arcane flame from her fingers. The runes glow as if the flame has spread down the wick under the wax, and they cast a wide, warm light like a lantern. She moves about the rooms, snuffing out all the other candles so their perimeter is clear to see, leaving them on the mantle of the fireplaces so there is no need to still the warming fires.
"As long as we stay in their light no one outside this room will hear your sweet sounds," she hears Selvander say while she prepares the sitting room light, and looks to see him slowly backing toward the candlelit bedroom, drawing Ozrus with him by the hand.
Ozrus' eyes flash again darkly, and he rushes forward, roughly pinning Selvander to the wall by the doorway as he kisses the elf fiercely. "And no one but me will hear when you scream my name to the heavens, begging me to finish you," the tiefling retorts against Selvander's ear. The elf gasps sharply at the promise, then again as Ozrus tongues his earlobe, and a third time as red hands grip the deep neckline of his thin green and gold silk tunic and tear it down lower to reveal more of Selvander's chest, rising and falling heavily at the provocation.
The elf draws in a shuddering breath as Ozrus, uncaring of their audience, starts to kiss and tongue and bite his way along the underside of Selvander's jaw, quickly ripping the rest of his way down the tunic until it drapes in long, frayed strips at Selvander's sides.
Nim watches without moving, once more forgotten, the Collector making her eyes and ears sharply attuned to every whisper and hitched breath and low moan. Selvander's eyes are closed and his head is leaned back against the wall as his tiefling lover presses forward with intent to ruin him, a flood of crimson hands and lips and grinding hips. With a pained groan of someone deeply reluctant to pause, Selvander reaches to still him but Ozrus seizes his thin elven wrists and pins them to the wall, moving to thoroughly ravish his mouth again, swallowing the elf's sounds and causing Selvander to buck his hips out in reflexive desperation.
She can't see the look on the tiefling's face when he pulls back for air, but can guess as to its contents when Ozrus drops to his knees and moves his hands to Selvander's waist where they begin to work at the ties of the elf's leggings. Ozrus leans forward to roll his tongue across Selvander's navel in an open-mouthed kiss that summons a high-pitched inhale from the elf's throat.
"Oz...!" Selvander exclaims, breathless, reaching to grasp one of Ozrus' horns with one hand and still the fingers at his waistband with the other. "But a moment, please..." he begs, nodding over Ozrus to where Nim stands quietly. "I still have to see out our friend."
The tiefling throws a glance over his shoulder at Nim, licking his lips as his tail flicks restlessly. He seems to consider a moment, then with a slow breath stands. "Very well, but a moment only," Ozrus tells Selvander. "We have a single night and I'll not waste more than that on pleasantries."
Selvander leans forward and kisses Ozrus deeply, and for a moment Nim thinks she might be forgotten a third time, but soon enough the elf pulls back, a soft hand on the tiefling's dark red cheek. "I promise your patience will be well rewarded," Selvander says, his voice like syrup. "Go and wait for me at the edge of bed while I finish this business. Close your eyes and do not move until I call for you--" he stills Ozrus' protests with a finger. "I will make it well worth your while, my impatient fire and brimstone."
"And I will make you pay for every second you delay," Ozrus promises, stepping backward into the room, undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Selvander turns back to Nim once Ozrus is safely stowed in his bedchamber, and briefly seems to try and smooth out his thoroughly ruffled appearance before thinking better of the effort. He commands the poise his bloodline and training have granted him and fetches a small purse from the drawer of a cabinet before rejoining Nim.
"And the last item I requested?" he asks, his voice all business though his right hand fingers the torn edge of his tunic distractedly.
Nim reaches into her pocket and draws out a small vial of translucent blue potion. "This will alter his appearance for an hour, and an hour only. It should give him enough time to leave undetected. I've arranged it so you won't be disturbed until the noon bell. Make sure he's gone before then."
Selvander breaths a sign of relief as he takes the potion. "You've done everything you said you could, and you have my thanks. Our thanks." He hands her the purse. "The rest of your payment is there."
"One more thing, if it pleases my lord?"
Selvander casts an impatient glance over his shoulder at his bedchamber where the sounds of boots being unceremoniously kicked off can be heard. "What more do you want from me?" he asks nervously -- suspiciously -- turning back to Nim.
"Just a gift for you and your companion, my lord." She pulls another bundle of cloth from her cloak, and reveals two pears, joined at the stem. "Fruit from the Feywild. They say it is a powerful aphrodisiac, and also a great restorative. I suspect you have no need of the former, but are likely to find use for the latter."
Its not often elves blush, and even rarer still to see a member of Syngorn's royal bloodline go the shade of bright pink Selvander does.
"You paid me to ensure your evening was uninterrupted, my lord," she says softly, bowing her head as she holds the fruit out to him. "And that includes by your own unkind limitations."
After a moment he takes the fruit, finding his composure again despite the topic, and covers the pears back over with the handkerchief she wrapped them in. "You outdo your reputation. We will not forget this kindness."
Nim bows low. "My lord," she says, and she is interrupted by a growled call of warning from the bedchamber. Nim smiles knowingly. "If it pleases you, I can pull the passage door closed as I leave. I don't think your companion's patience will stretch much thinner before it breaks."
"Yes, thank you. That will be all." And with a nod Selvander turns and moves swiftly to the bedchamber.
Nim watches as he sets the fruit down on the mantle, and looks toward where presumably Ozrus and the bed are beyond where Nim can see.
She hears movement, then Selvander wags a finger. "Ah-ah," he says, admonishing the unseen tiefling. "I told you not to move or open your eyes until I called. And I have not yet done so."
"Selvander..." a low and urgent growl.
"Patience love, your reward comes," and she watches as Selvander takes a long sip from a glass of red wine left on the mantle, a delay designed purely to tease, then loosens the ties of his leggings as he steps past the door frame where Nim can see, leaving the fruit by the wine on the mantle.
Nim pauses, listening to a mixture of impatient grumbling and teasing scolding, and closes her eyes, testing the bond. It is barely a second before she feels the unmistakable compulsion to open them again, and understands that her evening's work is not yet done.
She whispers a word under her breath in time with more protests from the other room, and feels the familiar glamour of invisibility fall over her. She pushes the hidden door to the messenger's passageway closed enough that her promise appears fulfilled at a glance, but open enough that someone small and very slender could slip through without needing to move it further.
The enchanted elven boots on her feet allow her to make no sound as she crosses the sitting room, and slips through the door into the bedchamber. Ozrus sits on the edge of the prince's grand four-poster bed, completely naked and fully erect, a strip of fabric wrapped around his eyes as a blindfold. He is well-muscled underneath his clothing, sculpted as someone will become when they spend their life practicing and living by the sword, with a chest of thick, curled black hair covering dark crimson skin.
Behind him on the bed kneels Selvander. Having pulled off his ruined tunic, he now uses it to bind the tiefling's wrists and arms behind him with firm, ornately complex knots in soft silk. He still wears his leggings though the ties hang loosely, and as Selvander works he pauses now and then to kiss the back of Ozrus' neck or shoulder, or occasionally lavish the tiefling's ear with his tongue which Ozrus leans into, his deep crimson cock twitching eagerly in response.
Every sound is made crisper and every sight made clearer as Nim feels the Collector lean forward and she finds herself moving across the room to the far corner, tucking in by the mantle where she is both out of the way and has an unencumbered view.
"How long do you think your dainty silk will hold me for?" Ozrus asks when Selvander slides off the bed and walks lazily back to the mantle for another drink of wine, turning back to watch Ozrus tests his bindings.
"Long enough I think," Selvander smiles a salacious grin as he sets the wine down and pulls his leggings off; the prince of Syngorn is tall and lean, a softer, slighter shape compared to his partner, but his cock is also already firm with anticipation. "At least long enough for me to punish you properly for your impropriety in front of our guest."
"Punishment," says Ozrus, newly interested. "I thought I was being rewarded?"
"For your patience -- such that it was -- you will be, dearest," Selvander says as he picks something up off the mantle. "But first, you will be punished for your impatience."
Selvander brings the item to the bed and kneels down between Ozrus' legs, pressing them farther open to accommodate him with a surprised grunt from the tiefling. With a firm hand, Selvander gives Ozrus' cock three long, slow, gentle strokes that makes the tiefling moan low, then secures a thin metallic ring around the base.
Ozrus grunts at the contrast of the cool metal and Selvander's warm hand. "What game is this, Selvander?"
"A curious little device I heard about from the boys in the barracks. Cleverly enchanted to prevent the young, inexperienced bucks from coming too quickly." Selvander grins slyly as his grip tightens ever so slightly and he pumps Ozrus again with deliberate slowness, looking up to watch his lover's face as fresh noises are drawn from him. "You were so impatient to see me undone weren't you? And so I will teach you the patience you sorely lack."
"First," the elf says in low purr, "I am going to taste you. Suck and swallow you whole until you beg me for release, because this --" Selvander tap-taps the band with a fingernail " -- this means you are mine to control, and there will be no relief until I am satisfied the lesson is learned."
Ozrus' breath hitches and he reflexively presses up into Selvander's grip.
Selvander continues, his hand still methodically stroking the tiefling's cock in a way carefully calibrated to make his point. "So I'm going to take my time, and you -- you my beautiful brimstone gem -- are going to patiently endure. Beyond begging, beyond pleading, until I deem the lesson is well-enough learned."
To punctuate the message, the elf leans forwards and takes Ozrus' cock into his mouth, drawing a series of unintelligible noises from Ozrus' throat as Selvander swirls his tongue around the head and slowly pumps the shaft with his hand.
"And then my love, you will fall to your knees as you did out in my sitting room and you will apologise to me thoroughly. If I am satisfied by your apology, then perhaps I will remove the ring and allow you to fuck the Prince of Syngorn."
Ozrus shudders as Selvander presses the tiefling's knees apart farther with his hands, leaning forward to take Ozrus' cock back into his mouth, taking it into his throat with a long, slow, twisting motion that draws a ragged whine from the tiefling.
"And if my apology doesn't please you?" asks Ozrus, through groans and gritted teeth.
Selvander smiles, lapping up a bead of precum oozing from the tiefling's tip, using his own weight to hold Ozrus firmly to the bed when Ozrus tries to press up more into Selvander's mouth.
"Then the Prince of Syngorn will fuck you, and the ring will stay on until you find an apology that does."
Nim stays until Selvander remembers the pears. After Ozrus endures Selvander's mouth with many a tortured noise and detailed promise of revenge, all the while stubbornly refusing to beg. And also after the tiefling makes good on his word by bringing Selvander to a slow, strong, shuddering orgasm against the wall with his own mouth, but only after the Prince of Syngorn pleads for it in a high, urgent voice. And Ozrus does it with his hands still bound behind him, on his knees, an enchanted band around his straining cock, all the while still belligerently unapologetic and determined his prince should break before he does.
Nim senses the Collector's approval at this acquisition, enthralled and delighted by every sound and sight the two men create together. The grove blossoms, is the thought that rises, and Nim isn't sure if its belongs to her or her master.
Fruit eaten, the Collector has their own link to enjoy the lovers in the Emerald Citadel more directly, and Nim feels her master leave her. No longer necessary, Nim moves quietly through the rooms back toward the panelled doorway. She shifts her form briefly thinner to better tuck silently between the partially closed door back into the messenger's passage, pulling the panel fully closed behind her.
The night is cool and still when she leaves the grounds of the Emerald Citadel via a lesser-used alley, but there are still a few people about the streets and candles lit in windows, signalling the hour is not yet too late. Time enough to meet the chime ringer and determine if this next young, too-curious elven soldier is prepared to make a bargain that will meet with the Collector's approval.
In the shadows of the alley, Nim transforms into the silver-haired form the barman at the Moon and Bell will recognise, and silently commands her shiftweave clothing to transfigure from the Syngorn Messenger's heralded tunic into sturdy, unremarkable travelling leathers. Then she turns onto the main thoroughfare and heads deeper into the Tarn Ward toward the Moon and Bell and the source of the summoning chimes.