CW/TW: Explicit sexual content
Veshier made it to the Temple. He could see the flare of its golden color, bright like a sun. It was the only thing alive in the darkness. He wept in relief. The Mother had heard his prayers and delivered him. As he walked on aching, trembling legs, it felt as though every step got heavier. What he had to do next pained him. Broke him. He felt himself fracture on the inside, bleed. Bond or not, he'd come to feel something for his Initiate. And even if this was the right thing to do, it felt like betrayal.
He never thought it would all turn so complicated. His faith had never once wavered in his entire life. Not even when his brother died. Not when he'd realized that he and Linarra had been set on the Path to die, as though they were inconveniences.
Now, little things gnawed at him. Why did those in the Temple live in opulence when the world around them starved and died? The scripture demanded humility, oaths of poverty. They were born to serve. Not to be served. Though he couldn't see High Priestess Liriel's finery, he could hear it. He could smell her perfume. His hands had touched the silk hem of her dresses. Not robes like the other Priestesses. Dresses.
And what of the teachings? Some of them seemed...missing. Wrong. Perhaps a bad translation. Perhaps things had been lost to time. But if that were true, why then were they so rigid with the doctrine? What if...they were wrong?
Veshier shook his head as though that would remove the unpleasant thoughts. No, that was the influence of the Usurper that spoke through him. He'd been standing close to him. Had let the Usurper convince him, for a little while, to give him a chance.
And then the Beast had seduced Linarra. It didn't matter how the seduction occurred. It had. She was bound to him. Forever. She was lost. He had tried to warn her about the little permissions, but she'd not listened. She'd been lost before they'd even set a foot on the Path. He couldn't let his faith waver over his affection for her. Not now. Not ever.
Though he was exhausted, in pain, and starving, Veshier didn't tarry. Immediately upon entry into the Temple, he was surrounded by acolytes, all of them clamoring for his attention, bombarding him with questions. He didn't stop for them. He gently moved them aside with a great sweep of his arm. He walked swiftly with great purpose to the inner sanctums, though he knew guards would prevent his entry.
Sure enough, he could see the hum and glow of their life energy, blocking the door to the High Priestess's chambers.
"I must see High Priestess Liriel," he said, making sure he stood straight and tall, his bearing proud.
"You are not permitted entry," one of the guards said, voice stern, stubborn.
"You will permit me," Veshier insisted. "I bring news of calamity so dire our very world is in peril."
"Where is your Priestess?" the other guard asked. Veshier knew the insinuation. All at the Temple knew of how his older brother failed his Priestess. They assumed the same of him.
"I have failed her. And she has failed the Temple," Veshier answered honestly. He had nothing to hide. If he were to be punished, then that was the Mother's will.
The guards were silent for a moment, and he hoped they were seriously considering what he said. Finally, one of them spoke again.
"I will see if she is taking...visitors."
Veshier bowed respectfully and waited. He did not sit, though he wished to. He didn't ask for water, though his throat burned from thirst. No. He waited until he would be granted those things by the High Priestess. He felt sincerely he didn't deserve them until forgiveness for his transgressions were granted.
He wasn't sure how long he waited, but at last, he was ushered into the private chambers of the High Priestess. The energy here was strange to his 'sight'. It spiraled and pooled. It was a vivid, striking green that almost hurt to look at. An unpleasant color, he decided. He'd long ago learned that color didn't denote anything evil or wicked. It just wasn't a soothing color was all.
Veshier heard the guard leave and shut the door behind him. He lingered in the antechamber, unsure of what was expected. He knew that Liriel never had visitors. He knew this was a rare and auspicious honor.
"Welcome, Guardian Veshier," came her voice. It was a beautiful voice, almost musical, lilting and soft.
He bowed low, his knee touching the marble floor. "High Priestess. Thank you for the honor of your audience. I am humbled."
Hearing her approach, he stayed on bended knee, head down. He wanted to show the proper humility.
"You have suffered much. How bedraggled you look," she murmured, standing close to him.
At this proximity, her life energy was nearly blinding. It filled his field of vision, dazzling him. He couldn't see anything else but her. Bright, neon green, searing, burning.
"I apologize, High Priestess. I did not rest until I could return."
He felt her cool hand brush across his forehead, touch his hair. It startled him, but he kept still.
"No need to apologize, faithful servant. We must bathe you. Feed you. Allow you rest. The Mother spoke to me this morning, clear as I've ever heard her. And we shall speak of that. And the horrors you've witnessed. But first..." she trailed off. He could hear a hum in her voice, like repressed laughter. He couldn't understand why she sounded so amused. It unsettled him.
Her lithe fingers curled around his bicep, and she urged him to stand. "Come with me," she told him. "Let me tend to you. Heal your wounds."
Veshier didn't want any of that, not now anyway. He wanted to tell her! Wasn't she concerned? If she spoke to the Mother Herself she must know, he thought, trying to calm himself and obey. It wasn't his place to question the High Priestess. He had to be obedient. As all Guardians were.
He could tell by the smell that they were in a bathing room. He could smell water, feel the heat and wet warmth of steam. He stood straight and still as Liriel moved around him, not saying anything. Still, he was blinded by her light. He'd never seen it that way before. It must be a sign, a blessing from the Mother, he reasoned.
She began to strip off his clothes. Ice froze his veins, his breath caught. What was the meaning of this? He wasn't a child. He could bathe himself. But he offered no protest, no matter how invasive and strange it was. He just stood there and took it. His pride gnawed at him, but he pushed it down.
Her soft fingers skimmed over his stomach, his chest. "How gaunt you've become. Such a pity. You needn't fret. We'll restore you, Veshier."
Veshier's stomach muscles tried to twitch away from her touch, but there was nowhere to go. Without meaning to, he drew in a sharp breath when she began to loosen his trousers.
"I have had the same Guardian for nearly two thousand years," she told him as she tugged open the laces to his pants, then his boots. "Jael," she said his name as though Veshier didn't know it.
"Is he here now, Priestess?" Veshier asked with a little more sharpness to his tone than he meant to express. He just wanted her tone to be different, her hands to feel less...seductive. Was this a test?
"Of course," she replied smoothly, undeterred. "But he feels nothing. This won't offend him. He can't be offended. The Mother used her many gifts to raise and animate his corpse. He is little else than a vessel for that magic."
Veshier stood, nude and felt, though he couldn't see, her scrutiny. He felt like a prized bull being auctioned off at market. He didn't like it. He wanted to leave.
Liriel took his hand and lead him into a large pool. The water was hot, but not unpleasantly so. To his surprise and discomfort, she slid into the water beside him. He wondered, without meaning to, if she were naked as well.
Slowly, she began to wash his body, smearing slick soap that smelled like flowers over his skin, working out the knots in his shoulders with her soft hands. He could feel magic seeping into him, healing him. The Mother had to approve of all of this, if he were being healed, he told himself, trying to calm his rapidly fraying nerves.
"Do you know what the Mother said to me this morning, Veshier?" she murmured to him. He felt her body brush against his arm. Soft. She was so soft.
He shook his head, trembling. "No, High Priestess, I do not."
"That you are my reward. For being so faithful. For all my good work. For your good work. It was your prayer, wasn't it? To be the Mother's Guardian?"
He was struck dumb for a moment, unable to answer. He had prayed that. It was true. She knew! The Mother had told the High Priestess. He wasn't sure what she was implying, however. "Yes," he said, voice thick and breaking. "That is what I prayed."
"She needs no Guardian. But I do," she whispered, so close now, her breath on his cheek. Then her lips. Her hand slipped under the water, grazing his thigh with the barest touch.
His body wasn't listening to him no matter how shameful he told it it was for responding to her touches. She aroused him. On purpose. He didn't want this. It couldn't be right.
"W-what of Jael?" he asked, shivering, groaning when her lips trailed over his throat.
"His service has ended. He will soon be at peace," she said, softly in his ear, touching his cock, curling her fingers around it, stroking him. "I must confess...how I wished for you to be in my bed, Veshier," she told him. "I suppose that is wrong of me. Shameful. I begged Mother for forgiveness."
He didn't protest now. How could he? How could he not want this? Though he had no sight to see it, he knew she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. It was said. It was written. And if that is what his Priestess wanted of him? He would give it to her. It was ordained by the Mother. His prayer was answered. It was his reward.
Veshier turned his face and found her mouth with his. He tangled his hand in her silky hair and kissed her. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was rough, his tongue in her mouth. He moved his body over hers. She felt so delicate, so frail and small under him.
"Did She forgive you?" he asked, hand fondling her breast.
Liriel moaned under him, arching into his body. "Oh yes," she said. "Without question. You were always meant for -me-," she told him. "You were born to serve me, Veshier."
He lashed her nipple with his tongue, making her cry out sharply in pleasure. "Was I? Am I to be a dog, at your feet?" He touched her between her legs. She was so wet for him. Even under the water he could feel it. "I should make you beg, Priestess." He didn't know what possessed him to say that. He could have been flogged or worse.
But this delighted Liriel. "Yes," she hissed, guiding him between her legs. "I want it. I want you. Please," she told him so sweetly.
The moment he was inside her, under the pleasure, the sweet jolt of victory, he broke his own heart. He knew it. It was wrong even if the Mother Herself stood there and commanded it. It didn't matter, he told himself. He had erased his family's shame. He would help her save the world. It didn't matter how he felt.
So, he fucked her, hard, sloshing water out of the pool, making her cry out, yanking her hair, his teeth on her slender neck. "Beg," he commanded in her ear, his tongue tracing the graceful tip of it.
She didn't this time, instead, Liriel ripped his blindfold off and pressed her fingers, hard, against his temples. She said nothing but he felt a searing heat. He didn't stop, he fucked her through the discomfort. He came inside her with a hoarse and terrible cry, his eyes squeezed shut.
The bonding was done. He was Bound to Liriel until his death. He was done, but she wasn't. He could feel it. She wanted more. Lifting her by her hips, he raised her up on the ledge of the pool. Roughly, he spread her legs, lapped at her sex until she cried out for him, until he tasted her, until she came for him, her hands tangled in his hair.
Veshier opened her eyes, wondering what her energy looked like as she writhed for him in pleasure.
He fell back into the water, a scream tearing past his lips. He flailed in the water, thrashing in alarm, confusion.
He could see.
He was no longer blind.