Astari– Part One

Everything hurt as Matthew de Lacey was making his way back to his tent. His arms and legs were aching, his head hurt even more where the mace had struck his helm and his pride hurt most of all. Defeat was a difficult drink to swallow, had Matthew expected to win the tourney?

‘Yes’, a part of him was saying, he was thrice the fighter than each of his opponents and he knew it well. He had surely demonstrated that, he’d beaten every opponent, ‘except one,’ the part of him said. He had been careless he knew; very careless, he had let his shield drop as he went for the final blow, his opponent had swung wildly but it was enough, the mace took him in the temple and his helmet was rung like a bell.

Matthew did not remember the victor’s celebrations, he may not have even been conscious for it. The last he remembered was being pulled to his feet by the squires and being offered false condolences by his opponent. He left quickly, as tears came unbidden to his eyes. Tears of defeat or tears of pain he did not know, maybe his head hurt more than his pride after all.

No one even looked at him as he went to his tent, why should they? He was the loser; they only had eyes for the victor and few people in history remember a loser. No one spoke to him; no one even noticed him. At that moment, he felt truly alone, tears came again unbidden and he swatted them away angrily as he arrived at his tent. A small square tent of white canvas, his father’s quartered gold and black flag blew softly in the wind outside it.

Matthew lifted the flap of his tent and stepped inside, a brazier filled with hot coals lit up his tent and filled it with a welcome warmth. His furnishings were modest like his tent, an iron wrought chest containing all his belongings, upon it a pewter wash bowl. A desk was set in the far corner close to his bed that was a mound of sheepskins and animal furs.

Matthew kicked off his boots, the ground sheet felt cool on his toes. He stripped from his sweat wet clothes and remaining only in his breeches, he approached his wash bowl. The water cold, refreshingly so and he sluiced it over head. Someone had also left him a flagon of wine, ‘good, I’ll need it.’ Matthew poured himself a cup; it was thick amber liquid that came out, honey wine, his favourite. Matthew finished the cup in three big swallows, he poured himself another.

The wine helped, he would lie in his tent for a while before dressing and finding his opponent, he would congratulate him properly. He turned to his bed, if the mound of sheepskins and furs could be called a bed, yet someone was sitting on it. Matthew could have said how long she had sat there, had she been there all this time or when his back was turned? But Alexi was sat with her knees up to her chin; she was gazing at him with a smile across her lips, a beautiful smile.

“Alexi…” he began, lost for words.

“You fought well today my knight,” she said rising.

“… I lost, Alexi, did you forget? A loser does not fight well.”

“I forget nothing my knight,” she replied, “you may have lost but that does not mean you did not fight well. A loser can fight as well as any victor; do you recall the tale of Ser Gideon? He lost the tournament of Silvermarket yet no one to this day can remember who beat him, such was his splendour and valour.”

Matthew sighed and drained his cup again. “I was foolish and careless, I should have known better.”

“Do not dwell on such things my knight,” she took the cup from him.

“I am also no knight,” said Matthew. “The prize was a knighthood but the tourney was open only to squires and knight-errants.”

Matthew was a knight-errant, in Eméra, when a squire reached his eighteenth birthday; he was made into a knight-errant, not quite a knight but no longer a squire. They had more status than a squire but less than a knight, they remained in training until they were granted their knighthood, when they proved themselves worthy of it. Often it was combat that won an errant his spurs but wars were few and far between at the present and Matthew would not stoop as low as paying a handsome sum to a knight for his spurs.

“You are a knight to me,” said Alexi, she filled his cup of wine again and poured herself one. Matthew understood where the wine had come from now. “You are as brave as any knight I have met, more gallant, more honourable and more than a match for a great many knights with a sword. You are all of this and you have not seen two decades yet, many knight-errants do not earn their spurs for many years. It will come in time, I know so.”

Matthew managed a small smile; he took a long swallow of wine, his head hurt less and less with each draught. Alexi was the daughter of a renowned knight, she was too lowborn for him, he was the eldest son of Lord William de Lacey and would one day be Lord of Redfell. He had seen her many times before, at first he had thought his eyes were cheated by some spell but she had giggled and told him his eyes saw her true enough. Astari, he had named her there, in his books Astari had been the most beautiful, her beauty never dimming. She had giggled at that and from that moment, Matthew knew he loved her.

Alexi was beautiful, peerlessly beautiful, it was well known. Her eyes were wide and bright, her brown hair was a cascade of curls falling loose around her shoulders and down her back. She was dressed in a green velvet gown today, with dropped sleeves lined with gold satin and a gold belt about her waist.

“My lady,” he said with sudden realisation, “I must apologise, I am not dressed.”

She giggled, “It is your tent, you may dress as you like.”

“I should be better presented.” He made to search for a tunic when Alexi stopped him and pulled him down to the furs that were his bed.

“It is much too warm in here,” she said. “And I think my knight looks much improved the way he is.” She eyed him, was it hunger in her eyes? ‘No, it is the light you fool!’

A smile came willingly to his lips, he and Alexi drained their cups once more and he refilled them. His defeat already seemed a distant memory to him now and at that moment, he couldn’t care have about anything less. For him, the world was in the tent, sitting before him, drinking honey wine from a pewter cup.

“My lady,” said Matthew, “you said it was much too warm in the tent, are you not hot in your own gown?”

He did not know where the boldness had come from, he blamed the wine. ‘She called you honourable and that was not honour from you, fool.’

“You are right of course,” she smiled, almost wicked.

She stood, reached down to the hem of her gown and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, she tossed it aside. The under dress was a gold silk shift which fell to only her mid-thigh.

The flagon of wine emptied quickly, so quickly that Mathew felt quite light headed, his head swam. The light had gone from the outside by the time they had finished, the coals in the brazier were dying too so Matthew prodded and blew them till the room was a little lighter. Matthew turned back round to Alexi and she was there, standing in front of him. She smiled wickedly; her cheeks were flushed from the wine.

“I want to thank you my lady,” he said, “I have felt much improved since you came here.”

“My knight, I have not even begun yet.” She smiled playfully.

‘It was the wine,’ Matthew knew. It was affecting him too; he returned her smile, it sent a jolt through his stomach and smile to his lips whenever she called him ‘my knight’.

“No doubt the camp will be celebrating the tournament, shall we join them?”

“We could,” said Alexi. She leaned close…

And kissed him.

Then Matthew was kissing her back, her mouth tasted of honey wine. It was always his favourite wine.

The kiss was bliss. But he broke apart.

“We can’t…” he began.

“Why can’t we?” she asked.

“Your father… you’re unwed…,” his head swam again from the wine.

“I shall do as I wish,” she replied, “let us not think of anyone else tonight my knight.”

She covered his mouth with her own and was kissing him again. Alexi pulled him backwards onto the furs, the wine made them clumsy and they tumbled onto the bed. But suddenly she was atop him, he was trapped between her legs but he found he did not care. Her right hand explored his chest; it was toned from long hours of sword work while her left hand ran through his still wet hair. Alexi’s lips were soft and her tongue softer, it came wandering into his own mouth and his own tongue met it.

She was pressed tight against him, he felt himself stiffen, he tried to adjust himself, he did not know why he tried to stop her feeling his erection but he did. Perhaps it was the movement but Alexi let out a soft moan and pressed herself harder on top of him. Her hips began to move against him and Matthew could not stop the moan passing his own lips.

He was mastered by his own passion; his hands ran across her breasts and tore her under dress. It tore right down to her navel. Her breasts spilled out into his hands, Alexi moaned louder. Her breasts were large and her body shapely, larger and more shapely than he had ever imagined.

Between her kisses he could say, “Your clothes…”

“I have more…” she whispered.

They broke apart briefly; Alexi rose and shrugged out of the remains of her under dress where there was nothing but her. She kicked the ruins aside and giggled.

“Astari,” he whispered.

“You have not called me that for some time,” she smiled again, this time shyly.

She went to her knees beside him and began to undo the laces of his breeches with deft hands. His cock was out then; Alexi yanked off his breeches and threw them aside. Her fingers walked up his stiff member, teasingly, mockingly.

She leaned forward and kissed his lips, his lip was between her teeth and she nibbled playfully, Matthew tried to bite her lips but they were gone, kissing down his neck, her fingers continuing to toy. Matthew moaned loudly and Alexi squeezed him with her hand.

His nipple was between her teeth now, she gave him a bite, and he moaned again half in pleasure, half in pain. His cock was in her mouth by that point; she took the head of his cock first, slowly, agonisingly slow. Her tongue probed again, playing with him, Matthew gasped and seized a handful of the fur.

Alexi giggled, she was clearly enjoying herself, her touch was toying and teasing, Matthew craved more. Her soft wet tongue licked circles around his head. A soft growl escaped from Matthew and Alexi took his full length into her wet warm mouth. Alexi moaned noisily, she cupped her own breast with her free hand and was playing with it.

Her arousal was showing as she took more of his cock into her mouth and soon began to suck hard and fast. The tip of his cock was slamming hard against the back of Alexi’s throat; her moans were coming through louder. She broke away and held the cock in her palm and began pumping it, she threw her head, her eyes were closed and she loud low moans, Matthew’s own growls grew husky. She brushed the head of his cock against her breast.

Matthew took her gently; he laid her down upon the mound of furs. He paused a moment to drink the glories of her body, her skin was soft and warm.

“You are truly beautiful my lady,” he said.

She smiled her wicked smile that Matthew loved, “I am yours my knight.”

“And I am yours my lady, my Astari.”

“Once more…” she said.

“My Astari.”

Her sex was slick, a glistening wetness. The hair at the juncture of her thighs was the same colour as her hair, but soft and wet where his own was coarse. He planted a kiss on each of her breast; each kiss gave her cause for a small gasp. He parted her legs and kissed her mound lightly at first; he parted her lips and kissed the pink that was there as well.

Alexi shuddered and squeaked. She was almost nervous now despite her being royally drunk. His hand ran up her thigh and teased her sex; he toyed with her as she toyed with him, his tongue touching her lightly and his fingers stroking and playful. He played harder now, his tongue moved firmer and she began to writhe. He slipped a finger inside of her, she made a whimpering sound. Her fists were bunched into the fur and her head was thrown backwards. He pushed in another of his fingers into her soaked hole, she let out an even louder moan of carnal pleasure and desire. Matthew pulled out his fingers and pushed it back in again; he repeated this while his tongue played with her engorged clit in a flicking motion.

Alexi squirmed with her pleasure; her hands fell to her breasts again and she squeezed them. Then her left hand came down to grab his hair painfully tight and pushing his face further down. Matthew began sucking on her clit and slipped a third finger up inside her, her hips began to move with the motion.

Soon Alexi was tense; she began to shudder, her back arched, her moans had turned to screams, “OH YES MATTHEW! DON’T STOP MY KNIGHT!”

He felt a rush of juices surround his tongue, it tasted so sweet, he loved it and so did she. He looked. She was lying on her panting for breath as if exhausted.

“My lady, are you okay?” he asked.

Alexi seized him and pulled him down on top of her, covering his mouth with her own, she licked her own wetness from his lips.

She bit his ear hard and whispered, “I want you.”

She guided his cock with her hand, she was so wet. He entered her to the delights of them both, they moaned together in carnal ecstatic pleasure.

“Yes…” she gasped, “my love, my knight, my Matthew!”

He pushed as much as he can inside her and he retracted it. Alexi glared at him, “put it back! Oh please!” she demanded of him.

He complied, sinking back in as much as he could once more. He began thrusting, her hips gyrating with the rhythm. It was vigorous; they were both moaning and calling out. He felt himself drawing close; such was the delights of the angel from the heavens before him. Her sex clenched around him and he shuddered, he was at the brink.

“That’s it my knight, oh my knight, my sweet knight, yes, yes, my knight!”

Her breasts were filling his hands again; her nipples were stiff beneath his thumbs. Her legs were around him now, pulling him closer, they were strong. Her nails dug painfully into his back as he drove into her time and time again, she screamed again and arched her back beneath him. It shot through Matthew like electricity, he felt light headed, was it the wine? No, he was drunk on Alexi. He retracted his cock from her soaking sex and unloaded his hot seed upon her heaving breasts. Alexi pushed her breasts together to catch it all upon her.

It was ecstasy, delight, he screamed too. “YES, MY LADY! MY ASTARI, YES!”

She took a finger of the white stickiness and pressed it into her mouth; it emerged from her mouth clean, she took another finger and licked it from her own finger, her eyes not leaving his. His seed was soon gone from her breasts and Alexi smiled her wicked smile once again.

“My knight,” she sighed.

Afterwards she went to sleep with his arms around her, her face was across his chest. The wine had passed him but he was drunk on her still, he smiled, he grinned and his joy did not abate. The embers were all but dead and the light was all but gone from the tent. A chill was in the air now, he covered them both with his blankets, the wool was scratchy but Alexi was soft and he found he did not care.

Matthew lay awake for a time, listening to the sound of her breathing and the sounds of merriment outside, he had no desire to join them. Matthew breathed in the fragrance of Alexi’s hair, it was lavender, and he was fond of that too.

Astari in the times of old wore lavender too; he smiled and was soon asleep.