Page 40 of The Fall of the Orc

And even as Gerrard’s pulses slowed, faded, Olarr kept sucking. Tasting. Caressing. The sensation already too strong, too sensitive, but Gerrard couldn’t seem to pull away, either. Couldn’t stop watching this orc licking him, lavishing him, rolling him around in his mouth, on his tongue. As though Gerrard were a priceless delicacy, a stunning perfect morsel, even as soft as he was, even as he knew — he knew! — how it tasted.

But when Olarr finally drew away, let Gerrard fall from his mouth — still slow and reluctant, as if he couldn’t bear to let go — he was still licking his lips, his eyes still hungry and half-lidded, his throat convulsing again and again. “Ach, Aulis,” he breathed. “Even sweeter than all my dreams of it. I… I thank you, for honouring me with such a gift.”

He looked so serious, so worshipful, and then, then, so sad. “I am so sorry, my brave one,” he whispered, as another tear streaked down his hard cheek. “I ought to have spoken all these truths to you. I sought with such fervour to keep you safe, but in this, I lost sight of whatyouwished. I placed my own aims — my prudence, my cunning, my longing for you — above your own selfless need for justice. Your kindness. Your care.”

Gerrard couldn’t speak over the rising spasm in his throat, and he only distantly noticed that his hand was still sunk in Olarr’s hair, his thumb absently stroking. And Olarr was leaning into it now, his sad eyes fluttering, his breath exhaling unsteady and slow. “It is just like Harja, all over again,” he croaked. “And just like Harja, you show yourself a far braver warrior than I have ever been, ach? You again show yourself a true son of the goddess, willing to offer yourself on her altar, for those she most loves. Whilst I” — his eyes squeezed shut — “I have been the coward, Aulis. A failure of a Bautul. Just as you saw, just as you said, from the start.”

He huffed a strange, broken little laugh, the sound catching in Gerrard’s belly — enough that he swallowed hard, shook his head. “You know I was talking rubbish, Olarr,” he said thickly. “You’re the furthest thing I know from a failure, yeah? You’re devoted to your clan and your people, you’re a brilliant fighter, you’re clever and cunning and prudent. And you’re thoughtful, and generous, and a spectacular fuck. And I really thought — I would have —”

His voice cracked, his hand spasming in Olarr’s hair, because what the hell had he been about to say?I would have stayed forever, I would have done anything you asked, I would have never stopped loving you—

And suddenly Gerrard couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t — and he lurched away, away, fastening up his still-hanging trousers with shaky fingers. Fuck, what was he doing. What were they doing. Slagvor was coming, Slagvor was about to kill them, and here they were, getting off in the woods, and making stupid, useless confessions? And Gerrard was again offering up his own kindness, his own care, to the cruel, calculating orc who’d lied to him since the first day they’d met?

Gerrard didn’t look at Olarr as he started walking again, but he could feel him already falling back into step beside him, his breaths still rasping too loud in the silence. And the further they walked, making their way along a path that seemed very familiar to Olarr, the darker and heavier it all felt. Gerrard was going to fight Slagvor. He was probably going to die in the attempt. And amidst it, he would betray Olarr to Slagvor, too, and then…

“I think you should — stay back,” he finally said, hoarse, into the oppressive silence. “Let me meet Slagvor alone. And that way you can run, or hide, make new plans, and —”

He broke off at the harsh, abrupt sound from Olarr beside him, something like a laugh, or maybe a sob. “You cannot — ask this of me, Aulis,” he choked. “Not now. Not when you would not run or hide for me, ach? I shall not leave you. Not until the very end.”

Oh. Maybe Gerrard should have expected that, but it still clutched and curdled in his belly, roiled into his throat. “Right,” he managed. “Thanks.”

There was more silence beside him, more empty unbearable misery, and he drew in another deep, shaky breath. “So what’s the best way to do this, then?” his thin voice asked. “What’s going to keep Slagvor — or your Bautul kin — from killing me on sight? Or killingyou, once they smell me on you?”

Olarr’s hand was rubbing at his face, his breaths still heavy and harsh. “I ken my brothers would not attack me on first sight, even over a human,” he said. “I have upheld them to the best of my strength, for many, many summers. I have won them countless battles, and fed them countless meals, and gained many debts. This ought to be enough to grant us a chance to speak, ach? And once we gain this…”

His voice trailed off, and Gerrard drew in breath, squared his shoulders. “Then I challenge Slagvor to a proper Bautul duel,” he said. “Before your clan, before the goddess.”

Olarr was sighing, nodding, glancing sideways with dark, miserable eyes. “Ach, just thus,” he said, quiet. “And if Slagvor accepts, the rest of us are then bound to watch, and witness this, without help or hindrance.”

Right. “And if I lose,” Gerrard said, tentative now, “and Slagvor decides to start having his fun with me… what then?”

His heartbeat had been slowly rising throughout this, but now it was drumming in his ears, calling up painful visions of that day he’d knelt before Olarr on the battlefield. The depth of that shameful, visceral fear. Goddess, he would ask nothing else, but he wanted an easy death. He wanted it to be swift, merciful, like that axe-swing Olarr had almost, almost taken…

“Then I shall do all within my power to — help,” Olarr said, through his thick breaths. “To grant you death, as kindly as I can, before I meet my own.”

Gerrard’s throat convulsed, his belly plunging, because yes, that would be the next outcome, wouldn’t it? “And you couldn’t challenge Slagvor next?” he ground out. “Couldn’t try for a duel of your own?”

But Olarr was shaking his head, rubbing his hand at his eyes. “As I am your mate, this would yet be seen as… help,” he replied, his voice rough. “As vengeance. Slagvor would never honour this, and he would at once cast claims of treason upon me. He may yet claim this from the start, but I hope” — he exhaled — “I hope his greed shall be stronger, ach? His hunger to mock and destroy a weak human, before all his kin. Most of all a human he knows I… care for, so deeply.”

Fuck, Slagvor was a piece of stinking carrion, and Gerrard spat on the ground beside him, and clutched at his sword. “So what does Slagvor fight like,” he hissed. “Tell me everything. As much as you can.”

Olarr readily obliged, though his voice was blank as he spoke, the words dull and hollow. Telling Gerrard of Slagvor’s speed, his strength with his axe, his fearlessness, his cruelty. How he enjoyed dragging out his fights, taunting his opponents and watching them suffer. How he used their fear to his gain.

Gerrard listened in silence, as the darkness weighed heavier and heavier, his hand gone clammy against his sword-hilt. Until finally Olarr’s voice stopped, and then his body stopped too, his hand gripping at Gerrard’s arm.

“I can — scent them, up ahead,” Olarr breathed. “You are sure you do not wish to turn back. You could yet run, and escape, and — and live.”

His voice cracked, his eyes pleading on Gerrard’s face, but Gerrard gritted his teeth, shook his head. While Olarr’s trembling hands came up to touch his face, cupping it, cradling it, as though it were something prized, something precious.

“You are — so good, Aulis,” he croaked. “So brave, and so beautiful. It has been a true joy to know you, and to know your kindness and your care. You have brought me — such hope. Such peace. And with the goddess as my witness, I —”

He broke off there, his inhale shaky and thick, his eyes blinking hard. “I pledge you my troth, Aulis Gerrard,” he whispered. “I grant you my axe, and my favour, and my fealty. I shall honour you, and care for you, and keep you safe. For as long as I bear breath.”

It was goodbye, it was, it was — but it felt like something deeper, too. Something that drew Olarr’s grieving, glimmering eyes up to the watching moon, as his fist closed against his heart. Making a promise. A… vow.

And Gerrard wasn’t fighting it anymore. Was just — nodding, agreeing, his mouth quivering, as he blinked back the wetness pooling behind his eyes. “Y-you too, Olarr of Clan Bautul,” he choked back. “Still gonna haunt you after, yeah?”

And why had he said that, bringing that up again, because it felt like an age had passed since then. Since Gerrard had looked at Olarr on another moonlit night, and made yet another promise, another vow.If you kill me, I’m haunting you forever, with your goddess as my witness.

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