Disclaimers: There is sex between women in this one. Also, there is one scene with BDSM overtones.
Returning to the Lodge
She'd been gone three days from the Lodge. Her large hand rested on the cold metal of the door handle, as treasured altercation between her Lady and herself from some years ago sprung to mind.
A spruce Judge sat in her favorite armchair in the Great Hall . The languid candlelight flickered against her face. Twirling the crystal glass pinched between her fingers, her gaze was transfixed on the small alcoholic whirlpool that had been artificially created.
"I had a fantasy about you involving whisky and candlelight," the Justice heard a familiar somewhat exasperated voice coming from above her.
"Oh?!" The Judge was pleased with the connoted notion that the unruly Lady would soon succumb.
Through the flagrant unhindered intractableness, the indocile Lady responded, "I fantasized about dowsing you with the liquor then setting you on fire."
The Justice emitted a low amused chuckle, which she believed constituted a proper rejoinder. "H ave you been good while I was away? I got back four days ago, but I thought it best to keep you waiting a while longer." She realized her words would only serve to further exacerbate an already tense situation, and welcomed it.
"That may not have been the way to go... it seems I may have lost my temper. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I have a patience issue. I experienced a myriad of emotions, to be honest. The lion portion of them made me uncomfortable." The Lady said in haste. She then took a short surcease to regroup. " The letters I wrote you have gotten worse as the days went by... Actually you need not read the last ...say, three of them."
"As a matter of fact," replied the Judge, "I was quite amused by them." She moved in her armchair and stretched her legs out. Her body movements were a reaction to Lady Emma's genuinely expressed softness, like the compulsion to touch the nose when telling a lie for others.
"That's good.... I actually sweated the "fuck you". Good to know that's acceptable. Some Warriors are funny about that," said Emma with a clear attempt to defuse her verbal landmines.
"Do you know what the fastest way to a Lord's heart is?"
"Yes...through her chest," the Lady retorted.
"Your answer explains so much. Showing respect, dear Lady, is the correct answer". The Judge muttered and placed the chalice on a nearby end-table. "As for your letters, I have derived immense pleasure reading them, and I can't deny, I've reread a good few of them several times".
"Why thank you. See...it's good to show me the softer side as well. I knew you had one, I could feel it in you. You, my dear, are not as tough as you think. You mustn't read my flip repartee solely for a lack of respect for you or your title. It's just my way of leveling the playing field."
"Some playing fields can never really be leveled, dear Lady, not with empty insults and certainly not after creaming all over me."
"Insinuating that I might have missed you a little is hardly creaming myself, dear, and I tend to be the exception to many rules."
"Not to mine," riposted the Judge under her breath.
"Oooh, a challenge. Don't make me like you. I'm not ready for that yet, and I should tell you that pushing my buttons is not p erforce the best way to win my graces. "
"Your buttons?! Would those be the ones with the prodigious neon signs above them that say 'push here'?!"
The Lady flippant laughter echoed in the vast hall. " Very cute. Who said Warriors were not funny," the Lady said as she seated herself into the empty armchair next to the Judge and aristocratically crossed her legs. "I've recently decided to be nicer to you in front of others. It was very hard though. Just no point in upsetting anyone."
Nicer mused the Judge, I can't believe this woman has the gall to imply she's been remotely nice to me so far.
"'Anyone'...I wonder who might that be...Or are you just afraid of being slapped silly in front of the Lodge's tenants?"
The Lady sharply swiveled round her head and imbedded flaring eyes into the Judge's. "Unless you are going to shove your cock down my throat... you never get to slap me."
"You're all talk, otherwise you'd have been on your knees servicing me by now…Well, all in good time, I suppose."
"Well you've not asked and I've not offered... so I guess the point is moot."
"I can tell you one thing right now. I will not ask. You'll offer yourself to me by the time I'm through with you, blondie."
"You may not want to put any money down on this, sweetie," the Lady said and waved a spiteful finger at her. " Actually, the two of us fucking can wait or never happen. We can just watch the other be with other people...that works too."
"So, you are proud enough to deny yourself a good untamed depraved fucking by me, and content yourself with being fucked by proxy?"
" You would be nowhere in sight. Emma is very picky. You simply may not meet her standards and I would deny myself a lot more than that...rather than humble myself."
The Justice shook her head, "I feel sorry for you, I do." She then steadfastly pierced the cerulean eyes that rejected her ruth with her untrodden greens. "Should we ever have an affair, there would be no hearts and flowers. You will not hear violins playing anywhere," her voice sounded almost hateful.
"A perfect answer," said the lady yet remained tepid. "Just expect that I will fight you tooth and nail," she continued and inspected her groomed fingernails.
That night when the cruel Fates set the chain of events that would cause them to cross paths, had been the foreshadowing cornerstone of what they have always been to one another, all they could ever be, it appeared. An unbreakable pattern had hailed. One of jeering and quibbles masquerading as something else or was it the other way around? Whichever was essentially truer, neither of them had the will - perchance the courage - to alter.
How different they had both been back then. Their undeniable attraction to one another was built upon outwitting; constant attempts to best and dominate one another; a splendid and incomparably delicious battle of the titans, in which none would be the first to blink. Emma's fetching, haughty wit was well above mere educated insolence. It had a very effective homing device that like the marksman that she was hit the most vulnerable of aims. To this day, whenever the Judge would reflect back upon those torrid squally days, she could not curb a fond smile of delight. But the smile was mixed with dolor, for there wasn't a way to r evert to the beginning.
The memory of their consummation night remained pristine and impeccable in her mind. They had foreseen the event with exceptional accuracy, for that momentous night, neither of them had downright offered nor surrendered, but it had transpired in the only manner that it could have.
They've become lovers from that night forth, and despite their fluctuating affair, they did certain things that all lovers do. Among other things, t hey've conversed almost incessantly, but most of the words exchanged between them were mostly devoid of any significant content.
One could count the numbers of "I love you's" exchanged between them on one hand; it was not their way. The first time they'd uttered these words had been the night of their consummation - only natural between lovers, one might think. But they weren't ordinary lovers, and the words had sounded awkward to them as a lark in funeral, like they'd grated where they hadn't belonged. The rarefaction left by that unholy trinity of words has been occupied by silences and mute gestures ever since.
The messages they wished to convey to the other weren't in the words but shrouded between them, always implicit. They spoke a different language when communicating with one another, unique only to them, constructed with small gestures, wordless looks, and the way they touched each other. So much was left unspoken between them over the years. Each verbal omission was for different pretext, each with a unique tone of silence.
On rarest occasions, in privacy, away from prying eyes, when their egos weren't imperiled, or when their devotion and passion simply got the better of them, moments of intimate graces were allowed to pass between them.
Speaking in tongues was the idiosyncrasy of their affair, a habit so solidly rooted betwixt the Lady and Lord, the latter wondered if it could ever be different, or were they condemned to use the only language they learned to speak with one another?
They weren't destined to be lovers. They weren't even destined to be friends. The agonizing reality of the matter was that they were meant to be adversaries. Their emotions, such as they were, were an unfortunate mishap, an indecorous byproduct she had tried to master and rid herself of only too often. So far it proved to be all for naught.
There were moments, in which the Judge would wish things were different between them, those sparks of fire that oftentimes charred their hearts but also fueled their insatiable craving for one another, notwithstanding.
On some nights, in the Lady's bedchamber, the Judge would draft her decisions and verdicts on a small desk Emma had reserved for her usage. Emma would read a book, squinting in the poor light, and they would occasionally lift up their heads and their eyes would meet. These furtive looks would make the Judge believe that perhaps they'd both mellowed a bit. She could see the spark in Emma's eyes still, and she would almost be convinced that it seemed as though the Lady sought more, but she always attributed it more to foolish wishful thinking than anything else.
No. To be anything other than the way they'd always so intrinsically been wasn't their fate, and sometimes it tore her heart asunder. Should she consider obviating the impious intruder that became the denizen of her heart, as inextricable as it might be, and make herself unfettered again?
End of Part 5
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