Now clothed in the garb of a maiden of the household, Clee’Amura looked miserable as she was led by the wrist by Lymarith toward me. The white material of the dress made the contrast of her skin stark next to the fair Lymarith. The dress clung to her figure nicely and the sandals of the house maiden completed the delicate feminine look for the tiny maiden.
“It took some time to teach her how our garments varied from what she’s used to, but here she is!” Lymarith declared happily, returning the cloak that had been her only covering.
“Wonderful, I wanted to talk to her in private.” I told my matron, reclasping my cloak, then I turned to my… slave.
I needed to figure out a better way to situate our relationship. I suppose she’d still be my slave regardless. Tavorwen had said her slave mark was irrevocable, and Clee’Amura seemed to think there was no escape, but surely we could come to a compromise of some sort.
“Um, I guess you two could speak in your bedroom, that is probably the most private place in the house.” Lymarith mused thoughtfully.
Clee’Amura glared at the young she-elf, then sent a scathing glare my way.
“Fine.” She snapped, whirling and stomped down the hall.
I sighed. I had a lot of work to do with the young she-elf. I wasn’t sure how I was going to prove to her I wasn’t whatever she thought I was, but I had to start somewhere.
I followed her to my room, where she slammed the door open and stormed through. I followed her through, then closed the door so we could talk. I turned with a deep breath.
“Let’s get this over with.” Clee’Amura snarled, and started pushing her dress off her shoulders.
“No! No, no, no!” I hurried, and I stopped her and pulled her dress back up on her shoulders. “That is not what this is at all.”
“Oh, thakra shit.” Clee’Amura spat. “You’re a male. Everyone knows males are weak, pitiful creatures slave to their need to reproduce. We might as well get over the part where you forcibly breed me.”
I shook my head, “Okay, so first of all, that’s not a thing. Men… I mean males, enjoy reproducing… That’s true. But we’re not slaves to it. There are plenty of males where I come from who never reproduce and live a happy life. Secondly… Did you notice the other she-elves in the house? They WANT to reproduce with me, so why would I force you when I have half a dozen she-elves who would do it happily instead of miserably?”
Clee’Amura narrowed her eyes, “Then let go of my shoulder.”
I released her and stepped back, my arms ready to stop her from stripping again.
“If you weren’t bringing me here to force me to pleasure you, why in the hells did we need to be in such privacy?” She demanded, crossing her arms under her modest breasts.
I sat on the bed, leaning my rifles against the wall and motioned to one of the chairs, “You can sit if you want. I think there’s a fair amount we need to discuss.”
She remained standing. I could feel her defiance through our bond.
“Alright, so first of all… I know you are a slave. The mark around your neck and on my hand make any attempt at ignoring or disregarding it is going to just be a joke.” I began. “But I want to do all I can to make you as free as I can, though there are a few things that I can’t allow. I need to keep you safe, and keep the rest of the elves safe as well.”
Clee’Amura scoffed, her scorn burning like an ember in my mind. “The ideas of a weak male. The strong dominate the weak. This is how it is, how it always has been and always will be. You have power over me, and nothing will change that. Regardless of what you say, a single command from you and your false ideals will be cast aside. Already, you have employed the compulsion of the slave mark when convenient and always you will fall back. I can delude myself into believing it isn’t so but what is the point?”
She laughed, “Worse, you made me slave to any of your bitches and whores.”
“A valid criticism.” I agreed. “I hereby order you to disregard my previous command to obey the commands of the members of my household.”
Clee’Amura’s eyes narrowed. “A nice gesture, but as easily reversed as it was made. Your words are air.”
I nodded, “Yeah. Until I find a way to break the slave sigil that binds you, it is just that. It will be a matter of my self-control in not using my ability to force your behavior, and your behavior in not forcing me to use it.”
“Ha!” She mocked, “The excuses of a naive fool.”
I struggled for a minute, as she stood there judging me.
“Alright, how about this? I will give you my word. I will not command you and use the control of the slave sigil, unless it is to save your life, my life, or to prevent you from harming or killing an elf who has not provoked your response reasonably.” I offered.
“Air, mere air.” She laughed. “Your false bravado is pathetic.”
“Clee’Amura, I hereby order you to disregard all previous and enduring commands that restrict you in any way.” I told her.
Her eyes narrowed. She waited for a moment, her head cocked as she watched me carefully. A strange tension filled the room.
With elven speed, she leapt at me, her hand lashing out faster than I could have verbally stopped her if I tried. Her elation at the chance she had to take rushed into my mind. Her fist struck my head, with follow up blows to my chest, shoulder and another to my head.
Now, hand-to-hand combat was not my speciality, but I had a fair amount of hand-to-hand training. By the time you get to be in the special forces, you’ve had a lot of training in a lot of different categories, even if the majority of your training focused on one specific capability.
I knew there was no way I could match the speed of her strikes and try to block anything. Instead I wrapped her torso up in a clinch, my arms tightening into something like a hug preventing her arms from swinging properly. I bore her to the floor, pinning her.
The places she had struck me stung, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. Her punch to my head had been poorly placed, and while, yep, it wasn’t a great feeling, I wasn’t going down to that.
“Alright, now that you are free, we can have a discussion.” I told her.
“LET GO OF ME!!!” Clee’Amura snarled, frustration and disgust flooding through our bond.
“When you can behave like a civilized individual, I will release you.” I told her.
“You pathetic male! Not content to command me to submit to you, now you force me physically!?” The shadow elf screeched, her anger building.
I just held her for a minute.
“Nothing to say to defend yourself, letcher!?” Clee’Amura spat.
“I prefer to let my actions speak for me. I’ve restrained you for some time now, and your clothes are still on, and I haven’t even touched you inappropriately. You, however, elected to start hitting me the moment I gave you your freedom.” I countered.
The shadow elf squirmed and tried to work her way free, but I easily kept her pinned. I had cinched up her torso until her arms had nowhere to go but straight up around her head. My biceps were locked into the grooves under her shoulders, so she couldn’t slide down and out of my grip, and forearms and hands looped around hand held her head and upper shoulders, so she couldn’t pull up and out of my hold.
She strained and grunted, but there was no way she was breaking my hold.
“So, what? We stay here until we starve?” Clee’Amura demanded, her rage settling into disgust.
“I hope it doesn’t take you that long to decide to play nice.” I told her.
“I’ll never cooperate with a weak, male fiend like you.” She insisted.
“Well, at least we can talk for a while. I imagine eventually one of the members of the house will come by and they’ll feed us.” I mused.
Clee’Amura strained against my hold, but despite her flailing legs, and flexing shoulders, my hold remained strong.
“Why are you doing this, Kreifir?” Clee’Amura growled, her disgust shifting to humiliation.
“Because I believe you are worth it.” I stated.
She stopped for a moment.
Her emotions were a mess. Disbelief, humiliation, anger, sadness, and pain… lots and lots of pain.
In my clinch my face was turned away from her, so I couldn’t see her to judge her reaction. Her body, however, told me something. Her struggles stopped, her flailing trailed off. Either she was caught off guard by the statement, or she was accepting the fact that she couldn’t escape. I hoped for the first possibility, but was prepared for the second possibility.
“Well, if we’re getting to know each other, we should really know each other’s names.” I explained, “You may have picked this up, but my name is Thomas. Thomas Nord. Now I understand your name is Clee’Amura. But Diamiutar said that the ‘Clee’ part was a title. Is that true?”
The she-elf immobilized in my grappling hold remained quiet. I could feel her emotions being stamped down and smothered.
I let her sit. I was patient. I wasn’t sure if I was more patient than an over one hundred and twenty year old elf, but I was going to test it. I knew she was at least the age of my matrons, though I’d want to establish exactly what her age was eventually.
After several minutes, she finally spoke. Her voice was tiny, barely more than a whisper.
“Every Shadow Elf’s name is a composite. Their title, their given name, and then their house. ” Her trembling voice tentatively explained. “All except Kathra, the great queen. Kathra has declared that as the eternal queen of the only pure lineage of elves, and therefore the only lineage worthy of life, her name is too great for a title to be attached.”
“I see. So Clee is your title, Amura is your given name, and your house?” I asked.
“… the name of my house was stripped from me when I was made a slave…” She confessed, barely loud enough for me to hear, even as close as we were.
“… I am sorry to have brought up such a painful subject.” I apologized.
“I am accustomed to pain.” Clee’Amura retorted, a touch of defiance returning to her voice.
“Well, I hope you won’t have need of that tolerance anymore.” I tried to comfort her.
We sat in silence for a moment, then I pressed further.
“What does the title ‘Clee’ mean?”
Again, a long and awkward silence.
“The title of ‘Clee’ is… ‘worthless’. A pitiful excuse for a member of the ultimate race of elves who is not worthy of the house they were born to… One who has been… marked… as punishment for her worthlessness.”