The Emerald Knight

by Diana Sheridan

  Randour would have preferred a shared room. He would have loved to have spent the night with Wynfarad, making love for part of the night and snuggling up to him the rest of the night. He surely was not about to ask the guard for such lodgings, however, and Wynfarad said nothing either. From the look of longing that Wynfarad cast toward Randour, however, Randour suspected that Wynfarad harbored similar feelings to his.

  “We will send a servant to fetch you when the evening meal is served,” the guard said to the two men. “You cannot be expected to know when it is ready, nor how to find your way to the dining hall, so someone will come and get you.”

  “Will Merlin be at table?” Wynfarad asked with hope in his voice.

  “No, he will not. He has taken to his chambers to figure out how to dispatch the beast. He will eat there.”

  “The beast?” Randour inquired again, hoping for some clarification.

  The guard, however, merely replied, “Yes. The cursed beast,” and made no other explanation.

  Although disappointed, Randour determined he would yet find out what all this talk was of a beast.

  The guard led them down hallways and up stairs, around corners, and down more hallways. Randour was quite certain he would never find his way back to the main hallway on his own and was grateful that they could anticipate a servant coming to fetch them when the evening meal was ready. At last they arrived at the rooms they were to stay in. Randour’s chamber was two doors down the hall from Wynfarad’s. When the guard had left them to their own devices, Randour asked his new lover, “Would you like for us to lie together again now?”

  “I would like for us to lie together again but not now. In the first place, I am weary from my travels. I crave a nap even more than I crave sex, and for me that is saying something unusual. In the second place, I am not sure my cock is quite recovered from our earlier encounter. I would like it to be up strong and hard and ready for you. And last, did you notice something about the doors to our chambers?”

  “No. What is it that you refer to?”

  “There are no locks on the doors. Suppose the servant who is sent to fetch us for the meal does not have the common courtesy to knock instead of simply entering? We would be interrupted in mid-tryst, and I do not fancy being observed while I fuck. I think we had best wait till this evening.”

  “Would you like to talk awhile, or would you prefer to take a nap?

  “I crave both. Suppose we lie down together and talk awhile, and after a bit I am sure I will drift off.”

  “That sounds agreeable.”

  So Randour stayed in Wynfarad’s chamber with him, and the two lay down on the bed together and got to know each other better. The bed was narrow and not meant for two to sleep in, but that made it all the cozier. Randour threw an arm around Wynfarad as they talked of their past, their families of birth, and their aspirations for the future. After perhaps forty-five minutes had elapsed, Randour asked a question of Wynfarad but got no response. “Are you awake?” he asked softly, keeping his tones low so as not to disturb Wynfarad’s slumber if indeed he had drifted off. Again there was no response, and soon a soft, gentle snoring reached Randour’s ears. At that, Randour decided a bit of a nap wouldn’t be such a bad idea for himself either, and soon he, too, was asleep.

  Although the last to go to sleep, Randour was the first to awaken, driven by a need to use the chamber pot. He tried to move gently and quietly so as not to disturb his lover, but as he sat up on the bed, preparatory to swinging his legs over the edge, Wynfarad stirred and then opened an eye. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t very good company,” he apologized.

  “Hush. It’s all right. I went to sleep myself.”

  They both relieved their bladders and then sat on the bed to converse some more. The more Randour got to know his new companion, the better he liked him. He was growing quite fond of him indeed and hoped Wynfarad would stay at the castle so they could remain together. Perhaps, if they both were allowed to live there, they could even share living quarters.

  Not long after that, a series of loud knocks at the door startled Randour. “Enter!” he called.

  An old but sprightly chap with a ring of unruly white hair surrounding a large bald spot poked his head into the room. “Good evening. I am Ben, and I am here to inform you the evening repast is available. If you would be so good as to follow me, I will escort you to the dining hall.”

  “Thank you. That is kind.”

  “We appreciate it,” added Wynfarad.

  “Just give us a moment to pull our boots back on,” Randour said. Although they had talked, cuddled, and napped fully clothed, except for Randour’s suit of armor, they had both taken their boots off before lying down.

  “Most certainly,” said the servant.

  Back through the corridors, around the corners, down the stairs, and through more hallways they went, following Ben until they reached the dining hall.

  “Be seated anywhere. This is not a formal occasion. It is you two, some other visitors, and some of the folks who live in the castle. Neither of the royals will be dining with the assemblage.”

  “Not Merlin, either?” asked Wynfarad, sounding disappointed.

  “He is having his meal in his rooms.”

  Since they didn’t see two empty seats next to each other, Randour suggested the next best thing, that he and Wynfarad occupy two chairs separated from each other by only a man and a woman, who were talking to each other with familiar ease. Randour suspected they were a couple, husband and wife, but that was irrelevant to his chief interest. What he hoped was that they were occupants of the castle and not fellow guests like themselves. That way he could ask them about this beast and perhaps finally find out something about this apparent scourge.

  In that he was in luck, but not immediately, for the couple was busily eating and not disposed to make conversation while there was food to be consumed. Randour and Wynfarad partook of the meal with gusto themselves, being hungry after their shared journey. Although Randour did not know what Wynfarad had been subsisting on, he was mightily tired himself of a diet consisting of nothing but bread, cheese, and apples, rationed out in small portions to be sure that his supply would last him until he arrived at the castle.

  He dug into the meat with gusto. Tasting it, he immediately identified it as mutton. A glance at Wynfarad showed Randour that he, too, was eating with abandon, apparently as famished as Randour himself. There was fresh-baked bread, cheese, beans, and some other foods that Randour couldn’t identify by sight and didn’t essay to taste. He was more than satisfied with great, huge helpings of the mutton and the beans.

  The buxom, middle-aged blonde to his right was apparently not as satisfied as he was. “I’ll bet their majesties are dining on pheasant or quail tonight,” she said querulously as she took one last bite of mutton and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She had not introduced herself. In fact, she had been so busy eating when Randour sat down that she had taken no apparent notice of him at all, and as he had not wanted to disturb her, he had not introduced himself to her, either. Now, however, he said, “Good evening. I am Sir Randour, just arrived from Westover and hoping to become a knight of the Round Table. Do you live here?”

  “Yes. I am Jenny, and this is my husband, Tarlane.”

  “That is my friend Wynfarad on your husband’s right.”

  Jenny turned, seeming to notice Wynfarad for the first time, and she nodded in his direction. He was attentively listening. It was difficult to hear over the din in the dining hall, what with clanking plates and chattering voices, but he leaned in and did his best. Now he nodded back at Jenny, then at Tarlane, who turned and acknowledged him for the first time as well.

  “What can you tell us about this beast we have heard talk of?” asked Randour, eager to satisfy his curiosity at last.

  At the word “beast,” Jenny’s eyes went wide with horror, and her body recoiled in fright. “You have heard about him, then?” she asked.

  “We have only heard that Merlin
is trying to think up a way to dispatch him. Truly, that is all we know. What sort of beast is this? What can you tell us about it?”

  “The beast is known as Gwylldahr. Gwylldahr is terrifying everyone throughout the land. He is huge and thick skinned, so thick skinned that he is impervious to arrows, and even swords have not dispatched him.”

  “He cannot be killed with a sword?” asked Randour in disbelief.

  “Swords have wounded him, but nobody has been able to inflict a mortal wound. Nobody has been able to kill him. He bleeds, and he goes off and licks his wounds and returns later that day or the next day to do more damage and kill more people.”

  “What is his origin? Where did he come from?”

  “That is something nobody knows.”

  “And there is only one?”

  “Thank merciful heaven, yes.”

  “How does he kill those he does away with?”

  “Some he kills by scorching. He breathes fire like a dragon, though he is no dragon himself. Some he kills with his claws, which are long and powerful and sharp and dangerous. Some he kills with his forked tongue, which is poisonous. If you are unlucky enough to feel the forks of his tongue pierce your skin, it is the last thing you will ever feel. Oh, and his fiery flames have not only killed people throughout the countryside but have also scorched forests and set homes afire. He has also killed horses, sheep, chickens…the destruction has been fierce and unceasing.”

  “He is large?”

  “Huge. Enormous. Gigantic.”

  “Does he kill for food?”

  “Sometimes, but he also seems to kill for no reason. He doesn’t always eat the people or animals he dispatches, and it isn’t always a case of his having been threatened by them, either. He seems to sometimes kill for no discernible reason at all. He gives a loud roar and then kills people and destroys things. It almost seems as if he is angry, although I hardly think beasts get angry the way people do.”

  “You never know,” said Randour.

  The final course of the meal was apples. Between the fact that he had filled himself up already and the fact that he had had quite enough of apples on his journey, Randour forbore to partake of this last course, although Wynfarad seemed to have no such reservations and ate two of them. People were leaving the dining hall as they finished their meal, and soon Randour and Wynfarad joined this mass exodus.

  “Do you think you can find your way back to our rooms?” asked Wynfarad. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I believe so, although I am not certain.”

  “Do you think they will send old Ben for us again when the morning meal is prepared for us?”

  “There he is now, standing off to the side with that guard in the red uniform. Let us ask him.”

  As they approached the servant, he saw them coming and smiled. “How was your meal?” he asked.

  “Fine,” said Randour.

  “Filling,” said Wynfarad.

  “Thank you for asking,” said Randour, “but we have another question.”

  “Do you need help finding your way back to your chambers?”

  “I think I have memorized the way. What we were wondering, though, is whether we will be notified when the morning repast is served. Also I would like to know when I will be granted an audience with his majesty.”

  “For your second question I have no answer, though I’m sure it will be soon. Probably on the morrow. As to your first question, either I or one of the others will be sent to fetch you when the meal is ready for you.”

  “Will King Arthur be seated at the morning meal with us?”

  “The king usually takes his morning meal in his chambers. Queen Guinevere has been known to break her morning bread with the rest of us on rare occasion, particularly if the king is eating with Merlin or one of his other advisors, but it is not ever the habit of the king. Most often, though, her majesty eats with his majesty in their royal chambers. Do not count on meeting her tomorrow.”

  “As much of an honor as it would be to meet the queen, in truth it is Arthur himself whom I am eager to find myself face-to-face with.”

  “That will happen soon enough, I am sure.”

  With that reassurance, Randour turned to go back upstairs, but Wynfarad tarried, as he had a question of his own. “When do you think I will get to meet with Merlin?”

  Ben sighed, and his smile disappeared, turning into a frown. “Probably not till the beast is dispatched. That is all that occupies his time now.

  “Now, are you gentlemen sure you do not need me to show you back to your rooms?”

  “Well…I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

  So back they went through the winding corridors, up the stairs, and around the corners, until at last they were in front of Randour’s door.

  “Thank you,” Randour said.

  “Mine is two doors down the hall, I know,” said Wynfarad, making no move to go there.

  “If you haven’t found it yet, there is a washbasin in each of your rooms. Does either of you need anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” said Randour, thinking that a washbasin would come in handy if he wanted to be fresh and clean for his upcoming encounter with Wynfarad. At the same time, however, he was wishing that Ben would take his leave so that he and Wynfarad could retire to his chamber together and make glorious love.

  “Very good, then,” said Ben, turning to depart back down the hall. “I shall see you two gentlemen on the morrow.”

  At last he was gone. Randour put a hand on Wynfarad’s back to guide him into the room. Both men eagerly stripped off their clothes and made for the washbasin after first relieving themselves in the chamber pot once again. Then, delightfully naked, they hurried to the narrow bed.

  Both Randour and Wynfarad were flaccid of dick as they lay down next to each other on their sides, facing each other. But that limpness didn’t last long. Wynfarad grasped Randour’s dick and held it firmly, then began to gently jack it as the column of flesh swelled and firmed up under his touch. His own dick was enlarging noticeably as well. Randour stared in unabashed awe at Wynfarad’s dick, which was swelling amazingly quickly, not to mention amazingly hugely. It jutted up from his coarse pubic thicket, seeming to wink at Randour from its blind eye, which was tearing drops of thick, translucent, pearlescent lube.

  Then Wynfarad’s hand began speeding up its rhythmic motion on Randour’s stiff dick. He was going to get him to come by hand, at this rate. Although Randour was sure there were several more loads lurking in his balls, he really wanted to achieve his glory by some other means than manually. Now Wynfarad added a rhythmic squeeze to his motions. As his hand glided smoothly up and down Randour’s dick, it squeezed and released, squeezed and released. It felt as if he were milking Randour, and indeed, he was about to get a handful of cream.

  No! Not yet! Randour was determined to see to that. Pulling out of Wynfarad’s grasp, he ducked his head down to Wynfarad’s groin. Then his mouth closed around his companion’s corona even as his tongue began fluttering across the tip, darting at the dimpled opening. Randour could feel the warmth of Wynfarad’s seeping pre-cum as well as tasting it. He savored it, rolling around the sticky substance in his mouth as if it were a fine wine.

  Randour’s hand closed around Wynfarad’s hair-sprinkled sac. He rhythmically worked over the tight, packed sac. Sighing luxuriously, Wynfarad stretched on the narrow bed. Randour sucked more voraciously and insistently. Then Wynfarad spoke up. “Do you want to fuck me or get fucked? I’d like to fuck you, but if that’s not to your liking…”

  “It is!” Randour said with perhaps too much eagerness, even while he wondered how on earth he was going to accommodate such a massive organ up his anal passage.

  Already lying on his back, he now raised his legs in the air. In that position, he could watch everything as it happened. Everything but the sight of Wynfarad’s long, thick dick penetrating his eager asshole.

  Wynfarad thrust his thumb and first three fingers into his mouth,
everything but his pinkie finger. When he’d spit-lubed all four fingers, he stuck his thumb into Randour’s back hole, fucking it in and out of him with sharp, abrupt strokes and curving it so it caught his anal sphincter with every outstroke. Then he removed his thumb and put first one, then two, and then all three of the other wet fingers inside Randour. Now he was fucking in and out of him with long, strong strokes that clipped Randour’s prostate at least half the times he stroked inward. “Feel good?” he asked, his voice a purr.

  “Gawd, yes!” Randour exclaimed. “Squeeze my balls, too, will you?”

  Wynfarad gladly obliged, closing a hand around Randour’s heavy-hanging, wrinkled sac and compressing it. Randour sighed, glorying in the sensations.

  Then Wynfarad came knocking at Randour’s backdoor. His club of a dick thumped against Randour’s puckered opening, and Randour shivered with the knowledge that this massive intruder was about to try to gain entry to his tunnel. “Wet my hole again. You’re so big!”

  Wynfarad slathered spit on his thumb and deposited a copious quantity on Randour’s back hole. Then he repositioned his dick at Randour’s hole and began to maneuver in.

  At first it felt like someone was trying to jam a tree trunk up his rear, a tree trunk with cactus spines on it. He was huge. “Shall I stop?” Wynfarad asked solicitously.

  “Just give me a minute to get used to it,” Randour gasped. And, after less than a full minute, he really did acclimate to the massive log stuffed determinedly up his chute. “Give me more,” he said then. “Cram it in me.”

  Taking him literally, Wynfarad gave a mighty lunge and stuffed him full of what felt like a good half of his dick. Raising his head from the bed, Randour saw that dick disappearing as Wynfarad wildly entered him, and he yelped and yowled but told him, breathlessly, “Don’t stop.” Soon, a full three-quarters of him was lodged up inside Randour’s channel. “So full. You’ve filled me so full,” Randour marveled, enjoying every inch of the dick that possessed him from within.