Maidenless No Longer (Elden Ring)

She makes her approach in the guise of a human, for it has been a long time since the Capital has been accepting of her kind. With her cloak up, she hides her inhuman features until the guards will let her pass no further. When they finally seek to bar her way, she throws back her hood, revealing ashen white hair and piercing yellow eyes holding a death’s glare. Immediately, they are on guard.
 
“I am Lansseax, ancient long before the Erdtree was young. On the name of thy Golden Prince, mine brother Fortissax, and the friendship they shared, I would have words with thy new Elden Lord.”
 
Twas, admittedly, a fancy way of saying ‘this is above your paygrade, so shoo and get me someone who can either stop me or give me what I want’. She’s half-expecting that she’ll have to fight her way in, but when she lets a spark of red lightning flash from her golden eyes, the guards exchange a wary glance and then bow as one.
 
Tis almost as if they were expecting her. Her eyes narrow, as they step aside and let her pass. They narrow further, when an attendant meets her and begins leading her deeper into the Royal Capital in silence. Every part of her is screaming that this is a trap, but she has already backed herself into a corner, hasn’t she? By approaching peaceably and making demands that have thus been met, she can no longer rampage without being viewed as the unreasonable one.
 
Not that a rampage would go well for her, now, would it? Mm, the more things changed, the more things stayed the same. The Lands Between had undergone a paradigm shift, and yet the so-called Eternal Sovereign still reigned here in Leyndell, the Royal Capital. The place was a bit worse for wear, but they were already cleaning up the ash that had fallen from the Erdtree and clearing out the nastier beasties that had made homes within it.
 
Queen Marika had survived, and yet, for one such as Lansseax, the change was obvious. The Greater Will and the other Outer Gods had seen their influence sufficiently curtailed within these lands. There was a new Elden Lord upon the throne, said to be called the Tarnished Lord, said to be a greater part of the newly formed Elden Ring than any before him.
 
Tch… Tarnished. A pang cuts through Lansseax’s heart, before the Ancient Dragon ruthlessly crushes that moment of emotion. She cannot allow herself to consider the past… even if the past is all that influences her coming here today.
 
For a moment, she expects to be led to one such as Queen Marika, and quietly disposed of. Not in a million years had she thought her request for audience with the Tarnished Lord would actually be granted. Godwyn had gone out of his way to support the Dragons, and in the time before the Shattering, her people had been as close as outsiders could be with the Golden Order. For as intolerant as the Golden Order was, dragons had shared a… protected status within its realm of influence.
 
But neither Lansseax nor Fortissax had ever been particularly deluded as to precisely why that was. Nay, twas obvious that it was thanks to Godwyn’s favorable opinion that they were so revered. The Golden Prince was a good man. He did not deserve the fate that befell him.
 
Alas, his death had not only caused the Shattering for the mortal races but had also left her and her kind in the wind. They were far from their ancient power, and in no position to capitalize on the weakness shown by Marika and her ilk. In truth, there was no real unity among the dragons. And after what happened in Caelid in the Shattering War, when the Scarlet Rot bloomed, Lansseax doubted there ever would be again.
 
That was not to say it was all bad, in the wake of Godwyn’s death. Twas only after the Shattering, in more recent times, that Lansseax received the chance to meet Vyke. Vyke, Knight of Roundtable Hold. Vyke the Dragonspear. Vyke… her beloved.
 
Alas, for as much as Lansseax loved Vyke, he could never love her, twould seem. For in the end, he had sacrificed soul and sanity not for her, but for his maiden. And she… she had been left holding the pieces of her heart, as he’d been locked away in that Evergoal, a mere shadow of his former self.
 
Still, she was not here to talk about the past… but perhaps she was, all the same. Lansseax finds herself led into a wide, open courtyard, not necessarily large enough to fit her true form, but certainly with plenty of room. Waiting for her in that courtyard is a man that can only be the Tarnished Lord. He stands there, dressed in loose garments… wielding a very distinct, very familiar War Spear.
 
A snarl leaves Lansseax’s lips, as the one who brought her here quickly retreats, leaving them… utterly alone. As the Tarnished Lord stands, spear jabbed down into the ground before him, Lansseax finds her control slipping, some of her more draconic features unfurling.
 
Ash-white horns grow from either side of her head, protruding out of her hair. Scales curl down her cheeks, while also building up her arms and legs. Tearing through her cloak, out of her back, come two sets of bone-white wings, flaring upwards. Not as large as they would be in her true form, but at least twice again as large as her current human guise.
 
A tail also grows forth from her tailbone, long and segmented, swishing this way and that against the dirt of the courtyard, until it too is longer than twice her height.
 
Bearing draconic claws at the end of humanoid arms, the Ancient Dragon Lansseax snarls.
 
“By what right does thee wield that spear?! By what right does thy wear thee crown! Why thee, why not him?! What makes thee special, what makes thee unique?”
 
Silent as stone, the Tarnished Lord is nevertheless not a statue. His free hand reaches up and grasps hold of Vyke’s War Spear, and Lansseax’s golden eyes widen as he casts an Incantation that she has only seen one man use before him. Vyke’s Dragon Bolt courses up and down the Tarnished Lord’s body and through the spear, looking no less powerful, no less perfectly done, then it had ever been when Vyke himself used it.
 
For a brief moment, Lansseax’s breath catches, her eyes playing tricks on her. For a moment, she sees Vyke the Dragonspear, super-imposed over this other Tarnished’s body. She comes to her senses a moment later and lets out a snarl.
 
“How dare thee… how DARE thee. A fight thee wants? Then a fight thee shall have!”
 
Throwing herself into the air on her bone-white wings, the Ancient Dragon leaps forward… only to have to dodge, as the Tarnished Lord’s stolen spear nearly skewers her on the spot. She snarls and tries to find another avenue to attack from… but he moves fast. Faster than she expects, faster than even Vyke could move.
 
It takes her a few exchanges to realize… he’s not truly taking her seriously. He’s pulling his punches, avoiding any blow that would actually bring her down, or injure her in any meaningful way. He only truly strikes when he knows she’ll get out of the way. It’s infuriating, and she decides to take a trade, to let him sink that spear of his into her, so her claws can finally find purchase.

 
But he seems to know the moment she decides even that, for out of his back grows a long draconic tail, a glowing force of power that lasts for only a moment, and it sweeps her away instead. The display forces Lansseax to pause and reassess, eyes narrowing as she looks at the Tarnished Lord in a new light. His eyes… his eyes are quite golden, aren’t they?
 
“… Thou’rt well-versed in our Incantations. How many communions hath thee laid claim to, I wonder?”
 
He just smiles softly, and Lansseax shivers. He reminds her of Godwyn and Vyke combined… a dangerous combination to be sure. Dangerous for him, that is, to make her heart feel so heavy in her chest. With a roar only a quarter of the strength of her true roar, thanks to her currently humanoid form, Lansseax lunges forward again, intent on putting an end to this mockery of her love, of her affection.
 
The Tarnished Lord… responds by speeding up. Her eyes widen as he vanishes before she can so much as blink. She chokes, as the blunt end of Vyke’s War Spear slams into her gut hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, though not hard enough to impale her on it. He has the strength to do so, even with the blunt end, she can tell.
 
But before she can make him regret not killing her when he had the chance, his foot is in her face, and Lansseax finds herself thrown back, skidding across the ground of the courtyard. Tossed down, gasping for breath, she barely manages to get her eyes open in time to see the Tarnished Lord leap up into the air, and two bright red lightning bolts leap down into his hands.
 
The display of her brother’s Incantation, of Fortissax’s Lightning Spear, causes Lansseax’s eyes to widen yet again, as she stares death in the face. And then… she has a moment of peace and clarity, as he begins to come back down to earth. Letting her eyes drift shut, she welcomes this death. It is a worthy death for one such as her, to have finally bitten off significantly more than she can chew.
 
…
 
… Except, death does not come. Lansseax’s eyes snap back open, and she blushes at finding the slowly rising and falling chest of the Tarnished Lord, covered by those loose garments of his, standing over her. The spears of red lightning, a representation of her brother the Ancient Dragon Fortissax, are embedded in the ground on either side of her, though they flicker and dissipate as she gazes at them.
 
Straightening up, the Tarnished Lord offers his hand to her instead. Lansseax gawks for a moment, before scowling furiously.
 
“Doth thou knoweth what thee have done, Elden Lord?!”
 
“He knoweth exactly what he dost do, O’ Dragon.”
 
Lansseax’s head whips around, to see on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, Queen Marika the Eternal watching them with a goblet in hand. The Eternal Sovereign smiles thinly, eyes flashing, and for a moment Lansseax feels a shiver of fear that she ruthlessly tamps down upon. She might be older than the Queen and Erdtree both, but age does not always equate to power. Lansseax ducks her head and can practically feel the Eternal Queen’s smirk.
 
“Carry on. Tis his way. I care not.”
 
And with that, Marika leaves. But… truly? Lansseax can’t help but blush, as she looks to the Tarnished Lord, incredulously. He had planned this? But then, of course he had. With the sheer depth of knowledge, he had shown of dragons and their lore so far, there was no way he didn’t know. With a growl, feeling some irritation alongside the other thing that’s been welling up inside of her, Lansseax pushes herself off of the ground, and lunges at the Tarnished anew.
 
This time, however, he makes no effort to fight back. He even tosses aside Vyke’s spear before she reaches him, allowing her to take him to the ground, allowing Lansseax to flare her wings wide in the dusty courtyard, even as she straddles his waist.
 
“… Thou’rt like this then, hm? A man of significant appetites, I see.”
 
Even as she speaks, she’s grinding down, humanoid face flushed. Tis not her fault, truly. The dragons have… always had a thing for strength. It is a natural instinct for them, and Lansseax will happily blame it on that instinct till the very end. Leaning forward, she snuffles a bit at his neck, sniffing in his scent, drinking up his musk. All the while, her crotch… is humping rather heatedly against his own.
 
Feeling his phallus growing thick and hard beneath his pants, she growls and reaches down, yanking the offending garments away. That the humanoids insisted on wearing clothing had always vexed Lansseax, somewhat. Only rarely had she found cause to enjoy some of the dresses and robes made for her, back when she had masqueraded as a priestess of the ancient dragon cult of yore.
 
Some had been… nice enough. But most of the time, the damn things just got in the way. Especially when she had an impossibly strong human man right in front of her, that all of her draconic instincts were screaming at her to MATE WITH RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
 
She has him inside of her a moment later though, thankfully. He has nothing on a full-sized dragon of course, but that’s obviously an unfair comparison. And besides, she herself is not currently in her true form. His size is nothing to scoff at, as she is now, and as she begins to ride him, Lansseax finds nothing to complain about. He is no Vyke, for she loved Vyke with all her heart before the Dragonspear went and broke it in twain.
 
But… he is not bad.
 
Flushed, gasping, bouncing upon his phallus, Lansseax stiffens when the Tarnished Lord brings his hands to her hips. But begrudgingly, she allows him the touch, and even groans when he begins to actively participate, thrusting up into her from below.
 
“I admit… I know not why I came here this day. To die an honorable death at long last? To find vengeance for mine fallen?”
 
Golden eyes lidded, Lansseax hisses as she glares down at the Tarnished Lord heatedly. There is something hateful and spiteful to her movements. But is the hate directed at him… or herself? Did she come here to spite the new Elden Lord, or to spite herself?
 
“Why dost thou get to win, hm? Why dost the Elden Throne belong to thee, when mine Vyke suffered so for it?”
 
Even as she speaks, she understands she will not receive an answer… but at the same time, that she already has. It hurts so much to admit it, but this Tarnished is so much stronger than her Vyke. Stronger, even, then Godwyn the Golden perhaps.
 
Lansseax gasps, as his member hits a place particularly deep within her, setting her off. Dropping her face forward to hide her bright red blush, Lansseax scowls and lifts her head up only a moment later to shudder her way through the rest of the orgasm.
 
“Thou should not think thyself special. T-Tis… tis only i-instinct.”

And… twas only instinct, in truth. Dragons were a species that only cared about strength, in the end. Strength and power and might. Twas, perhaps, why they had gotten along so well with the Golden Order, she supposed. Because the Golden Order with its Eternal Sovereign and it’s Erdtree, and the backing of the Greater Will, was so much stronger than they could ever hope to be. Thus, submission became the obvious route.
 
Twas a strange dragon indeed that did not feel randy in the face of overwhelming firepower. Of course, twas a strange human that did not take advantage of that fact, but instead allowed himself to be taken advantage of. Lansseax could not stop her instincts from taking hold. By beating her so soundly and then sparing her life, the Tarnished Lord had immediately elevated himself to the position of most compatible mate for miles around.
 
Shivering, shuddering, Lansseax scowls again at the man she’s currently riding to kingdom cum.
 
“What is thy plan, I wonder? What dost thee hope to gain from t-this?!”
 
She gets her answer a moment later, when he finally moves. It happens so fast, Lansseax can barely register it. One moment, she’s on top and largely in charge for all that his thrusts from below are deep and feel amazing. The next, she’s the one on HER back, as he’s suddenly on his feet, his hands pushing her ankles up into the air and only her wings and shoulders to support her as she’s slammed down into the ground, pounded from above.
 
A cry of pleasure and pain spills forth from her lips. A shudder runs through her half-transformed body. The Ancient Dragon Lansseax looks up at her Tarnished Lord through bleary eyes, gritting her teeth.
 
“… Thou hath made thy point. Thy plan matters little. I am at thy m-mercy…”
 
She climaxes a moment later, half from her own admission and half from the pleasure he is visiting upon her. Tch, this had not been how she intended this day to go. She had wanted to die, or so she thought.
 
Finding out that another Tarnished had done what Vyke could not, finding out that another had succeeded in all the ways her favored love could not had left Lansseax wallowing. And now here she was, on her back, being mated like never before.
 
Truly, she was a shameful woman. But as a dragon… well, she was a consummate dragon.
 
When he finally fills her with his essence, pumping her full of his seed, she half-expects him to toss her away. After all, he’s had his way with her, has he not? She expects him to pull out, release his hold on her, and leave her to crawl her way out of the courtyard, wallowing in her shame. Tis what another dragon, who had so thoroughly conquered her, would do.
 
But for all that he has mastered their ways, the Tarnished Lord is no dragon. Something made abundantly clear when he picks her up in his arms, cradling her without difficulty, and takes her to the baths.
 
… Lansseax goes willingly, curling into his broad chest and trying not to show too much of her red face. Thankfully, she does not have to endure ridicule from any of his other women for the moment. She’s well aware of just how many he’s collected after all. All the Lands Between is, by now.
 
Nay, instead she is washed by his hands, and then… tucked into bed in what appear to be some guest chambers, of all things. And so, the Ancient Dragon Lansseax rests, finding herself in an odd state. He’s trounced her with entirely draconic techniques. She knows, despite her own hang ups, that she’s found another man worthy of her fealty and loyalty.
 
And maybe, just maybe, with the passage of time… her love.

-x-X-x-

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