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flowerandblood · 6 months

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Laughter from the depths (Oneshot)

[ nobility! • Aemond x rusalka demon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, angst, smut, violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of murder ]

[ description: Aemond and his family are deprived of their main estate in the capital in favour of his half-sister and have to move to a rural mansion that has long been neglected. There is a superstition among the village people that the nearby lake is home to Rusalki, beautiful female demons who tickle boys who peep at them to death. Angst, slavic demonology. ]

This oneshot is something special for me because it focuses on the lives of the people in the Slavic villages from which all my ancestors came. I am Polish, so what I am writing about has references to Polish beliefs and Polish traditions, but I suspect it was the same for all our Slavic neighbours.

In order to convey the realism of the era and the atmosphere that prevailed there, the nobility talk among themselves in French, and Polish, which I have also used here, replaces the language of Old Valyria, as some kind of relic of the past, something unworldly in the eyes of the aristocracy. Of course, all the dialogues are translated into English in brackets, but I wanted to show what my national Slavic language looks like.

I would like to point out that until the 1970s, superstitions about rusalki and other demons were very, very strong in the villages. The large percentage of people who could not write or read, the fear-mongering by local priests and organists who made money from exorcisms and banishing demons did not help at all in rationalising the events of their lives.

Slavic demonology is incredibly rich and elaborate, and often the same demons are named differently in different countries. The name Rusalka came to Poland from the territory of present-day Belarus; the same water demons were previously called topielice, panny wodne or boginki. However, the name Rusalka was adopted by Romantic writers such as Adam Mickiewicz and is therefore used most frequently today.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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They were finished. The moment his father died, he, his mother, sister and brothers lost their main residence in the capital, which from now on belonged to his half-sister, his father's daughter from his first marriage. His last will came as an unpleasant surprise to them all.

He had bequeathed them his country estate where no one had lived for years, filled with dampness and mustiness. For weeks their mother tried to get the manor house in order, pretending that their father's decision did not hurt her at all, that they would at least get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Although he loved her he laughed cruelly at her words, shaking his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. Their servants and farmhands were simple villagers who could not even sign their names.

The only ones who knew the magical skill of writing and reading were the local priest and the Jews. The Jews were the ones Aegon was most friendly with, spending whole nights in their inns.

He and his family were decent Catholics attending church every Sunday.

They attracted great interest when they arrived in their carriage. The simple-minded people often came to church from distant villages barefoot and washed their feet in a nearby lake, only then putting on their shoes, usually having only one pair that they could not destroy.

Although he and his family knew the language of his ancestors, they preferred to talk to each other in French so that no one would understand them. However, he listened one day to a loud conversation between two boys, the sons of the village miller, who lived by the lake with other children.

"Tutaj mieszkają prawdzie rusałki! Wodne panny! Boginki! Nocą tańczą i śmieją się głośno, jak gdyby miały biesiadę, demony szatana. (This is where the true Rusalki lives! Water maidens! Goddesses! At night they dance and laugh loudly, as if they were having a feast, demons of Satan.)" Described one of them excitedly, swallowing his saliva quickly seeing that everyone was listening to him.

"Nie zwracają uwagi na dzieci, ale nasz kuzyn, Janek, raz próbował złapać jedną z nich, został wciągnięty i załaskotały go na śmierć! A miał się chłopak żenić na wiosnę! I na co mu to było? (They don't pay any attention to the children, but our older cousin, Janek, once tried to catch one of them, got pulled in and they tickled him to death! The boy was supposed to get married in the spring! And what good was that to him?)"

Shaking his head as he listened to this nonsense, his younger brother approached him, looking at them curiously.

"As-tu entendu, frère? J'ai lu que les Rusalki sont comme des nymphes grecques, belles, vêtues de robes blanches translucides avec des fleurs dans les cheveux, qu'elles dansent pendant la pleine lune et jouent toute la nuit. (Have you heard, brother? I've read that Rusalki are like Greek nymphs, beautiful, dressed in translucent white robes with flowers in their hair, that they dance during the full moon and play all night.)" He whispered, and he snorted, adjusting the material of his black cuff.

"Je t'en prie. C'est une absurdité. Les superstitions des villageois ordinaires. (Please. This is some nonsense. The superstitions of ordinary villagers)." He said lowly, Daeron fell silent and lowered his head, ashamed, never bringing up this subject again.

During the sermon, the priest made it clear that he was worried that the local people still used witches and quacks, believing in all sorts of demonic activities that were obviously the result of infernal forces.

"Za stosowaną opłatą ja bądź organista zajdziemy do Waszych domów by wypędzić te bestie. (For an applicable fee, I or the organist will visit your homes to exorcise these beasts)." Said the priest, and he pressed his lips together and chuckled under his breath, arousing the interest of his mother, unable to believe that someone even so well-read was preying on the naivety of these poor people.

They didn't understand what real medicine or science was, they didn't understand that when a disabled child was born to them it wasn't the fault of a charm or that a goddess had stolen their infant, but a congenital disease.

That when gales and hailstorms came it was not the Hanged Man, the demons that suicides who died by hanging themselves became walking through the fields, but it was ordinary weather, no demonic activity.

He was appalled at how much separated him from these people, dirty, simple, living in their own dark and cruel world, housing whole families in single rooms, sleeping sometimes even with their own cattle.

Although his attitude towards the people who, after all, worked on his manor, handled his crops and harvested for a pittance was harsh, he was not a man without compassion or heart.

When it was reported in the evening that the miller's son had fallen from a height into the water and almost drowned, that he had broken his leg and needed a doctor he rushed there on horseback together with his sister.

When they arrived people were standing with candles, crying and wailing all around him, begging him to call a doctor, that they could not afford it.

He and Helaena approached the boy, he couldn't have been more than twelve years old, he had an open break in his leg, his bone sticking out of the wound, he was pale and unconscious, shaking from the cold.

"Mówię Wam, ludzie, przysięgam, to Rusałki go z wody wyciągały, uciekły z piskiem gdy wybiegłem! To pewnie one swym śpiewem go przyciągnęły! (I'm telling you, people, I swear, it was the Rusalki that pulled him out of the water, they ran away with a squeal when I rushed out! It must have been them with their singing that attracted him!)" His father mumbled beside him, but he didn't listen to them recognising that he was talking such nonsense because he was in shock.

"Retournez au manoir et ordonnez à notre mère d'appeler un médecin. Sans médicaments, il aura de la fièvre et ne passera pas la nuit. (Ride back to the manor and order our mother to call a doctor. Without medicine he will get a fever and won't survive the night)." He said to her coolly, Helaena nodded.

He looked around, feeling his heart pounding hard and then he spotted her. He saw her face between the reeds, her big, curious, bright eyes clad in long lashes, when she noticed that he had caught sight of her she furrowed her black eyebrows and sank back into the water.

He looked there thinking that she was just a girl who had decided to swim, that it was impossible for what they were saying to be true, but no one surfaced there again.

He shuddered when a villager said to him that he had brought his cart and horse, that he would follow him to the manor, and he agreed.

The boy was laid in one of the rooms meant for servants, when the doctor arrived from a nearby village after a few hours the boy already had a fever and convulsions. The doctor said he was in an agonal state and there was no point in treating him anymore.

His mother decided to give him medication anyway.

Helaena and her maid kept vigil with him all night. He went back to his room and locked himself in it, trying to sleep, but all he could think about were these bright eyes shining between the lake reeds in the moonlight.

Despite the doctor's assurances that the boy would not survive, he lasted the night, but with such a monstrous break he had to be taken to the hospital in town, where he was transported by cart along with his family at his mother's expense.

The next day, the people of the village gathered outside their manor house to give them gifts, homemade cakes and breads, eggs, vegetables, milk and cheese. Everything they had, everything of value in gratitude for their act of grace.

He thought with pain as he watched his mother and sister's conversation with these people through the window, that he had judged them as clueless and simple-minded, seeing them as a mere grey mass, when they were simply people like him, for some reason condemned by God to such a harsh, ungrateful fate.

These thoughts kept him awake, and even though he knew it was madness, he thought about going to the lake in the evening to see for himself if what he had seen was true or just a mere prediction.

He had to prove to the rational side of his mind that it was just a figment of his imagination that had occurred under the influence of extreme emotion.

Therefore, he left the manor during the warm summer night, dressed in just a white chemise, tucked into his breeches with braces. He walked through the fields, hearing the loud pounding of his heart, having the feeling that the space around him at night was incredibly unsettled and dangerous, that something was lurking and watching him in the shadows.

He had the feeling that he was losing his sanity.

And then he heard it - loud splashes and laughter.

He stopped between the trees, breathing nervously, and that's when he spotted them, the star-shining figures of young girls, water flowers woven into their loose hair, dressed in beautiful white, embroidered, translucent robes from under which one could clearly see their bodies, some of them completely naked, standing in water up to their waist, apparently just taking a bath.

They were talking animatedly to each other, comfortably spread out on the grass or dancing, eating fruits, some of them swimming or splashing the others with water, taking it as a form of teasing and fun.

He had the impression that he was looking at some mythological scene, that he was just watching nymphs in the bath, beautiful, wild and unpredictable.

His heart was pounding like mad, he could not take his eyes off them.

However, one of them spotted him in the distance and squealed loudly, the others immediately rose up, frightening him, reminding him of the boy's words about killing men who peeped at them.

But they fled instead, one by one sinking into the depths of the water, disappearing beneath its mirror, leaving him with only the restless sound of the water and the silence around him.

He walked on trembling legs closer to the shore on the rustling grass, breathing unevenly, feeling as if his heart would leap out of his chest.

He sat down on the sand, looking at the depths in front of him and the great reflection of the moon that was painted on it, thinking only that this was true, that all around him lived beings that could not be comprehended by the human mind.

He shuddered and jumped up in place, moving away, hearing rustling among the reeds, noticing the same pale face as before, her eyes shining with concern and curiosity, her hair wet, some of its strands stuck to her face, on her head a wreath of tiny fresh flowers she must have woven for herself that night.

"Chłopiec. (The little boy)." He heard her voice, trembling, uncertain, determined, frightened. "Przeżył? (Did he survive?)"

He thanked God that as a child he had applied himself to learning the language of his ancestors, that he had even felt proud to speak it until he discovered that everyone in the salons of the capital spoke only French.

"Tak. (Yes)." He heard his own low voice, and felt a shudder at the thought that he had forgotten how melodious and pleasant the language was, at once hard and soft, rustling like the leaves of the trees, reeds and grasses around them.

They looked at each other for a long moment in silence, her gaze softening slightly.

"Uratowałeś go. (You saved him)." She said after a moment, her voice tender and warm, incredibly pleasant to his ear. "Ty i dziewczyna z włosami jasnymi jak księżyc. Czy to Twoja żona? (You and the girl with hair as light as the moon. Is that your wife?)"

He licked his lower lip, looking at her with wide-open eyes, feeling his heart pounding like mad, his body all tensed up.

"Nie. To moja siostra. (No. She's my sister)." He replied in a trembling voice and she blinked, cocking her head as if she didn't understand the meaning of the word.

He drew in the air loudly when he heard the loud splash of water as she rose from her knees, walking slowly towards him among the tall grasses and lily pads, the level of the lake now only reaching her thighs.

He could see her robe, all soaked through, clinging to her beautiful naked body, her skin the colour of pearls, her nipples were darker, like gemstones placed on her soft, firm chest.

He had never seen a naked woman before in his life.

She emerged from the grasses onto the shore, standing before him without a shadow of shame or fear, as if she understood perfectly how beautiful her body was and that he could admire her was merely an act of her grace.

"Ktoś odebrał Ci coś, co do niego nie należało. (Someone took from you something that didn't belong to them)." She said quietly, as if in surprise, and he realised, horrified and embarrassed, that she was talking about his eye patch, his scar on his cheek and in the presence of her beauty he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his ugliness.

He swallowed with difficulty, terrified and shocked as she moved slowly, lightly towards him, afraid to make any move, not knowing if she would then suddenly transform into an aggressive, terrifying beast.

He felt both discomfort and excitement at the same time when she sat down next to him and he could look at her shamelessly naked body from so close, her robe all wet, covering absolutely nothing. He shuddered and drew in the air loudly as she reached up with a slight movement to his eye patch and grabbed her aggressively by the wrist.

Her pupils narrowed dangerously in rage, her expression changed, she pulled away from him and took a few steps back as if she was about to scream and call out to her friends, but she hesitated, looking at him with wide eyes.

He raised his trembling hand to his eyepatch, breathing loudly, he could see that she was watching his every move alertly, that what he did now weighed on whether he would live or die.

He slid the material off his face, for the first time in front of a stranger, for the first time in front of a woman, feeling oddly exposed and weak even though she was the one who was naked.

He was afraid that he would see disgust, that she would run away screaming, but he saw that her gaze slowly became gentle and curious again, her expression calm once more, her forehead straight and clear.

It seemed to him that she was reactive and curious about everything like a small child.

He swallowed loudly as she moved across the sand on her knees towards him, not a trace of her earlier aggression and rage. She sat even closer to him than before, leaning over the scarred part of his face, over his artificial white eye.

She looked at him with some kind of disbelief and shock, her lips slightly parted, as if he were some kind of magical being, not her. To his surprise, however, the expression on her face did not show any terror, he could feel the drops of water from her hair and her robe dripping onto his trousers, his hands clenched into fists on the grass.

He had no idea what he was feeling, many emotions running through him at once.

Fear, anxiety, excitement, curiosity, delight.

He gasped, pale, as she raised her hand, this time glancing at his face, as if to see if he would once again try to touch her. He didn't move, though; he didn't want to make the same mistake.

He felt a shudder when her moist, warm, soft, delicate fingers touched his scar and ran over it in a gentle motion that seemed to him like the ruffling of a feather.

"Czy sprawiam Ci ból? (Am I causing you pain?)" She asked quietly, glancing at his healthy eye, and he only shook his head, enchanted, his throat compressed, unable to get the words out, his heart pounding like mad.

He fascinated her.

She didn't run away from him.

He wondered if he could ask her a question.

Would he enrage her again if he tried?

He feared she was about to leave once and for all and he would never see her again, regretting for the rest of his life that he had remained silent when she sat being so close.

"Uratowałaś go? Tego chłopca. (You saved him? That young boy.)" He muttered lowly, looking at her with wide eyes. She took her hand away immediately, frightened, looking at him anxiously, her lips tightening as if she wondered if she should speak to him.

She looked down at her thighs, running her fingers over the sand, all around them was the pleasant, quiet sound of water, the rustling of grass and the singing of crickets.

"Tak. Topił się. Taki młody. (Yes. He was drowning. So young)." She whispered, and he licked his lips dried with stress, feeling that this was his chance, that he had won her trust.

"Nie zabijacie dzieci ani kobiet. (You don't kill children or women)." He murmured, and she looked at him alertly, measuring him with a gaze so impenetrable that a shudder went through him.

"Nie. Tylko mężczyzni próbują wziąć to co nie ich. Jak gdyby byli naszymi mężami. (No. Only men try to take what is not theirs. As if they were our husbands)." She said coldly. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, subconsciously understanding what she was talking about.

They were killing men who tried to take them by force.

"Ale Ty nie próbowałeś mnie dotknąć. I uratowałeś tego chłopca, mężczyzno z białym okiem. (But you don't try to touch me. And you saved that boy, man with the white eye)." She said softly, looking at him curiously, leaning on one hand, her body curving like a spiral, slender and beautiful, shining in the moonlight.

He tried to look at her face but did so with difficulty, feeling a strong throbbing in his breeches. He was afraid she would see it, so he lifted his knees higher to shield himself.

She shuddered when he made the move, alert, but when she saw that he had merely changed position she relaxed again, settling down next to him in a half-lying position.

"Dlaczego mężczyźni to robią? Co takiego robią swoim żonom, że aż tak bardzo tego pragną? (Why do men do this? What do they do to their wives that makes them want it so much?)" She asked curiously, looking at him with a lightness that surprised him; he had the impression that her mood was as changeable as the weather.

He swallowed loudly, wondering how he should explain it to her, what to say to her to please her.

"Gdy mężczyzna bierze kobietę za żonę, stają się jednym w obliczu Boga i całego świata. Łączą się podczas nocy poślubnej swoimi ciałami. (When a man takes a woman as his wife, they become one in the face of God and the whole world. They unite during their wedding night with their bodies)." He said in a trembling voice, and she blinked, turning her head, her gaze bright and intrigued, listening to him intently.

"Ciałami? Dlatego próbują nas dotknąć? (With their bodies? Is that why they try to touch us?)" She asked as if she had just solved a riddle, and he nodded, not knowing what more he could say, embarrassed.

"Dlaczego są tak agresywni? Czy to bolesne? Krzywdzicie swoje żony? (Why are they so aggressive? Is it painful? Are you hurting your wives?)" She asked, wrinkling her eyebrows, clearly trying to compare the behaviour of the men she'd experienced with what he'd said and form a meaningful picture in her head.

He swallowed loudly, feeling his heart pounding hard as he played with the fingers of his hands.

"Nie. Dobry mąż nie krzywdzi swojej żony, tylko daje jej przyjemność. (No. A good husband doesn't hurt his wife, he just gives her pleasure)." He said uncertainly, her eyes shining, she moved closer to him, so close that he could smell her skin, the scent of water and flowers, her face flushed and soft, on her eyelashes the drops sparkled like small diamonds.

"A Ty? Jesteś dobrym mężem? (And you? Are you a good husband?)" She asked warmly, as if she recognised that she liked him, that she would not hurt him. He looked at her with slightly parted lips.

"Ja...ja nie mam jeszcze żony. (I…I don't have a wife yet)." He mumbled, breathing unevenly, feeling that he was already completely hard, she was so incredibly beautiful that he couldn't believe she was actually sitting in front of him.

He thought despairingly, although he had always laughed at men who ran after women, that he must have just fallen in love.

She blinked at his words, looking intently at his face, her gaze roaming over his nose, his lips, his cheeks, feeling that he was hot even though the night was pleasantly cool.

"Dlaczego? (Why?)" She asked and smiled. He felt a tightness in his throat, he was having increasing trouble putting his thoughts together into meaningful sentences.

"Nie wiem. (I don't know.)" He muttered, himself having no idea why, at the age he was, he still refused his mother when she said he had found a suitable candidate.

He didn't want to take as his wife a girl who would only be with him out of an unpleasant obligation, unable to look at his face every day.

"Skąd mężczyzna i kobieta wiedzą, że chcą zostać jednym? (How do a man and a woman know that they want to become one?)" She asked curiously, and he gave her a quick, embarrassed look.

He was silent for a long moment, unable to say anything.

"Gdy kobieta pragnie mężczyzny, staje się mokra między udami. Gdy mężczyzna pragnie kobiety, staje się tam twardy. (When a woman desires a man, she becomes wet between her thighs. When a man desires a woman, he becomes hard there)." He said in a trembling voice, watching her reactions, but she seemed even more intrigued by his words and drew in air loudly, her cheeks blushing a little more.

"Kiedy jest tak mokra jak ja? (When she's as wet as I am?)" She asked innocently surprising him completely, taking his hand in hers and slipping it between her warm thighs, pressing it against her womanhood, sticky and moist with her juices.

He looked up at her in disbelief, breathing rapidly, terrified and aroused, he felt like his length was about to explode with desire.

"Tak. (Yes)." He whispered, she parted her lips slightly as he ran his fingers over her soft folds, he felt a point under her skin from which her whole body shuddered, looking at him with fear and warmth at the same time.

She began to breathe faster and relaxed her grip on his wrist as he began to massage her in slow, circular motions, just as he had read in books in which he had discovered with embarrassment how men satisfy women.

He felt her involuntarily spread her thighs in front of him, allowing him to sink his fingers into her hot flesh, her almost naked breasts rising and falling in quickened, rippling breaths, her beautiful face all red, her lips puffy and glistening.

"− oh −" She mumbled simultaneously pulling away and pressing herself against his hand, herself unsure of what she felt, his fingers growing stickier and stickier with her moisture, his movements accompanied by a loud, wet click.

He saw her hand rise uncertainly to his knee and slide down his thigh, making a powerful shudder run through him. Her fingers ran over the bulge beneath his breeches, and he groaned low, surprised.

"Jesteś twardy. (You're hard)." She hummed with some kind of warmth, and he nodded, licking his lips, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of her soft hands between his thighs.

"Mocniej. (Harder)." He gasped, and she obeyed him, pressing her fingers against his manhood and hiding under the material of his trousers, trailing them up and down in a slow motion.

"Cały pulsujesz. (It's throbbing all over)." She whispered, and he closed his eyes, unsure if he had ever been so aroused before in his life, so thirsty for anyone's touch, breathing loudly along with her, their hips moving against each other in the direction of the movements of their hands.

"Czy to oznacza, że powinieneś wziąć mnie za swoją żonę? (Does this mean you should take me as your wife?)" She asked quietly, and he simply nodded.

"Tak. (Yes)."

She moaned sweetly, innocently, surprised, as his finger made its way inside her, teasing her, her body began to push against him, wanting to feel him deeper, her nipples all hard and stiff seeping through the transparent material of her robe.

"Weź mnie. (Take me)." She whispered and he thrust against her, drinking himself into her sweet, wet lips, she moaned loudly into his mouth, clamping her hands in his hair, spreading her thighs in front of him, watching carefully as he pulled his braces off his shoulders and quickly unbuttoned his breeches.

"To może odrobinę zaboleć. Nie obawiaj się, jeśli zechcesz, przestanę. Nie skrzywdzę Cię. (This might hurt a bit. Don't be frightened, if you want me to, I'll stop. I won't hurt you)." He mumbled out, breathing loudly, feeling how much they were both trembling, and she nodded, looking at him with a trusting expression that took him completely by surprise.

He slid into her with difficulty, her insides clenching against him, trying to resist him, however to no avail, the desperate thrusts of his hips and her slippery wetness allowed him to slip all the way into her.

She parted her lips wide and sighed helplessly, wrinkling her eyebrows as if in worry, certain she had never felt anything like this before in her life, this kind of fullness.

With an involuntary, subconscious movements, he began to move inside her, with sure thrusts of his hips filling her, each time he rubbed her right at her entrance a loud, surprised cry came from her lips.

"− czy będę teraz twoją żoną? (will I be your wife now?) −" She exhaled, stroking his scarred cheek with her soft fingers, her breasts bouncing slightly at each of his thrusts, his length pulsed hard inside her at her question.

"− tak (yes) − od teraz będziesz tylko moja (you'll only be mine from now on) −" He muttered and she blushed, looking up at him with a warmth from which he sped up, her insides so wonderfully tight and hot that he lost control completely, their bodies bumping against each other with a loud splat.

"− a ty? (and you?) − będziesz tylko mój? (will you be only mine?) −" She asked softly and he whispered that he will, before he pressed himself into her lips, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat, muffling her moans as his fingers tightened on her thighs, his length piercing her with all the strength he had in his hips.

"− o kurwa (oh fuck) −" He panted into her mouth, knowing, after all, that he was a devoted believer and servant of the church, that he prayed every Sunday, however, no prayer now seemed as salutary to him as the thought that he was about to come deep inside her, that he was about to cum in that tight, wet cunt.

They fucked like a couple in a brothel, like villagers on straw in a barn, wild and hot, their hands clenched on each other's bodies in a final decision that they would not let go until they had experienced fulfilment.

He saw her eyes close as she threw her head back with her mouth wide open and moaned helplessly, almost crying as waves of hot pleasure shook her body, her walls began to clench against him, making him start to moan low, giving in completely, letting his hot seed fill her.

He collapsed on top of her, crushing her with the weight of his body, trembling all over, her small hands embracing his waist, both of them unable to calm down, breathing loudly, writhing beneath each other, his hips moving inside her for a moment longer.

"− zapomnisz o mnie (you'll forget me) − już nigdy nie wrócisz (you'll never come back) −" She whispered in a quivering voice, and he pressed his face against her wet cheek, running the tip of his nose over her skin hot with exertion.

"− mylisz się (you're wrong) − zabiorę Cię z sobą (I'll take you with me) − miejsce żony jest z jej mężem (a wife's place is with her husband) −"

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