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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3923 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and dialogue from the game Suikoden V belong to Konami.

Chapter List
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Author’s note: Here's the deal. The original stories, plans and outlines were lost when I moved. I had thought for years the files containing the conclusion were lost. I recently found them again, and hope to now complete this story--I know, a long time in waiting. I have edited some wordy phrases down, and edited some scenes, and changed character names to canonical names that we've learned since (like the Prince's canon name, and Euram and Luserina's mother's name). Some lines have been cut for pacing and flow, and some scenes are either shortened or cut altogether. The story is still intact, save a few chopped elements and revised dialogue. The others will be uploaded as well, with revisions. Now we will hopefully have a conclusion, as I'm currently working on that.

DESCRIPTION: Having reformed and allied himself with the Prince’s cause, Euram Barows has changed considerably from the spoiled, foppish brat he was. Now, captured and made Gizel Godwin’s prisoner, Euram has plenty of time to reflect upon his feelings.
NUMBER OF CHAPTERS: Uncertain—work in progress.
DISCLAIMERS: M/M, NC-17, oral, anal, noncon, humiliation, punishment, domination
Characters are not mine.
Disclaimer: This story contains material that some may find objectionable, including several instances of sexual assault. Another plot thread involves victim and rapist developing feelings for one another. If this disturbs you, steer clear.

The Recreant of Rainwall (Formerly Cruel Twist of Fate)

Chapter 1: Cruel Twist of Fate

To think that not so long ago, Gizel and I were equals in status. Certainly he outmatched me in every conceivable way, of this I never doubted. It was something that once drove me mad with jealousy, even though we were formally of similar pedigree. I understand my feelings now, even if I did not recognize my own, foolish envy for what it was.

How bitterly things have changed. For now, there is little in common that we share; my status is lost, my family name all but reduced to nothing. And deservedly so, I realize now.

It hurts to think of what a fool I have been. How many years did I follow my father blindly, his sycophant, his accomplice in so many shameful deeds? Somehow, during all that time as my father’s puppet, I never stepped back to look at myself, and now I understand why. Deep inside, I always knew I would have despised what I saw.

I will no longer bemoan my father’s death, or the downfall of the Barows faction. It is...justice. To deny that we got what was coming to us would be to continue living a lie, and that is something I can no longer bear. But even so, I still keep coming back to the same, nagging thought: that once upon a time, I considered Gizel my rival.

Now, he is my master. My former adversary thrives, and I am nothing more than his plaything: his slave.

How it came to this, I am not sure. No, I am definitely sure. The sequence of events is forever branded into my memory, just as his mark is branded upon my skin. It is all one vivid, horrid blur, but all the same, I cannot bear to think of it. I burn with shame just thinking of the things he does to me, and yet—it is no more than I deserve.

If this is my atonement, my penance for my innumerable crimes, then I will accept this. As much as I hate it...I will try to accept it.

But it is so very difficult. I spend much of my time feeling lonely, and hungry. From time to time, he will send in a servant to feed me, but they never speak to me. They look upon me with the utmost disdain, and a few have even spat upon me. At least Gizel does keep me fed. It is not the kingliest of fare, but it is enough to keep me healthy. Ever so often he will permit me a morsel left over from his own dinner, some rare treat the likes of which have become scarce to me. Should I especially please him, which is rare, he may reward me with a nibble of something sweet: a bite of cake, a taste of tart, the slightest mouthful of candy. His scraps have become mocking reminders of the indulgences I once enjoyed. Otherwise, there is little in which I can take comfort, save the cool of the pillows he has provided me as a bed beneath his hearth.

In his absence I am not permitted to move about, lest I attempt to devise some escape. He keeps me here, alone in this chamber and bound to the wall by the chain that clings to the collar round my neck. At least I am kept mostly comfortable, and warm, even if he has not allowed me the luxury of keeping myself clothed. My finery was stripped away as cleanly and thoroughly as my status.

It could be worse; he could have me endure the cold dark of a dungeon if he wished. He could also allow his brutes to have me. I have seen them leering at me, the soldiers, the servants. Most of them hate me for who I am, but I know what they are thinking, can see it in their hateful glares. They would not hesitate to use and humiliate me, but Gizel has yet to let them touch me. I belong to him, and him alone.

This is some relief to me, I have to admit. I shudder to think of what they would do, how they would use me were they given free reign of me, my body. I sometimes worry that he will cast me to them as a punishment. I would put nothing past him. He is cruel beyond all reckoning.

I have considered taking my own life, but I am...weak. Yes, too weak even for that cowardly deed. Besides, it would hardly be fair for me to achieve such a simple release now, after so many countless innocents have suffered. Now, for the moment, there is nothing for me to do but sleep. Sleep, and wait.

********

Gizel entered his chamber with the same controlled confidence as ever. The warm, subtle scent of vanilla candles greeted him. For long hours he had been engaged in consultation with the scholars. At least they had made some headway. Soon, very soon, they would master a way to harness the Sun Rune’s power. The tedium of it all had not completely tired him, however. On the contrary, it had made him restless, even if it was impossible to tell.

Gizel’s eyes scanned over the room until finally his gaze came to rest upon the slender, naked form stirring upon the pillows beneath his fireplace, not far from his own bed.

Palming a small key from his pocket, Gizel slowly strode over and bent to unlock the chain, unclicking the metal and removing it from Euram’s collar. Euram did not need the chain with Gizel here; he would not dare make a move out of line in his presence. The boy was stupid, but not that stupid. Besides, Gizel had—uses—for him at the moment.

Gizel’s eye also caught the corner of the makeshift journal poking from where Euram tried to keep it hidden from him, tucked beneath a small mound of the cushions. Of course he knew of this latest diversion his new slave had found, but he was more amused by it than anything. He had no intention of removing the privilege, even though no such permission was ever officially given. Technically he could punish him, and it might be an amusing read, for no other reason than it would mortify his craven prisoner further to have his innermost thoughts exposed and laid bare as his naked skin. But for now, he would allow it. He could hardly begrudge the broken young Barows his thoughts.

He would let Euram keep his little thoughts, although he wondered at times what the younger man wrote in there, what spiteful things about him spilled from Euram’s pen.

It didn’t matter. Nothing Euram could say in his girlish diary would change his situation.

The prisoner shifted as Gizel’s finger traced a path down his smooth, naked flank. He could feel Euram tense with aversion at his touch, prompting a light tingle of lustful satisfaction in his veins.

“And how are we, pretty?” Gizel asked, coldly. It was not so much a question as a command.

Euram knew better than to ignore him. Still, he was lethargic, demure, his face and downcast eyes shielded from the soft glow of the candlelight by his cascade of blonde hair. The dainty ribbon that had once held back his locks had long since been ripped away and discarded.

“You know the answer to that, Gizel,” he said, almost a whisper.

Gizel shook his head and calmly delivered a sharp pinch to Euram’s hip. “One of these days you will remember how you are to address me. Must I always have to discipline you?”

Euram flinched and set his jaw, trying not to cry. It wasn’t that he forgot; it was just that, no matter how hard he tried, though he was aware that it would make things easier for him, somehow, he could not bring himself to say it without difficulty.

“Forgive me…Master,” he managed to mutter, his voice catching on the last word. The word was like a sting to his tongue, and Gizel knew it, saw him wince.

Gizel wove a gloved hand through Euram’s hair. With a deliberate and increasing grip he clutched his fingers into a fist and tugged near the scalp, forcing the younger man to sit up into a kneel and smirking to himself as Euram choked back a whimper. His grip relaxed, fingers stroking flowing strands of blonde with renewed tenderness. The other kept his eyes averted, but Gizel knew better than to think it a gesture of full submission. There was still a fair measure of pride in those eyes, pride that would not allow Euram to face him. To meet Gizel’s gaze now would be to admit defeat completely. It would force him to fully come to terms with his enslavement.

Unyielding hands wandered over soft, quivering shoulders. Gizel almost smiled, watching Euram draw inward in a painful attempt to preserve his modesty.

Yes, even now, the former young noble sought in vain to cling to his decorum.

“Why is it that you continue to reject your new position, Euram? A good slave demonstrates his eagerness to serve upon his Master’s arrival. He should snap to attention, bow his head. Offer to massage his lord’s shoulders. Massage his feet. Bathe his cock. All these things without being told. Or has your training taught you nothing?”

Training. Euram swallowed the lump that swelled in his throat at the reminder. He would never forget the first days of his imprisonment. How Gizel had broken him, beaten him down. The shame of it, the recent memory of such thorough humiliation overwhelmed him, and unbidden tears slipped loose from his lashes to spill soundlessly down flushed cheeks.

“Now, why these lovely tears?” Gizel lifted his chin and brushed away the drops, warm tears absorbed into the silken gloves. “Have I not given you your life? Have I not been merciful? Are you so unhappy with our little—arrangement?”

Euram bit his tongue, refusing to meet Gizel’s eyes. Of course he was unhappy. Nevertheless, he would be only inviting punishment were he to admit it. Then again, Gizel might punish him for dishonesty were he to remain silent. He did suppose he was lucky, for now. Gizel did not seem in a violent mood, though that could change with little warning, he knew. His “kindness” was but a veil, a deception that only masked his cruelty.

“I believe I asked you a question, Euram.” Gizel gripped his chin harder, not letting up until the younger man visibly winced. “No matter. You will learn. You will obey me, or you will be put to death. I have afforded you the choice. Never say that I am not a generous man.”

Gizel released him and casually stood to circle round him with an agonizing pace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Euram said nothing, but bent his head in silent, rueful deference.

“Now. There is the matter of your slip of address. Tell me, Euram. What manner of punishment would be most suitable, and how do you plan to remediate your little misdemeanor?”

At this, the prisoner’s eyes snapped upwards in a quick flash of fear. “Gizel, please-” Euram’s voice hitched. “-my lord. I meant no impertinence. I beg of you, forgive me." His pleading eyes swam with tears, shimmering in the candlelight.

“And allow your lack of proper respect to go un-corrected? How else am I to govern you? You can hardly expect me to dispense undue leniency. You are, after all, a traitor to the throne. And did I not warn you? ‘Should I allow you to live, you will suffer each day for it, and your flesh will never be without the sting of my touch. Disobedience will be met with swift retribution, and you will accept such without question.’ I believe those words were made clear to you, were they not, sweet Euram?”

At this, the young Barows broke with a sob. Unmoved, Gizel dropped into a crouch and reached over to capture a soft, pink nipple between his fingers. He pinched and twisted at the sensitive bud, pulling high, broken and whimpering sounds from his prisoner.

“You knew well the price, and still you begged me to let you keep your ridiculous, pitiful life,” Gizel reminded the boy. “It seems to me that yet again you have pledged promises that you are unwilling to keep.” Reflexively Euram attempted to squirm away from his piercing touch. Gizel’s free hand traveled up Euram’s back and threaded through the spill of his hair. He pulled, forcing his head back and imprisoning him between two separate tugs of pain. Euram’s slender back arched and twisted, his fruitless struggles and choked cries making Gizel’s cock twitch.

“Yes, squirm for me,” Gizel breathed, his voice husky as he bent to nibble at the exposed flesh of Euram’s delicate, arched throat, inhaling the subtle scent of leather from the collar that encircled his neck. He hummed deep in his throat at Euram’s delectable gasps of pain. Euram was soft, pretty, a product of leisure and perfect for his needs. Lymsleia was far too young for Gizel to enjoy, but Euram was just scrumptious and entertaining enough that he could fulfill the purpose of sating Gizel’s lust.

All at once, he released his nipple and seized him behind the neck, pushing his head down into the pillows and forcing his ass high. Euram spluttered a frightened protest. Blocking out the younger man’s pathetic babbling, Gizel brushed a hand over the recently branded flesh of Euram’s hip. Carefully he examined the mark, livid upon white and otherwise flawless skin.

Holding the young Barows in place by the back of the collar, Gizel traced his finger over the fresh brand, still tender and raw. High, pitiful whines spilled from Euram as he twitched and writhed, attempting to shrink away from the touch. Gizel’s eyes moved with fascination over the spot where his mark now permanently marred the boy’s milky, privileged flesh, and the contrast excited him more than he ever would have thought possible. He almost wished it would never heal; he wanted the pain of it to remain with Euram, to remind him of his position.

In a gesture stemming more from his own exhaustion than any real mercy, Gizel relented and took his fingers away from the burned and tender skin. Releasing Euram’s collar, he shifted round to access his raised and helpless ass, ignoring his prisoner’s usual, pitiful snivels.

“I have had too trying a day to deal with you properly,” he announced, cold and stern. “I will take my pleasure within you now, but expect suitable discipline once I am rested.”

Parting the soft cheeks with his thumbs, Gizel eyed the cleft, shaven clean and smooth. Licking his lips, he circled the tiny pink hole with a finger, feeling the younger man tense at the contact, just as he always did. He was still deliciously tight, despite having been fucked raw the night before. Euram’s whimpers were evidence enough that he had been recently used, and used well. Gizel had not been gentle, and he knew Euram must have been terribly sore. As well he should be. Euram would soon wish he had felt the worst of it.

Even so, the young man was not yet fully broken in. The small, flushed ring of muscle shivered and constricted beneath his touch to deny him access.

Gizel had no patience for Euram’s ineptness this night, otherwise he might have made him wetten his cock for him. He required quick gratification, and cared little for what discomfort it may cause his new, unwilling concubine.

Roughly Gizel gathered the younger man and lifted him, carrying him over and dumping him unceremoniously onto the bed. Euram was light, his small frame making him easy to manage, physically. Emotionally, however, he was another matter altogether.

Even now, Gizel found himself questioning whether he should have bothered with him at all. When he had agreed to let the foppish boy live, he had known that managing him would be a trying annoyance. For all the unquestioning obedience the ridiculous fool vowed, his words were flippant, babbled carelessly in desperation to hang onto his miserable life, for what little it was worth. Euram Barows would never truly change. He would ever remain weak and false, and willing to say anything if it meant to preserve his wretched existence.

He could much more easily have had him killed. How simple it would have been to see him beheaded, a traitor and a cowardly traitor at that, in shame before the masses. It might have even been a bolster to Gizel’s wavering popularity. Euram was widely disliked, hated, even, not only for his namesake, but for his own actions. In his reckless spite, Euram had done more to damage himself in the public’s eye than the Godwins ever could have done. Few tears had been shed for the downfall of the Barows faction, and Euram’s execution would have been the veritable coup de grace.

Even more simply, Gizel could have allowed his soldiers to kill Euram as they had wished. That would certainly have been the quickest, most convenient route to ridding Falena of this useless, troublesome creature for good.

The most amusing option would have been to have him sold as a gladiatorial slave. Of course he would not last a full minute in the arena. It was unfortunate that they had temporarily lost Stormfist—and the gladiatorial system—to the enemy. Still, what an entertaining show it would have been. No matter. Soon they would have mastered the Sun Rune. They would have a surprise for that upstart of a Prince and his militia of traitors. Then, Stormfist and their remaining rightful territories would be restored to Godwin control.

Gizel recalled the horror with which Euram had reacted to his initial death sentence, how he had sank to his knees in pitiful capitulation and begged him, tears streaking his cheeks, to please let him live. And Gizel had relented, had mercy upon the foppish lad. It was not as though he cared a thing for him, but he was pretty, just pretty enough that he could be put to use for Gizel’s own pleasures. He certainly was no use otherwise; even Lady Sialeeds had not thought enough of him to kill him when she had the chance.

It hardly surprised him how little Euram had changed. Through and through he was still a coward. He expected to be allowed to live, but still resisted paying for that privilege with his flesh. This much was obvious from the boy’s squirming, his whimpered protests.

Gizel shrugged his Commander’s robe aside and unfastened his breeches, pulling his rigid cock free. Little did Euram realize that his own reluctance made it that much sweeter for Gizel. A bit of oil might have eased the passage, but he had no intention of making this easy on him; the younger man had invited punishment, and was due for such. Not even bothering to prepare him with a finger, Gizel easily flipped Euram onto his back.

Predictable to the last, Euram choked a sob, attempting feebly to keep his legs pressed together. “Gizel…m-my lord, please…” Tears shivered behind his lashes, threatening to spill onto flushed cheeks.

Gizel nearly laughed. That Euram would still plead for mercy even now, that he would still persist with his pathetic attempts to dissuade him from taking what was his—it was all so foreseeable that it was growing dull, and Gizel’s patience had thinned. He spat into his hand and slicked his cock.

“Be silent, and open for me,” he commanded. Not waiting for Euram to obey, Gizel effortlessly hooked his arms beneath the smaller man’s knees and spread him wide. Without any further preparation or warning, he positioned himself and lunged forward, skewering the young Barows with one deep thrust.

Euram hissed a sharp gasp and grimaced, crying out with a pitiful wail. His head fell back onto the bed, and slender hands that had pushed ineffectually against Gizel’s efforts now fell to the sheets to clutch at them. Gizel sighed, engulfed by the heat of Euram’s unwilling insides as the boy’s back stiffened and reflexively arched up off the bed.

He fucked Euram hard and fast, paying no attention to his reluctant partner’s pain or pleasure. Gizel bent the younger man’s body to his purposes, forcing him open, making him take him as the lithe, trembling body writhed and shuddered beneath. Intently he watched the boy’s flushed features, wet with fresh tears and beautifully contorted. Euram’s hands twisted the sheets, as though grasping at them for some comfort.

Driven by his prisoner’s womanish cries, Gizel came quickly this time. It was the closest thing to a mercy the fool would receive. Once he had emptied his seed into Euram, he withdrew and rose from the bed to leave his former rival whimpering in pain and defeat. Relaxed and sated, Gizel crossed the room to the vanity and cleaned his cock with a washcloth near the basin. With a satisfied sigh, he shrugged out of his robes and undressed, carefully draping the ceremonial clothing of his office over a fine chair.

He could hear the soft, sniveling sobs from where Euram lay. Turning back to the bed, he was hardly surprised to find that Euram had rolled over onto his side and curled inward, attempting vainly to conceal his shame. He had buried his head in his arms as though he would shield his face from the world, the soft spill of his hair spreading over his naked form.

Gizel almost felt a tingle of renewed arousal at the sight. Still Euram Barows refused to accept his new status. Nevertheless, it hardly mattered. He would either get used to it, or he would continue to suffer. Gizel preferred the latter anyhow. Euram’s prolonged resistance did nothing but sustain his amusement.

Moving to the dresser he had made his own, Gizel took the silver pitcher situated there and poured himself a glass of water.

“I am weary, and I will take my rest. I suggest you do the same.”

Obviously choosing obedience to further pain, Euram complied and slid miserably from the bed, debased and hurting. Like a scolded dog, he came slinking over to his place beneath the hearth, his hands and arms laughably seeking to cover his nakedness. Head bowed, Euram knelt and awaited Gizel to lock his chain back in place onto his collar.

Murmuring a soft approval, Gizel bent and offered him the glass with a gentle command. “Drink. There, good boy,” he praised, petting him as Euram did as he was bid. Taking the glass, Gizel returned to his own bed and sipped at the water before setting it upon his nightstand.

Stretching out upon the comfort of the bed, Gizel idly considered his plans for the following day. Of course there was much business to attend to, which would most likely fill the greater part of his morning and afternoon. His father required his presence in consultation, and there was the matter of defensive strategy to discuss with his most loyal Knights. In addition, he was expecting his reconnaissance team to return soon, and their report would require further meeting and consideration. It hardly helped matters that the Queen was growing increasingly…difficult.

He would order for Euram to be bathed and fed in the morning, while he was occupied with the swarm of less entertaining issues.

Contented, Gizel closed his eyes, the soft sounds of Euram’s fading sniffles playing in his ears.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)