Maidenless No Longer (Elden Ring)

“I shall remember thee, Tarnished. Smould’ring with thy meagre flame. Cower in Fear of the Night. The Hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter.”
 
Melina had thought she’d begun to understand her Tarnished over the last few days of following him unseen, as he journeyed throughout the Lands Between. But as the fragment of the Omen King’s echoing voice slowly dissipates from the area, she finds something in his tone that resonates within her. Incredulity. Outrage. Disbelief. The Omen is just as taken aback by the Tarnished’s antics as she is, for all that he did an impressive job of hiding his true reaction.
 
Of course, the Omen had not been watching him for days now. He had not been following her Tarnished’s every move through the Lands Between as she had.
 
It had become abundantly clear, quite early on, that her Tarnished was very comfortable in his power. His fully realized potential made him a monster in combat, no matter what form he decided that combat was to take. From sorceries to incantations, along with a number of different weapons, her Tarnished had represented them all at one point or another while slaughtering every enemy that deigned to stand in his way.
 
He had also, Melina had not failed to notice, gone out of his way to befriend, comfort, and save every damsel that he came across as well. From the Sorceress Sellen hiding in her basement laboratory, to a blind girl sitting on a rock, waiting for what Melina had been sure would be her destined death. Of course, her Tarnished didn’t seem to have much care for destiny, did he?
 
No, he would not have helped the red-haired girl, Millicent, as he had done, if he believed in destiny. Sure, it had been the older man, Gowry, who had seemingly set her Tarnished on the path to saving her… except Melina knew that wasn’t the case. Her Tarnished had dipped into Caelid as if the Scarlet Rot didn’t bother him even slightly, and had made a beeline for Gowry’s shack, almost as if he’d known what the Elder Sage would ask of him.
 
He'd then moved with unerring accuracy to solve the puzzle that was Sellia, Town of Sorcery, so that he could in turn gain access to the Church of the Plague. Melina knew not how it was possible, but she did know one thing for certain… her Tarnished had known exactly where he was going. He’d gone into Caelid in order to save this girl Millicent from the Rot and left just as quickly to return to his path.
 
When he’d stopped at the shack upon Stormhill and comforted that blonde girl, Melina had become convinced she had his measure. The priorities of her Tarnished were easily read. He was the sort of man who thought he could save everyone. Or rather, at least every pretty woman. He was hellbent on doing so in fact.
 
Melina could work with that, she figured. She could make of him the weapon that she needed to get her to the foot of the Erdtree. And sure, he’d taken something of a detour, going the opposite direction of Stormveil Castle and following a path that had taken him through no less than four women that he’d then stopped to help or comfort in some fashion. But he’d eventually made his way here.
 
And here he had faced his first real challenge. When the fragment of the Omen King, Margit the Fell Omen, made himself known, Melina had stiffened in her hiding place. Twas not fair. Not in the slightest. Sure, it was not the Omen King at his full power. It was not Morgott, who’s true essence was likely still back in Lyndell, watching over the Capital and the Erdtree itself as he’d been doing for so long.
 
But it was still quite a lot for a young Tarnished to be facing so early on in their journey. Was it not enough that the whole of Stormveil Castle would be against them? Was it not enough that Godrick the Grafted waited for them at the end of a hard, arduous journey through his soldiers? No, Margit had to step in to personally shit all over the Tarnished’s day.
 
Melina was only worried for half of a moment at most though, because she just as quickly remembered who HER Tarnished was. He was no young Tarnished, even early into his journey as he was. He was a warrior and a mage both, and of unmatched power besides. He would surely defeat Margit. He would surely confirm Melina’s faith in him right here, right now… right?
 
… Her worry had returned with a vengeance a moment later, when her Tarnished had stopped… and shed his armor, right then and there. Dropping his armor had baffled Margit for a second, long enough for the Tarnished to disrobe all the way down to his undergarments. Melina could admit… her Tarnished was certainly well-built.
 
As for his weapon, he’d foregone his sword and his sorceries and incantations. He’d foregone any conventional weapon of any kind… in favor of hook claws of all things, the weapons attached to his knuckles, his hands curling into fists as he’d spread his arms wide in the face of the Fell Omen’s advance.
 
To say Margit had been incredulous would be an understatement. Almost contemptuously, the Fell Omen had summoned forth blades of light and thrown them at her half-naked, unprotected Tarnished. Only for the man… to simply lean out of the way, swaying from side to side.
 
What had followed could scarcely be called a battle. Margit had tried, he’d tried VERY hard… but in the end, it had all amounted to nothing. Melina could still hardly believe what she’d seen, but the truth was there, even if she was having a difficult time accepting it. Her Tarnished had waded into battle wearing nothing but simple cloth to preserve his decency and had used those hook claws of his to tear relentless strips out of Margit’s hide, shredding the Omen up while dodging every blow that came his way.
 
It didn’t matter what the Fell Omen did, nor how he fought. A frantic energy had seemed to fill Margit as he realized he was being humiliated and embarrassed. No one was around, her own presence was completely hidden, but it didn’t matter. The Tarnished and the Omen both knew the same thing… one of them was entirely outmatched here, holding on by the skin of their teeth… and it was not Melina’s chosen Champion.
 
Margit’s defeat had been inevitable, and though the Omen’s words on the wind after his destruction had certainly tried to be foreboding, sounding like he was desperately trying to save face, Melina could tell… Margit was shocked. Completely outraged. And utterly humiliated.
 
Her Tarnished, meanwhile, did not celebrate in any meaningful way that Melina could see. He did not stop to jump or cheer. He simply strode forward to the nearby Site of Lost Grace and reached out to touch it, before coming in for a rest.
 
Startling, Melina realizes in that moment that she has to step in. After a display like that… she’d had an idea, after watching him these past few days. A passing fancy, but one that she now felt much more deeply than before. He was drawn to women, drawn to help them, to save them, to comfort them. But… he was also a fucking lunatic.
 
She needed him though. She needed to find a way to bind him to her all the more closely. Their pact was one thing. Melina needed a way to make sure he looked to her and her needs first and foremost, above all others.
 
Letting out a shuddering breath… she steps forward and takes corporeal form once more, coming to him at the Site of Lost Grace and slowly descending to her knees, trying not to stare overly hard at his still bared chest and his chiseled… everything.
 
As soon as she appears, her Tarnished smiles and nods to her. Far from alarmed, or upset, or anything… he just watches her with an inexplicable warmth and fondness that makes Melina flush, that makes her feel strangely hot. Or perhaps not so strange, given what her intentions towards him are.
 
“Forgive me. I’ve been… testing you. I needed to know for sure whether or not grace truly did guide you.”
 
And for a half a moment, Melina HAD wondered when he’d initially ridden off on Torrent in the wrong direction of Stormveil Castle. But no… she was certain now. He was the one she’d been waiting for. He WAS her Tarnished.
 
“I needed to know whether you were fit to face the challenges ahead. But it would seem my worries were unfounded. Torrent had your measure from the very start, whereas I merely pretended.”
 
Slowly, Melina leans forward. Was she really going to do this? … Yes. Yes, she was. Shuffling closer to him, from around the Site of Lost Grace, Melina’s tongue darts out quick as a whip to wet her lips.
 
“There are… two other things I can offer you. I wish to provide the first now. A service… from a would-be Maiden, to her Tarnished. Allow my hand to rest upon you, for but a m-moment.”
 
This was NOT a service that Maidens usually provided to their Tarnished. Melina does not care, nor does she let a single ounce of that truth color her voice or face or eyes as she leans forward… and places her hand down betwixt her Tarnished’s legs. He watches her with neither judgment nor contempt in his gaze, and emboldened by that warm look in his eyes, Melina begins to feel along his crotch a bit more.
 
Ultimately, she tugs aside his undergarments, and wraps her hand around his mast before she can any further second guess herself. However… she’s not expecting his size. As his member finds open air, Melina’s eyes slip down from his warm, inviting face to his crotch, where she stares in disbelief at just how MUCH of him there is.
 
“… I did not expect this.”

The words slip out before she can stop them, and Melina flushes. Still, she does not withdraw her hand. Instead, she slowly slides it up and down her Tarnished’s length, feeling him growing thicker and harder in her grasp. She might be hoping for a noise from him, a reaction of some sort from the until-now-silent Tarnished. Alas, he does not groan, nor grunt. He simply sits there, watching her quietly as she strokes his massive mast.
 
… This isn’t working. The realization sends Melina into something of a panic. How? How was she supposed to know that her Tarnished would be so… w-well endowed? This is ridiculous! He’s huge! More than that, her hand isn’t up to snuff. She can’t very well be expected to properly bring him off with just her fingers, when they barely encompass his sizable girth!
 
Tch, the whole point of this act was to show him that he didn’t need any other woman. That he didn’t need to stop every few feet to save the next damsel in distress that he came across. The whole point of doing this was to focus his attentions solely on her and their shared goals, where they belonged. She could not do that, if she couldn’t even relieve him.
 
But… what else was she supposed to do? Her mouth, perhaps? Looking somewhat dubiously down at the thick, bulbous head of her Tarnished’s member, Melina’s lips turn slightly downwards, into a frown. She’s not sure she could fit him in her mouth without straining her jaw. Her lips don’t open that wide.
 
She needs SOMETHING though. Even both hands doesn’t feel like enough, even as it feels all the more uncouth and… and perverse.
 
Letting out a somewhat strangled cry of frustration, Melina throws back her cloak, and with one hand still on his length, reaches up with the other to hurried undo the bindings on her bodice. She bound them down, most of the time… her breasts. Her bosom was a point of irritation for her most days, an obstacle rather than a boon, in her opinion.
 
But as she lets them bounce free from their confines, as she unravels her top, Melina leans forward to wrap her chest around her Tarnished’s mast. It’s not easy, even with her bust size. But it’s a sight better than just using her hands, and she finally gets a reaction, an intake of breath that urges Melina on, that pushes her to do everything she can to service him properly.
 
“Is this more like it, Tarnished? Is this what you need. Please, do not hold back on my account. If I am to play the part of a Maiden for you… t-then surely, I must play ALL the parts of a Maiden…”
 
Left unsaid is her insecurity. She cannot play the most important part of being a Maiden, no matter what their pact is, no matter what deal they’ve made. Her inability to help the Tarnished turn runes into strength has gnawed at her for these past few days. He’s so very powerful, so very impossibly strong. He doesn’t need her, and Melina can’t help but feel that they both know it.
 
If she cannot satisfy his greed for power, then she must satisfy his lust for feminine flesh. That is the justification that runs through Melina’s head for this, as she drools a bit of saliva down betwixt her breasts, slickening the passage while riding her soft, voluminous chest up and down his throbbing mast. This is what she can do for her Tarnished. This is how she can truly tie him to her, to their pact.
 
And so, Melina works in something of a frenzy, determined to prove herself, determined to show him what she’s capable of. So determined is she, that she doesn’t even realize she’s reached the point of no return until it finally happens. The Tarnished lets out a low groan… and proceeds to ejaculate all over her face and breasts.
 
His seed coats her dumbstruck features, slowly dripping down her chest. Blinking rapidly to get it out of her eyes, Melina is… surprised. Surprised by how accomplished she feels, more than anything. She’s expecting to be mortified. Humiliated. Disgusted, even. But as her Tarnished holds out a cloth to her and she quickly grabs it from his hand to begin cleaning herself up, it’s not so much shame that prompts her to move fast, as it is simple instinct.
 
She’s expected to be embarrassed and disgusted and to feel unclean, so she makes sure to get clean as fast as is realistically possible. But in truth? She wouldn’t mind wearing his essence across her features for a little while longer, under… d-different circumstances. Completely unsure how to handle her sudden feelings, Melina swallows thickly, the taste of his salty, sticky seed on her slightly parted lips.
 
Before she can stop herself, her tongue traces out to lick them clean, even as the cloth rubs across her chest. She blushes and can only hope her Tarnished did not notice. Once her bust is as wiped up as can be, she quickly pulls her top back together, and throws her cloak back over herself as fast as possible.
 
Suddenly, she wants nothing more than to flee from this encounter. Except, at the same time, no small part of her wants to stay and bask in the Tarnished’s presence instead. She’s never felt this way before. Never felt anything like this that goes so far beyond her surety of purpose. She was made for one thing and one thing only, and now… now her chosen tool has her second-guessing herself.
 
In the end, she does neither. She neither flees, nor stays. Instead, she clears her throat and valiantly pretends as if nothing happened.
 
“The other thing I can do for you, is to take you to Roundtable Hold. Tis a gathering place of Tarnished Champions such as yourself. Those guided by Grace. It will be a place of safety and security for you… a place to rest as your travels take you through dangerous lands and see you face off against terrible foes.”
 
Melina flushes, realizing belatedly that she’s rambling, and subsequently cuts herself off. But the Tarnished just smiles and nods, before holding out his hand to her. She almost takes it, almost transports him to Roundtable Hold right there on the spot. Luckily, good sense prevails and before she can touch him again, she realizes…
 
“Ah. Perhaps you would be better served getting dressed first, before I send you on your way…”
 
His smile widens, but her silent Tarnished follows her advice all the same, with Melina doing her best not to watch as he gets his armor back on. Her face feels undeniably hot though. Still… still. Godrick the Grafted is just around the corner. After his fight with Margit, she has no doubts that her Tarnished will be able to defeat the Demigod and claim his first Great Rune.
 
She should be happy. And… she is. But why does it feel like she’s happy for all the wrong reasons?

-x-X-x-

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