In Defence of the Keep
Copyright© 2025 by James Girvan
Chapter 17: Burial, Resignation and Resurrection
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 17: Burial, Resignation and Resurrection - Laird Nathanial was once a Hero of Chaos and Crossroads but tonight is under attack in his family’s Keep by his brother and a small army of mercenaries. No longer welcome on Crossroads after breaking the rules of chivalrous combat, he hatches a plan to both defend his lands and travel back to Crossroads. Can he survive in either world?
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Heterosexual
We buried my brother with proper ceremony in the family plot, next to his father and ‘mother’. I attended in my funeral clothes, looking forlorn but had Uncle say a few words for the family. He delivered a speech that overshadowed the priest and the entire rest of the ceremony, managing to mix in themes of family, service, and the petty disputes of men into a rousing sermon of his own. I wondered if he had pre-written it on Crossroads. It was a shame he delivered for my asshole brother.
We had lost nine of our ‘trained’ men that had been to Crossroads and Chaos. The vast majority of those had been the Heroes and it would only go to prove my statements to them earlier that the ‘eat-sleep-fuck’ mentality of those who thought themselves above training would lead to their fall. Years later the men we sent could still hear the warnings of those who had seen the fall of those Heroes. Uncle had separate funerals for them the next day, each more elaborate than a regular soldiers but less so than the one I had been forced to put on for my bastard brother.
The reprisal attack on Ains took an additional day to plan out and execute. Sir Thatcher still had all his son’s and since his eldest was now chomping at the bit to prove himself able to marry my sister, he had been given permission to lead the force. We brought along thirty or so of the fighters we had who had been on Chaos, and none of my surviving original armsmen. They had proven they couldn’t be trusted.
The path the mercenaries had taken was still clear as we followed it back to its origin. Ains was nearly twenty miles east of Tours, so even at a fast march it took most of the day. We passed individual farms and outposts, and I spent a few minutes speaking to those people trying to assess what the army of my brother had done to them on the way through. Surprisingly, there were very few reports of mistreatment however there was one report of a group of three women who were caught away from home and assaulted roughly. I commiserated with their angry husbands and told them that they would be allowed to castrate any of the perpetrators if we caught them.
For the most part, the mercenaries army had been careful to capture the wealth generating portion of my lands intact and unharmed (thanks to Caretaker Sharon, I could recognize and put words to things like this). We would be doing the same for their farms we passed on our way since burning farms and killing unarmed men on land you intend to rule was a poor way to win the hearts and minds of the people.
The separation between the two lands was supposed to be at the big bend in the river Loire but in reality there was no hard boundary. Farms simply became smaller (and less prosperous looking) and infrequent in the midlands, before beginning to become more common, larger and more prosperous as we approached the walls of Ains.
The gates were closed, and the walls were manned but sparsely with the pennant of the Familie D’Orsay flying at half mast. Our group pulled up out of bowshot range and waited, obviously within sight but not yet actually hostile.
A small door opened and an older man exited under a flag of truce as we set up camp. Sir Thatcher sent Pierre along with a riderless horse to fetch him quickly to our ‘camp’ showing consideration for aged legs and hurrying the process along.
“I apologize on behalf of the D’Orsay, my Lady is in mourning for the loss of her husband and his eldest son and is awaiting the return of his second-born son.” The older man genuflected properly as he announced the reason why he was here and not the ruling man.
“We wish to speak of the end of hostilities with Tours, and the repatriation of your people as well as reparations for our people.” Uncle and I had decided to let Sir Thatcher take the lead. Coming across as purely military muscle, he would bluntly avoid any attempt at political talk or manoeuvrings, making this either a bloody or bloodless battle, not a political one. He then presented the helm of my late brother and the sword of the second son of the D’Orsay’s. The older speaker was grim at the presentation of these two items, and I learned later that he was the Widow D’Orsay’s father, and step-grandfather of the dead soldier. He took the two items and Pierre rode with him to the gate, bringing back the riderless horse to us.
I was sitting on my horse for nearly an hour, wondering how we might try to execute a siege of the town when the gate surprisingly opened, no talk, no bluster, no initial agreements.
“They have spoken to the rabble we drove back here a few days ago and already know we won’t put the town to the torch. They know remainder of the family might be killed, but since it is only women and children left they know there will be little support from inside the walls.” My Uncle commented as we watched both gates swing wide.
It showed well of the people inside the walls that they allowed the widow and her daughter to be escorted out in a carriage towards us and not just thrown out (or off the walls). Thatcher and his eldest along with my uncle and I advanced slightly under a white flag of our own, watching those on the ramparts for signs of treachery.
There was none.
The carriage arrived with a woman draped in black mourning clothes complete with a veil and her young daughter similarly attire, but without the veil.
“I and my daughter are the last of the D’Orsay, my husband and his two sons are now dead, he and his eldest killed by a thieving mercenary whom we thought was reporting a victory over your army, and I am to understand his second son was killed fighting your men. I surrender myself to you in the hopes that our people her in Ains suffer no harsh punishments for actions of my late husband that they had no voice in.” She spoke in a clear voice. She did not seem overly young, but was nowhere near the fifty or so years that D’orsay had been. A second wife perhaps? We had not kept very close recently with our neighbors, spending our energies and time on improving our Keep and lands infrastructure.
Thatcher assured her that no extreme reprisals would be taken against herself or the regular people of Ains. “You spoke of this ‘thieving mercenary’ who killed your husband and his son. Who is he and where is he now?”
Three full days ahead was the answer. The man they knew as ‘Gerard’ had raced his horse into the courtyard and bounded up the steps of the Keep before negligently running the eldest son through on his way to the study of D’Orsay where he forced from him cash and jewels (presumably, from the open hidden chest they had found beside the body) before beheading him and racing off; trailing a second mount he confiscated from a random merchant he happened across.