Chapter 7

The sun peeked in from above her and woke Litea up. She had been, she realized in sudden clarity, sleeping since she was thrown into  Gwyne's boot the night prior to. Or had it been longer? He hadn't any idea. Time had stopped for her in that sunless and slightly smelly prison, and all she could remember was shivering and shaking, thinking on her death before a dreamless, albeit slightly comforting sleep had took her. 

When the light blocked out and shimmered across her eyes, Litea's heart had stopped. Had Gwyne finally decided she was going to kill her? She waited, shaking (but not so much as before), for the hand to come down and close around her. Or maybe she was putting on her boots and going to crush her under her sole. Had she forgotten about her?

Her fears alleviated somewhat, by only a little, as she felt Gwyne's fingers wrap around her tiny form, the telltale truck-like digits stopping to grope and feel around her, apparently to make sure she was upright. 

Up she went, the boots high leather walls zipping up and into the dizzyingly wide space that opened in all directions around her. The sunlight was harsher in the open, and like the curtains being pulled apart in the morning, her eyes squinted and strained to adjust. 

"Good morning," boomed an even-tempered voice somewhere to her front and up. Even-tempered. That was the first thing that came to mind. "I hope you slept well. We have lots to talk about."

Litea strained to rub her eyes. Damn this light. Who gave the sun permission to be so bright? She felt Gwyne walking and bobbing, her body's swaying indicating a light walk. Somewhere a horse whinnied, and it smelled of smoke. In the Brie moments when she could open her eyes to let just a few photons in at a time, she saw a lot of green. Blue sky. Bark-colored dirt. They weren't at the inn anymore, which somewhat made her ill at ease. The inn somehow meat safety. Indecision. What was Gwyne planning?

"I'm going to set you down now."

Litea's stomach dropped as her body did. She slowed to an even descent and then finally felt the gritty ground as she was (rather softly) placed onto the dirt. There was a shadow here, and so she was able to open her eyes. 

She saw Gwyne's expansive face peering down her nose at her, a soft smile on her prodigious lips. Was she not angry? 

"There we are. I have some bread and jerky from the inn. I'll get you some, you must be hungry."

The wind shifted and swayed as Gwyne rose up, the vacuum pulling Litea forward just a bit. Now that Gwyne's body had vacated and moved disturbingly swift to her horse's saddle bag, she could see more. The horse was tethered to a nearby tree, a great and enormous tower of a thing, and a small fire had been built. There was a wife canopy of trees above her, shafts of light piercing through and making particulate matter visible. 

Everything was huge. The horse, the fire. The tree. Her hostess who, now humming a popular tune blithely while digging through her bag, had threatened to crush or devour her. 

And she was so small. So helpless. 

Litea was shivering when Gwyne came back. When asked if she was cold, Litea shook her head, still doing so even as she took the puff of bread and sliver of jerky. 

Satisfied her quarry was eating, Gwyne sat down again, placing her legs in front of her, her feet resting comfortably and flanking the tiny girl, a fact not lost in either of them. As Litea ate, she half-scoped, half-admired her captor. From the lithe feet and majestic toes (now clean from dirt and grime) that sat in her sandals, up her legs (she still wore the wool pants), to the arms and hands that rested on her knees and rest of her core that leaned forward, Gwyne was quite the looker. She noticed, uncomfortably, that the blonde had been watching her intently, and she looked away blushing. 

"Sorry."

Litea ate the rest of her breakfast, and washed it down with a drink from Gwyne's water skin. 

"There we are," Gwyne announced happily. The knight seemed very... Excited about something, a fact that disquieted Litea not a little. 

The blonde seemed to chew her next words carefully.

"Well, I guess I'll get right to it. I've decided, little Litea, that..." She watched the agonized look on her captive's face, "I'm not going to kill you. Yet. I still hold that option available until the end."

Litea cleared her throat. It was painful, even after two recent meals and drinks. She said something, but it was too quiet for Gwyne to hear. She leaned over, pulling her hair behind her and cocking her ear towards her. 

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Say it again, please?"

Litea squeaked once again. Gwyne didn't quite hear it this time either. She looked back down at her and frowned. 

"This isn't working," she sighed. Her brought her hand forward and made to grab the tiny mage. "Come here, you."

Litea squeaked again as the fingers wrapped around her form, and did so until she was brought up to Gwyne's face. The knight smiled down on her.

"There, should be easier. Now what were you saying?"

Litea cleared her throat and then spoke aloud.

"I said," she started too loudly but then adjusted, "what do you mean 'until the end?'"

Gwyne chuckled and bit her lip. 

"Well, the end being when I return you to your parents at Avernhill. I've decided that I'm going to hold you hostage. Or kill you. I haven't decided yet."

The news ran through Litea, and it didn't quite register the first time. Did she mishear her?

"You... You're going to take me back to my parents?"

"Well, not quite. Not yet anyhow."

"W-wait. You're letting me go? And what do you mean? You're eventually going to take me back to my parents?"

"Well, yeah. Once I'm convinced you're not going to try and kill me anymore. By all counts, I'm well, well within my rights to just crush you."

Gwyne curled her fingers up around the girl and smirked when Litea squealed. 

"But I don't really think it would be wise. You see," she leaned in and licked her lips, "you're a rich girl. Well, more accurately, your parents are. And I bet they'd pay a mountain of gold to get their little girl back. Emphasis on little."

"You're not going to unshrink me first?" 

"Uh, no? Do I look like a wizard, kid? And besides, you," Gwyne tossed Litea up into the air a few inches, brushing her finger on her feet to put a spin on her. The mage screamed and flailed when it happened, but soon found herself back safely in the calloused palm of the knight. "You're muuuuch more manageable at this size. Not to mention so, sooooo easy," she plucked the girl up between two fingers and brought her to her face, "to squish if you misbehave or try to escape... And not to mention..." She stuck her tongue out and dabbed it on the girl's stomach. "Bite-sized. And, although I would love to make a meal out of you, I still want my personal slave, so don't think you can skip out on your duties. So- if you do your tasks well, you'll live... Probably. And if you do bad, then I'll have you for an after dinner mint. Then again, once I ransom you, I'll have enough to go to Keelah, get fat on fair folk. It would be a smorgasbord there!"

She cackled at her own joke, and Litea grimaced at the thought. But then she realized something.

"What do... What do you mean by 'tasks'?"

The girl twisted uncomfortably in her hand, and Gwyne enjoyed the little dance of terror she performed. Despite all that, if she wanted to make the most of this, the girl would have to be pacified, or rather at least not fidgeting about. Gwyne took a free finger and stroked the back of the tiny mage softly, then continued.

"Well, you've got to earn your keep. It would be boring, for the both of us, if you just sat in my bag the entire time. I can have you so fun stuff! You can cook with me, you can polish my boots and scour my chainmail... If you're naughty, you can sharpen my sword, Wouldn't you rather be out in the sun with me for your time here?"

"How long?"

"What?" Gwyne cocked her head to one side.

"How long do I have to be with you?"

Gwyne set that same free finger to get lip, genuinely thinking about it. She would have to word this carefully.

"Until I feel you're sufficiently not a threat to me anymore. When that's the case, I'll ransom you to your parents and leave you with a trusted friend, who can deliver you back. All that after your dear mummy and daddy have made me richer than King Illicain."

“And then… you’ll let me go?”

Gwyne smirked and brushed her hair back.

“Well. That’s entirely up to you and how you play your cards, and how little you upset me. How well you,” she grinned, wiggling her toes, “massage my feet.”

Litea grimaced, looking at the knight’s worn toes. What a monumental task, and probably smelly to boot. Literally.

"What makes you think they'll pay? They might think I'm dead."

The knight frowned. 

"No daddy would ever risk the safety of their little girl. Also, I may cut off a toe and send it to them."

Litea's toes involuntarily flexed inside of their boots. She hoped she wasn't serious. 

"But what makes you think they won't come after you once I'm home?"

Gwyne grinned snidely.

"What makes you think I'll still be anywhere in Ilica after this? I'll hightail it across the Solarian Sea to Arrovia or Thraka. Lornak. It's easy to get a new name- grease a few palms, cut some hair off.... Hells, I came by my knighthood easy enough- it would be nothing to throw this one away and get another one. Maybe I'll go to Keelah, make myself fat on fairy. Maybe they'll worship me like a goddess. In fact..."

She squeezed Litea between her fingers and smooched her face.

"Maybe I'll start with you."

Litea cringed and wiggled around.

"Please... Gwyne. Don't do this..." She could feel the bile swimming in her throat. Despite her assurance that she would be ransomed alive to her parents, Litea had no doubt that there was a very high possibility of her being murdered by this woman. Under foot, hand, ass, or between teeth.

Still. She had to try. 

Or would it be better just to go with it, bide time until she could find a way to escape. That plan could work. Maybe.

"Oh, but little Litea... You don't have a choice."

Something in Gwyne's eyes told her that she was deadly serious. Maybe it was color- cold as the snows of the Frozen North, calculating as ever. Litea figured Gwyne had no formal education, but was as sharp as anyone at the academy. Maybe it was the bloodlust in them, the drive to fight and thrive, the very thing that ha carried her all those years ever since she leaned to swing a blade. 

Litea finally huffed through her nose and nodded. Gwyne seemed satisfied at the small but telling gesture. 

"That's good!" She set Litea on her pack next to her and sat down. She began to take off her sandals and set them aside. She swung her pack around and set it, rather hard, right next to Litea. The small girl yelped and jumped away.

"Careful!" She chided, forgetting for just a brief moment how small she was. Gwyne shrugged and smirked. Gwyne pulled out the other boot from the sack, and then set them both to the side, toe to toe.

"I've thought a lot," she almost seemed to confide, "about what kind of tortures I could put you through. Nothing fatal, mind, don't worry... But certainly not a walk in the roses."

She pulled a rag out of her pack and then splashed some water onto it, and began to clean her sandals off- the leather was filthy and grimy, and when Litea saw it she remembered how horrible it was to be smothered underfoot between Gwyne's sweaty foot and her worn sandal leather. She shuddered.

"I think we'll start out slow. I wanted to put you in my boot and walk alongside my horse for a bit, but gods know you've already gone through that. No, no, we need more variety." Gwyne swung the wet rag around, a ring of droplets shooting all around her. "Maybe... In my mouth? Don't worry, I won't bite. Unless you give me cause to, that is."

Litea shifted uncomfortably, the idea triggering a palpitation in her heart. The fresh memory of her almost being a snack for Gwyne made her shiver. 

"No...?" Gwyne queried, seeing the discomfort in her face, "okay then..." She went to scratch her arm, but then looked at it. She smiled, and grinned something terrible at Litea.

"I think I've got just the idea..."

Litea screamed once again when Gwyne picked her up, the thought of her being inside Gwyne's mouth (one of her major source of horrors) making her shake. 

"Now now, little Litea- this won't be so bad if you think about it! All you have to do," Gwyne crooned, lifting her shirt up with her other hand, "is not tickle me. Because, hey, if you do, you might be smothered. Or smashed. And I don't want that... Er, yet."

Gwyne lifted her free arm up at the shoulder and placed Litea in the hollow of her armpit. It was covered in the thin layer of perspiration, and even only after a morning of riding, it had started to stink from the sweat. 

Litea flailed and almost immediately, Gwyne giggled and closed her armpit down, smiling at the tiny girl and laughing.

"Hey, stop that! You don't want to tickle me, don't you? I could squish you in there! So don't move. You'll only make this worse for the both of us. I'm jut riding until tonight?"

She tried placing her again there, but a tiny toe twitch sent Gwyne into a giggle once more.

"Ahhh, Litea godsdammit! Stop that!"

She tried to not laugh not smile at this point, unsuccessfully, and brought Litea up to her face.

"Hey, hey you... Stop it."

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to-"

"Well, stop trying and just do it! The alternative, you know, is riding under my toes inside my boot. Do you want that?"

A silent and enthusiastic head shake from the small wizardette. 

"I thought so. So be still..." Gwyne smiled, and then, almost as an afterthought, said, "or, or else."

Litea nodded and held her breath as she was again placed into the crook of Gwyne's muscled arm. As she slid in, she felt the slick sweat that had perspired in Gwyne's arm during the heat of the afternoon sun that beat down on them. Even in the cool shade provided by the forest canopy, it was blazingly hot. As Gwyne folded her arm, the anxiety she felt mounted and she found herself trying harder than ever to not shake and shiver. It might've been a bluff, as way it sounded, but Litea had no interest whatsoever in testing Gwyne's patience. Not again, anyhow.

The skin, plentiful and surprisingly soft, enveloped Litea's body like a snowfall, covering her completely from head to toe. As soon as the natural crease folded, she immediately regretted not being able to stick her head out for a breather. 

The oils in Gwyne's armpit, probably resident for a very long while, the perks of being a hedge knight, slicked themselves into their prisoner's skin, getting into her clothes and hair and face. He felt the stray hairs poke into her, hardened by repeated shaving. She tried to navigate her head to create an air pocket, hoping to do so would bring sweet relief from the lack of oxygen, but to no avail.

The heat grew. And it grew. And it yet grew. 

She felt the knight moving and gathering her items up, awkwardly trying to do so with only the full capacity of one of her arms and keeping Litea inside that crook. Gwyne had started to hum to herself, the vibration buzzing through Litea and making her quiver, all at once sensually and very uncomfortable. 

The heat grew still. He started to feel her own perspiration mingle with that of Gwyne's, and her whole body shifted from being simply uncomfortable to being unbearable. It had only been minutes (or was it seconds? Hours? Who knew?) since Gwyne had placed her into her armpit, but already Litea felt herself grow lucid and distant, like this wasn't happening to her. 

Oxygen became sparse. She felt her eyes blacken as she found difficulty in breathing, each rasp of breath assaulted and fresh with the musk and sweat and scent that was Gwyne. For a brief half second she was reminded of the horrors that as endured stuck in the knighterrant's underclothes, slipping and sliding down between her legs. And come face to face with her lower lips. 

Litea made mistake of shifting her body, prompting a yelp from somewhere, some unknowable direction. The resulting shake made the fleshy and sweaty prison around her shake and shiver, pressing against and pleating again and again. The air became yet sparser, harder and harder to gasp for air. Litea struggled, only slightly, trying to, with all the fear and anxiety of a newborn, to try and emerge from the skin sack, to try and reach fresh air.

Her sight grew dim, and her eyes heavy. She was suffocating. And yet, just before she blacked out, Gwyne moved her arm is such a way that allowed for unstable air, even coming through the woolen tunic the life-rich oxygen rushed in and filled her lungs, the wet-saturated taint still not leaving. Relief flooding her senses and being, and for a brief moment, just before the gap closed again and she found herself in that blackened and heavy darkness, she was hopeful- but oh so short-lived. It would be a long ride.

Litea began to tear up, and she found herself unable to distinguish between her tears from the sweat around her. It was going to be a very long ride.

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Gwyne mounted her horse shortly after snuffing out the fire. It had been a difficult task doing so, that and pulling her boots on after replacing her sandals, but she did it anyhow, and was pleased with herself that Litea has not fallen out. Pleased more, still, that she felt her captive wriggle around in her arm pit. It tickled, yes, but she would resist.

It was a long road to Avernhill. North, in fact, nearing the icy waters of the Frozen North. It would be cold there, she realized, and she wasn’t, to her not-so-disappointed dismay, properly equipped for the journey. It would be better to head south for now, to winter and do some sellsword work before moving back up north. Port Lien, perhaps?

Besides, Gwyne reasoned with a grin, I would feel awful if Litea froze...

She looked down at her armpit and smiled. Well, perhaps she was plenty warm now. She grinned and chuckled at the thought. Torturing this girl would be the peak to pleasure for the months to come. She still hadn’t truly made up her mind about whether or not she would kill her- it might be better to, loose ends and all that.

And yet. Money to be made.

Still, she thought, kicking her heels into her horse’s haunches, and feeling the tiny girl struggle in under her arm, I can enjoy this while it lasts.