Work Text:
Green wine flowed abundantly through House Duskryn. Menzoberranzan was notorious for its treacherous politics. Though on occasion, politics were set aside for lust. Decadent halls hosted parties in which the high society of the deep elves came to enact their hedonism. Blood was often drawn, though it seemed the revelries had distracted the party from any violence yet committed. Naadja was not looking for violence, she was not looking for a party either.
The Matron, Naadja's mother, sat beside her at the head of the extravagant hall. Neither looked to be very engaged with their surroundings. For Naadja, it was sheer disappointment for herself. For her mother, it was the same.
Naadja had failed Lolth, unable to produce a Draegloth after the ceremony of her graduation. She sat in the anguish of her failure. It was not something she ever wished to feel again. Too much of her life depended on her success. So much so that when a Baenre was offered as her consort, she agreed without hesitation. Though she did not believe she was ready or wanting to do so, the responsibility of her house's future was hers to bear.
It was her task then, to keep her station. By any means necessary, she would come to rule her house. Even if she would do so with a male consort. Naadja watched on in disinterest while dancers performed before guests. She wished to be so easily entertained as the guests.
Her consort was nowhere to be seen. Naadja took no offense from his lack of appearance. She did not wish to see him.
The fermented alcohol filled Naadja's chalice. It would not be long before she emptied it again. Chasing some form of unfeeling, wine poured past her lips and down her throat. Despite the large gathering before her, Naadja seemed very alone.
As various guests participated in the debauched pleasures house Duskryn offered, a lone face stood out amongst the crowd. Her darting eyes and furrowed brow separated her from those around her who expressed their euphoria. Her house insignia sat proudly on her neck. Minthara seemed to be somewhat unimpressed with the whole affair. When her eyes connected with Naadja's, she scowled and made for an exit.
The First Priestess excused herself from her mother's side and followed Minthara to a hall that was no more vacant than the party.
“Aren't you going to congratulate me?" Naadja's voice caught the attention of the Nightwarden.
Minthara turned to face Naadja, her words expressed her disinterest. “You believe you’ve done something worth congratulating?” Minthara's features deepened with annoyance.
“I took a Baenre as my consort. I'm First Priestess of my house.” Naadja did not carry the confidence to sound convincing.
“It is only because of your shortcomings that you were offered my kin. A male one at that. None of your actions warrant any celebration; you are at the mercy of your privilege. You'd do well to remember how fickle power is in our world.” There was no cruelty in Minthara's voice, only truth.
Under Minthara's scrutiny, Naadja felt small. “It was supposed to be you.” she managed to speak through the cold grip of shame that nestled in her throat.
“Speak up, I will not strain my ear for you, girl.”
“It was supposed to be you,” conviction filled her voice. “I would show you my worth and take you as consort.”
Minthara laughed at the priestess’ audacity. “You would do no such thing.” In her momentary lapse of focus- distracted by the absurdity of the proposition, Naadja moved to kiss her. Minthara moved back against the stone wall of the hall before their lips could touch. “The demon's seed did not take. You have failed our Goddess. I would not deign to kiss you now.” She said, looking at the guests who paid them no mind, seemingly. But that did not mean they were not being observed. There was always a watchful eye in Menzoberranzan.
Naadja moved again, more sure of herself as she pressed her body against Minthara. She did not care who saw them. Naadja had drunk herself into a state of blissful uncaring. Expecting she would pull away again, Naadja held Minthara's face, grasping her clothes to maintain some sense of control. To her surprise, Minthara did not push her away. She was tense at first, irritated by Naadja's insistence. She could taste the desperation on her lips, the pathetic display repulsed her. But she could not help finding the young priestess to be compelling in her neediness. Slipping her own tongue past Naadja's lips, she swallowed Naadja's moan as it entered her mouth.
Regaining her awareness, Minthara broke the kiss. The corners of Naadja's lips pulled into a frown at the separation. “Pull yourself together, child” Minthara became tired of Naadja's pining. She was above this young foolishness.
“I am worthy of you. That you would let me touch you is proof enough.” Naadja ran her fingers against Minthara's inner thigh as she spoke. Though Minthara did not pull away, it was evident that Naadja had been much more affected by the touch. Her skin had become flushed, perhaps a result of green wine, but her gaze softened with desire.
Minthara spoke again, though the venom had left her voice. “It proves only that you are an insolent child whose antics I grow less tolerant of every passing moment.” her seriousness was cut by her own curiosity at what the Priestess might do. She had been an adequate partner once; perhaps she could be again.
Silence smothered Minthara's voice as Naadja pressed her palm against her. She willed herself not to vocalize her pleasure in the hopes that Naadja would not feel pride. She wanted to mock the foolish Priestess- berate her obscenity. Against the pressure of her hand, Minthara found she could not risk opening her mouth.
Naadja saw the strain in Minthara's features. She used her silence as an opportunity to be bold. “If you took me as your consort I would give you everything in my power.” The words held little weight. She knew she was asking for a fantasy. Already she had given up her hopes of taking Minthara as her own consort. She was practically begging now.
“I do not need nor want what you have to offer me.” Mustering her strength, Minthara spoke over her want. It was a great deal of effort to maintain her stoic composure.
The rejection did not stop Naadja from leaning into the crook of Minthara's neck, pressing her lips against the symbol etched onto her throat. Allowing herself to falter, Minthara rolled her hips against the hand pressed against her.
Looking as though she might speak, Naadja opened her mouth. The words she said were lost to the sound of an overwhelming crash followed by some sort of commotion. The guests must have grown bored of the performance, Naadja realized.
“What did you just say?” Somewhat breathless, Minthara urged the priestess to repeat herself.
Pulling herself off of Minthara, she rethought the empty proclamations she had spoken. The disruption had been somewhat sobering to Naadja's disappointment. She had no urge to further humiliate herself. “So be it.” She said, making her way to the commotion. Perhaps she'd find entertainment elsewhere.
After experiencing a wave of frustration and fury, Minthara composed herself once again. She left the party without another word.