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the 𝒜𝒻𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓈 of 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓈 (sloth+blue)

He ignores Lorsan, too busy trying to catch his breath and stop his hands from shaking. Feeling so weak is humiliating, which is not helping matters, and Lorsan so casually dismissing his fear and 'recommending' he ask a dragon for help makes Iliro angrier. He draws himself up to his full height (nowhere near Lorsan's human form) and glares up at the beast with as much vitriol as he has in his small body. "You... you!" He makes a frustrated sound, his body shaking with rage as well as fear now as he points a finger up at Lorsan. "You are infuriating! What is wrong with you?" He demands, and he's so lost in his anger he bends and picks up a broken branch and throws it at Lorsan. Of course, it's only a branch and Lorsan is a fucking dragon so it's completely ineffectual and only makes Iliro madder. "Why won't you just let me rot in peace?" He demands. "I have been nothing but rude and even cruel to you since I was dragged here against my will, I've made my disdain for you quite clear, I thought! So why won't you just foist me off on some random guard and be done with me? Why are you always... close to me! Do you think I haven't caught you smelling me?" He demands, scandalized. "What's that about? What do you want from me, oh mighty Lorsan? Do you really expect me to believe that you are content to just wait around for me to suddenly not despise you?" He bends and scoops up a pebble which he flings right at Lorsan's huge face. "Carrying me around like a fucking pet, staring at me while I bathe. What do you want from me?" He finds another rock and throws it at Lorsan, beside himself with rage at this point.
 
Lorsan’s heart aches as he stands there, listening to the Archmage rage at him. He makes no attempt to dodge the thrown items, just letting them bounce harmlessly off his scales. The ones around his face ripple as the man brings up Lorsan’s smelling and staring. It’s about as close as a dragon can get to blushing, but unless the Archmage knows the intricacies of dragon body language, he would have no idea. When the human has finished his angry ranting, Lorsan tries to throw out more excuses, not ready to let the Archmage know the real reason.

”You are my responsibility. I am not going to ‘foist you off’ to someone who would much rather be doing things other than following a human around. I admit I’m curious about you, it’s been… A very long time since a human has lived among us.” Lorsan takes a moment to shift to his human form, pushing hair back from his face, behind his horns and ears. He takes one step forward, then stops himself. “I want you to learn from us, see our ways and understand how to live with us, that you might convince your king that the destruction of our hunting grounds is not the answer.”
 
Curious is almost a given, but curious about what is the question. And hadn't he tried to make Lorsan understand that the humans needed to expand, that they hadn't attacked the dragons just for the fun of it, that war had never been the intent? At least, not his Order's intent. The king may have been another story, but his machinations were his own. Iliro raises his hands to his head in a frustrated gesture and growls in irritation. "I don't want to learn to live with you!" He yelled. "And you won't just tell me what you want me to learn. You want me to ask questions and give half a rat's ass about you and your kin but I don't! I will not!" He shakes his head and strides forward until he is crowding up against Lorsan, glaring up at him. "Nor do I care about the war. What I do care about is the countless innocents that wind up as collateral damage. You can keep me here the rest of my short life and I won't care one iota about you and yours, but I am trying to be reasonable! I said I would return and try to find a different option, that I would vouch for you. I even offered to Bind myself to that oath." He jams a finger into Lorsan's chest. "But you want something else and won't just come outright and tell me what it is." He pokes Lorsan in the chest again. "Instead you skulk around and wait for me to come to a conclusion that I will never reach." Another harsh jab pokes into Lorsan's chest. "Never. So either do away with me or take me back down the mountain but drop the charade already because we both know that we are both too stubborn to change our minds on this."
 
”I can’t take you back!” The words are roared into the Archmage’s face, teeth inches away. With the human crowding in close, it’s not hard to chase him back, taller frame bumping the Archmage backward, until his back hits the tree he had previously been gripping. “What little information I could get of your royal court said you were a trusted advisor to the human king in magical matters. With you here, their mages are disorganized, their schools too distracted on trying to pinpoint your location. You are an asset to them and in turn, to us, by keeping you here.”

Lorsan’s silver eyes dilate again, but this time, this close, body pressed up against the Archmage to trap him against the tree, it’s for an entirely different reason. This time, it’s not peace he feels, but something else. Something that has his body reacting.. much differently. Lorsan realizes this quickly, even as his gaze drops to the human’s lips. With a growl of pure frustration, he slams his knuckles into the tree just above the Archmage’s head, showering him in broken bits of bark. Then he’s turning away, walking some twenty paces before stopping again. He brings that same hand to his mouth, biting into the back of his hand below his thumb, hard. The pain distracts him from his other problem, and his shoulders rise and fall with deep, forced breaths.
 
Lorsan could crush his head right now. Snap him in half like a bundle of dry twigs. He has Iliro trapped against the tree and Iliro has nothing but his fists and his silver tongue to defend himself. The Archmage's eyes are wide and wild as he glares up at Lorsan, a vile curse on the tip of his tongue when he catches sight of the dragon man's expression and understanding punches him in the gut.

The way the dragon has been staring at him, smelling him, crowding him... The color drains from Iliro's face and he swallows thickly as Lorsan punches the tree. Splinters spray over his upturned face but he ignores them because this, this is the most danger he's been in since arriving in the mountain. Luckily Lorsan pushes away from the tree and stalks away, biting his hand. There is no time to wait, not time left to plan. Iliro has to leave now.

"That's what it is." He breathes, voice hollow. "That's what you want. You are a fucking monster." Without turning his back to Lorsan he pushes off the tree and stumbles away, backing towards the cliff wall that has the stairs carved into it. "You stay away from me, beast." He backpedals as fast as he dares, refusing to turn away, refusing to let Lorsan out of his sight. "You stay away from me." He's at least two dragon lengths away from Lorsan before he finally turns and books it towards the stairs, arms pumping. His fear of heights is nearly forgotten because Lorsan has provided something much worse to fear--Leave it to a beast to ruin everything by getting randy for their prisoner-- so he takes the stairs at a sprint. Practicing magic has given Iliro great endurance, but he has to pause multiple times as he climbs the stairs to catch his breath. He keeps himself plastered to the cliff wall as he climbs, face set in a determined glower. He needs to leave, now.

When he finally climbs all the steps and makes it all the way down that endless tunnel, he makes it back to the main cavern to find it just as occupied as ever. There's no help for it though, because he can't afford to wait.

"There he is-" He can see the dragonets nearby, even though they're trying (and failing) to hide behind a rock. Besides that, their voices carry. "I overheard Lorsan saying he smells good, I dare you to go smell him-"

Iliro sprints the rest of the way to the cave and dashes behind the tapestry. There isn't enough energy stored in the crystal, he knows. This is practically a suicide mission, because if it fails, he's dead, but it's his only hope so he throws open the hinged door and yanks the on the crystal until it breaks off in his hand. He can feel the hum of magic even as frost creeps up his hand to his wrist-

"Why'd you break that-"

He casts the spell before he can think it through. The energy from the crystal flows into him; up his arm to his heart, then down the other arm in a hail of ice spikes that are launched at the dragon child. It screeches in pain as ice scrapes against its vulnerable face and rips the tapestry to shreds. No... no no no no!

There's no way he's going to survive this. He's going to die, he thinks, listening to the cries of a baby dragon who is more startled than hurt, but still: he had cast offensive magic against it, in the midst of a nest of dragons. He can hear them responding already, so he does the only thing his panicked brain can think of. He runs. He runs from the cave and away from the squalling dragonet as dragons come running or soaring towards the cave. He runs, his face pale and panicked, and makes a break for the nearest tunnel.
 
Lorsan‘s heart breaks as the Archmage seems to catch on, though only halfway. He doesn’t think the human realizes the truth,at least, not the whole truth. Dragons mating with humans is so ancient a legend, the Clan’s historian, Alessa, has never heard of it. When the human runs, Lorsan does little more than turn to watch him flee. He doesn’t take dragon form until the Archmage reaches the top of the stairs. He flies up to the tunnel as the man disappears from view, then follows at a slower pace.

Lorsan is mere feet from the main cavern when the shreiking starts. Alarmed, he bounds out of the tunnel, seeing several dragons leaving their dens and descending to the floor. The young blue dragonet fleeing the Archmage’s cavern is swiping at his bloodied face. Alessa is standing on the dais; she had seen the spikes of ice shred the tapestry, and there’s no possible way the four year old dragonet could have summoned ice magic. Her green head turns to her Clan General. “Lorsan! The human attacked Nayru!”

Rage fills Lorsan’s chest. The young are the future of the Clan, and now one is injured. He doesn’t wait to assess the damage, other dragons can do that. His great black head swings around, silver eyes searching. He spots the Archmage running for the tunnel to the spring. ”Archmage!” Three hops bring him directly behind the human, and claws reach out, wrapping around the man’s waist and torso. Another hop and Lorsan is airborne, bearing the Archmage up, wings beating to carry him to Lorsan’s quarters, hundreds of feet off the cavern floor. He isn’t gentle when he tosses the man inside, following after him. “How dare you attack a child! Have you no honor, that you must harm the young?!” Lorsan won’t listen to anything the human has to say, jaws snapping at the air in front of the man, forcing him backward.
 
The ground buckles beneath him as Lorsan lands but he doesn't hit the ground because the dragon scoops him right up and then they're airborne. Iliro screams, high and panicked, and beats at the scaled claws holding him. He'd rather a screaming death from this height than whatever the dragon has planned for him, but Lorsan's grip is unyielding. Instead he's carried up to yet another cave and tossed inside like a ragdoll, hitting the floor and rolling across it before he can gain his footing. Lorsan's teeth snap inches from his face and he falls back onto his butt and scrambles away. He kicks out, his foot bouncing off the scaled nose in a feeble attempt to kick Lorsan away. Then he's on his feet again and stumbling backwards. "I didn't know it was one of the little ones I thought it was you!" There's one last speck of magic left in the crystal and he holds it up. There's sound like a whip cracking and then the cave is full of blinding light.

When it clears, Iliro is on a dead sprint towards the open mouth of the cave. If he's going to die, he's going to choose the method.
 
Lorsan’s reactions are faster, his eyes shutting just as the Archmage raises the crystal. The light still affects him, but it doesn’t blind him like the Archmage had intended. The man doesn’t get far. Lorsan’s scaled tail catches him at the idsection with a sweeping blow, tossing him backward again, into the empty bowl at the room’s center. Lorsan roars at him, the sound echoing around the cave. Outside, the dragons below turn their faces up. Some flee the main cavern to other parts of the mountains. Others hunker down in groups. None want to be near to their General’s private quarters during his rage.

”I gave you the freedom to walk our halls, to go where you please, and this is how you repay my kindness!” Lorsan snaps his jaws again, then takes human form. There’s a visible dark purple glow around his frame, flecked with black. Magical energy, made visible by powerful emotions. He stalks across the floor, dropping into the bowl. A sweep of his right hand sends thick ribbons of that same purple energy shooting through the air between them, coiling tight around the Archmage’s wrists, pulling his arms behind his back.

Lorsan comes to a halt and drops to one knee in front of the prone human. His fingers grab a fistful of the Archmage’s hair, pulling his head up. Teeth bared, Lorsan growls in the man’s face. The Archmage’s scent reaches him, but instead of calming the dragon, the scent mixes with the intense rage, and he snaps, instincts driving Lorsan now. His head drops, teeth bearing down on the right side of the human’s neck. It’s a hard bite, and would definitely leave a bruise, but it’s not enough to break skin.
 
The tail sweep knocks the air from his lungs and it hurts when he lands in the bowl. The crystal flies out of his hand but the thing is now useless to him; drained of all power so that even the minor frost spell is broken. His hand is raw red from that frost, bitten through with the cold, but that pain is the least of his worries. Everything hurts: his back, his chest, his legs, and now his scalp as Lorsan yanks him up by the hair. His hands are bound but his feet start to kick out, only to stop as Lorsan bites him hard.

Now that fucking hurts, and Iliro shouts from pain and fear. "Stop stop stop!" It's a horrible sensation and it makes his entire body lock up in protest. "Get off me you fucking lizard! Get off!"

This position is almost impossibly to do anything in, so he settles for screaming right in Lorsan's ear.
 
Lorsan’s ear rings with that scream, but instinct still holds him tight. He lifts his head, snarling, then flips the Archmage onto his stomach. One hand grips the human’s bound wrists, the other catches the back of his trousers. Claws shred fabric, pulling the rags away from the Archmage’s skin. Knees push the man’s thighs wide, and Lorsan lets warm saliva drip from his mouth to the human’s now exposed rear.

Less than a minute passes before something hot and heavy lays between the Archmage’s cheeks. Claws dig into the human’s hip, pulling him to his knees while the hand gripping, his wrists holds his chest down. There’s pressure, intense pressure, then pain as Lorsan’s cock invades the Archmage’s body. Firm ridges run crossways along the underside of his thick girth, rubbing at the man’s insides as Lorsan presses forward, until he’s buried eight inches deep, to the top of a swollen base.
 
The pain is hot, ugly, and incomprehensible. There was no preperation, nothing. He was surely splitting in two, ripping at the seams as something huge and evil tore him apart from the inside out. He couldn't even understand what was happening, only that whatever it was hurt so immensly he was surely going to die from it. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much his vision turns hazy and red, but maybe its just an anuerysm.

He's certainly screaming violently enough to pop a few blood vessels.

"Oh gods, oh gods stop, stop! Please! Im sorry!" He screams as Lorsan seats himself in Iliro's unprepared ass. "I'm sorry, stop! Help! Help me, someone please! Oh gods, stop!"
 
Lorsan is deaf to the Archmage’s screams. His hips move, ribbed cock pushing and pulling within the Archmage, sinking deep with each motion. It’s not a rapid pace, but the steady back and forth mixed with the unprepared stretch makes each thrust seem harsh. His claws dig sharp into the skin of the man’s hip, creating shallow punctures. Lorsan is growling above the human, the swirling silver taking up most of his eyes. Calm is defnitely not the foremost feeling.

It’s nearly ten minutes before something changes. Lorsan leans low over the Archmage, his left hand releasing the man’s hip in favour of wrapping his arm around his torso. He hauls the man upright, right hand moving up into his hair in a harsh grip. Teeth scrape the human’s ear, but they don‘t bite. Lorsan’s hips are bucking harder, thrusts shorter. Then he grunts, arm around the Archmage’s waist pulling him down as Lorsan’s hips push up. That swollen base presses hard, stretches the human further, then suddenly pops inside.

Lorsan groans heavily as the heat pooling in his heavy sac rushes through his cock, spilling thickly into the Archmage’s body. Claws reach up, ripping fabric away from the man’s shoulder, the other hand pulling his head to the side. Lorsan’s sharp teeth come down, sink into the Archmage’s shoulder, draw blood. Suddenly, they’re linked, and in a rush, the Archmage can feel everything Lorsan is feeling, every once of instinctual rage, lust, and pleasure.
 
He can do nothing but scream and try to writhe away. Kick his feet and twist his arms until his shoulders creak. Lorsan is relentless, thrusting intohim for far longer than any lover has ever taken. Bright points of pain along his hips, on hisnear, deep within his gut. Lorsan is thrusting into his very soul, ripping it to shreds like his claws are ripping his body.

By the time Lorsan hauls him up, Iliro's throat is too raw to scream. He can taste copper on his tongue and his head is pounding just as violently as Lorsan's cock.

The pain is all-consuming. There is nothing but pain anymore; no thoughts, no fears, just pain. Greasy, black, unending pain that, somehow, only gets worse when something larger pushes up into him.

He can't feel his legs anymore. Hisnspine is surely broken. He hardly even feels Lorsan bite him. The rush of emotions not his own make him sick, the dark pleasure most of all. It makes his body respond in ways that terrify him, but the lust is drowned out by the pain, and he goes limp against his violator.

Iliro's body accepts the spilt seed because there's no place for it to go: Lorsan's knot has him sealed up, just like it was designed to. He can feel that he is torn down there, can feel the hot blood trickling down his thighs, but the cum fills his guts until he thinks he can taste it. He hopes, wildly, that it drowns him and he dies so he can escape this pain.

Ass, hips, throat. He's dripping with blood from these wounds and completely mindless, reduced to nothing but a horrible wheezing sound as waves of pain rack his body. His eyes go flat, devoid of all sentience as he droops in Lorsan's grip, broken.
 
Lorsan is growling, teeth gripping his newly claimed mate’s shoulder. Gradually, his senses are coming back to him, as the satisfaction of having staked his claim makes the rage fade. He can smell blood, taste it in his mouth. He can feel the Archmage limp in his arms. The heat of his body surrounds his cock, which still throbs with the last vestiges of his orgasm.

Lorsan lifts his head, teeth releasing the human‘s shoulder. He utters a quiet curse, then sighs. There’s guilt in his chest, but nothing to be done about it. They’re officially mated by dragon terms, even if it was done in anger and violence. Lorsan’s scent will be intermixed with the human’s, evident only to other dragons. He dips his head again, dragging his tongue across the fresh mating bite. This wound would heal as a silvery scar.

Lorsan can do nothing but wait while the swelling in his knot goes down. Even then, it’s a painful removal. At least the ridges on the underside have laid flat, no longer dragging against the Archmage’s inner walls. The purple glow around Lorsan has faded, but the ribbons of energy around the human’s wrists remain. Lorsan adjusts them, bringing the man’s hands around to the front. He picks the man up like one would a lover, cradled to his chest, and carries him to the bed at the side of the cavern. Another bit of magic creates a chain from the energy bindings to the wall. Lorsan can’t risk the Archmage attempting to throw himself to his death.
 
Iliro doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Barely even blinks. The only movement is the shaky rise and fall of his chest as hos breath shudders through him. His eyes are glazed over, completely devoid of life. If it weren't for his pained breathing, he could be mistaken for a corpse.

It's impossible to figure out what hurts most. And he doesn't have rhe power in him left to form singular though anyway, so he stares blankly straight forward, whichever way Lorsan turns, hokds, then lays him. All he can do is force his lungs to inflate with semi-regularity. He doesn't even try to rouse hinself, just drifts in the agony of what has been done to him.

His dark skin, now smeared with blood at his shoulders, waist, and between his thighs, is quickly turning clammy and pale. Not from bloodloss but from shock. It's hitting him hard, almost as violently as Lorsan had raped him. And as he lays there, boneless and thoughtless, his whole body begins to tremble as if he is suddenly cold. Then, aprubtly, he turns his head to the side and begins the heave straight bile onto the stone floor by the bed.
 
Lorsan is there to support him, brushing his hair back from his face. His touch is entirely different, now. Gentle, comforting, supportive. All Lorsan can do now is take care of his mate. Only time can heal the damage done, physical, mental, and emotional. When the human is finished vomiting, Lorsan shifts him further back onto the bed, pulling the furs over his body. He doesn’t want to leave him, but it will only be for a few minutes. He needs to get poultices from the healers.

With the Archmage chained to the wall and at no risk of reaching the cavern entrance, Lorsan takes dragon form and drops from his cavern. Those that had stayed on the main cavern floor had heard the screams, and could glean what had happened based off the lingering scents around their General. Yet none speak a word. It’s an awful thing, to claim a mate in violence, but they all share the same thought. Nothing to be done of it now. It’s punishment enough that the aggressor must then deal with the aftermath of being devoted to a mate now terrified of them.

Lorsan hurries to the spring, coming upon two healers working on the wounded dragonet Nayru. Though the ice spell hadn’t been powerful, one spike had caught the dragonet in the right eye. There was no saving it, not even dragon magic can restore something damaged beyond natural healing. Lorsan offers his comforts to the youngling, and his deepest apologies. Nayru’s life would be much more difficult now, and he would be forced to adapt to life with a single eye. The black dragon explains, very briefly, what happened after he had taken the Archmage away, and the healers provide him with poultice and soft cloth. He makes one brief stop in the Archmage’s cavern to collect a waterskin.

Lorsan has only been gone five minutes. Upon his return to his private quarters, Lorsan immediately changes to human form, moving to the bed. The first thing he does is gently prop up the Archmage’s head, bringing the waterskin to his lips. Soft murmurs encourage the human to drink. Next, Lorsan pushes the furs aside, setting to cleaning the wounds he’d caused, and cleaning the mess slowly dripping from the Archmage’s body.
 
Emptyness is a hell of a thing. Iliro had thought that having his magic taken away had left him empty.

This was so much worse, because now its not just his magic he can't feel. He can't feel anything. He doesn't feel fear, anger, grief. Anything. There's nothing inside him but that filthy pain. Water dribbles into his mouth and his body reacts instinctively, muscles contracting to swallow what is offered. Still, he stares straight ahead, hardly blinking.

Lorsan didn't even know his name.

Tears suddenly well in his eyes and now he does blink, making them spill down his temples into his hair. He sucks in a shuddering breath and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. He starts to move then, little, jerky movements of clumsy limbs as he mutters again.

Lorsan is still touching him, reaching between his legs.

He mutters again, this time just barely loud enough to be heard. "Stop." There is no inflection in his voice, its just as dead as his eyes. "Stop. Stop. Stop." He repeats it like a mantra, trying to move his body away from Lorsan and his cloth. "Stop it." There is no heat to his words. No urgency. It's like he isn't even aware he is speaking. "Stop. Go away. Stop." Meanwhile his body is try to push away across the bed, his movements jittery and uncoordinated. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop."
 
Lorsan's chest aches, the guilt like a stab wound. The Archmage's feeble attempts to move away, while not ignored, are gently brushed aside. Lorsan keeps the human on the bed, finishing in his cleaning of the man. His hold is gentle, but firm. The human is in no condition to be moving around.

Once the Archmage is clean, Lorsan applies the poultices to his wounds. It supplies a soothing sort of cooling, numbing the pain directly at the wounds. It does nothing for the internal pain of the human's stretched and invaded body. The poultices stick to his skin, drying enough to prevent the man from simply brushing them off. Only then does Lorsan move away from his mate, pulling the soft furs over his naked body.

Lorsan takes the time to clean the floor, both where the Archmage had vomited bile, and where his blood and Lorsan's seed had dripped to the stone in the bowl. He walks to the entrance to his quarters, pulling the tapestry across the entry. Then he takes dragon form, coiling his large frame into the bowl and setting his great head on the edge near the bed, so he can see the Archmage. Gradually, his body heat warms the cavern.
 
It takes forever for Lorsan to stop touching him. To be satisfied with his violation. As soon as Lorsan stops touching him and moves away, Iliro calms and goes still in the bed, returning to his inert state and staring up at the ceiling of the cavern. He doesn't react to it growing dark, nor to Lorsan moving about and changing forms. He is catatonic again, his breathing ragged and harsh.

Every breath is painful. He doesn't think Lorsan broke any ribs when the dragon knocked him about, but his chest feels tight and achey. There will be bruises from being tossed about, and from where Lorsan had held him, but once again Iliro is mindless, so he can't worry about it.

His breathing never evens out. He sucks each breath in, holds it for a moment, then expels it shakily. Over and over like this through the night. It takes hours for him to finally pass out, and when he does his breathing is still ragged. He doesn't move, doesn't dream. He is simply concious one moment and unconcious the next.

He still hasn't figured out my name.

Iliro doesn't stir in the morning. His breathing isn't as ragged anymore but it still shakes in his chest. He hasn't moved at all through the night, and he doesn't move now.
 
Lorsan has been in and out of sleep all night. Every time the Archmage's breath rattles a little louder, Lorsan wakes and watches him closely, fearing the damage had been too much. Come morning, the black dragon is tired, but he lifts himself from the hollowed stone floor regardless. He still has his duties to his Clan, and he needs to fetch fresh water and some sort of food for the Archmage.

Lorsan leaves the burnt orange tapestry across the entrance as he drops down, letting himself fall several dozen feet before snapping his wings open. He glides to the floor, where normal activities have resumed. Dragons bask in the pits, two of the three youngest dragonets running between them, and Alessa is on the dais with the teenagers. Yesterday's events have prompted a lesson on the value of courting a destined mate and building trust.

Lorsan turns his head to avoid the pitying look his historian gives him as he glides past. He heads for a deep green dragon with brown wing leather and a wide, flat isocele scale at the end of his tail. After a brief conversation, that dragon takes off to find five more to take with him on a patrol. Lorsan turns toward the Archmage's cavern to search for food; with the ice crystal having been broken from the icebox, he isn't entirely certain if he will find anything still good. Thankfully, he does find some previously frozen fruit, now thawed but still in good condition. There's also another waterskin on the shelf. Almost as an afterthought, he grabs several half burnt logs from the firepit. With these items in hand, he returns up to his private quarters.
 
The cave is cooler without a dragon to heat it. Alone, Iliro's eyes open and he stares unseeing up at the stone ceiling. He has decided: one way or another, he will end his life. The dragon (Iliro can't bear to use his name anymore) has created some sort of binding that keeps him tethered to the wall. And as satisfying as confronting such a fear might be, he knows none of the dragons below will let him take that route.

His stomach hurts. All of his body is a study in misery but his insides feel like someone scooped them out and put them in a thresher. And the pain where the dragon had violated him is terrifying to confront. It feels like fire up his spine and needles down his legs. He is in no condition to defend himself if the dragon decides to engage in a second round.

When said dragon returns, Iliro drops back into his catatonic state. He refuses all attempts to feed or water him, his lips pressed together in a thin line and his eyes staring straight ahead. Eventually, in an effort to make the dragon stop touching him, he closes his eyes.

What is he going to do? The dragon is never going to leave him alone again, he's sure of that. Should he do something to make the dragon angry? Goad him into striking out again, this time with the intent to kill? That would take effort, and energy, which Iliro just doesn't have. So he lays there, immobile and unresponsive through the whole day until he hears the patrol returning. Iliro opens his eyes and turns his head, staring over at the dragon. "I want to go back down." His voice is as dead as his eyes, his speech as dull as if it were coming from a magic construct.
 
Lorsan's attemps to give food and water to his mate are futile. His guilt dampens his frustration though, and eventually he just leaves the fruit and waterskin within the Archmage's reach. Defeated for the time being, Lorsan once again curls up in the floors bowl, head again nearby the bed.

Lorsan tries to feed the Archmage several times throughout the day, each time with no success. Soft words of encouragement do nothing, and he doesn't want to yell at the man again. Briefly, he leaves again to fetch pillows from the Archmage's cavern, setting one under the human's head and the rest around him in the effort of making him more comfortable. Then Lorsan makes an attempt at a nap. The patrol returning and the Archmage's deadpan request rouse him from light sleep.

"I can't allow that." Lorsan stands, silver eyes watching the man's face for several seconds, before he slips from the cavern entrance. The black dragon joins the patrol mid-flight, following them to the cavern flood. "Lorsan, we have new information." The green and brown dragon he'd chosen as patrol leader steps forward. "We came across a human military camp, and Veela took human form to get closer and listen in. Your mate came up as they were exchanging news with a scout. They call him Iliro. The human mage schools have sent nominees to the king's court, to present themselves for election to temporary acting archmage in his absence." The dragon's voices don't carry to Lorsan's private quarters far above.
 
Lifeless eyes follow the dragon as he leaves the cave, taking his warmth with him. Iliro stares for a moment, watching the way the dragon simply falls out of the cave entrance and wishes that he could do the same.

His very bones ache. Iliro rolls painfully onto his side and stares at his cuffed hands. There's no breaking this hex without his own magic, which means there's no leaving the immediate area. In this position he's laying half on-top of a pillow that the dragon had seen fit to tuck against him, and the way it cushions his arms is uncomfortable, so he pushes it off the bed onto the floor. More pillows follow after that until they're all on the floor.

There's something itching inside Iliro, deep down where the dragon had reached into his core and hollowed him out.

Iliro painfully scotches to the edge of the bed and rolls onto his front, dropping a foot to the stone floor. With a deep breath he pushes himself up with his hands until he gains his footing on the ground, ignoring the agony in his hips and legs. It feels like the dragon is biting him everywhere at once, but Iliro pushes through it until he simply can't, and he collapses to his knees amongst the pillows.

He grabs one up and throws it into the dragon's carved nest.

Iliro stares where it lands for a moment, his blank mind churning sluggishly. Then he picks up another pillow and throws it into the dip. Another follows, and then another until all the pillows are heaped in the stone pit where the dragon had-

He shakes his head and forces himself back to his feet, dragging furs off the bed one by one. these are heavier, and require more force to throw them across the room into the pit, but eventually tge bed is stripped bare.

Just like Iliro.

Still not satisfied, he picks up the food and the waterskin and tosses those into the pit as well.

More. Need more.

He can just barely reach the books on the shelves. Those come down and are thrown into the pit as well. then there's nothing left for him to throw, so iliro sinks to the ground beside the bed and curls up on his side, staring mindlessly at the cave entrance as he awaits his violator's return.
 
Iliro. Lorsan rolls the name around in his mind, a soft thrum going through his chest. The other dragons don't notice. He thanks them for the information, then heads to the spring to collect fresh poultices . Nayru is there, getting his poultice changed as well. Lorsan greets him, nuzzling his hip in encouragement for his bravery. A healer gives him a batch of poultice and sends him away.

Lorsan arrives to find everything thrown into his sleeping bowl, and the Archmage slumped on the floor beside the bed. There's irritation on his face, but also concern. Hopefully, he hadn't made his wounds worse by this small act of defiance. Taking human form, he ignores the mess at rhe room's center, moving toward Iliro. He sets the poultice down, out of the man's reach, and crouches down, not yet touching him.

"Iliro, look at me. Please." The Archmage's name rolls of Lorsan's tongue like a blessing, soft and sweet. Silver eyes swirl, a mix of unreadable emotions. Now that Lorsan has claimed Iliro, his eyes no longer dilate every time, but his scent still brings that sense of peace and calm.
 
Iliro doesn't look up because he hasn't fully processed that the dragon is there. He heard his name spoken dimly but it doesn't prompt a response. He lays slumped on the ground, one hand slightly outstretched, scratching lightly at the stone. The pointless, repetitive action is the only thing holding his attention, and it feels soothing to feel the rough rasp of stone against his fingertips.

Iliro becomes aware of the dragon's presence in little bits and pieces. First he notices the warmth has come back, and then he realizes that there is a person sitting in front of him. No, not a person.

A monster.

He realizes its the dragon that hurt him and thins his lips, just in case the bastard gets any ideas about trying tonfeed or water him again. Iliro wants to be left alone to melt into the stone that he keeps scratch, scratch, scratching.

He lifts his head, and thumps it back down. Lifts it up, lets it fall.

"You did..." his voice is quiet, still that dead tone. "You did something. We're like that dead dragon and the other one now. Mates. You mated me." It's not a question, it's an accusation.
 
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