Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

the π’œπ’»π’»π’Άπ’Ύπ“‡π“ˆ of π’Ÿπ“‡π’Άπ‘”π‘œπ“ƒπ“ˆ (sloth+blue)

Lorsan watches Iliro thump his head against the bed, glad the thick mattress pad, too heavy for the human to lift in his current state, is still on the bed. This quiet, emotionless man makes Lorsan's chest oull tight. He wishes the man would yell at him, even curse him. At least then, he'd get to hear some kind of emotion from the man. The accusation both stings, and makes pride swell in his chest. Lorsan stamps it down to keep it from showing on his face. "Yes, I mated you." No sense in lying to him now. No more excuses.

"You are my destined mate, Iliro. My one chance at a pairing. It's not how I would have wanted it it to happen, but it has. Our lives are forever intertwined now. You will have a dragon's lifespan, even if you leave." Lorsan pauses, clasping his hands together. "I can't allow you to leave, Iliro. But I won't let you die either."
 
"That's too bad." Iliro still won't look at him, and there is still no emotion on his face or in his voice. He doesn't talk for another moment, his fingers just scratch scratch scratching on the surface beneath his cheek. When he does speak again, his voice is stronger, but still empty.

"I don't want to die." He asserts. "I don't want to die, but I'm going to make it my mission to do so." He blinks because his body needs to, but otherwise he still lays curled up in a ball, staring blankly at the dragon's knees. "Whatever it takes, however long, I'm going to die. I hope it rips you apart. I hope you fall to pieces and your dens abandon you to rot." His voice is clear but still without any emotion. "You've destroyed my life. Ruined everything. It's only right I do the same to you." The scratching intensifies, still the only sign of life in the Archmage. "You can tie me up, put a dozen guards on me, lock me in a box. I'll find a way to end it, and I'll curse your name when I do. We are not mates, we are nothing. You are nothing but a monster and I hope you spend the rest of your long life suffering for it."

His soeech has sapped what strength he has left, so Iliro closes his eyes and goes still.
 
Iliro's words twist pain into Lorsan like a knife, and this time, it shows on his face. In the way his hands tighten together until his knuckles are white. He doesn't move until the Archmage has finished his quiet threats and cursing. Gently as he can, Lorsan lifts Iliro's body back onto the bed. The human is too weak to struggle against him. He sets to removing the old, dried poultices from Iliro's wounds, replacing them with the fresh ones. That cooling, numbing feeling takes the pain from the human's skin again.

Lorsan talks as he works. "The human mages are gathering to elect a new temporary archmage. My patrol overheard it while they were out. They also heard your name, Iliro." Lorsan pauses, then gently pulls Iliro onto his side. One hand lightly grasps the back of on thigh to pull his leg forward, the other fingers gingerly spreading the poultice between his cheeks. "Iliro is a strong name. It sounds like it's rooted in draconian origins." It's a far stretched guess, but it does almost seem like something a dragon would bear.
 
Iliro doesn't respond at first. He lets the dragon manipulate his body and change the poultices and chatter on, but Iliro keeps his eyes closed and his mouth shut. That is until he feels the dragon's hands spread his ass and brushing over his violated, torn hole.

Iliro kicks out like a rabbit. He brings his bent leg up and then rockets it back against the dragon's chest with every bit of strength he can muster which, despite his broken state, surges hot and fresh in the limb. The dragon is solid and it probably hurts Iliro's foot more than it hurts the dragon, but he brings his leg up and kicks again as he claws his way across the bed.

His eyes are open now, pupils contracted tight with feral fear as he scrambles away from his violator and off the edge of the mattress into a painful pile of limbs on the stone floor. "NO!" He screams it, emotion finally flooding his voice again: The emotion of pure, desperate panic. "NO MORE!"
 
The panic in Iliro's voice hits Lorsan far harder than the foot to his chest. He doesn't try to catch the man as he plummets back to the floor, but he can't stop the strained breath of frustration as he watches. He fears the man is going to hurt himself worse. He sets the remainder of the poultice on the floor at the side of the bed, then holds his hands up in a calming gesture. "Alright, it's alright, Iliro. I won't touch you anymore right now. But the poultice does need to be applied. I'll leave it here for you."

Lorsan moves away to clean up the mess at the room's center. He collects the books, piling them at the foot of the bed. He's putting them back in Iliro's reach, in case the human wants something to do. He does the same with the furs, and the pillows, putting them where the Archmage can reach them. The waterskins join the pile, but the fruit is gathered to be tossed.

Ten minutes later, Lorsan leaves the den. He doesn't want to be away from his injured mate, but Iliro needs time. He descends to the dais, where Alessa is entertaining the two young dragonets. It would be a couple days yet before Nayru would be allowed to rejoin them. The teenagers have gone with adults to Eden, to help shear sheep. Lorsan settles himself at Alessa's side in silence, seeking quiet comfort from his friend. She says nothing, but drapes her tail across his.
 
Iliro gathers himself into a terrified ball, pressed up against the wall he is magically tethered to. He buries his face in his knees and covers his head with his arms and he screams. He screams and screams and screams until his voice goes rough and his throat feels as torn as his insides.

Then he goes silent again and he slumps onto his side, facing the wall.

Iliro refuses to stay in the bed. Anytime the dragon tries to put him back on the mattress, Iliro makes his way back to his spot by the wall, laying on his side with his back to the cave. He refuses all food and water and the poultices. Anytime the dragon touches hin, he opens his mouth and ge screams until he can't anymore.

After two days of this though, he is growing weaker. His eyes are bruised from lack of sleep and dehydration. He can barely lift his head anymore and is far easier to move around. The whole time he hasn't once tried to cast any spells.

Even without the magebane, he can't feel his magic.

Iliro gets sick on the second day as his body begs for him to seek nourishment. He wakes up with a puddle of bile on the floor in front of him and merely scoots away from it before closing his eyes again. The bruises have faded, the bite mark has scarred, but Iliro still feels like his entire body is mangled and broken, held together only by his dry, parchment-thin skin.

The next time the dragon comes close to him, Iliro speaks in a weak, raspy voice. "I want to go back down." He demands again.
 
In the first day of screaming, Lorsan put up a barrier of energy across the entrance to his den, to block the screams from reaching the main cavern. His Clan doesn't need to hear the tortured sounds of his mistake. He doesn't give up on trying to care for his mate, bearing with the screams and struggles to apply fresh poultices. He stopped trying to put Iliro on the bed after the first few attempts, and instead keeps the floor around him clean. Any time that he's in the den, Lorsan hums soft lullabies, though he knows the quiet sounds do little to comfort the Archmage.

Lorsan's stress over caring for Iliro has meant his own self-care has lagged. Dragons can go days without food and be fine, but it doesn't stop Alessa from hounding him about eating. All the same, the black dragon has eaten very little. He also hasn't been caring for his scales, and they've lost much of their shine. In his human form, his long hair is a tangled mess, caused by fingers constantly running through the thick strands in anxious movements.

Lorsan approaches Iliro again at midday, replacing the platter of fruits with a fresh one, as well as the waterskin. Iliro doesn't touch the food and water, but Lorsan leaves it there regardless. He caught off guard when the Archmage makes a demand instead of screaming again. Lorsan takes this rare opportunity to make a small deal. "Eat, drink, and keep it down. Then I'll take you out for a while."
 
Iliro shakes his head. The movement is almost imperceptible because he has absolutely no energy in his weakening body to do so. "Not out." He rasps. "Not for a while." Wincing from the pain that comes with every movement, he rolls onto his back, away from the wall, and for the first time since before the rape, he meets the dragon's eyes. "Down. To the other cave. To stay." He wants to sit up but even that is lost to him, and he needs his strength to speak. "I want to go back to the old cave, and stay there. Away from you. Your scent, your warmth, your voice." He closes his eyes, exhausted.

"I can't stand being around you. You make me sick. And you have the audacity to use my name as if we are close." He opens his bruised eyes and peers blearily up at the dragon. "You want me to eat? Drink? You want me to let you play nursmaid after you... after you-" His face screws up in what looks like pain and he abruptly rolls away again, curling into a ball as unwanted tears spill from his eyes. He can't finish that sentence, can't face it.

For the first time since it happened, it hits him, hard, and now he's sobbing, his body shaking with his tears and his breath becoming uneven and rapid as he quickly starts to spiral.
 
Lorsan is silent, letting Iliro get everything out. He knows the Archmage hates him, can feel it all around him, emanating off the man. But he can't not take care of the human. Iliro is wasting away before his eyes, and Lorsan is doing everything he can, what little it is, to prevent it.

When Iliro starts shaking, sobbing, Lorsan moves closer. The man is too weak to struggle much, so he pulls Iliro into his lap, arms wrapped gentle around him. He tucks the Archmage's head under his chin, taking whatever weak blows he attempts. Lorsan is humming softly, doing his best to provide comfort. He knows Iliro doesn't want to be touched, but if he doesn't try to comfor the man, the panic attack he seems to be descending into is only going to get him hurt. "Breathe, Iliro. You need to breathe."
 
He struggles. He struggles to get away, to push the dragon off him. Being bundled into its lap only makes everything a hundred times worse. The dragon is on all sides, surrounding him, caging him in and it makes Iliro flail weakly in protest. A hand extricates from the dragon's grip and slaps up against his handsome face, pushing. "NΓ‘r!" It means fire, and its the first spell that comes to mind but there is no magic to call on. He slaps his hand against the dragon's face again and repeats it, louder. "NΓ‘r! NΓ‘r!"

It only takes a moment for his strength to peter out and he slumps as though dead in the dragon's arms, his hand still pushing weakly against his face. He's still repeating the word, trying to call on magic he hasn't been able to feel for days, trying to burn the dragon's pretty face to no avail.

Spent, his arm falls and he goes silent except for his pitiful sobs. "Go away, go away, go away, I don't want you."
 
Lorsan closes his eyes against Iliro's weak slaps. He recognizes the word for fire, but even he can tell the Archmage has no magic to call on. When Iliro's strength is spent, Lorsan's humming thrums in his chest, the reverberations felt against the human's shoulder. "No amount of apologizing will fix this, but I can't just let you fade away. You grow weaker by the day, Iliro. Soon, your body will be too weak to resist food and water. I can't take you back to the cavern on the ground until I know that you will feed yourself."

Lorsan is rocking them slightly, arms gently supporting Iliro upright. "I know you don't want me, and I know you hate me. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I've done. But I can't let you go."
 
Iliro cries, weak and miserable, against the dragon's chest. "Don't want you to make it up to me." He sobs, smearing tears against the man's chest. "I don't want you to apologize, I don't want anything from you but to leave me alone." His sobs renew and he curls up tighter.

"You... you-" Iliro drags his fist up and pushes it against the dragon's chest, trying to push away from him. "Please. Please, I'll do anything, I'll eat, I'll drink, just go away. Just leave me alone, let me go. I don't want you near me, I don't want you to even look at me. I don't care about your stupid dragon fated mate bullshit, I'll do anything if you just leave me alone forever." He pushes his fist against the dragon's chest again. "Please, please just go away, stop touching me, stop using my name, stop. Just stop, I can't... I can't..."
 
Iliro's pain, his begging to be left alone, breaks Lorsan's heart. He finally gives in, returning Iliro to the bed and setting a fur over his shaking body. Fingers gently brush the man's hair away from his face, then nothing. Silence. Lorsan has left the cavern. He doesn't go down to the floor, instead leaving the mountain. He needs to find something, anything, that will give Iliro a reason to live.

Hours pass before there's a sound of wingbeats at the cavern entrance. But it's not Lorsan that has come bearing fresh fruits and water. Alessa pads into the den, wordlessly taking human form. A simple white dress covers her thin but strong form, brushing the ground as she walks. She's surprisingly short for a dragon in this form. Mousy brown hair hangs to her shoulders, her eyes as green as her scales. Her horns are straight and sharp, like the spike of her dragon form. There's a wicked, jagged scar running the length of her left arm, from shoulder to wrist.

Alessa is silent as she exchanges the food and water, keeping her eyes respectfully away from the human. She doesn't expect him to say anything. The woman moves around, tidying the space a bit, piling the extra fur and pillows on the empty side of the bed.
 
It's not the dragon that hurt him. This is a different one, a female. He hadn't looked at her when she arrived, had only noticed the difference when she moved into his field of vision.

Had the dragon left him alone, finally?

It fills him with relief, but that is squashed down by guilt. Guilt for what he did when he'd tried to escape. He watches her putter around for a moment, silent and unblinking, until his exhausted mind can string together his jumbled thoughts.

"Is the little one..." His throat and his head hurt, and he feels like he's drowning in the sheer amount of different aches and pains in his battered body. "I thought... thought it was..." he still can't bring himself to acknowledge his violator's name, and he swallows it back down before he can say it outloud. "Him. Thought he was coming. Didn't ever want to hurt the little ones. Thought it was Him." His mouth feels like its full of grit and he swallows again, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth briefly. "Wouldn't hurt a child. No matter what they are. Thought it was Him. Little one... is the little one okay?" He asks. his mind is foggy and he's having trouble focusing on the words he wants to get out. "Didn't ever mean to hurt them... they're just babies... even if they can bite me in half... didn't wanna hurt babies..."
 
Alessa hears Iliro speak, but doesn't look at him until he asks about the dragonet he injured. Those green eyes burn with anger, but it's not an anger she will act on. This pitiful creature before her has been through enough, has endured the rage of a dragon. Alessa folds her arms over her chest, seeming to think for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she sits down on the edge of the mattress pad. "Your spell took his left eye, he will never get that back. But he will live. He will adapt."

Alessa turns her head to stare at Iliro, then leans down to pick up the waterskin. "Will you take water from me?" It's almost a rhetorical question as she slides one hand beneath Iliro's head; he'll either drink or he won't. Alessa tips his head up, bringing the mouth of the waterskin to his lips.
 
He flinches when she touches him becuase he expects her to hurt him. Welcomes it even, but she lifts his head and tilts a waterskin to his lips. Eincing, Iliro shakes his head and raises his hand to grab at her wrist. There's no stremgth to it, he might as well have draped a ribbon over her wrist for how much strength there is behind the movement. He pulls pathetically at her hand, trying to drag it away from his mouth.

"Please, please don't. Please just let me die. Please-" He shakes his head and finally turns it away from her. "He's going to do it again. He's going to do it again and I can't take it." There's finally life in his eyes again as he turns back to face her, desperate and pleading. "You want to kill me, I hurt the little one. You don't even have to do it yourself. Just break the spell." He begs, indicating the magic tether. "Please, don't let him do it to me again. Don't let him hurt me again, please, I know things. I know magic. I'll tell you where to find all my research, I'll tell you everything I know about the king's armies-" He bursts into tears and tries to push her away. "Please, please please please just make it stop."
 
Alessa sighs and lays the Archmage's head back down, setting the waterskin back on the floor. She doesn't move away when Iliro pushes at her, but she doesn't touch him again either. Hearing him beg for death only irritates her, but her platonic love for her General will always outweigh any sort of care she might feel for the pathetic human. Instead, she turns her back to him, speaking quietly.

"Lorsan won't touch you in such a manner again. He has learned his lesson, just as you have learned yours. I may hate you for bringing harm to a dragonet, but I cannot kill you, human. I know all too well the pain of losing a mate. I will not inflict that upon my General." Silence for a moment, then, "Lorsan left the mountain. He hasn't eaten in days, same as yourself. I sent a patrol after him, but no one can find him. The rainstorm season is coming." Rain is dangerous to a dragon caught in it. It cools the body, and a cold dragon is a dead dragon.
 
The name makes him flinch again and he rolls away, covering his ears. He doesn't want to hear about Him. Doesn't care. Maybe if he dies out there in a rainstorm, the other dragons will out Iliro out of his misery.

After a moment he rolls onto his front and gets his hands under himself on the mattress, pushing himself up with such extreme effort that it leaves him dizzy. "The little one... the little one that I hurt. I didn't want to, didn't mean to." He kneels there, head hanging between his shoulders. "I swear by the gods, I never meant to. I'd give my own eye, I swear, I don't hurt little ones." He shakes his head and tries to sit up, but then his strength leaves him again and he flops face-first onto the mattress, shaking. "Please... I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what I did... please, I am so sorry, I don't deserve forgiveness for it, but I am begging you to take me back down, to get me away from him." He lays on his stomach, his face turned away from her and his eyes squeezed shut. "Just take me back to the other cave so I don't have to be in this room where he... where... where he is. Where he did it. Just... please. Please, I'll do whatever he wants just get me out of here."
 
Alessa actually moves to catch the human when he falls, just barely stopping short of touching him. At least he doesn't fall face-first to the floor. She chews her lower lip, thinking. After a long moment of watching him tremble, she sighs heavily. "It would make it easier to look after you without having to fly all the way up here.." Alessa sighs again, then rolls Iliro onto his back.

"Listen to me carefully, human. You are the only way I have of knowing if he's still alive. You can feel his lifeline, even if you don't want to. And don't even try lying, I'll see right through it." Alessa stands, one right hand rubbing the length of the scar on her left arm. "I'll take you down, but only if you promise to eat and drink. Fail to do so even once, and I'll bring you right back up here. Do I make myself clear?"
 
Iliro stares up at her with desperation, clinging to every word. He is nodding before she even asks him if he understands. "Yes. Yes." He flops a hand in her direcrion amd wraps it around her wrist again as he closes his eyes and...

He tries to feel this lifeline. It hurts him to do so; he opens himself just like he does when he meditates and forces himself to focus.

He brings a picture of Lor--of Him into his mind. Recalls his voice, his warmth.

It nauseates him, which only worsens when he can feel the other. He can feel his guilt, his anger, his- Iliro whines and shakes his head, snapping hinself out of the meditation. "Alive, he's still alive. He's upset, somewhere South I think. Feels like south, feels warm. Please-"

He squeezes her wrist and opens his eyes, now filled with tears again. "He's alive, I swear. Now please, get me away from here before he comes back."
 
Alessa touches the Archmage's wrist when hers is grabbed, watching his face with narrowed eyes. The whine makes her grip tighten slightly, before Iliro's words make her relax. South. He must have gone to the deserts, to the Clan there. Alessa rubs a thumb across the Archmage's wrist. It would seem this human will be her responsibility now. No other dragon would care for him.

Alessa waves her hand, and the purple energy bindings fade away. However, she keeps hold of Iliro's wrist. In doing so, as she takes dragon form, her claws curl carefully around the human's weakened body. She picks him up, leaving Lorsan's private quarters. Her landing is not as gentle as the black dragon, hopping twice before folding her wings at the entrance to the cave the Archmage had started in. The purple tapestry is gone, not replaced, leaving the cave open to the main cavern.

Dragons in the basking pits halt their conversations to watch their historian. As Lorsan's right hand, they don't question Alessa's actions, but they are curious. However, a glare from the green dragon has them all turning away again. She sets Iliro down a moment, her body hiding his naked one from view. Returning to human form, she shakes her head, silently admonishing Lorsan in her mind for not providing clothing for his mate.

Alessa picks Iliro up, much like Lorsan had, cradled to her chest. She's barely taller than the man, so it looks a little awkward, but she holds him securely. Alessa carries him into the cavern, laying him on the soft cottons of the bed. The first thing she does is cast new energy bonds, these the same green as her scales, flecked with yellow. This chain is long enough to allow Iliro to venture as far as just outside the cave entrance. Then she dresses the man, the clothing passing through the bonds as if they're not there.
 
He doesn't panic at the feeling of falling or flying this time. In fact, his relief is so thick he falls asleep in her claws. This new crying jag has broken down what little is left of his resolve, and touching Lor-the dragon's mind has put him back in that listless state. He doesn't stir when they land, nor when Alessa lays him down or picks him up. It's not until she is dressing him that he startles awake again, and for a moment his eyes are wild and full of panic. He reaches for magic and feels only the endless sucking void so he goes limp.

Then he recognizes the room he is in and relaxes, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. "Thank you..." He wheezes. "Thank you."

Iliro is like a ragdoll in her hands and the only reason he doesn't do anything to help is because he knows he would only be a hindrance. When she's done, and he is dressed in loose, soft clothes, he opens his eyes again. "I don't think I can stomach much, but I'll eat. I swore. And water. What are you going to do when he comes back?" His voice is weak and when he mentions the other dragon, a tinge of fear colors his words. "Are you going to keep him away from me? Will he let you? He wants me to be his m-mate and I... I don't want that, I can't. I won't, I don't care what it does to him, I can't do it again. He almost killed me, I think it will if he does it again." His weak voice is growing frantic and he reaches for her again, desperate for her to understand his terror.
 
Alessa allows the human to grab her hand, rubbing her thumb across the back of his. A small, meaningless comfort. Then she pulls her hand away, standing from the bed. His panicked questions make her scowl. β€œI donβ€˜t know. For a time, perhaps. But he is my General, and current Clan leader.” She starts toward the cave entrance. There’s no food or water here, so she must leave to go get some. ”Try not to think about it for now. If he has gone south, then he has returned to the Clan of his birth, in the deserts. For what reasons, only the gods know.β€œ

Alessa returns to Lorsan’s quarters, collecting the waterskins and food. As an afterthought, she brings the stack of books along. Maybe the Archmage can learn something about them while he’s here, after all. Upon her return, the books are left on the table, and she brings the food and waterskins to the bed. β€œDo you need help, human?”
 
Iliro can't help but think of it. His exhausted mind conjures up visions of the dragon returning and dragging Iliro back up to his cave to violate him again and he almost protests when Alessa leaves. The Archmage--.... well... according to the dragon, he may not even be that anymore. The human flops back against the pillows and remains silent as she leaves. He's almost slipped into unconciousness when she returns, and startles awake when she speaks.

Iliro starts to shake his head, then stops and stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. "I... yes." He finally admits. "I'm sorry, I know I don't deserve your help but I... need it. Can... can you just help me sit up for now? I'll try the water, first."

He takes the water like he promised, though his sickly body revolts as it touches his tongue. Iliro bears down and powers through and even though he only takes small sips so he doesn't immediately throw it all back up, it feels like Alessa is forcing it down his throat through a tube. He can only manage half the waterskin before he grows too queasy. All the food she has to offer him is daunting, but he tries a few bites of fruit and the corner of a piece of bread before he has to stop. "Just... just give me a moment I..." His face is tinged green and his eyes are watering. "I'll try again. My stomach just needs to settle."
 
Alessa presses his lips into a thin line. She’s loathe to help Iliro, even though she offered, but he’s the only link she has to Lorsan. He’s never left the Dens before or during the rainstorm season, and she’s worried he will try to fly back through the rain. Alessa sits behind Iliro, helping him sit up and letting him lean against her body. Her hands hold whatever is needed in front of the human, and only her torso and biceps touch him, to support him.

Alessa sees the green tinge and scowls. β€œThat’s what you get for not eating. If you throw up on me, human, I swear to the gods, I will dunk you in the bathing pools.” She pauses, then her scowl deepens. β€œMaybe I should do that anyway, you stink.” She sits still, waiting to see if Iliro will try to eat more, or vomit.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom