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How many nights had it been since last he'd slept? How many mornings had he found himself here in his forge, missing the first rays of the rising sun on his ledge?
He'd lost count....
Once again, here he was, in the dead of night, with no shirt to protect his flesh from the dancing sparks, dressed only a comfortable, faded pair of Levis and his lace-up hunting boots. The fires of the forge were the sole illumination in one of the only rooms in the Keep that was not built to dragon sized proportions, and that was how he wanted it. The glow flickered off the beads of sweat that were beginning to form across his brow and slide down his face, amber trickles in the flame-borne light.
Ping...ping...ping...
Callan's hammer struck the glowing bar as it lay on the anvil, a priceless treasure in and of itself, it had been his as an apprentice, and the Emperor had relocated it here afterwards...
Ping...ping...ping...
His forge here reminded him of Owen's forge, and Owen was the human who'd taught him to give a lump of ore shape, how to 'order' the emerging blade and make it free from the influences of Chaos. Owen had been one of the few humans gifted enough to work adamantine, DragonSteele, and he had taught Callan all he knew, and in time, the apprentice surpassed the master, for despite his skill, Owen had never made a sword that could sing under the hammer, before the tempering by water, as well as after being completed.
No human ever had...and neither had any half-elven smith...and it was then Owen knew Callan's blood for what it was...Dragon blood. Callan could make steel, any steel, sing, and still, he allowed Callan to ask for Task, still he had treated him as one of his own sons...
Nargus had stolen that new family, that new life from him in the course of a few hours...and now, after all had been said and done, after the he'd lost his first love, Nargus had found new life.
It hardly seemed fair...yet in over 9000 years of living, Callan new the first rule of living: Fairness was an ideal, a fanciful dream, and the Fates did not rule by the ideals of mortals.
Pingpingping
The reverberation off the adamantine bar began to run together, creating a harmonizing hum between each hammer strike. It was coming to life, finding its soul, its voice, its purpose.
Callan's shoulders bulged as the hammer flashed up, then pounded the fledgling blade again in three stikes, setting the rythmn to the hum. How long would it before he could sleep again without dreams? How long would it be before his sire's citadel was found and his ilk destroyed? The Emperor had sworn by Flame and Chaos to find him, to strike first, and stike without mercy, for those he loved depended on it.
How long would it be until emerald eyes, faceted or not, and flame colored hair could be forgotten and would no longer be the last thing he thought of at night?
He could still smell her, taste her, hear her voice and ever since that night, since their joining in the bathing pool, the D'Riel mark that wound about his right wrist had writhed and itched, an insane sensation that had spread to his inner forearm; it begged him to claw his skin until it ran with iron-laced blood.
How long would it be before Callan could look at Galain Alcarin and call him friend without shadows of guilt in his ice blue eyes?
That one was easy...
Never again...
Ping...PINGPINGPING...
The adamantine let out a screech of protest as Callan broke the rythmn, and snarling the Dragon Emperor cast his hammer against the wall, shattering the wooden display shelves and sending unassembled blades and hilts, daggers and broadheads collapsing to the stone floor.
In the resulting clattering rain of steel, Callan failed to hear the lock turn and the door behind him swing silently open...then just as silently, close. Another hammer was found, and so intent was Callan in heating the bar once again by his own touch, he failed to sense the figure lingering in the shadows behind him, failed to see the tell-tale thermal outline of a living, breathing person.
And the Pull in his veins often tricked him when skinwalkers were involved....
Stealing the key had been a monumental thing for Galain. He'd known where to find it, not looking too far as he'd entered the memory room of the cottage he shared with Tay. He'd picked it up, rubbed his fingers over it as he mentally debated and then, he'd gone.
Galain entered the forge, smelling the familar tang of steel and fire, breathing in hard against the heat. 'Lain growled quietly within himself and the elf told him to shush. He just wanted to listen for a moment while he stared.
No mark. None that he could see. No mark at all. Maybe he was just missing it. The wrong angle? He strode forward suddenly and grabbed Callan by his upraised arm, eyes wide, nostrils flared as he stared hard into the other's eyes.
"Where's the mark? Why don't you have the mark?" He demanded.
So lost in his obsession with bringing life to the glowing blade, Callan was surprised by the abrupt stop in the downward procession of his right arm and the feel of another's hand on his wrist. Instinct controlled his reaction as Callan brought the now silent blade up, its point glowing white and yellow.
It stopped only a hair's breath from Galain Alcarin's throat.
Time seemed to jump ship on Araxmarr as his eyes locked onto Galain's and it was several long seconds before he could make sense through his Rage who held him...and how he'd gotten here.
"I see someone finally decided to use the key. So it comes to this then, Alcarin?"
The glowing point never wavered, and neither did Callan's eyes.
"What mark do you speak of? I have no mark, other than what you see...and why should I?" The emperor grated out through clenched teeth.
So Galain knew?
Callan had made a vow to An'Thaya...despite the fact he had become an oath-breaker, and despite knowing Galain had discerned the truth, Callan would not speak of it first....
Galain froze when he found himself the focus of a glowing-white blade. One move and he would die, there was no question. He stared at the newly-formed weapon, then brought his eyes up to Callan's.
"Bondmark," Galain grated out. "You've lain with her. The marks are unmistakable." He felt the heat wrapping itself around them as he stared levelly into Araxmarr's eyes.
"Bondmark you say?" Callan asked his head tilting slightly to the right as he eyed Galain. His voice was deadly soft, barely carrying over the roar of the fires, topaz eyes continued to glow softly in the dim light.
"Aye...I lay with her, though I swore to not speak of it, but why would I be bonded to her?" Callan hissed as he watched Galain's eyes, looking for the waver that meant the elf was going for a blade. Surely he wasn't fool enough to come here unarmed?
"You raped her?!" Galain spat out the accusation, his hunting knife suddenly appearing in his hand and deflecting the hot metal away from himself. In a mad fury he grappled Callan around his middle and drove him hard across the smithy. "You raped her! The mark only goes to those she lies with willingly!" The knife scraped up Callan's bare torso as Galain yelled. He hadn't expected his friend to just nod and say yes. It stunned and angered him. And it infuriated him.
"Raped?"
That word stunned Callan long enough to allow Galain to find his knife and shove the glowing dragonsteele away in a shower of sparks, and long enough for the edge of that knife to find Callan's ribs. No, he'd never intended to lie, should the truth ever be known and Galain ever question him, what he hadn't expected was his reaction to the legitimate questions of a friend who deserved to know the truth. What he hadn't expected was to be confronted like this, his nerves on edge, waiting to hear word where his sire's locaton was, waiting to either attack or be attacked, exhausted from lack of sleep and half wild from keeping as much distance between he and his mate as possible.
Things simply got too blurry for him otherwise....
Callan's back crashed into the wall, the hammer and steele clattered to the floor and a roar of anger tinged with laughter began to well up in his throat.
He'd done many cruel and hateful things in his life...but never had he raped anyone...at one time, to him the finer way of breaking a woman was to gain her trust, take her again and again, and when she was sated and completely exhausted, make her look him in the eye as he very slowly, and very painfully took her life.
"Raped? Perhaps it would make things easier for everyone if I had..." The dragon snarled and shoved Galain away, his sides heaving and beginning to run with blood from where Galain had scraped his flesh.
"Rape is a far cry from what happened Galain Alcarin..." Callan's voice softened only marginally, the abruptly went back to the quiet, grating tone as he lowered to a crouch, black armguards slid around Callan's forearms covering him from elbow to wrist, bringing a grimace to his face as the black D'Riel mark seemed to go crazy, as if not wanting to be covered.
"And I suggest if you want to continue this brawl, you put that down and pick up something larger...elf..."
Galain's skin prickled when Callan spat out the word "elf". If he'd been thinking more rationally he would have approached Callan more intelligently and simply questioned. Then he would have attacked. But no, he'd sneaked on in here and outright attacked.
"You slept with my wife. You broke the trust I gave you. You took advantage of her. I'm having a difficult time with that," Galain growled out, sheathing his hunting knife and snatching up a nearly finished sword from the fallen shelves. A lot of things flashed through the elf's mind: Adarin's face, a prolonged amount of time not spent with Tay of late, the confusing image of Agaru's eyes looking through Tay's body. He attacked recklessly, hating Callan absolutely for the moment and quashing down the conflicting emotions reeling through his mind.
Callan's body twisted away at the last moment as the unfinished blade narrowly missed his guts, and turned, facing Galain's back, his back to the fires, his body in a loose crouch, blue eyes met sea green.
"It was not lightly I made the decision to break that trust, and it has not been easy to live with my decisions." Callan spat out. He had no justification, no excuse. He had taken what was not his, and granted, Agaru was his, their souls were one, but An'Thaya was not...and never would be.
Callan had known the difference...and that changed everything.
"Would you like me to make it easy for you, elf?" Callan slowly straightened, opening his arms wide and a crooked smile adorned Callan's face, "And just let you kill me now? Is that how this is to end?"
Not lightly. Galain heard the words and grimaced, then snarled. Not lightly. He felt Callan at his back. He turned about, meeting Callan's eyes, wondering why the other hadn't struck, sickened over the answers that sprang to his mind. He met his friend's blue eyes and wavered at last.
"No," he answered. He never wanted it easy. And yet he did.
He heard every word Callan spoke, took it all deeply into his heart.
"No," he repeated, certain Callan was his better. He was honorable, he was truthful, he had taken only what had been offered. The elf fell to his knees, dropping the half-made sword.
"No," he said again.
Callan's eyes narrowed as his arms slowly lowered. He knew there was no way Galain's rage could be spent, and his own was still there, boiling just beneath the surface. The emperor had the suspisicion he was being baited, but despite the prickle of warning that ran up his back, warily approached the elf...no, not elf, his friend.
He'd not returned the attack, no. But not because he was Galain's better, but because, perhaps, he was somehow less. The dragon could not...would not, carve Galain to ribbons, not if there were another way out of this. He was a coward truth be told, and would only fight to keep his head on his shoulders, though he deserved every bit of retribution Galain could muster.
"Galain?" Callan spoke softly, as he approached, his eyes watching every move of Galain Alcarin, "I thought she was my own mate...and when I knew the differance...I have no words to apologize to you with, nothing I can say can undo what has been done."
And would he? Would he undo it all?
The answer was simple enough.
No.
But the consequences were far from painless.
No, Galain's rage was far from spent. He remained on his knees, repeating the word "no" in a low voice until Callan approached. He looked up, staring into his friend's eyes.
"You thought she was your own mate? You made love to my wife's body -- you -- No! You can't undo anything! It's all been undone anyway." The elf spat out the words, his sword arm snaking out to strike a blow at Callan as he lurched to his feet and grabbed the other by his neck.
"I don't want your apology! I just want you dead!" Galain cried out.
Callan was not surprised by Galain's lunge...what surprised him was the strength in the elf. Speed he knew Galain had as well as strength, but this was more than he'd expected. The blow to his ribs left him sucking in air through gritted teeth, Galain had caught him where he'd already filleted the flesh open, and fresh blood began to run down Callan's abdomen, soaking his jeans once again.
Snarling and choking, Callan felt the momentum of the elf carry him backwards, and felt his knees hit the low wall that enclose the forge fires. One hand went to Galain's wrist, his fingers slowly prying fingers back, then Callan felt the searing heat...and realized Galain had him over the coals...literally.
"If..." Callan choked out, "you kill me now..." Galain's fingers were almost removed, "the Keep is" Callan gasped for air and fought to hold his head out of the fire and the elf's iron-grip away from his throat, "yours...."
Such were the laws of the Dragon...the slayer of the Emperor could take the throne and all that belonged to the former ruler...and that included his enemies, as well as allies.
"But so help me..." Callan tightened his hold on Galain's wrist as a razor sharp black blade hissed into the air from the emperor's left arm guard, dangerously close to Galain's body, "I'll rip your guts out before I leave the Diirlathe at the mercy of Nargus..."
It would be easy enough to end it now...to let Galain win, to let the elf cut his throat and cast this half-elven form into the fires, but one thought finally made him fight.
An'Thaya was not his...but the Diirlathe was, and all those who had sought refuge here were his to protect.
And Nargus would only START with the Diirlathe...
Not a lot was penetrating Galain's enraged mind. He just knew he had Callan in a rather tight position and one shove, one slice and the Emperor would die.
"That's all you can think of? Your throne and the Keep?" Something did finally worm its way through Galain's thoughts and he tried to twist his wrist out of Callan's grasp. His knee came up suddenly, connecting at that tenderest of junctures on a man's body and the elf tried to yank himself away and regain a superior position of strength.
"My wife is unconscious, not herself. She's cut every bond she has. That bitch you call a mate wouldn't even let me stay to help Tay. And all I can think is that it's your fault. We were fine. We were all fine and then you slept with her and now... now we're not fine!"
Galain was an exceptionally unlikeable person right now as he brought the sword down on Callan in a deadly arc, murder his absolute intention.
Callan might be pure dragon with the tendrils of half-elven soul...but even dragons had tender places...and Galain knew it.
Showers of light exploded into Callan's vision along with roiling nausea, and finally, the word bitch and the orange-lit arc of a dragonsteele blade cut through the red haze that clouded Callan's sight.
"That bitch," the Emperor dropped free of Galain, his wrist and the dragonscale blade jerking upwards as Callan hit the floor. The elf-swung blade clanged against the stone where his neck had been with a shower of sparks, "Is ALL that keeps me from impaling you and hanging your body on the outter walls from your intestines..."
Growling, Callan hooked his ankle around Galain's and jerked, setting the elf off-balance as the dragon rolled away and staggered to his feet.
"And things were NOT okay...Alcarin..." Callan had came up, a long-ago finished war-axe in his hands, one of many in the pile of scattered weapons and an axe made for Demarr, a dwarven warlord. One that had never been given to its intended owner, it had been in Callan's forge when Nargus had burned Task's home and everyone in the village.
In a breath, the emperor lunged for Galain, his black scales clattering into place and forming the House armour over a crimson shirt, not that it would help, Galain was waving around an adamantine blade. Callan's momentum carried them both to the ground, and his bulk held Galain pinned, the handle of the war-axe shoved against his throat with all Callan's strength.
"When was the last time you took in her scent...just because it made you hard?" Callan leaned forward, whispering, "...just because her scent is completely intoxicating? Tell me...what does she smell like, do you remember? When was the last time you let yourself get lost in her...and thought of only her? And that BITCH is as much a part of your WIFE as her own beating heart, you bastard..."
Callan shoved down on the handle with his full weight, snarling, his Rage gathering and consuming him.
Galain was struggling to breathe, his legs and arms writhing as he struggled to find purchase on the floor and make some sort of escape from the position he was in. His breath rattled and he tried not to listen to Callan. He didn't want to hear what the other was saying. He was more or less repeating what An'Thaya had said to him, what he'd felt in his heart, what Agaru had tossed at him. Frantic, the elf swung the sword upward and slammed the flat of its blade against Callan's head, desperate to relieve the pressure on his throat before he gathered himself together long enough to spit in the Emperor's face.
"Shut up!" He hissed. "It was all right! Things were fine!" He protested.
Nothing was all right. The sane part of him was shouting at him to stop. He was destroying a friendship and alliance. He'd destroyed his marriage. He would destroy everything if he kept up his deranged behavior.
The sword swung again, weakly, catching Callan's back and ribs somehow. Balefire crackled between Galain's fingers and he clamped his hand against Callan's face, determined to get the heavier man off him.
Callan's teeth ground together as the balefire began crawling under his skin, burning him from the inside out...but to let go would be to give Galain another chance to kill him. Blood began to drip from his back, the attempt to slice him open, though weak had been sucessfull and the blackred liquid splattered against the elf beneath him and rolled to the floor.
With a final roar of agony, black wings, glowing translucent in the firelight, burst from his back and spread wide in response to the pain coursing through to the very marrow of his bones.
"DAMN YOU!"
Callan howled as the tore himself away, then stumbled back, and blinded with pain and balefire, landed on his knees. For several precious seconds, the dragon shook his head to try to free himself of the burning balefire and enRaged when his vision remained blurred, threw the axe with all the strength he had in the direction of Galain's breathing.
Shimmering waves of heat began building around the tips of his fingers, waiting for the sound and the scent of the elf he knew was nearby.
"Damn YOU!" Galain retorted, eyes widening for an instant when Callan's wings broke forth. He could barely speak, but he was moving out of sheer will, desperate to get back to his feet. He had just straightened when the axe slashed through the air and slammed hard into his shoulder, propelling him backward. A shout of pain shot through him as he realized his arm was no longer attached. Without thinking he clasped his left hand to his shoulder, using the balefire to cauterize the wound as swiftly as possible, tears of pain blinding him for a moment before he realized he was in further trouble. With a snarl he dropped to his knees, wresting the adamantine sword from his own fingers.
One very small part of his brain was gibbering madly that he really should have stopped a while ago.
The shout from Galain confirmed where the elf was...Callan's vision had gone dark from the balefire attack, his eyes forever unseeing, the nerves damaged beyond repair. The glow at Callan's fingertips flared white hot with tongues of blue and yellow, the low roar of gathering dragonfire began, a sound like a blow torch that grew deafeningly loud.
Callan's body was shaking with agony and Rage, even the adrenline rush he was under could not prevent the balefire's gnawing pain. The dragon had heard the sound of the blade as it was dragged across the stone floor, Galain had picked it up. Both hands lifted high, his hearing tracking the footsteps and the heavy breathing of Galain Alcarin...one...more...step....
So this then was how it was to end?
Callan blind and on his knees with a sword of his own making through his chest? Galain turned to ash, incincerated by one who once called him friend?
That last step was taken...the sound of the blade whispering through the air...and with a mighty heave, Callan cast his flame....
Ro was still in the Diirlathe, having taken advantage of the break to escape his duties in S’Hea. He was playing King Hooky, and had been enjoying every moment of it. He was in the process of getting read to go home at the moment; morning was just breaking in Whispin, though it was still the middle of the night here. Silverthorn had gone back to the Palace ahead of him, as he had promised to meet Ghet at her Cottage in S’Hea. He figured she had arrived the evening before, spending the night there with Rhagi and taking advantage of the time to recharge her Elven blood.
He was just doing up the laces on his trousers, when the Blackthorn Dragon on his left arm went nuts. The S’Hean King sucked in a breath and scratched at it, watching the thing writhe in the dim light of the room. He ignored it for the moment, pulling on his hunting boots and collecting his weapons. It was then, that the Web suddenly shrieked to life and the Patriarch howled in surprise, stumbling when a wave of pain and rage washed over him. Whirling around blindly for a moment, Ro caught his bearings and found his way to the door, instinctively following the source.
It took several minutes at a dead run and knocking over a startled servant before the half-elf found his way to the doors of a room he had never been in, the searing heat as he approached telling him what manner of room it was right away. Without bothering to knock he flung the door open, then froze as he stepped into the room.
The sight that greeted his eyes was startling to say the least, perhaps horrifying if he had been someone else. But he was Ro, after all, and he merely blinked in shock for a moment, staring at the maimed Elen in silence before reality booted him in the ass. “Aire Rilme! Callan! Stop!”
A century ago, Y’Roden would have hesitated. A century ago, Galain would have died where he stood, and Ghet would have belonged to Ro. It would have been easy, after all, to claim he hadn’t been fast enough. Life and circumstances had changed, however, and it was the split second decision on the S’Hean Kings behalf that saved the blonde elf’s life. The heavy chestnut haired elf tossed himself at the Emperor, knocking him to the side just before the flames burst from his fingers. The inferno singed past Galain, licking up the walls and shooting up the airshafts, sucking the air out of the room and scalding the skin.
“HOLY HELLS!” Ro bellowed, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!”
"I'm killing him!" Galain replied, his voice hoarse. But he knew that wasn't quite true anymore. The sword dropped from his hand and he sank down, realizing suddenly just how close he'd come to being incinerated. "Killing each other," he mumbled before he gasped and doubled over. Where Callan's blood had spattered on him he burned. The pain at his right shoulder was agonizing and later he might have to admit to having a rather unnatural tan thanks to the heat that had swept past him instead of over him.
"I'm trying to kill him," the Elen couldn't get much past that particular point and fell over in a heap.
Callan's Rage had not gone out as quickly as his dragonfire, his unseeing eyes still glowing as the Rage burned within. He'd not expected to survive the last few seconds and to find himself alive, all be it tackled by Y'Roden D'Riel, was something of a shock, and yet one thought continued in his mind.
"Let me up, D'Riel..." Callan ground out and shoved against Y'Roden, and found himself too weak to remove the half-elf.
"So help me...I'll kill him...GODS! LET GO OF ME! I can smell him...I can still hear his heartbeat...Where is he!"
“Nobody is going to kill anyone,” Ro growled, “What the hell is the matter with you two? The last time I checked, your Houses were allied. I don’t think hacking each other to pieces is part of the agreement. At least, no one informed me of it. What the hell could be so bad that things would come to this?” Still maintaining his hold on Callan the half-elf looked from one man to another; stunned by the damage the two had inflicted upon each other.
Sitting up, Ro kept the Emperor pinned and a wary eye on Galain. The two had their own animosities, and he had no wish to take a sword through the back at the moment. “Ghettie and Thaya are going to kill you,” he muttered as he took in the Elen’s bodily damage. “Sweet Goddess…”
Galain managed to turn his head and stare upward, his eyes dull with pain.
"Ghet might, I don't know about Tay. I know nothing about Tay." He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. "Let me kill him, please? I want to finish it. I have to." If he could he'd just heft himself up, find that sword, beat Y'Roden off Callan and finish the job.
And pigs fly.
“What?!” The tone of Ro’s voice went up and down as he attempted to keep the struggling Emperor down, “What are you talking about? Thaya is your wife, how can you not know anything about her?” Perplexed emerald greens eyed Galain, narrowing slightly, “I really don’t get any of this. The two of you were getting on fine a few weeks back. What’s changed?” Of course, there had been a time when he had got along with Galain just fine too … until Ghet. Something whispered in the back of Y’Roden’s mind, but somehow eluded him.
“Knock it off,” he growled at Callan, frustration tingeing his tone. What the hell was he going to do now? The two of them were bound to kill one another if he healed them, and he couldn’t ask anyone else to help. This was a private moment, and the last thing he wanted right now was to upset Ghet or An’Thaya. Both redheads had been in fragile states of mind.
Shifting his grip on Callan he gave the other man a slight shake, “Listen to me! I’ll heal you and let you up, but you have to swear to me on our alliance that you will WALK AWAY. I can’t let you kill him, as much as I would like to.”
Callan finally stilled, his eyes flickering up to where he assumed Y'Roden's were. Topaz eyes were beginning to turn milky white, only the faintest shade of blue showed through.
"On our alliance?" Callan barked out in mad laughter, and rolled his head back against the floor. "Oh godddsss! On our alliance! Oh yes! For what its worth, I swear on our alliance not to finish the job...but walk away? How about if I just stay right here for now? Considering I can't see a damn thing TO walk away...Gods' be DAMNED balefire! You bastard..."
Callan spit the last words out at Galain, then felt a tinge of fear lace through him...what the hell had they done to each other?
Y’Roden sighed in an exasperated fashion, still not understanding, still torn, but realizing he’d have to do something soon if he was going to salvage Callan’s eyesight… or Galain’s arm, for that matter. He had no idea why the Black thought swearing on their alliance was quite so amusing, but it was the only leverage he had at the moment.
“I’m not even going to pretend to understand you right now,” Ro rumbled, “Hold still.” He was thinking he wasn’t going to mention this to Arianne when he got home, and definitely not to Ghet when he arrived in S’Hea. Oh hells… he was going to be late.
Aethyr crackled through the half-elf’s conduit as he lay his hands on Callan, taking the Emperor’s wounds onto himself. It was ironic really, that Galain had dealt them to another, as he had so often wanted to do to Ro. Gashes opened across his back and ribs, filling the air with the scent of D’Riel blood. They closed almost as soon as they had opened, the real battle was in arresting the balefire, reversing the damage it had done to Callan’s face at least. The process left the King tired and slightly irritable; thinking perhaps it would have been easier to just put them both out of his misery.
“I can’t do anything about your eyes,” he muttered, “They will heal on their own eventually, the D’Riel blood has already started to regenerate the nerves. Now, I’m going to let you up and see if I can patch Humpty Dumpty together again.” Stumbling to his feet Y’Roden grasped Callan’s hand and helped him up. “You’ll be fine, just hold on to the wall here. I’ve been blind before, it isn’t so bad. Being deaf is worse, trust me.”
"Yes, I'm a bastard," Galain hissed back at Callan. He'd not quite slipped off yet though hysterical laughter was bubbling within him. Why had the Fates chosen Y'Roden to interrupt Callan and Galain's little argument? Why of all people in the multiverse had he come? It was so ludicrous the elf finally broke into wheezing laughs that quickly gave way to a gasp of pain. And finally he just had to give in and give up for now. Blackness was peace. It also probably helped Y'Roden. Galain would really hate it when he found out.
Y’Roden stood over the unconscious Elf for a moment, taking in the damage with an all to practiced eye. “Not bad,” he muttered to Callan, “What did you use to take that arm off? An axe?” Speaking of the arm …
The half-elf, much to his own amusement, began to search the Forge for Galain bits. It was like a macabre Easter Egg Hunt. “You didn’t cut anything else off did you? Not that I would blame you, but I’ll need an inventory of bits to reattach.” He located the limb near a wall and picked it up, eyeing the dagger and rose tattoo that marked the Elen as his sister’s bondmate. “How is she not feeling that?”
A brief touch on his sister’s mind sent the half-elf reeling into the wall, gasping in pain. “What the hells!” It took a few minutes for him to detach himself, leaning heavily against the stone as he shut himself off from the web. “What the hell did he do to her?” The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular.
Stalking back across the room the King of S’Hea glared down at the Crown Prince of the Elen with dark emerald eyes for a moment. The insane urge to beat Galain with the wet end of his own arm almost impossible to resist. “I,” he said as steadily as he could, “am going to patch you up … for Ghet’s sake. Then … I may just tear you back apart again … for Thaya’s. Which will be far more entertaining if you are whole … and conscious.”
"An axe..." Callan grated out as he lurched to his feet and used his memory of his forge to find the anvil, the only solid thing he could think of to cling to at the moment.
Something was changing within him, something crawled under his skin...
"What do you mean? Did I take of any more than that?"
Milk white eyes flickered to the sound of Y'Roden's voice, "What do you mean, D'Riel?...Galain...he's gone silent, I barely hear his breathi..."
Callan's right wrist crawled and burned, feeling as though acid had been injected in his veins and the black armguards slid away, revealing his forearm, streaked with scarlet to he elbow.
"Her bonds...he means her bonds...she's broken them. I did this...Y'Roden...I took her, knowing she was not Agaru...This is my doing, not Galain's..."
Callan's voice was a harsh, too-loud sound in his own ears and his head was ringing. In silence, Callan waited for one more alliance to be broken, one more friend to turn his back on him or worse.
A rushing roar swept through him...and he was seeing through eyes not his own. Jade threads of his beloved wife that lived on in his daughter wrapped around he and Agaru's bond, blessing and embracing it...and brought him dangerously close to single ribbon of emerald...An'thaya.
Life shot through his veins and raced along nerves, the skin on his right bicept almost split wide open.
She was slipping away, sliding into her own whirling vortex, the conduit...and was taking Agaru and Mira down with her...
"You're not getting out of this that easily..." Callan whispered. "I have to stay...you have to stay..."
An explosion of light flooded his inner vision, showers of crimson and black, silver, jade and emerald shot through his soul.
"And I'll bind you to me if I must...but you will not cease to be...not now...not as long as I have a hold on you..."
His burning skin crawled again, this time differently, this time something more of a carress, a feral, wild thing that reminded him of their time together. The ribbon of his soul wound around An'Thaya's and began pulling her away, and melding with hers....
“Broken her bonds? Why would she do that? Wait …You did what?” Y’Roden forgot about Galain for the moment, unfortunately for the fading Elen. “Took her … what do you mean took … oh.” It was far too much information for a brother to absorb; though he was far better off than Mira at the moment.
The blonde Elf’s ragged breath drew his attention and the half-elf cursed aloud in Drow before dropping to his knees beside one he had once considered an enemy. Did he still? Now was not the time to consider it. “I can’t fix this … gods … where did I leave that Tricorder?”
A Pocket Portal opened and the King rifled through it, muttering as he shoved the pistol and Wing Cloak back inside. “Here they are.” Ghetsuhm had taught him how to use the electronic gadgets long ago, which was a fortunate thing at the moment. Ro had already used too much of his own strength to heal Callan, there wasn’t enough left to heal something as major as a severed limb.
“Well, at least it’s a clean slice,” he murmured, watching the lights and numbers on one of the devices, “Which will make this much easier. Damn Galain … when you go to pieces, you really take it seriously. You know … this would be more fun if you were awake. How would you like it if I reattached this thing backwards?”
His brain was rattling around trying to get a grip on things. Callan had bedded An’Thaya … no wonder Galain had been trying to kill him. The Emperor wouldn’t have been the first. He could feel, along the web, something occurring within his sister’s stricken soul. Emerald eyes lifted from what he was doing for a moment, away from the neat stitching of flesh and bone beneath the Protoplaser, to a healing of a completely different sort.
The glimmering on Callan’s upper arm was not unexpected, considering, and Ro shook his head before he returned his attention to Galain. The Black Dragon Emperor may have survived the Elen … but would he survive the wrath of the Amazon Queen? “I think you had better clear out of here, or put your armor back down, my friend, before he wakes up. If he sees that, it will do nothing to curb his homicidal urges.”
He had been trying to sleep to not think. Callan had been acting strangely and it felt odd to the blood linked hatchmate. To add to the confusion was Selina and how she had infiltrated his mind heart and soul. He had never expected to find so unique a soul linked to his own. The sounds and smells rising from his brother's private forge drifted on the night breeze like a warning beacon.
Then it happened the bloodrage snapped open wild and free and powerful sending Akavian bolt upright in his rooms. He slid to the edge of his draconic sized bed shaking his head to clear the metallic taste of Rage from his mouth and mind. He was stunned just how powerful and consuming his brother's Rage was to have infiltrated him like this.
He moved quickly to his own balcony ledge shifting to his full dragon form as he did so. Wings wide and strong took full beats and he was soaring rapidly toward the area of the Keep where the forge was. As he landed he shifted back to his elven form having only light string drawn trousers on. Running from there to the doorway of the forge fully expecting a locked door he was stunned to see it open and even more so when he looked inside at the occupants and the carnage. Staring right at Y'Roden as he tended the unconscious Galain all he could say was,
"What the hell?!?!? Callan?" then he addressed Ro. "How can I help?"
Ro’s head came up again when he felt another presence in the room. He eyed Akavian for a moment, his emerald greens flickering to the mark that bound the Black Dragon to Ghetsuhm. “You can get him out of here,” he said, inclining his head towards Callan, “And … you haven’t seen ANYTHING. No matter who asks.”
The half-elf’s gaze fell back to the task at hand, the bone and muscle tissue had been knit back together and he had switched over to a Dermal Regenerator. “What am I going to do with you?” He asked the unconscious Elf, “I can’t leave you here. I can’t take you to Riker’s without getting my own ass shot at. I’m certainly not taking you to S’Hea in your state of mind. Oh hells… I’ll drop you off at the Cottage on my way through. Then you can happily take your frustrations out on the Venus Flytrap … or vice versa.”
"Huh?" He looked at Ro for a few seconds before the impact of the words spoken hit home. "Oh yeah right... Ok Callan out of here." he moved over to his brother and began peeling his hands off an anvil he was clinging to. "Come on Bro time to call it a night." that was when he got a good look as Callan's face more importantly his eyes still a milky blend in the color. He waved his hand in front of Callan's face and barely got a blink for the effort.
"Shit!! Callan you are blind?" thinking it better to get a now blind Emperor out of there rather than wait for a response Akavian tried to guide Callan over and around the wreakage that had been his workshop. This single bit of news was not good. An Emperor with a weakness was a liability in the Diirlathe and would or could be summarily disposed of had it still been Nargus' time period. Then the impact of Nargus having resurfaced became an even greater threat if the news of this injury every got to the former monarch.
"D'Riel..." Callan finally dredged himself from within, still shaking from what had just happened to his soul and body. "If he see's what?" Callan released the anvil long enough to claw at his arm, then clamped his hands to it again as his equilibrium seemed to go haywire. It never occured to him that what had happened would leave him with a fresh bondmark...he was already marked from Agaru....
"Something's happened to her...something far more than just this." the dragon muttered as he stared sightlessly into the fires of the forge. "She was so close...Gods, D'Riel...she's broken her bonds...and from what I just saw through Mira and Agaru, much more was broken...She's here..." Callan's head came up and swiveled toward the sound of his brother's voice, then jerked back as he smelled the scent of Akavian's hand waved in front of his face and felt the air pressure change with his approach.
"So it seems...though, D'Riel tells me my sight will return...in time..." A bit of ruefull laughter followed his last statement, "A blind Emperor..." Callan nodded at Akavian, "I need you to be my eyes for now, Akavian...and I need you watch your back now more than ever. We don't need more than one maimed Blackthorn giving Nargus an edge."
The air pressure seemed to lighten, the air become fresher...Akavian had led him to the doorway.
"I need rest, brother, help me to my chambers. After what has happened here, I may yet get my throat cut when An'Thaya comes to..."
“Yes,” Ro muttered, “I know where she is, I can feel her on the Web.” The thread that bound An’Thaya to the Patriarch had almost snapped, so he was well aware what had transpired. “We owe you for her life.” His attention drifted to Galain’s face, wondering if the Elen would be thankful or not … but rather doubting it.
Eyeing the tattoo that glittered on Callan’s bicep he raised an eyebrow. Unmistakably An'Thaya’s mark, but the hilt was wreathed with black thorns. As far as Ro knew, nothing had ever altered that mark before … he assumed it had something to do with the Black forcing the bond, but kept that to himself. “You’re marked,” he said simply, “It’s a dead giveaway, now out with you.”
With a sigh the S'Hean King concentrated the Dermal Regenerator on the burns Callan’s iron laced blood had left on the blonde Elf’s abdomen. The arm was reattached and fully functional now, even if its owner was completely cracked. “How am I going to keep this from Ghet? This is going to take one hell of an interesting cover story.”
The elf groaned first, then he stirred. He was still conscious of a tremendous amount of pain, but he also felt detached and remote. That was until he opened his eyes, remembered where he was and turned his head, Y'Roden's presence not quite registering yet.
"You! You're going to run away?!" He called out after the departing Callan. "We're not finished!" He sat bolt upright, felt the world swim and then explode as his head cracked with Y'Roden's. It was fortunate perhaps that Galain immediately fell backward, eyes glazed with surprise and new pain.
“NWALYA!” Well, the most painful part of the moment was seeing Galain’s face coming at him that quickly, really. Y’Roden reeled back and slapped a hand to his forehead, cursing under his breath for a moment until the lights stopped exploding in front of his eyes. A growl escaped him, and for one moment he pulled his fist back, ready to clock the downed elf one just on principal. Then visions of two furious redheads danced in his head and the half-elf drew a very deep, steadying breath. “Moron.”
“Get him out of here!” the S’Hean Elf bellowed at Akavian, “And you, stay down, or I’ll happily PUT you down.” A little more prepared this time, he held the Regenerator in one hand, and a loaded sedative spray in the other. One false move … and Galain was going nappies.
Galain found his focus and it was Y'Roden. He gaped a moment, utterly confused.
"What are you doing here?" He asked before his left hand automatically felt for his right arm. He was surprised and pleased to find the limb returned to him and grinned for a moment before he threw a suspicious look at Y'Roden.
"I'm staying down," he muttered. "I'll just bide my time. It's not like I won't know where he is." He went quiet, exploring his mind beyond the pain and wondering what he would touch up against. He felt his bond to Ghet up until where it seemed to end at a distinct S'Hean ward. He then felt cautiously for Tay and let out a hoarse cry when he found absolutely nothing. He sucked in his breath and tried the D'Riel web. He was at least attached to that still and it was through that his search began. When he realized Tay was within the keep's walls itself he sat up again, this time more carefully.
"She's here. In the keep. What's she doing here? I'm going to find her." He immediately started to get to his feet and let out a gasp of surprise. Y'Roden wasn't quite done with the healing and the burns really did hurt a lot. "Don't give that to me!" He caught at the hypospray headed his way.
“Saving your life. Killing Callan isn’t going to help any, you know,” Ro murmured, easing the hand with the hypo spray back away from Galain, “Yes, Thaya is here, she isn’t well. Neither are you. Let me finish with these and then you can go. I don’t think you want to have to explain those marks to her … or Ghet for that matter. And, before you ask, no, I won’t say anything to Ghettie.”
Brooking no argument, the King of S’Hea treated the last of the burns and rocked back on his heels. “An’Thaya is going to be pissed, you know. Do you have any idea how much this will scare her? After Railen, and Elyen? She blames herself for his death.” He held the sedative and regenerator out to Galain, handles first, “You’ll need these, she’s hurt. Well, the sedative might be for your own protection.”
Galain took the spray and regenerator from Y'Roden, speechless. In his furious anger and hurried planning he'd forgotten what Tay or Ghetsuhm would think. Of course the last time he'd seen Tay she'd been unconscious and Agaru had been in charge. He stared morosely at the healing implements and then suddenly looked up at Y'Roden.
"Thank you," he said simply. He realized the other elf had been given a prime chance to see Galain burnt to a crisp and instead he'd acted to stop the battle. His face twisted as he thought of Railen and Elyen. One more a horrible scar inflicted by Galain and the other? He'd died at Galain's hand. How could Tay blame herself for either of those two? But he knew why. And he knew other things now too.
"You think I'm welcome up there?" He asked, blinking and regarding Y'Roden. He shook his head then. "Never mind, I'll go. I'll give her the spray, help heal her and then I think I better get out of here."
“You’re welcome,” Ro said with a lopsided smile, then shrugged, “Thaya is your wife. I don’t think anyone has the right to keep you from her unless she tells them to.” Rising to his feet he offered the other Elf a hand up. “I have to go, I’m late picking up Rhagi.” The half-elf took in the trashed forge and shook his head, “Glad I’m not the one that has to clean this up.”
Akavian was guiding Callan out of the forge as fast as the unsteady monarch could move under the circumstances. He may have had intimate knowledge of his forge but the landscape had been rearranged by Galain and himself.
As they exited the doorway Akavian pointedly instructed two of the Orsha Une that had come to see what was going on, to secure the room once those inside had gone and not to let anyone in without express commands from either himself or Callan.
Drawing upon skills obtained through his own Amulet Akav decided the best possible way to get to his brother's rooms was a portal. Callan was in no condition to fly even if he shifted. The last things either of them needed was curious eyes seeing their Emperor in reduced capacity. He also doubted Callan would appreciate being hauled there by his brother in dragon form.
The portal shimmered icy blue and opened just wide enough for the two Blackthorn brothers to pass through and closed behind them.
Tay was his wife... Galain repeated that to himself mentally, while absently rubbing at the now dead bond. His wife. He looked up at Y'Roden again and then accepted his help up, wondering at himself.
"Go," he said curtly. "He has servants." He looked around and just shrugged. "Or he can do it himself before I catch him."
Exasperated, might have been the right word for the look Ro gave Galain. He would have thought that recent events would have stilled the Elen’s urge to kill the Emperor, but this was Galain … he didn’t learn very well from his mistakes. Then again, neither did Ro. Perhaps it was their similarities that caused the animosity between them. Kindred spirits … of the devilish kind.
“Alright, I’ll go. Gods don’t do anything stupid … again, for Thaya’s sake. Please?” The S’Hean Elf clapped the Elen on the shoulder, the one that hadn’t been severed, then headed for the door. There was no way he was going in his present condition, he need to clean up quickly and get his behind to S’Hea before Ghet wondered where he was. With one last glance over his shoulder, Y’Roden slipped through the door and disappeared down the hall.
Don't do anything stupid? Galain had arched an eyebrow and looked at Y'Roden silently for a moment and then nodded.
"I'll try," he said quietly. He was on his feet now and swaying, using the D'Riel web to trace where Tay was. He didn't think about just using the door to the rooms where she was, instead forming a wobbly portal that snapped shut the instant he stepped through.
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