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Life, for Haldanuru, had been incredibly entertaining of late. His time was spent alternately pushing the limits with An’Thaya D’Riel… and pushing something entirely different with The Goddess of Flame. At the moment, it was Brighid he was occupying himself with, having left the Amazon in a broken heap some hours before. The Demon God was seated in his favourite chair, one hoof kicked up on the table and a goblet in one hand as he rubbed one of her perfect little feet with the other.
He had just opened his mouth to say something that had come to mind, when an explosion of gold light erupted in the middle of the empty table, showering the darkness with golden essence and blinding both Gods momentarily with the sudden intensity of light.
The sound of heavily booted footsteps registered on Halda’s ears before he could see again, and when his vision cleared, it was to the sole of said boot coming down in the middle of his chest.
With a howl of surprise the horned God and his chair flipped over backwards, nearly taking Brighid with him. He hit the floor with a hideous crack and bellowed again, snapping up to his elbows and glaring at the massive Changeling Prince who still stood on the table top, golden eyes flashing as he unsheathed the sword fashioned from his essence from between his dark feathered wings and levelled it at the God.
“What the HELLS are you doing in my realm Chezlar Khor?” he hissed, “I have not summoned you here and there is nothing that is any of your business going on at the moment.”
“Oh… quite the contrary,” the Messenger’s triad of tones flowed like honey in the dark and he jumped lightly to the floor with a rustle of wings. “You have taken what you have no right to, and I am here to retrieve her.”
“WHAT?” The word came out as an angry snarl and Halda struggled to his feet, snorting in fury as he stuck his face right in Chezlar’s. “She is MINE, Light’s Hope gave herself willingly to me.”
“She gave herself in exchange for an innocent,” the Changeling responded calmly, never flinching from the wrath of the God. “That makes your deal null and void. Fionna was taken against her will, therefore… An’Thaya D’Riel Alcarin cannot be morally held to any agreement she made for Miss Aedui’s release.”
“ACCORDING TO WHOM.”
The rancid bellow blew Chezlar’s hair back, and the Prince’s nose wrinkled slightly, “According to the Fates. Haldanuru Morelen… I Chezlar Khor, in the service of the Fates, am here by their order to retrieve Light’s Hope, otherwise known as An’Thaya D’Riel Alcarin. You are in contempt of the Law and are REQUIRED to turn her over immediately. If you do not comply,” Chezlar’s expression drew a wicked grin, “I am authorized to withdraw her from your realm by force.”
Brighid made a soft, short, 'hmm' sound and reached around Chezlar's feet, plucked yet another perfect plum from the bowl on the table and sank back in her chair. She'd certainly enjoyed Haldanuru's company...among other things. The god of Death was as necessary as Life, Light and Dark, Flame and Chaos. He had the most wicked, sharp sense of humour and not to mention a passionate streak that would make any honest goddess...or god...chose him as a companion.
"He does have a point, Haldanuru." Brighid's soft laughter floated to the god, "And I don't just mean the one aimed at you." The flame haired goddess nibbled at the plum, her expression one of pure innocence.
"By all means, Chezlar, take your Light's Hope. Haldanuru will simply have to learn to live without her." Brighid rose her feet and stepped lightly to the enraged god, standing effectively between them, "And I will tell you, Haldanuru, I am ready to render my decision. I would have delivered it shortly, however, as we have been interrupted..." The goddess of Flame nodded and slipped one flaming palm down his crimson chest. It seemed to mould to every curve, every muscle, then was removed. "Araxmarr has passed the test I allowed you to set before him...THAT...was my entire purpose in coming here. His rampage, while doing you a favour, was never done to honour you. In the end, he remained. my. child. I doubt, had he offered himself to you, to take your left overs and do your bidding, you would have refused him. He did not. I withdraw my support of your keeping her here. We have no pact, you and I, beyond our already symbiotic relationship."
Her corporeal form suddenly burned away, the plum vaporized in the pure heat of her and between the Messenger and the God stood the figure of a woman made of flame, Brighid's true form. The Flame shifted, rather than turned, to face Chezlar, "I warn you, she is battered and bruised, burned and afraid, but she is. not. broken." Brighid's voice echoed from all around them, rather than emanate from the fire itself, "Take her home Chez...and release my DeathDream from the prison you have bound him in. I assure you, he will be in poor condition by now to kill anyone aside from himself."
Halda gaped at Brighid for a moment, his heavy muscled form tensing with rage, a myriad of emotion flowing over his face before he finally let out with an enraged bellow and turned his back on them both. Even a God was subject to the will of the Fates; they swayed his way as often as they did the light. It was all about balance. Incurring their wrath was the last thing the God of Death needed.
A smile tugged at Chezlar’s mouth and he bowed gracefully from the waist.
“My thanks, Milady. I apologize for having to leave your child to such a fate in the first place, and will be sure to release him upon my return.” The Changeling didn’t want to even think about what being sealed in stone would be like, his kind were, at best, claustrophobic. He cast a look beyond the Goddess of Flame at the broad back of Haldanuru and shook his head slightly. “I have no idea what you expected to gain from this Haldanuru, but I’ll be removing your mark. Stay away from my charge.”
Brushing past the heat of Brighid he left the two Gods to the dinner he had interrupted, heading for the dais and the woman designated by the Fates as Light’s Hope.
A gentle touch, hands she was vaguely familiar with… fingertips brushing blood and soot away from a delicate cheek.
“An’Thaya.” Tri-tones… she knew the voice. It had been whispering in her ear since the moment she was born. “It’s time to go home.”
Home? Where was home? The half burnt city of Corin? The breached safety of Nenlante? Her over crowded, much-loved little cottage? No, she was never going to see those things again.
“Go away Chez,” the Amazon rasped, “Have the respect to let me die in peace will you?”
“It isn’t time to die yet Thaya. I’m here to take you back. The Fates have set you free.”
A dry choked laugh ended in a heavy wheeze and Tay finally opened her emerald greens. Eyes that appeared massive in her sunken features framed by singed short-cropped curls, their colour dulled by soot and grime.
“Free? They have, have they? I suppose that would depend… on your definition of free.”
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of sarcasm,” the Changeling observed with a wry smile.
“Funny…I though I was being pithy,” she murmured.
“Pithy? Or pissy? You seem to have developed a bit of a lisp.”
Despite her condition the Amazon managed to slap her Guardian across the face with an open palm, though it was admittedly weak.
“Ass.”
“Bitch.” Gentle, melodic laughter filled the darkness, “There is my girl, glad to see you’ve still got it in you.”
Massive hands slid beneath Tay’s fragile form, levering her up from the scalding stone into the safety of Chezlar’s arms. It took all of her considerable will not to scream out in agony as broken bones ground off one another and half healed, infected wounds on porcelain pale skin cracked open to bleed.
Heavy footsteps carried them down off the great stone dais and into the ring of flames, the Changeling untouched by the flesh eating fire, as was his charge as their surroundings swirled sickeningly.
An’Thaya never saw the ruined temple, never heard the bubbling of liquid stone and wash of marble tide as the spell Chezlar had cast reversed itself. The roaring in her own ears was overwhelming, the burning of re awakened bonds almost unbearable. Arched in agony, every bondmark on the Amazon’s small body ignited and burned white, the demand of the two souls in one being too much for her to handle. By the time the Changeling stepped through the melting entrance to the temple Tay had gone limp. A pathetically small rag doll in the hands of a behemoth.
Standing still as the stone statue at the bottom of the stairs Chezlar watched the white tide recede to the feet of Callan Blackthorn. White tendrils whipped around the Dragon Emperor’s form, ropes of liquid stone that vanished into the air like whispers on the wind.
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