you are the reason i still fight (FIC)
Oct. 2nd, 2018 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hellorhighwater “You're lucky to be alive.”
“I'm aware, Master Bertrand. You don't have to remind me again.”
“...well, now I know you're going to be all right, if you're sassing me already.”
Neil had to smile in spite of himself, ill tempered and weak as he felt. “I suppose I am. Sorry for bein' short, Master. Thank you, as ever—I wouldn't survive the Fevers without you.”
Lifting one hand from his pallet, Neil extended it to the elderly dragon shifter that had been tending him. Knotted, but powerful hands wrapped around his fingers with a fatherly squeeze of affection.
“Rest, Black Fire. Renew yourself...all will be well in the morning.”
Too exhausted to argue, Neil let the healer set his hand back on his bare chest and shut his eyes, letting the heat of the fire wash over him, relaxing all control so he could greedily draw the heat into himself. It had been a long time since he'd been gripped by a Fever this bad, and Master Bertrand had been right: he very nearly hadn't made it. The last time they'd had him convalescing on his pallet by the hearth rather than in bed, he'd been fifteen and sickened for the first time not because he'd used his power to heal, but because he'd unlocked the full potential of his magic.
That first, terrible fever had lasted four days—this time, Neil had been delirious and flirting with death for nearly two weeks, alternating between hypothermia and permanent damage to his mind as his body burned in a fight against the dragon fire that was trying to consume him. He was wrung out, weak, and exhausted—but he had survived.
Now, after such a lengthy bout with the Fever, he had at least a week, if not more, of recovery: sleeping by the fire to soak up heat and stabilize his magic, the healers' bitter brews to force fluids and nutrients back into his body, and walks in the garden paired with careful exercise to ensure he did not waste away in his convalescence. It was a pain in the ass, but Neil was fully aware of the reality of his situation.
He knew he'd nearly died, because the Sun Goddess had come for his soul.
“You look a fright.”
Neil's eyes snapped open, fragile heart racing to see the Night Dragon looming above his pallet.
“Great Dragon.” he breathed, shifting to try and rise up on his elbows.
The Night Dragon knelt quickly, laying a hand on Neil's shoulder—firm and gentle as the night he'd taken Neil from his world.
“Lie down, little Ember. I am not here as your king.”
“There's never an hour when you're not my king, Great Dragon.” Neil assured him, laying back again. He had no strength to fight anyway—best to do as he was told.
With a small smile that was alien on his face, the Night Dragon shifted to sit beside Neil's pallet, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent so he could rest an arm on his knee.
“Things have changed while you were ill—but we'll get to that.” he replied quietly. “Have peace, Neil. You needn't upset yourself now, not when I came so close to watching a good soldier die needlessly.”
“Death is the price of power, Great Dragon—you told me as much when you found me. I've always understood that. I embrace my fate as a bearer of power and a servant of the realm.”
The Night Dragon watched him, too intently for Neil's liking. Despite the reassurances of his king, his heart still raced, so fast he thought he might faint. There was a look on his face that Neil couldn't place, nothing he'd ever seen in his twenty plus years of service to the throne.
“That is no longer true.”
“...Great Dragon?”
“It is no fault of your own, little Ember—I cannot be lied to, and your heart has always been too tender to bear a lie. No, this is...far more disturbing.”
“Great Dragon, I assure you--”
That hand fell to Neil's shoulder again, stirring feelings in him he couldn't put a name to. It brought an ache to his chest he couldn't identify, tugged at him with something that was almost familiar, but just beyond the grasp of memory. It was a memory he badly wanted to reclaim, teased him with promises of warmth beyond fire, comfort on the other side of a life behind the sword.
“In your delirium, you called out a name. Many times, a name unfamiliar to me.” the Night Dragon explained carefully. “Can you tell me who 'Regina' is?”
Neil blinked, brow furrowing as he concentrated on it. There was something to the name, something about it that made the hand on his shoulder easier to accept—gave those bright edges of almost memory and longing more definition.
Ultimately, however, he could come up with nothing.
“I don't know it.” he confessed honestly. “I'm sorry.”
The Night Dragon continued to watch him for long, tense moments. Neil did not look away from his king—he dared not, especially if his king was questioning his loyalty. Even in his sickbed, the Night Dragon was not above punishing him for a believed betrayal.
“You speak the truth.”
The Night Dragon's voice was low, rough with fury and pale eyes alight in the most dangerous of ways. Instead of anger directed at him, Neil watched something else slide through them—something black and terrible, even protective.
“You are not my son, Neil—but had I one, I would pray to the Sky Maker for what you have become.” the Night Dragon confessed. “And so it is on your behalf that I am angry.”
“What for, Great Dragon?”
The hand on his shoulder slid to rest against the left side of Neil's chest, strangely cool against his skin, heavy to lungs still remembering how to breathe.
“All mating bonds are sacred, little Ember—the ones we are gifted by the gods, and the ones that are chosen by Man.”
“Dahgo.” Neil murmured as the Night Dragon took back his hand. “I have no mate, I don't--”
“You do, son. I do not know how this came to pass, but the healer sent me runners twice during your illness to tell me you had died. Both times, I came to find you still breathing. The priests have shown me that you are marked by the gods. Your life is no longer yours—nor is it mine to claim. Your oaths have been corrupted. Your heart has been removed, and you have been purified.”
Neil couldn't begin to understand what the Night Dragon was telling him. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the fever, or maybe he was just stupid, but none of it made sense.
“I haven't even begun the path.” he breathed, shutting his eyes without thinking, a hand lifting to cover his face weakly. “The trial's a fuckin' nightmare—I would remember if I had begun the path!”
“It is dark magic indeed that could strip you of the memory...but the reality stands. You have survived death, and you can no longer profess your oaths with perfect devotion. You serve me not by duty, but by choice.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth as Neil watched him visibly struggle with something: gazing into the middle distance, rolling his lips together, jaw working with tension.
“Do you remember what I told you once upon a time, little Ember? About cutting out your heart?”
Weary and still weak, Neil struggled for the focus to recall the conversation.
“...you told me not to. You feared I would succeed.”
“This is why: I cannot bind you to an oath, nor can I expect you to remain in my service as you are. Ember's Balls, it was all I could to keep the priests from claiming you as part of their order. They believe you to be sanctified by dahgo.”
Neil shut his eyes, wincing inwardly. “Fucking Christ.”
“I do not even think the Christ-God of your world could sway their minds, Neil—but I put them off handily. Your fate is your own. That is the heart of dahgo: you are mated, you are purified...and you are a warrior that cannot be killed. No force in the Five Realms, or any other, can bind you.” He paused, then sighed.
“Not even me.”
Neil definitely couldn't get his head around that: being released from his vows of fealty, being sanctified by the gods...being somehow stripped of a lover so dear to him that he would endure the trial of dahgo to bind himself to them. He knew no woman named Regina—she had to be the one.
“I will continue to serve, Great Dragon.” Neil assured him with all the resolve he could muster in his weakened state. “And I will hold to my oaths, even if they no longer bind me. If I am truly empowered by the light, I will give that power to my king with but one request: grant me freedom enough to find what was taken from me, and kill the ones responsible.”
That made the Night Dragon laugh: as alien and unsettling a thing on the massive dragon king as a smile.
“If one must die by your hand, it is the will of the Ember. You are purified—you every act is a sacred one.” He shifted to his knees, looming over Neil again.
“For now, regain your strength. Tonight, Black Fire has died, his name will not be spoken again.”
The Night Dragon's hand lay across his brow. Neil's eyes grew suddenly heavier, sliding shut.
“You free yourself from chains, and yet return to my side...having achieved what few mated dragons could ever hope to touch. Never again, Neil Blair—never again will I underestimate you, my Dragon Knight.”
The new title barely registered as Neil slid into darkness, enfolded by a healing sleep. His last, half rational thought was that he hoped to dream of the Sun Goddess again...skin pale as the moon, hair like a raven's wing, and dark eyes with pupils ringed by her divine fire...
“I'm aware, Master Bertrand. You don't have to remind me again.”
“...well, now I know you're going to be all right, if you're sassing me already.”
Neil had to smile in spite of himself, ill tempered and weak as he felt. “I suppose I am. Sorry for bein' short, Master. Thank you, as ever—I wouldn't survive the Fevers without you.”
Lifting one hand from his pallet, Neil extended it to the elderly dragon shifter that had been tending him. Knotted, but powerful hands wrapped around his fingers with a fatherly squeeze of affection.
“Rest, Black Fire. Renew yourself...all will be well in the morning.”
Too exhausted to argue, Neil let the healer set his hand back on his bare chest and shut his eyes, letting the heat of the fire wash over him, relaxing all control so he could greedily draw the heat into himself. It had been a long time since he'd been gripped by a Fever this bad, and Master Bertrand had been right: he very nearly hadn't made it. The last time they'd had him convalescing on his pallet by the hearth rather than in bed, he'd been fifteen and sickened for the first time not because he'd used his power to heal, but because he'd unlocked the full potential of his magic.
That first, terrible fever had lasted four days—this time, Neil had been delirious and flirting with death for nearly two weeks, alternating between hypothermia and permanent damage to his mind as his body burned in a fight against the dragon fire that was trying to consume him. He was wrung out, weak, and exhausted—but he had survived.
Now, after such a lengthy bout with the Fever, he had at least a week, if not more, of recovery: sleeping by the fire to soak up heat and stabilize his magic, the healers' bitter brews to force fluids and nutrients back into his body, and walks in the garden paired with careful exercise to ensure he did not waste away in his convalescence. It was a pain in the ass, but Neil was fully aware of the reality of his situation.
He knew he'd nearly died, because the Sun Goddess had come for his soul.
“You look a fright.”
Neil's eyes snapped open, fragile heart racing to see the Night Dragon looming above his pallet.
“Great Dragon.” he breathed, shifting to try and rise up on his elbows.
The Night Dragon knelt quickly, laying a hand on Neil's shoulder—firm and gentle as the night he'd taken Neil from his world.
“Lie down, little Ember. I am not here as your king.”
“There's never an hour when you're not my king, Great Dragon.” Neil assured him, laying back again. He had no strength to fight anyway—best to do as he was told.
With a small smile that was alien on his face, the Night Dragon shifted to sit beside Neil's pallet, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent so he could rest an arm on his knee.
“Things have changed while you were ill—but we'll get to that.” he replied quietly. “Have peace, Neil. You needn't upset yourself now, not when I came so close to watching a good soldier die needlessly.”
“Death is the price of power, Great Dragon—you told me as much when you found me. I've always understood that. I embrace my fate as a bearer of power and a servant of the realm.”
The Night Dragon watched him, too intently for Neil's liking. Despite the reassurances of his king, his heart still raced, so fast he thought he might faint. There was a look on his face that Neil couldn't place, nothing he'd ever seen in his twenty plus years of service to the throne.
“That is no longer true.”
“...Great Dragon?”
“It is no fault of your own, little Ember—I cannot be lied to, and your heart has always been too tender to bear a lie. No, this is...far more disturbing.”
“Great Dragon, I assure you--”
That hand fell to Neil's shoulder again, stirring feelings in him he couldn't put a name to. It brought an ache to his chest he couldn't identify, tugged at him with something that was almost familiar, but just beyond the grasp of memory. It was a memory he badly wanted to reclaim, teased him with promises of warmth beyond fire, comfort on the other side of a life behind the sword.
“In your delirium, you called out a name. Many times, a name unfamiliar to me.” the Night Dragon explained carefully. “Can you tell me who 'Regina' is?”
Neil blinked, brow furrowing as he concentrated on it. There was something to the name, something about it that made the hand on his shoulder easier to accept—gave those bright edges of almost memory and longing more definition.
Ultimately, however, he could come up with nothing.
“I don't know it.” he confessed honestly. “I'm sorry.”
The Night Dragon continued to watch him for long, tense moments. Neil did not look away from his king—he dared not, especially if his king was questioning his loyalty. Even in his sickbed, the Night Dragon was not above punishing him for a believed betrayal.
“You speak the truth.”
The Night Dragon's voice was low, rough with fury and pale eyes alight in the most dangerous of ways. Instead of anger directed at him, Neil watched something else slide through them—something black and terrible, even protective.
“You are not my son, Neil—but had I one, I would pray to the Sky Maker for what you have become.” the Night Dragon confessed. “And so it is on your behalf that I am angry.”
“What for, Great Dragon?”
The hand on his shoulder slid to rest against the left side of Neil's chest, strangely cool against his skin, heavy to lungs still remembering how to breathe.
“All mating bonds are sacred, little Ember—the ones we are gifted by the gods, and the ones that are chosen by Man.”
“Dahgo.” Neil murmured as the Night Dragon took back his hand. “I have no mate, I don't--”
“You do, son. I do not know how this came to pass, but the healer sent me runners twice during your illness to tell me you had died. Both times, I came to find you still breathing. The priests have shown me that you are marked by the gods. Your life is no longer yours—nor is it mine to claim. Your oaths have been corrupted. Your heart has been removed, and you have been purified.”
Neil couldn't begin to understand what the Night Dragon was telling him. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the fever, or maybe he was just stupid, but none of it made sense.
“I haven't even begun the path.” he breathed, shutting his eyes without thinking, a hand lifting to cover his face weakly. “The trial's a fuckin' nightmare—I would remember if I had begun the path!”
“It is dark magic indeed that could strip you of the memory...but the reality stands. You have survived death, and you can no longer profess your oaths with perfect devotion. You serve me not by duty, but by choice.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth as Neil watched him visibly struggle with something: gazing into the middle distance, rolling his lips together, jaw working with tension.
“Do you remember what I told you once upon a time, little Ember? About cutting out your heart?”
Weary and still weak, Neil struggled for the focus to recall the conversation.
“...you told me not to. You feared I would succeed.”
“This is why: I cannot bind you to an oath, nor can I expect you to remain in my service as you are. Ember's Balls, it was all I could to keep the priests from claiming you as part of their order. They believe you to be sanctified by dahgo.”
Neil shut his eyes, wincing inwardly. “Fucking Christ.”
“I do not even think the Christ-God of your world could sway their minds, Neil—but I put them off handily. Your fate is your own. That is the heart of dahgo: you are mated, you are purified...and you are a warrior that cannot be killed. No force in the Five Realms, or any other, can bind you.” He paused, then sighed.
“Not even me.”
Neil definitely couldn't get his head around that: being released from his vows of fealty, being sanctified by the gods...being somehow stripped of a lover so dear to him that he would endure the trial of dahgo to bind himself to them. He knew no woman named Regina—she had to be the one.
“I will continue to serve, Great Dragon.” Neil assured him with all the resolve he could muster in his weakened state. “And I will hold to my oaths, even if they no longer bind me. If I am truly empowered by the light, I will give that power to my king with but one request: grant me freedom enough to find what was taken from me, and kill the ones responsible.”
That made the Night Dragon laugh: as alien and unsettling a thing on the massive dragon king as a smile.
“If one must die by your hand, it is the will of the Ember. You are purified—you every act is a sacred one.” He shifted to his knees, looming over Neil again.
“For now, regain your strength. Tonight, Black Fire has died, his name will not be spoken again.”
The Night Dragon's hand lay across his brow. Neil's eyes grew suddenly heavier, sliding shut.
“You free yourself from chains, and yet return to my side...having achieved what few mated dragons could ever hope to touch. Never again, Neil Blair—never again will I underestimate you, my Dragon Knight.”
The new title barely registered as Neil slid into darkness, enfolded by a healing sleep. His last, half rational thought was that he hoped to dream of the Sun Goddess again...skin pale as the moon, hair like a raven's wing, and dark eyes with pupils ringed by her divine fire...
