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Chapter Text

Adrenaline coursed through throbbing muscles as clammy air pricked freshly bared skin, remnants of his precious armour strewn haphazardly about the gorge in which they'd fought. Harsh gasps punctuated the air. Unforgiving spines rested at the pit of his throat, daring him to swallow and draw blood. Distrustful eyes never once left those of his opponent as he sought to discern his intent. To finally meet his match on the battlefield, when so much was at stake... It was inconceivable.

Cold steel trailed a line of rippling nerves straight up the column of his throat, the flat of it lifting his chin. Hyunckel's mouth went dry.

“You have done well to make it this far,” that smooth, almost affectionate voice assured, “but all things must one day reach their end. I am the victor of our little contest.”

Despite himself, Hyunckel swallowed, the speartip a hair's breadth from piercing his skin. “And what would you claim as your spoils?”

Anticipation smothered the heavy silence as curious brown eyes glided from his own to appraise the situation, no doubt pondering what it was he truly fancied. Sweat beaded down his spine when they dragged down his pale torso to the state of skin-tight leathers plastered to shapely legs, and his muddled mind finally registered the gravity of his words, a prize he had never meant to offer. Ancient Darkling traditions dictated that the victor could demand servitude of any bested foes in the interests of minimising casualties in times of strife, a decree he had taken at face value for as long as he could remember. But his body reacted instinctively now towards an unsung possibility, his muscles tense, his heart hammering against his ribs.

If he demanded he submit to him in body rather than mind, he hadn't the strength to resist.

But Larhart met his eyes again with those even, thoughtful hues, lilac lips drawn down above the gentle curl of his fingers. The silence dragged on, measured by every painful thud of his heart. More than the humiliation of his crushing defeat, all that he was yet again not quite enough, the waiting was agony. There was no way out of this; not without casting aside every scrap of life he'd struggled to make for himself, clinging to the vain hope that he might one day surpass his fathers, but he just couldn't do that. He had failed them enough for one lifetime.

Words chosen with deliberate care finally tumbled from that wicked tongue.

“I would ask nothing of you at this time.” His chin straightened when his hand inevitably fell, every bit the warrior he prided himself on being. “Master Baran has greater need of me. If upon my return I find you still draw breath, I will decide what to do with you then.”

Even the simple shift of jagged barbs away from his delicate flesh seemed almost too elaborate. Hyunckel did not lift his head; would not, even if he were able to move.

He had been granted a warrior's mercy. A reprieve, to ready his mind and gather his resolve. He hadn't even the strength to clench his teeth as haunting browns lingered in his mind long after the dust had settled in his wake. For now, he lived, no matter the consequences. That would have to be enough.

Would Larhart demand his body? There had been a spark of something there his own reacted to, hidden in his gaze. Although admittedly he hardly knew him, Hyunckel didn't find him the type.

...If he did ask that of him... would he be a gentle lover? Larhart held himself with such high regard both on the battlefield and off. His spear handling was as elegant as it was contained, the perfect display of his mastery and flawless technique. He knew exactly where to strike, how and when, with such ruthless efficiency and a level of control beyond reproach. Surely that assurance would apply to other areas as well?

...He shouldn't think about that now. Dai... he had to remember Dai. If Baran truly was his father, or even perceived himself thus, Dai at least would be safe. That was the most important of all. So long as Dai lived, even if he was miserable, even if he didn't know who he really was or what purpose his crucial life served, Hyunckel would watch over him and guide him back into who he was always meant to be. Whether he was taken as some kind of prize, locked in a dungeon, and beaten by the likes of Hadlar for his treachery, so long as Dai lived well, he would endure it.

The gorge was far too quiet, a battlefield of fallen warriors that not even a breeze disturbed. If fortune truly favoured brutal enemies on this day, exhausted as he had been, he needed to count Popp among their number. More than just the possibility, whenever he cast his mind to their mage his foreboding only intensified, darker than the pits of the Underground Palace and the resentment that once consumed him.

Hyunckel was so proud of him. To fight so ferociously against insurmountable odds, clever tricks executed with flawless timing to thin out their numbers even at great risk to his life, especially for one of his disposition, took great courage. If Popp had succumbed to his wounds because Hyunckel admitted defeat... that was yet another burden he must shoulder for which he could never atone.

There was no way to know how long he lay there, his heart aching, eyes and body heavy, but he missed the signs of Larhart's inevitable return until he actually spoke.

“Here you remain.” From the lilt of his tone, he must have genuinely believed Hyunckel would run.

“Here I remain.”

“Why?” Larhart frowned. “You should have escaped when the chance arose. I know you can move again.”

Hyunckel couldn't just tell him his plans. He needed to say something, however. A thought struck him, and he half-smirked up at him. “I had thought you would be delighted to see me. What kind of man would I be to steal your rightful claim from you? To flee at first opportunity and fret over your ever unknown whereabouts, wondering how long it would be until our paths again crossed and you cut me down for good?”

Larhart's lips twitched long before he brought form to words.

Hyunckel could have laughed.

“And...” Narrowed eyes regarded him while that contemplative hand curled again about his chin. “You are certain you are prepared for any outcome?”

Whatever witty jab he was about to utter died upon his lips. Beyond Larhart's leg his friend finally came into view, tiny hand dwarfed by that of his supposed father, excitedly babbling away with the biggest grin he had ever seen on joyful cheeks. Hyunckel's heart shattered.

...It was no wonder Popp had been in such distress recounting that harrowing tale, when he was still alive.

His heart clamped down on the worry to make way for resolve – for the strength needed to see this reprehensible path he had chosen through to the end. No matter what horrors lay in store for him, he had to protect Dai. ...No one else could perform that duty, anymore...

“Dai,” he greeted warmly when at last he drew near, ensured his own smile was friendly and sincere. “You look well.”

Dai's head tilted to the side in a gesture that would have been adorable under any other circumstance. “Who are you, mister?”

Hyunckel tried to ignore the agony carving his chest. “I am Hyunckel. A friend.”

“Friend...”

Although he ignored the narrowing of Baran's eyes, he decided against offering his friend a hand. “You'll get to know me soon enough. I'll be around, after all.”

Larhart's brows subtly lifted, although he kept his stern mouth shut.

Baran and his servant exchanged a dour expression, their silent conversation ended with a simple nod from Larhart's side. One side of Baran's mouth pressed tight – a frown, no doubt – but he dropped the issue.

“Very well.” Violent as the stormy sea brewing in dark eyes, that wicked rumble thundered across the terrain about them. “On your feet.”

It was a struggle, his body still on the verge of giving out, but with some staggering and swaying he managed to obey the command. Baran's dismissive nod before he strode effortlessly past him with Dai in tow preceded a toned arm about his back. A brief glance up into curious browns left him feeling... oddly relieved.

“I must admit,” quiet words tickled atop his ear, “I did not believe you would remain in the face of an unknown fate.”

With what little strength he had left, Hyunckel shook his head. “Dai's enduring life is all I care about now. It matters not what befalls me.”

A pensive hum resounded against him, but Larhart drew his conquest's limp arm about his shoulders nevertheless. There was silence as they staggered into step, slowed more for his benefit than Larhart's own before, like clouds floating in the sky, those gentle words finally parted the stifling air. “In that case, I trust we can rely on your compliance?”

He nodded, and forced out another step. There was nothing more he could do.

Larhart let him pause when they reached Popp's prone and battered form. His gleaming golden cape did well to mask his failings, and with that gentle, satisfied smile, he could simply be sleeping. But no zephyrs blew stray hairs about his face, no tremors from his own crumpled body. Popp lay perfectly still, devoid of even the subtlest rise and fall of his chest. His worst fears had come to pass.

Hyunckel engraved this memory into his heart even as tears burned guilty eyes. He owed him this much, at least.

Chapter Text

Steel scraped horrendously upon natural bedrock as the cell door slammed swiftly inward. Only when he slid carefully to the floor, bare back braced gratefully against soothing stone, did Larhart remove his hands.

“You must forgive your paltry lodgings for the time being.” Larhart towered over him now, although whatever remained of his usual self assurance had disappeared beneath a hardened scowl. “I assure you they are quite temporary, until such a time as we have determined your motives.”

“I don't mind it.” Head resting comfortably against the cold, weary eyes closed for a few seconds without his notice. He dazedly blinked them back open. “It sort of reminds me of home.”

In the gloom Hyunckel could not read the expression that furrowed elegant features, although there was clear displeasure at his words. Had they truly been that odd? He had only spoken true. Dungeons and cells and beds of straw reminded him fondly of his father – of carefree days within Hell's Gate when Bartos was called to arms. “Where no one will bother you,” his father's words rang clear in the confines of his heart, secreted away with the rest of his safeguarded memories. With a mental smile he recalled how profoundly confused those words had left him at the time, for Bartos' men had been nothing but kind to him. Only when he aged did he understand the cruelty many Darklings carried innately.

A lone cough snapped him from his reverie.

“You will be given clean water, and I will provide you your meals personally. Accept nothing offered you unless it is given by my hand.”

Despite it all, Hyunckel chuckled, then laughed, hair fanning out behind his head. Still Larhart was baffled, although Hyunckel hardly fared better. Was he already preparing him for a life of servitude by staking a claim upon his person? Asserting his dominion over all others who would dare question his command? Was there some part of him that genuinely cared for his wellbeing, or that felt possessive or threatened by the notion of someone else trying to steal what belonged to him?

“I would not find anything funny were I in your position,” that guarded voice intoned.

Hyunckel raised a palm to the air, the other clutched firmly about a trembling thigh to steady himself as his body threatened to double over.

“Forgive me,” he finally managed to gasp out between dwindling huffs. “I am unused to such magnanimity.”

“Magnanimity.” The fold of muscled arms over his chest only stood to emphasise the dryness of his tone.

Chin tilted up to better regard him, Hyunckel grinned. “I have lived in several towns where they would refuse me service. Can you see the irony in finding more favourable treatment in a dungeon?”

Another unreadable expression crossed lavender features, and whilst it could have easily been a simple trick of the light, for an instant, he thought Larhart held himself tighter.

Hyunckel flippantly waved his hand. “Anyway, I'm sure your minions will learn all about me in time. You must have places to be, people to posture before. We'll meet again soon enough.”

Larhart let his arms fall, a gesture that seemed far too stiff for the fluid foe before him. Whatever sharpened words he may have considered for the blunt dismissal, he held his tongue. Instead he simply turned on his heel, surprisingly broad back markedly straight as he took his leave. A key he had not seen or felt when pressed against him twisted in the lock, the true loss of his freedom emphasised by the deafening clack. Several measured steps put some space between them when his captor paused.

“Take nothing from any other,” he cautioned over his shoulder, the little cell ringing with it.

Hyunckel let his hand fall back across his lap as Larhart continued on his way. Steady steps so light they almost hovered traced winding tunnels ahead, echoing until they faded into nothing for his human ears. The wall had somewhat warmed against his unclad back by the time he finally felt fit to glance around, the mysteries of that conflicted expression still lost to him.

Knowing what they did of his abilities, how strange he found it for them to dump him in a cave-like cell. Of course, without a blade to channel his power through it would be difficult to carve deeper into the rock. But not impossible. Did they not possess rooms made entirely of enchanted steel to subjugate dragon followers? Did they think him powerless? Were they mocking him, or worse, underestimating his abilities? True, he had been soundly beaten during that previous fight, magical defences stripped away to sheer strength and speed, and it would take several days for his body to recover enough to remember how to move comfortably, but he would not be broken. He had survived far worse than an extended visit to a dingy cell, was long used to the mockery intrinsically bound to being the only human in the Dark Army. Even when he had climbed through the ranks to a standing second only to Hadlar, disgruntled murmurs never entirely ceased. He had personally borne witness to the worst the Underworld had to offer, and still he sat here proud.

It would take far more than biding his time to weaken his resolve.

He missed his bed of straw, if he were being honest. At least that carried the scent of contented monsters, and for all that it sometimes prodded his cheek when he nuzzled into it too closely in sleep, at least it was soft enough if you threw a cloak over it. The best this cell could offer was a stiff wooden plank impressed into the wall about two feet off the ground. His cloak was lost to him, carried by a restless wind somewhere far beyond their battle, and while it was straight enough, the board was too short to comfortably lie on. Even if he were to curl onto his side like he used to under Bartos' care, knees pulled to his chest and arms tucked beneath his cheek, either his head or his feet would still be free to the whims of the open air. He would be lucky, half-bare as he was, if he didn't get splinters.

Maybe he'd doze against the wall tonight, where he could easily take out the legs of any intruders looming over his huddled form. Just to be safe.

Although no more than half a day old, Hyunckel pointedly ignored the small bread roll taunting him from a wooden plate. Beside it sat its counterpart, an equally plain and simple bowl into which he dunked the offered rag. Shallow breaths through his nose marked a freshness about the air which the room had been sorely lacking while, hastened by the squeeze of his fist, water dripped eagerly into back its vessel. So it probably wasn't poisoned.

Still, he wasn't taking any chances. Surprising softness followed the path of his forearm where he dragged it along grimy skin, pink and clean in its wake. Days had passed since he last followed the river, and with the ferocity of their battle, hurling each other's sweaty bodies against cliffs and boulders and earth while metal flashed and flew, it was only natural to be so filthy.

No burns or tingling prickled along his skin, but that didn't mean anything yet. There were plenty of slow-acting toxins.

He'd just have to wait and see if anything came of it.

After another five hours, or so he surmised, Hyunckel was severely dehydrated. Blinking didn't really help the stinging in his eyeballs, nor the cracked pinches of his throat. His arm was perfectly fine.

He heaved a sigh made purely of hot, dry air.

Maybe he was being too cautious. Why would Larhart allow him to follow them back to their stronghold if only to kill him later? It would be so much more efficient to just get it over with out in the field.

...Maybe one more hour. Just to be safe.

When soft footfalls again echoed through the long descent to his prison, Hyunckel barely opened his eyes. Baran himself could never hope to replicate the pride in that powerful stride.

A grunt of disapproval filled the tiny room.

“You've not eaten.” Narrowed eyes flicked from the crockery to his own before sliding down his weary frame, his gaze lingering upon the clean patch upon his arm. “And you've used only a little water. Aren't you parched?”

Hyunckel said nothing.

Tray balanced effortlessly between his palms, Larhart sighed.

“I had been prepared to swap out your provisions, but somehow, I imagine you would simply repeat this whole foolish farce. You may keep your meagre supplies until the morrow, on this instance alone.”

Some barbed retort or other hung in heavy silence, fostered between locked eyes, before Larhart turned pointedly on his heel to stalk unhappily away, whatever new meal he had brought leaving with him.

Hyunckel's stomach growled.

In the near distance, quiet steps stalled. A great tension filled the air as he waited for him to return to the cell if only to force food down his throat, to cave to sadistic urges like many a Darkling would.

...But he didn't. Eventually the moment passed, and steady steps carried him on his merry way.

When he was long out of earshot, Hyunckel finally drank.

He woke with a start as cacophonous footsteps rushed towards him, already reaching for his weapon. Practiced hands grasped empty air where they settled by his hip.

Right. Of course. He had every reason to be jumpy, especially after the night he'd had. His whole body ached. A great crick in his neck pinched harder at jerky movements. The backs of his eyeballs still throbbed from dehydration, his skin clammy and cool.

Still those echoes hastened his way. When he willed himself to be patient and listen, however, Hyunckel's heart soared. Distorted as they were for unending labyrinthine tunnels twisting about in the gloom, he recognised those tiny steps. Whether knowingly or not, Dai sought him out. That could only be a good thing.

Had his friend sprinted any faster his way he would surely crash right through the bars. Instead he bounced between the walls to slow himself until, finally, he teetered onto his toes, nose poking into the space between. Nearby torchlight bathed him in an ethereal glow. Although blue was much more his colour, whoever clothed him had chosen well, flowing reds and golds that sat snugly upon his diminutive frame wrapped about him like living flame.

Little palms curled around chilly metal as Dai tried to peer at him through the gloom. “Why are you in here, Mister?”

“Hyunckel.”

“Hyunckel.” Dai nodded seriously, lips pursed, although it was unclear if he actually took it in. “Why would they lock you in a cage? It's horrible, cold and damp... You feel so lonely...”

As much at it tore him up inside and Hyunckel's heart broke anew, he boldly buried as much anguish as he could before it could reach his face, smiling across at his friend. “It's a precaution. I'm very strong, and up until a few days ago, they thought I was an enemy. Until they stop thinking that, I have to stay here.”

“But you're not!” Dai wailed, the shrill call crashing painfully against his ears, echoing down long, blackened halls. “You're not a bad guy!”

“That's right,” Hyunckel's smile strengthened as the deep affection he harboured for his ward took precedence. Dai needed to be comforted to be coaxed to his side. “But just because I'm your friend doesn't immediately make me theirs. In fact, your follower and I had never met.”

“That isn't fair! All of this is so unfair!” He swallowed thickly as tears welled in ginormous, glistening eyes. “Why can't they see how you suffer?!”

“So this is where you were, Master Dino.”

Dai jolted at a careful hand resting upon his shoulder as much as the sudden voice. Larhart's neutral frown tightened as worried eyes locked with Hyunckel's own.

“Come along now, Master Dino. You heard from Master Baran himself that you are not to come down here.”

“But...” Dai pleaded, crestfallen. “But Hyunckel's my friend. Why is he being treated like a criminal? Why does... Does he have to be kept trapped like this? These cages are so scary!”

A note of surprise parted lilac lips. Larhart glanced down to comfort the boy, but those chilling words pierced both of their hearts the same.

Someone had imprisoned Dai.

Hyunckel's fists clenched, and what little remained of his armour sang against rickety bones, yearning to break free and fight. If he could only find out who, if he could only cleave their heads from their shoulders-

Trembling breaths rattled through his nose. However difficult such a task may be, he let fists unfurl and tensions melt from his frame. Growing vicious would only ruin his chances here. If he had any hope of getting Dai out of here, he needed to behave. Baran's lot needed no more reason to suspect him.

Besides...

As awkward fingers twitched at the air before the other finally convinced himself he was permitted to embrace the boy clinging to his toga, at his hesitation and almost pleading eyes, Hyunckel felt he could trust Larhart's love for Dai if nothing else. For now, he would have to believe that true, and leave Dai's safety to his counterpart outside the cell.

“Go with Larhart, Dai.”

“But Hyunckel-” Fists still clenched in that smooth red fabric rumpled about his cheek, Dai's lips quivered.

“We'll meet again when the situation improves. You have somewhere you need to be, right? Go on.”

Larhart's surprise moulded into a nod of gratitude as he gingerly extricated that tiny hand, fingers curled loosely about it. “He's right, Master Dino. Come, no doubt Master Baran wishes to see you.”

Even as he allowed himself to be guided away hand in hand, Dai cast a baleful look over his shoulder, desperately searching Hyunckel's face for any sign of changing his mind.

Hyunckel's supportive smile never faded.

Chapter Text

There was no way he could sleep after that. Already his next meal would be some time away yet, perhaps even longer while Larhart dealt with the consequences of Dai's behaviour, so he should not pay heed to the vicious protests of his stomach. He had been a fool to abandon his chance at replenishing his strength, least of all for how deeply Dai needed him. To throw himself completely into his daily routine was the best way he could atone.

Even without a blade he lunged into thrusts and horizontal sweeps, the ceiling all too eager to scrape unwary wrists should he strike overhead. Light twinges and tugs of muscle and sinew brought to him their familiar comfort when he worked to limber up. Whether he lost muscle from possible lack of food or the weight of his weapon mattered not so long as he remained flexible. His armoured boots clashed deafeningly upon the stone until he willed them away, a stream of purple light that fled like a slime to settle beneath his bed.

It felt good to train. Not just for his sculpted body, but for his mind, as well. That such a narrow enclosure failed to keep him from his favourite pastime was nothing short of a miracle, a blessing he refused to take for granted. While the small cut from when Larhart had shallowly pierced him in a fit of anger burned in his side with every gentle twist, such a tiny thing was hardly enough to keep him from such keen pleasure. Pain meant he was alive. More than that, the wound had been a gift, a mere distraction to create an opening in his defence. Had he wished to plunge it deeper and disable an organ or two, there would have been nothing stopping him. Small mercies, he supposed.

By the time he had finished, a healthy sheen of sweat beaded upon his heaving, fevered muscles.

Dust showered him as an explosion thundered overhead, his low battle stance swiftly thwarted as his bracing breath dragged most of it into his lungs. Wound-tearing coughs hacked violently through his frame, streaming eyes blinking blindly into the gloom as rasping breaths fought to be silent. Try as he might, he couldn't stop them quickly.

Pain throbbed in his chest in time with his racing heart as he expanded his aura in desperate search of nearby foes or any who would pounce on his weakness. Nothing stirred in the tunnels ahead no matter how far he sensed. Above him, dust still trickling from the ceiling, stomped some kind of dragon, ferocious enough even outside of battle that its presence set his hair on end.

For better or worse, he was alone.

Shallow and pitched, Hyunckel let out a shaky sigh soon a hiss as sweat dripped into the hole in his side, palm clamped hastily down upon the shallow cut. No doubt his training had aggravated the wound, but that hardly mattered. He couldn't let himself grow complacent.

A stifled grunt escaped him as he sank carefully onto the bench, mindful of his side. A cursory glance to the floor beside him proved that which he already knew: his water pot was empty and dry. Worse, when he tentatively checked his side, his hand came away sticky with more than just sweat.

With little else to do he closed his eyes and listened. In the distance a dragon roared, the answering cries of countless others rattling the bedrock behind his head.

Fearsome as these dragons were, they did not pose as much of a threat as his body seemed to think. Popp by his force of will alone had halved the Dragon Riders' forces. Three dragons had fallen to his efforts despite their resistance to magic, and Avan must have surely slain a few in his time. It must have been his own recent defeat that left him feeling so frazzled, much as it shamed him.

Larhart made for a formidable foe indeed.

Dark Armour sabatons wrapped around ankles and feet as though to steady him. Gratitude staved off the worst of his dismay while their comfort embraced him, and with the hand not clutched to the throbbing pain, he reached for them. Even in pieces, even without its warcry bolstering his soul, it still yearned to protect him. In the dark days ahead, he could wish for no greater companion.

Delightful scents of simmered vegetables and meat stew washed over his senses. The treacherous growl of his stomach, he could only hope, went unheard in the passages ahead. Hyunckel tried to picture himself anywhere but here as he salivated against his will. Surely they would not let him sample such a delectable feast, least of all as a lowly prisoner. They must have made it to taunt him. That was the only answer to the pain that blossomed through his abdomen like a greatsword had run him through. The wound that had readily stopped bleeding hurt far less than this.

Hours passed, or minutes, time a limitless haze. Just a bite... That was all he asked. Just a tiny taste of that sinful aroma...

“I leave for but a short while and return to find you more filthy than ever.”

No venom filled the tone of his familiar captor despite that crinkled nose never quite pressed between the bars.

“Very well, I shall fetch water with your next meal. Now,” Larhart nudged the readily unlocked door open with his hip to set the tray on the bench beside him, what might have been the tiniest hint of a smile upon firm lips when his arms folded before him, “why did Master Dino visit you earlier? Depending on your answer, you may be rewarded with a second helping.”

Like a song from the deep the allure of hearty stew called to him. For only a heartbeat his gaze flicked towards the pleasantly steaming bowl so close to his hands, his drooling mouth, before it locked back onto Larhart's own. From the sounds of things his answer was about to deny him food. But Dai's motivations truly eluded him.

“I don't know.”

Angular features pressed into faint displeasure. With crossed arms he looked almost imposing looming over him.

“Take a guess,” that firm tone insisted. “I have time enough, although I rather doubt the same of you.”

His mind started to blur. The growl of his stomach echoed off of narrow walls. It smelled incredible...

'I can't answer what I don't know,' some stubborn part of him yearned to insist, although he quickly vanquished the urge. He couldn't afford to skip more meals right now. Not for something so foolish.

“...Maybe he sensed a familiar aura. He's sensitive to things like that.”

A noncommittal hum preceded long lilac arms unfolding. Shadows danced in the grooves of deceptively slim muscle as though to bulk him up. “...Perhaps. What did the two of you discuss before my arrival?”

“Hardly a thing, and nothing you don't already know.” Hyunckel hoped the way he lifted his head to face him did not read as defiant. “As you yourself heard, my being locked in here distresses him. I hate to see him like this...”

“It is most regrettable that he ended up this way. Whilst I do not know the specifics myself, I must admit, I would have liked to know what he was like before all this.”

Hyunckel pointedly lifted the still-full vessel. “If you can guarantee a second bowl, I have stories to tell.”

It was a gamble, but one he was willing to take. Whether he could truly fill his belly was up to Larhart's discretion, but it would be a fair exchange, the Darkling's curiosity as deep and genuine as his loyalty to Baran.

Serious words finally broke the silence.

“Very well, you have my word. Now if you'll excuse me, I shall take my leave of you. Be prepared to speak at length upon my return.”

And with that, the lock clicked between them, Larhart gone in a blink as though he were never truly there.

Hyunckel ate. Without a word or thought he brought the bowl to his lips and gulped with reckless abandon. His empty gut baulked at the hefty meal, but that did not deter him. He would be senseless indeed to let this opportunity pass him by. Even if it were poisoned, he would endure it. It was like entering town after a month on the road, the call of the tavern enticing adventurers with delectable scents as much as the din of rowdy patrons. A carefully crafted meal that would always taste better than the rations and paltry trappings travellers procured for themselves.

Unlike yesterday's hard-shelled roll that split under pressure from a determined thumb, its porous core just soft enough to cling to a desert-dry tongue while the crumbly outside threaded protesting teeth, the bits of bread submerged in the soup truly sprang back as he chewed. Greedy sponge took zealously to the aromatic broth, and together, they melted in his watering mouth.

Hyunckel breathed through the urge to weep. There was no need to sully such perfection with the salt of tears. Especially if this were a simple but effective taunt meant to dash risen hopes, a single false mercy to enforce how good life might be before supplementing stale bread and tasteless gruel.

The entire cup of water plunged down his throat in a single swig only to clack noisily upon the wooden tray with a grateful sigh. Although it was perfectly ordinary in every way, especially compared to the almost miraculous stew, he felt like a new man. Like everything he had ever endured had been for this one perfect moment...

It took everything he had not to return to his training. A meal like that deserved to be savoured, and there would be time for practice later. For now, strange as the gesture felt, he smiled.

Hazel eyes flicked to the lacquered bowl licked clean that perched neatly beside the entrance to the cell. Upon Larhart's tray were two bowls and a pile of soft rags which he set in the far corner. Hyunckel only raised a brow as his captor tossed him a damp, tiny towel.

Without breaking eye contact Hyunckel gave it a tentative sniff. Although the faint whiff of sulfur warned him away from trying to drink from that bowl, its comforting heat spread through his palm. Grime broke away freely where he dragged it over the densest patch of muck. After a moment Larhart seemed to realise he was staring and politely turned his back.

Whatever was in this stuff felt so much better than regular water despite its dubious scent. Pleasure followed the heat that seeped into newly cleansed skin as though to sap his fatigue, although he stifled a satisfied sigh. Larhart didn't need to know how grateful he was. It would be almost effortless to transform it into a weapon.

“It gladdens me that you do not hesitate to bathe,” Larhart cast over his shoulder, still without glancing his way. “After all, a warrior's pride should go beyond his skill with a blade.”

While Hyunckel hardly minded a little dirt, to feel clean once more, especially in a place where one expected to find only tension, was a luxury his life had sorely lacked. Had it been his ashen front that urged his companion to bring hot water? Or had his repugnant stench offended overly sharp nostrils?

Either way, Larhart settled easily into the open space beside him when he was clean enough, braced comfortably against the wall. The extra helping remained in the far corner of the cell.

“Have you decided which tales you wish to impart upon me?” Regarding him from the corner of his eye, that lilac face tilted subtly.

He had. Their time together was so tremendously brief in the starry tapestry of their interwoven fates, but a single grain in the hourglass of his life, but Dai's blinding light pierced the darkness of his heart with an almost otherworldly force softened by gentle insistence. In the very moment of Hyunckel's first ever defeat, he had truly lived. What better story had he to tell in his otherwise unremarkable life?

“Dai is...” Hyunckel allowed damp forearms to fall across sturdy thighs, the filthy rag squeezed loosely between his knees. “He's compassionate like you wouldn't believe. Even when he's out there risking his life, he's trying to understand who he fights and why. I was buried far too deep in the chasms of my anger to acknowledge his words when we met, but still he fought to save me. To make me listen to him...”

The towel trembled in his forceful grip. He paid no heed to the eyes he sensed upon him.

“I've never met anyone who works that hard to be a hero.” He hastened to cast Avan's free-spirited visage from his mind. Anything heroic he did always seemed so effortless despite always goofing off... “Whether people turn their blades against him or their tongues, he just smiles and tries his best to help...”

“You truly care for Master Dino, don't you?” Was that a note of gentleness he heard?

“More than anything.”

The admission brought with it a rush of relief so forceful it left him dizzy. Of course he meant those words. Dai was all he had left. The last hope for humanity, and his own undeserved salvation.

“I must admit, I envy your bond.” Strong cheeks tilted further towards him. “I was made to abandon my relationship with Dino before I ever knew who he could have become.”

“Well,” the wall kindly braced his back where he straightened up to regard him, “at least you have time to get to know him now.”

“...Yes...”

While a miniature eternity passed between their companionable stares, Hyunckel could not help but feel that Larhart no longer truly looked at him. In shadows that blurred the lines of sharp features, long ears seemed to pin themselves flat against his temples.

“We have... time...”

Chapter Text

Hyunckel winced. He had meant it to be reassuring. Should he have tried to force a smile? What could possibly cause the distance in those muddy eyes? Should he ask him about it? Would that be inappropriate?

Even if it were, he had to say something. Anything. He couldn't just stand by and let his failings carve the heart of the one tasked with his treatment.

“Are you... alright?”

Dark eyes blinked several times before he seemed to recall himself. Pressed-pale lips stiffly smiled. “I have been at odds with a conundrum of late, one to which you may have just revealed a path forward. You have my thanks.”

Hyunckel was more inclined to trust pinched features filled with pain than empty platitudes, but Larhart would not thank him over something trivial. What was it he'd said? That he had been made to 'abandon' his relationship with Dai? Had he not considered that he could try again now? Or was he still not permitted to? Did Dai reject his every effort to interact with him? Is that why such unfathomable misery overtook his stalwart face?

It had taken unreasonably long for Hyunckel himself to come to terms with being liked by other humans. His fallen comrades had worked so immensely, immeasurably hard to try to include him no matter what they did. If only he had returned the favour...

“If you don't put in the effort, you'll regret it.”

It needed to be said. He cared not if Larhart struck him for his insolence. At this point, jagged teeth could tear his throat out and he still would not regret those words.

What might have been a glare burned holes into his unyielding stare as Larhart granted him his full attention, but his conviction did not waver. Strong biceps clenched tighter beside his chest. Tension lay thickly in the air like a miasma of dark aura, suffocating and dense, but despite the silence the man seemed to ponder his words. Finally, long arms eventually uncoiled from about his slender frame, he spoke.

“Your insufferable tone aside, I can see that you speak from experience. So be it. I will take your advice into consideration, if only to spare myself your mistakes.”

Hyunckel felt like he could breathe again. He dared not sigh relief, however.

“Now.” Quick to cast the source of the dour mood from his mind, Larhart resumed his questioning. “Why did you send him with me?”

That was obvious. “I thought you could use the aid.”

Larhart scoffed. “Did I truly appear so helpless to you?”

“Not... helpless,” Hyunckel frowned. “Just out of your depth.”

“To Darklings, they are one and the same.”

True, there were plenty of Darklings who believed such a thing, that to show emotion so openly was a mark of shame, but Hadlar and Zaboera were expressive in extremes. Maybe it was because he was still at the height of his youth that Larhart deemed it so. Or perhaps Baran, as one-note as his expressions seemed to be, simply demanded the same of his servants.

Whatever the case, Hyunckel wasn't about to argue the point. Not while things remained uncertain.

Now and then Larhart would glance towards the exit as though he were the one trapped in here. Would he get in trouble for visiting often, like Dai most likely would? Or was it the second meal that brought with it his wariness? Eventually that piercing stare turned again upon his seated form, curt words as callous as his tone.

“You are exceedingly cautious for one who claims to care not for his life.” Larhart frowned down at him, eyes slightly narrowed. “And yet, you continually take unnecessary risks. I cannot fathom why.”

Hyunckel shrugged, unwilling to point out the irony of his choice of words. No answers came to mind that he was willing to share. Putting his body on the line was all he really knew how to do, and at this point, the cause hardly mattered.

His captor clucked his tongue with a disparaging shake of his head. “That aside, you are certain you did not say anything that could have caused undue distress?”

“Look,” splinters snagged on old linen as Hyunckel swung to better face him. “I don't know what kind of father Baran is, but Dai shouldn't get in trouble for finding me down here.” He frowned at the loathsome thought that suddenly invaded his mind. “The state he's in is punishment enough, don't you think?”

Strong arms folded over his chest as stormy eyes hardened.

“You would do well not to speak out against him,” quiet words warned. Hyunckel opened his mouth to protest when Larhart subtly lifted a hand. As if listening out for threats his ear flicked towards the tunnels, gaze still locked to his own even as his cheek subtly shifted. Somehow his next words were even quieter. “Although in light of recent events I am inclined to agree.”

“...Will it be harsh?”

Lilac lips tensed.

“Larhart,” Hyunckel pressed, pale hands gripped tight about his knees. “Will his punishment be harsh?”

“...I do not know.” For once that vehement stare slid from his own, locked to a distance that held nothing. “When Master Baran took me in, I adopted the role of a model student. I did all that was asked of me without hesitation or complaint. If ever there was a time I disagreed with his methods, I would have bitten my tongue and bowed my head. Naturally, as the blood of Master Baran there was some expectation for that to be the case, but even in such a juvenile state, I did not expect Master Dino to be so... willful.”

Despite himself, Hyunckel's face softened. Yeah, that was their Dai...

“He always was.”

Larhart's head tilted towards him, though still he fixated on the barren wall. “I would hear more about that at a later stage.” Again his arms unwound for perhaps the final time today, one hand fallen to a hip. “Master Baran has always held Master Dino close to his heart – closer than he ever held me, I'd surmise. But even then, I cannot say which emotion would win out. Such lofty expectations are not without their drawbacks, least of all to those who fail to meet them.”

Matter-of-fact words lingered uncomfortably in the air for a long moment before Larhart showed him mercy.

“But... I will take upon myself the duty of overseeing his fate in your stead.”

With all of his being, Hyunckel wished to know why he would do such a thing for him. But the words that fell from tightened lips were not a question, but instead, “Thank you.”

For his humility he received a favourable nod though not a smile. His heart stalled when Larhart speedily grabbed the lacquered bowl from the corner, worried he would take it with him, but instead he held it out towards him without looking his way. Hyunckel gratefully accepted.

His companion turned his back.

“Leaving so soon?” Hyunckel gestured to the bench beside him with the spoon. “Why don't you stay awhile?”

Long did he stare up at his sole distraction in this featureless place, comforting heat cradled between callused palms. Given his speed, it was truly remarkable how still Larhart could remain when the mood arose. On top of that, this silence was truly impressive. If Larhart seemed the sort, he could almost believe the torment had finally arrived.

Pale lips smirked as he again waved the spoon in his direction. “You might coax more information out of me.”

“While your offer is rather tempting,” Larhart drawled, razor-sharp cheek turned towards him a moment, “I shall leave you to your solitude for now. After all, I have delivered that which was promised.” Firm eyes locked meaningfully upon his own where he twisted a little further, alight at last with that mischievous twinkle. “A reward, for your continued cooperation.”

A lilac hand rested upon cold steel, then. With renewed strength and a focus born of burgeoning interest, finally somewhat adjusted to the dark, Hyunckel couldn't help but take notice of the slight favouring of his arm.

“Is your shoulder okay?”

As it once had with a tray in hand, a long, elegant ear swivelled towards him. “It fares better than your side, I'd wager.”

His wound throbbed at the memory.

“We got a few good hits in on each other,” Hyunckel smiled appreciatively up at him. “Warriors of your calibre are a rare breed.”

Arms falling to his sides, Larhart faced him properly once more. “Likewise. I must say, the speed with which you adapt to the tides of battle is admirable indeed.”

“Yet still you bested me.”

“But not by much.” Genuine praise hovered strangely in the air between them. “If fortune favoured you that day, I am certain the outcome would have been very different.”

Hyunckel huffed a laugh. “You say that, but you were hardly panting.”

An uncommon softness befell those firm features as Larhart gazed upon him, a genuine smile upon his lips. “I am quick to recover my breath once my movements slow. One of the advantages of Darkling blood.”

There had to be more to it than that. Hadlar had panted similarly in their well-matched duel, mighty body brought low by the demands of beating hearts and bulging muscles. But despite his additional years, Hadlar had only recently joined the fray himself, his movements sloppy compared to his own or Larhart's who had fought intimately their entire lives.

“You're not telling me you have a third lung or something?” Hyunckel joked.

A snort. “That would certainly be impressive, wouldn't it? Alas, I am not blessed with such a trait. I suppose one needs immense stamina to sustain such speeds.”

Hyunckel nodded. He could believe that. Even at the end he could not see Larhart's attacks – could only ensure the hits he took did not kill him outright. The Darkling must have worked long and hard to build his endurance so, an endeavour worthy of praise.

He refused to be left behind.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” Larhart gathered remnants of filthy water, rags and yesterday's dishes seemingly without care, posture perfect as ever, “I really must take my leave of you. Delightful as it has been to at long last hear you speak more than a few curt words, there are 'people to posture before' that demand my presence, as you so boorishly phrased it.”

He wondered if Larhart knew how blatantly he smirked, or that the twisted thing appeared far softer than that. It lingered in the darkness long after he made his strategic escape.

Chapter Text

Hyunckel breathed deep of the magic that seeped through every brick and crevice of this place as long-honed muscle worked him through his usual routine. Strength the likes of which had been lost to him for weeks surged through pulsing veins. Even as a warrior he was half convinced this vigour alone could heal his every ache and misfortune. Truly, it was amazing what a little good food could do.

Surely it had not been Larhart's intention to provide him with such incredible meals? Especially to be so kind as to provide seconds once. What was his angle here? In the art of war, it was disadvantageous to allow prisoners enough nourishment to completely regain their strength. Was he testing him? Challenging him? Preparing him for days of endless fighting as a gladiator until one day he might eventually succumb?

Still, for now those unknowable reasons hardly mattered. Hyunckel need only do as he always did, and prepare as best he could for whatever the future may hold.

Over measured puffs and the delightful burn of his muscles faint footsteps permeated the room, but he paid his captor no mind. Right now, his training mattered more than the illusion of companionship. He couldn't let himself grow sloppy now that he had regained his will to resist.

That sharp, level gaze seemed to drag over his rippling back from where he stood outside his cell, if the faint tingle could be trusted. Appreciating his devotion, no doubt. Unluckily for him, he had already finished his sword drills even without a trusty weapon, so he could glean nothing from his technique this early. No way was he about to make it that easy.

“I was not aware that humans perspired so much when exercising.”

Hyunckel neither allowed his pushups to slow nor spared a glance towards the increasingly familiar voice beyond uncaring bars. “Can you see me glistening from all the way over there?”

A snort. Had he not been so focused on his efforts, Hyunckel would have smirked.

“While that is certainly the case, it is your scent I find most striking.”

That did give Hyunckel pause. He accomplished all that one could with meagre rags and some water, but it could never truly replace a bath. His stalwart companion must surely find him repugnant by now.

...Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

Hyunckel eased himself back onto his feet at the height of his next rep before strolling over to stand in front of Larhart, the flicker of torchlight across lovely lavender tones a perfectly pleasant sight. A sweaty hand fell easily to his hip, the other free to intercept any potential blows or gesture emphatically should he so desire.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Larhart cocked his head slightly at the query as the flicker of a thoughtful expression crossed his stalwart features. He breathed deep of the air – of his scent, Hyunckel guessed – before he finally answered, “No.”

So he had miscalculated slightly. No matter. 

Before his body could cool down and cramp, Hyunckel stretched languidly, only all too aware of how keen eyes followed the movement. “You don't find me repulsive?” he droned over the soothing pop of joints.

Larhart blinked. “Whyever would I?”

“Because I'm human,” he shrugged.

Lavender lips pursed, and here in the torchlight a glint of curiosity danced freely in the gaze that slid to his own. “Whilst my sordid history with humans runs deep, it is not their bodies I despise.”

He tried not to think too deeply about that admission. As if to distract himself he eased away from the bars to settle patiently on the edge of his 'bed'.

Larhart seized the opportunity to let himself into the cell and toss him a simple waterskin. Whilst he remained standing just as Hyunckel predicted, he did not cross his arms. Instead he simply watched in silence as he wiped his hands and sniffed at the drink.

He did not have to scowl at him so. It's not like he was planning to run. Besides, without a weapon, his armour hardly regenerated beyond simple sabatons, even if Hyunckel had the denser physique and the upper hand in close quarters, were he to incapacitate him and run, where would he even go?

Although...

He couldn't deny that the idea of a good scrap sounded wonderful right now. A shame really, that the dingy cell was far too small, and Larhart would never relocate him to a training room while the terms of his imprisonment remained in effect.

Larhart rested a hand on his hip as Hyunckel had done before, chin subtly lifted. “Do you wish to fight me?”

Oh how sorely he did. Alas, Hyunckel said nothing.

Light, confident steps carried him unerringly closer, his shadow cast over him long and slightly chilled. “It would not be impossible, and even I would be beset by a significant disadvantage in quarters such as these.”

Almost nose to nose now, Hyunckel stared.

“I'm sure you are well aware that I cannot grant you a suitable battlefield. But I would not be opposed to wrestling you in this meagre space.”

He mulled it over in his head, twisting it this way and that. Pleasantly warm muscles sang at the prospect of fighting him again. With the right leverage, one or the other could easily find themselves with their back to the wall, penned in by powerful arms, their breaths mingling as sweat pooled together...

Hyunckel's skin burned.

Despite what his body seemed to ask, he couldn't. What if, by sheer misfortune, it wasn't him that slammed Larhart into the wall, but the other way around? Could his pride handle another such humiliation right now? Could he?

For some reason, the air grew less intense, and he found himself able to breathe again. He couldn't deny that Larhart seemed... disappointed, as he drew himself away.

“Another time, perhaps.”

An appraising, almost longing glance lingered on his own before Larhart turned and left, his departure emphasised by the deafening snap of the lock. Rippling water sloshed mockingly within the vessel as he glared down at his agitated grip.

For the first time in his life, Hyunckel had just turned down a challenge. Why had he held back? His body felt good – great, even – so why? Had he no dignity left?

He drank deep of the draught and almost choked on it.

Hyunckel leaned heavily against the wall, arms crossed tight, frowning down at the empty room when next he caught the approach of even steps. Just as before, they were not accompanied by the scent of stew.

Larhart seemingly paid him no mind as he let himself into his cell as though it were the most natural thing in the world, a lump of neatly folded fabric resting on the hand not securing the lock behind him. When he straightened again and turned to face him, a faint smile tugged at the corners of that sloping mouth.

“I have something for you.”

Hyunckel reached out in time to keep the bundle tossed haphazardly towards him from slipping between unready forearms. He sniffed carefully at the dark cloth in case there were a disastrous surprise waiting in store for him, but the stench of acid did not assault his senses, nor did a tiny creature leap out to bite his nose.

“They're clean, if that is what bothers you so.”

With a frown he lifted the soft cloth to the feeble torchlight. Dyed a rich vermilion, there was plenty of fabric to conceal his figure from prying eyes, and as he shook it out to its full length it was more than long enough to cover him from shoulder to thigh. Hard eyes at last met Larhart's own.

“Are these your vestments?”

“They are,” he stated plainly, indifferent to his menacing tone. “They may squeeze you rather uncomfortably, but short of summoning a tailor, that is the closest to your size that we presently possess.”

Under normal circumstances, Hyunckel would rather go entirely shirtless than wear clothes that didn't fit right. But as it stood, in the midst of an enemy stronghold, left in constantly dim lighting and entirely at the mercy of whoever dared let themselves into his cell, he drew the warm material a little tighter to his chest. “...Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Larhart waved dismissively. “Even for one of your talents, humans fare poorly against the cold. Consider it levelling the playing field.”

There had to be more to it than that, the notion squirming at the back of his mind, but for now he would accept it. Already its comforting warmth seeped through bare skin.

Realisation struck him, then, as he recalled where else he had recently seen this shade.

“And Dai's. They're yours as well, aren't they?”

“From when I was his age, yes.” Long lilac arms spanned his chest, sharp eyes pressed closed. “When at long last I finally outgrew them, I did not understand why Master Baran would not permit me to burn them. At the time, we had both thought Master Dino dead, and I had all but given up hope on humanity.”

“...Maybe he wanted you to not let go of your past?”

Larhart regarded him then, from the corner of his eye. “...Perhaps.”

While Hyunckel made no move to adorn the mark of the Darkling's baffling kindness, the peculiar silence that befell them between their mutual attention did not bother him in the slightest. In their brief time together, however delightful, Hyunckel had never known what to say as Popp, Maam and Dai chatted about nothing and everything to ensure that they were never captured by the quiet. Perhaps Larhart, much like himself, preferred the comfort of leaving an empty void unfilled.

Chapter Text

Long had Hyunckel grown used to the silence that intimately accompanied solitude. It cradled him like fingers of darkness even when surrounded by living beings, a balm against the judgement of others and the wickedness of his own wandering mind. Yet, at Larhart's side, it carried a nostalgia he could not fathom. Until one short week ago, they had never met. But that did not keep from the pits of his heart the memories of warm fur as he was juggled atop the feet of orcs and swung freely from the necks of giants.

Like great gulps of air after a prolonged dive beneath the water's surface, heady words guided him back to the present before he could sink deep enough to grasp the meaning.

“...Speaking of the needs of one's past.” Dark, curious eyes locked upon his own rapt with attention, Larhart's face turned unsubtly towards his own. “Might I ask you to elaborate further on your own? There was something you made mention of when you first occupied these chambers that I have yet to comprehend.”

The cool wall embraced his head as Hyunckel gazed up at the ceiling, scoured his mind for what he had said mere days ago. Throughout his brief internment he had thought, endlessly, about escape, duty, survival. Even scenarios where he truly joined Baran's side had played out in his mind in an effort to assess every option. But what was it he had said to Larhart?

A flash of that strange, unreadable expression pierced his mind a moment, that implacable tension in an otherwise impassive face, and finally Hyunckel recalled. Hemmed in on five sides by basalt with the sixth a makeshift door, he could no longer deny the faint sense of comfort that lingered beneath his skin, reminiscent of the days of his youth. Talks of strategy and glory frequently livened the halls of the Underground Palace, muffled echoes he could rarely make out past the coaxing coos of his ragtag family. During the rare campaigns when another faction was tasked with safeguarding their fortress and the Undead Legion performed a special mission for which they were uniquely qualified, after his father's longwinded farewells, kind hands resting upon his shoulders, elbows and hands until he could no longer hold himself back from his embrace, Hyunckel was often left to his own devices. In those years when he never ventured where he was unwelcome, Hyunckel fancied himself a good son.

“You mean how this place reminds me of home.”

His companion dipped his chin.

Hyunckel shifted until the press of unvarnished wood bowed beneath him, the warm material bunched across his parted knees like a blanket. Still those watchful eyes remained affixed to his face, trained on his every expression.

“There's not much to say,” Hyunckel finally shrugged, eyes closed to better recall his comfortable youth free from prying eyes. “I think the only one with a real bed was Hadlar, but that never bothered me. Straw is all one needs to keep themselves warm at night, and on the nights he wasn't relegated to patrolling, I would sleep wrapped in all of Father's arms with my own body heat reflected upon me.”

A tickled smile stretched across his mouth as he recalled a time he slept in a stable, the bed of the inn he had even paid coin for far too soft for his liking. In a sense he had been like a child again, a sleep far more pleasant than years long past for all that he had braced his shoulders against the wall, dozing arms resting upon his scabbard.

For some reason the way Larhart listened to him in curious silence, unwilling to disrupt his reverie, swelled gratitude in his heart.

But now was not the time for fondness.

Neck cracked first one way then the other, Hyunckel stretched the residual stiffness from his upper back.

“In any case,” he peered sidelong at him from a gap in a single eyelid, lips pulled into almost a sneer for his intriguing captor, “you needn't worry about me. How bad can it really be?”

The hard set of that angular jaw was not lost on him as folded arms seemed to brace a little tighter about himself, pondering how much information to supply him.

“...I have lived here half my life and I have not sensed a chill this vicious. After all the pains it took to bring you here, you had better not die on me, Hyunckel.”

He could only raise a brow at such ominous words.

“If lava didn't kill me, I doubt a little cold will.” He lifted the tunic in silent thanks to distract himself from the sudden weakness of his heart, his name uttered for the first time not in a battle rage but with something far too close to concern. “Besides, I've got this now.” A smirk remained on cracked lips, testing him, teasing him, assuring him that all was well. “We'll meet again tomorrow, Larhart, of that I have no doubt.”

Pensive silence filled the air between them for a long moment marked only by the playful beats of his heart, the intensity in Larhart's quiet gaze almost buzzing with thoughts unmentioned. His throat bobbed with an unheard swallow as the stalemate dragged on, sizing each other up until finally, brought back to reality from the depths of that calculating mind, long arms unfolded. What would have been a sigh on one thrice as expressive bowed well-worked shoulders before, yet-lingering gaze at long last torn from his person, Larhart turned his back.

“You had better enforce those brazen words of yours, else I may just kick your corpse.”

Hyunckel barked a laugh, and from the quiver of rigid ears, he sensed the dizzying concern of his captor dissipate somewhat.

“Please,” he scoffed, amusement in every pore. “I'm immortal. I doubt even death could keep my body from moving.”

From beyond the clunks of that hefty key in its lock he thought he caught a huff. There was nothing in the casual gait of fading steps to suggest he laughed, no swivel of cheek nor flash of the edge of a smirk, yet that impression lingered long after he was gone.

Briefly he wondered why, for the unfathomable way his mind worked, there were moments such as this where he felt he glimpsed Larhart's true nature. Even when they traded blows and worked to outmanoeuvre one another amidst the whirling tides of battle he could still vividly recall that sinister delight stretched into that gash of lavender lips, and the disappointment so deep it bordered on disgust when Hyunckel finally fell. Not for the first time his body craved a rematch, but there would be time for that later, once he had finally made his way out of this cell and into the ranks of the servants.

Just as his jailer had suggested, when Hyunckel shook out the offered garment a few more times and eventually leaned forward to guide it over his head, its warmth spread through skin clammy from stagnant sweat to fight off the cell's occasional gusts of cold.

With a soft sigh he twisted this way and that, gently testing the fit and movement of the comfortable fabric. Either Larhart had underestimated the cloth's coverage or overestimated just how bulky his physique truly was, for the material stretched with him and light squeezes did not distract him from his purpose. Or maybe that was part of the mind games. Well, he would not fall for them. Just because Larhart had bested him in battle did not mean he could overpower his mind. So long as he continued to ponder all of the information available to him and take appropriate action, he would bring about success.

Again he tugged at the absent collar to carefully sniff at the cloth but not a single sinister scent greeted his twitching nose. Somewhere in the fortress they had access to enough clean water to drink, bathe and wash their clothes regularly. Such an advantage would likely be well fortified given its necessity to most living beings.

Although Hyunckel himself had been rather sparing when imbibing in water when he was a legion commander, he had never needed to consider the nourishment of his troops, a small blessing for which he was equal parts thankful and remorseful. Ghouls could not be afforded wine for the way it made their rickety, oozing bodies even slower, and skeleton soldiers possessed neither the tastebuds nor the maws to partake. Hyunckel himself had never touched the stuff, far too focused on maintaining a sharp mind and pushing his body to its limits. No doubt the handful of simple clay jugs and leather wineskins retrieved from fallen adventurers who dared draw too near failed to survive the collapse.

Hollowed wood creaked beneath him in a way that was already too familiar as Hyunckel wondered not for the first time whether or not Larhart actually enjoyed his company. While he far from disliked their companionable silences, a serious man like Larhart would surely despise remaining idle when there was work to be done. And doubtlessly he had a host of other duties to manage each day, so why did he make time for him outside of bringing him his meals? Why did he remain by his side for countless minutes, never touching, rarely asking questions? There was still time, of course, Hyunckel mere days into his sentence, but it was an unshakeable certainty in his mind that any other Darkling would have gone out of their way to make him suffer by now.

...Perhaps all this waiting was the torment.

Not a soul, living or undead, materialised from the gloom ahead to stake a claim on his life. Not that many could despite their best efforts. It mattered not whether he carried a blade or was forced to rely on fists and wits – without opponents of any kind, he had no one to keep himself sharp against. Whether they may have once trained together or not, he couldn't fight Dai in his current state, even without the threat of an axe looming over his neck for daring to even picture it. Even if Dai broke enough out of his juvenile state to ask.

If he were being honest, Larhart truly appeared to be his only option. But he couldn't accept his offer, not yet. Not until they could fight on equal terms, with a sizeable arena and their dignity wholly intact.

Unwittingly, Hyunckel rubbed at a bare arm. One easily imagined a missing sleeve to offer sufficient airflow, but the material itself breathed far better than his own meagre linen. When they had jested about Darklings possessing a third lung he had not considered the role attire could often play on one's ability to regulate their body heat. As always Larhart's offerings brought more questions than answers. But he seemed to trust that he would make sense of it, in time.

With every passing day the nights grew unseasonably cold, and with each one Hyunckel found himself grateful for Larhart's mercy. Every couple of days his companion brought a fresh toga with breakfast. Heat seeped back into cramping muscles with every irregular meal and long minutes with the Darkling perched at his side, close enough to lean into if either made the effort. No longer did he suffer mouthfuls of dirt breaking him from his slumber as dragons journeyed overhead. Were conditions any more favourable, Hyunckel could almost forget he was a prisoner.

Almost.

Were he free to do so, tonight he would slip boldly from this cell to gather every last shred of material he could find until his gritted teeth stopped chattering. Even with the cotton bundle gathered about his nose like a cloak and bare arms crowded around hard shins the chill ate at him, his entire body trembling against his will. One would expect a lifetime of exploring the forsaken halls of the Underground Palace or camping beneath the stars in little more than a bedroll and a rug to grant some resistance, but not even those nippy nights without his father could compare.

To lay upon freezing bedrock in such a state would surely be a death sentence to one with a weaker constitution, but that did not keep the thought from crossing his mind that he might take refuge beneath the wooden bench, shielded on three sides instead of two. Toes curled into his own body heat reflected back at him through his boots. It was hardly a defensible position. Perhaps he should try to stay awake until morning, to remove himself from such a vulnerable state before he was to suffer the humiliation of being seen like this.

In a place lined with fire-breathing dragons and caverns drowned in lava, such a cold was surely unnatural. Had Borahorn somehow returned from the dead? ...Surely not. If that were the case, his stomps and shouts would have reached even him by now. Flazzard was lay in tatters, and his united forces along with him. What sort of creature could possibly create such a vicious chill?

...No, that didn't matter. Regardless of the cause, this was to be a test, correct? In that case, failure was hardly an option. Even as flecks of colour ran across his shivering skin and the lance of freezing breaths pierced deep, he had no choice but to endure it.

His head jerked out of the neckhole at a sharp sound ahead, the rest of his limbs unwinding from their guarded state. He cared not that breaths misted about his nose and mouth while he dropped into a crouch behind his bed. Never had he heard such sounds before, the scrape of tiny claws scurrying cautiously amidst the passageways. Something of a hiss echoed softly within the pauses, a rasping sound made by neither humans nor undead. It was all he could do to remain motionless as the sizeable shape swelled larger just beyond the ring of light that marked his cell.

Obscured by the bars and dancing shadows as it was, Hyunckel squinted, mindful of the placement of his aching body. Although he would prefer to stand lest he be attacked, he dare not make a move.

Eventually, whatever it was that lurked in the darkness slithered, cautiously, into the light, large golden orbs split down the middle by a single dark sliver of pupils, its feathery head twisting this way and that as though to find him in the gloom. It forcefully sniffed the air, the source of its earlier hisses. The creature gurgled at him, a low trill from beyond a clacking, beak-like maw. Then, without warning, it hurled something into his cell. From the way it billowed thickly through the air to crumple and fold heavily along the floor before him it had to be quite the hefty offering. The creature clacked scaly, elongated jaws again before scurrying back the way it came with as much haste as caution.

Only when its retreating echoes ceased did Hyunckel slip from his hiding place to investigate. Even before he drew too close he cautiously sniffed the air, although the freezing burn in his nostrils told him nothing. Padded toes kicked at its reasonable mass, but again no tiny creatures scuttled about. Frigid fingers clenched stiffly about a corner of the earth-coloured item, the force of his practice wrenching it into the air towards the far wall of his cell.

Without a doubt, it was a blanket.

Once he had determined its safety, even with Larhart's warning about the gifts of others playing in the back of his mind, he slept soundly that night.

Chapter Text

Hyunckel was careful to wake before any further visitors could make their way to his chambers, the incriminating evidence folded neatly in the shadow beneath his bench. There was a good chance that Larhart with his astounding powers of observation would notice it anyway, but having it out in the open felt infinitely worse. 

The suspicious cold aside, he had slept well enough, relieved that the ratty old thing failed to leave a rash upon exposed skin. Cramping muscles worked the worst of the chill and stiffness out with his morning routine while his mind already sprinted with possibilities. They had trudged deep, deep into the underground from the open air to reach this cell. In all likelihood, they had not traversed through the fortress proper. The winds did not reach him here. So what, then, could explain such a drastic change in temperature? What was he missing?

...Maybe Larhart would know. Perhaps he could convince him to stay longer over breakfast and divulge a little more information about his circumstances. Although he had no particular aversion to idle chatter, if the reason was one he knew but did not wish to provide, then no matter Hyunckel's probing he simply would not answer. When next they met, he should begin with one of last night's considerations, just to test the waters.

What must have surely been hours passed before attentive ears caught the beginnings of that familiar gait. With a deliberate slowness he eased his way out of his stance to settle naturally upon the bench, wood groaning beneath him. One loosened forearm settled comfortably across his lap where he perched at its edge, booted feet hooked carefully into what he hoped looked a casual position.

A strange expression crossed lilac features where Larhart stood beyond the bars, head cocked, nostrils flared. Even with the distance those assertive eyes seemed to bore into his own, critical, searching, but Hyunckel would not yield this day.

“You do not perspire as much today,” he finally offered the quiet room.

Hyunckel effortlessly stretched an arm across his body, emphasised by a pleasant pop tingling in his shoulder. “Hard to work up a sweat when you're dehydrated from the cold.”

Larhart hummed agreement before he took to perching beside him without touching, not an object out of place on the tray upon his lap. A fresh change of clothes nestled in a bundle on the other side of his thigh. Even bereft a sleeve Larhart's body radiated the same gentle heat it likely always had. Did it only get chilly within the cells? Or was there something more to it?

“Well, I believe I have the solution to that. Here, take what you need most.”

Hyunckel swung his legs around to settle more comfortably beside him and better eye the bread and soup but, as Larhart likely suspected, he went straight for the water. He had already downed a few mouthfuls of it before he realised he had forgotten to sniff it, although for all his caution it seemed to just be ordinary water. It neither burned on the way down nor left the scorch of sulfur on his tongue. Despite the accusatory glance he threw at his captor Larhart pretended to study the far wall, neither bringing it up nor meeting his eye. A cultured casualness entered his listless tone which Hyunckel found almost irksome, just slightly too blasé to be genuine.

“It gladdens me that you did not succumb to the cruel embrace of death overnight, but I must enquire as to how you fare. Is there anything in particular that you need?”

Hyunckel would not be fooled by the feigned lack of attention as lilac fingers toyed with the tray. One sharp ear stood far too rigidly for it to not be trained upon him.

What was his angle here? If Hyunckel brought up needing a blanket, Larhart might just go searching for the very one he possessed. There was still a chance that he had already noticed it somehow. Frankly, he began to tire of being tested so blatantly. But for now, Larhart was not entirely in the business of leaving him lacking.

“Well...” Hyunckel leaned half over him to pointedly pluck the bread from its plate with his unoccupied hand, dunking it into the soup and taking a bite to draw out the silence, to see if he could coax movement or curiosity from his companion. The sweet broth warmed his insides with a sensation not unlike medicinal herbs. “If it's going to keep being that cold, I could use some thicker clothes.”

Jagged brows furrowed deeply as Larhart decisively turned towards him. “Does my attire dissatisfy you?”

“No,” he answered flatly, truthfully. “It seems well suited to combat, and I appreciate you sharing it with me for that reason above all others. It's just that, last night...”

Hyunckel polished off the unseasoned roll without risking a second dunk lest he soon find himself bereft.

Larhart waited expectantly.

“I thought...” A tingling palm rested atop his thigh, the warmth of his tunic relieving some of the ache from still-frigid fingers. “That perhaps Borahorn had been revived and sought revenge. Not even the Underground Palace ever got that cold. If that keeps up, your clothes alone might not be enough.”

Still his companion gazed upon him, patient in his silence. When it became obvious that Hyunckel would speak no more of it, Larhart leaned towards him, the brush of a bared bicep against his own almost painfully warm as a heat so comforting he could almost doze off if he remained this close permeated his skin.

“Borahorn is dead, of that there is no doubt.” Larhart insisted seriously. Then, a hint of teeth flashed in a wry grin emphasised by the twitch of his crinkled nose. “Had he survived, he would have dragged his blubbery hide all this way to fill the keep with his vexations. Although his visits have grown rarer in recent years, I have never known a moment's peace in his presence.”

A bark of genuine laughter tore from Hyunckel's chest. He could not help but smile across at him with heartfelt appreciation. After such a debilitating night, greedy nerves clung to the heat of sculpted muscles as though they were an oasis in a desert, and for once in his life Hyunckel embraced the comfort it brought. Larhart could be an enemy, a friend, a lover, or the Demon King himself for all he cared in that moment.

For a heartbeat, then three, then five, Hyunckel's cheek came to rest against that open shoulder. Only the brief twitch of muscle belied Larhart's stoicism, neither protest nor praise slipping from guarded lips. At some point, he stopped counting the seconds. Mind-numbing heat cradled him like the promise of fairness that his companion offered, wordless and mesmerising. They had never touched - not like this, not for so long or without purpose - but for its newness it hardly felt strange. It was almost... like this was expected. Natural.

“You warned me, about that cold front,” Hyunckel mumbled groggily into his shoulder. “Almost as if you knew it would happen.”

His head rolled with the gentle movement of Larhart's careful shrug. “One can predict much with experience.”

“You mean it's happened before?”

A long silence spilled through the air about them, his senses ringing with it. It spoke volumes, both of Larhart's apparent vow of secrecy and that he may have just landed a critical blow on something to which he should never be privy.

When he lifted his head in the hopes of meeting those chocolatey eyes his companion righted himself, the moment truly over.

Hyunckel struggled to breathe. His head spun with it, dizzying, disorienting, his listless mind grasping at the reason he felt so utterly affected by such a simple gesture. Water sloshed against the vessel grasped within an idle fist, dragging him back to reality. Hyunckel took another sip.

Exchanging the cup for the lone bowl he pointedly swirled it, mindful to keep its precious contents from flowing over the lip. Even so, Larhart eyed it warily.

With that analytical gaze so intently affixed to the vessel, Hyunckel lifted it to his lips and drank deep, swallowing slowly. Better that his attention be on his body than his mind, if he was close to a dangerous truth.

A gentle smile washed over his face while he lowered the newly drained bowl to his lap, eager to keep him occupied with a safer topic. “By the way, I've been wondering for awhile now what exactly it is that you put in the soups.”

“I assure you I haven't the faintest idea as to what you imply.”

“Don't play dumb with me.” Strengthening fingers squeezed tightly about the empty bowl, wood groaning beneath his grip while he crowded into Larhart's space beside him, face hovering so close to his own as though to return the favour. “Lately I feel incredible. That's your doing, isn't it?”

“Perhaps you begin to see the benefits of my companionship?” lilac lips quipped.

Hyunckel made no effort to refute the pleasant jab. In such a short time, he had grown to appreciate the way teasing words laden with amusement settled, heady, against his ears as he offered anything from casual conversation to words of profound depth. Even the way he had taken to nestling beside him while he ate in silence brought unfathomable comfort, the occasional bump of a firm knee or thigh against his own hardly objectionable.

It was all too clear with the way he tested how far he could prod and pry, as attentive eyes observed his strengthening state, that there were very few he could speak freely to. After all, he was not obligated to approach him outside of mealtimes, nor to remain in his cell while he ate. Intimidation worked best when leveraging a tactical advantage, yet Larhart lowered himself until they were on equal standing.

Perhaps one day he would suffer unduly for his unguarded tongue, but Larhart did not seem to mind. On the battlefield he himself had freely divulged whatever took his fancy. Why shouldn't he return the favour?

“You might just be right about that,” Hyunckel jeered.

Emboldened by their companionable silence he leaned half over his lap to set the bowl down on the tray and pluck the toga from his side, only all too aware of the gaze burning holes into the side of his jaw with equal parts surprise and curiosity. He may not possess the sharpest senses in the room, but from this distance even Hyunckel could hear the way he swallowed.

When he straightened Hyunckel pretended that nothing had happened, the comforting chill of the wall brushing against his back and arms that locked behind his head, pits exposed to test his crucial sense of smell.

Larhart twisted his face away far more rapidly than he would have predicted. He half expected him to cover his nose. Hair the shade of watchfires rustled against that powerful neck with the motion, a pleasing contrast to the darkness of the room. Shadows pooled in the lines of a throat as sharp as the rest of him as though they could soften those razor edges, dancing about his jaw. Hyunckel wondered, briefly, if there were even a shred of softness in his muscular frame.

Even when Hyunckel rose to peel the sweaty toga from his frame, mindful not to elbow him in the face while he changed, his companion remained in that unusual position. It crumpled into a careless heap near the door.

Only when he sat again, knees parted, each foot shielding his little secret from a different angle, did Larhart gather the tray and glide smoothly to his feet. He seemed to drag more than kick the soiled cloth through the threshold of his cell before he flicked it onto the tray, the door locked behind him. He spared him neither a word nor a glance as he stalked lithely down winding tunnels to wherever his duties next summoned him.

Hyunckel dare not even sigh.

A keen mind and supple body with strength enough to subdue him were Larhart's proudest traits – Hyunckel didn't trust for a second that he had gotten away with his obfuscation. What would come next, he wondered, the entire fortress waiting for him to let down his guard?

Chapter Text

He didn't know where Dai got the keys. No one would have given them willingly, and it was rare that he could sneak about like this at all under the watchful eye of his most dutiful servant. Was Larhart busy? Plotting? On some grand mission or other to hunt down Baran's enemies? And what of the others, countless unknown guards eager to keep them separate?

Hyunckel made no mention of it as his path to freedom swung unfettered on sagging hinges. Instead, shuffling in his seat, he braced himself for the flare of pain that never came as Dai crashed forcefully against his chest, steady arms wrapped carefully about his diminutive frame. Dai nuzzled, his fluffy hair tickling Hyunckel's collarbone.

“I missed you!”

Hyunckel wouldn't consider himself a touchy person, his earlier moment of weakness notwithstanding. But in the face of such open trust, even without recollection, even he found himself holding Dai close. As an affectionate hand smoothed over soft, fluffy spines, he felt a tender smile slip free of his usual restraints. To a fledgling, no doubt mere days felt like an eternity, torn from his friends as he was.

“It's good to see you,” Hyunckel quietly admitted.

Once deceptively strong arms unwound from his remarkably uninjured torso Dai shifted to make himself more comfortable on his lap. Little hands curled loosely in the pools of crimson fabric at Hyunckel's collar, their generous warmth seeping through to melt his heart to match. A curious pout befell startled features as perceptive eyes grew wide.

“How come you're dressed like that guy?”

“To keep warm.” There was no sense in speculating Larhart's motives for granting him his reprieve against the chill, least of all to Dai. But to maintain his trust, he mustn't lie to him, either.

Dai wrinkled his nose. “Doesn't being near him just make you feel jittery?”

“Not really. On the contrary, I at least know what to expect with him.” A silver brow rose in alarm. “Does he make you feel that way?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “I never know what he's thinking, and he never smiles. Even when I'm with my Dad I feel like I'm being watched. And lately he starts to smell of you, and that just makes things worse! He's...” Dai grimaced, crestfallen face half buried in soft cotton. “He's not you. He's not anything like you! I don't know why he treats me like he does, but it's... I feel...!”

Little fingers clutched the cloth atop his own heart, pouting lips pressed pale. Narrowed eyes did not quite glisten, but there need not be tears for Hyunckel to understand how he felt. It mattered not if Dai could not name the emotions swirling inside him. Hyunckel simply embraced him with all that he was, arms locked loosely about his comfort, feathery tufts tickling his cheek and chin. Dai dropped his fistful to awkwardly hug him back, a tiny huff escaping him. He didn't know how to help, but he was here to try.

“It may not feel like it, but he's on your side – I promise. Regardless of your feelings about him, he'll protect you.”

Dai cast him a doubtful look. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” Hyunckel smiled down at him.

With a heavy sigh, Dai twisted away, swinging feet drumming against his knees.

“I don't know why you seem so close to him. He's nothing like you. He's boring, and quiet, and distant...” Dai listed Larhart's perceived traits off on his fingers, his pondering, slightly crossed gaze cast blindly towards the ceiling. “And he's stuffy, too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know, stuffy! Like... the way he talks?” A single fingertip tapped thoughtfully at his lip where his head swayed from side to side, the other arm folded across his chest. “I can't really explain it.”

Since Larhart often spoke to him more like a companion than a captive, it took Hyunckel a moment to realise what he could be referring to. Then about a dozen uses of the term 'master' for Dai alone emerged from the pools of his memory along with Larhart's declaration of loyalty, and Hyunckel understood.

“...Yeah,” fingers carded slowly through soft spikes with a mind of their own, “you were never that fond of titles.”

Dai turned his head to blink up at him curiously, and with it chased the word 'hero' from his mind.

“You sound like you know a lot about me.”

To lose all of one's memories, both painful and joyous... he struggled to imagine a crueller fate. He tried to soften his gaze, at least, if unable to smile fiercely.

“I wouldn't say a lot. But we fought together, once. It means a lot to me that you chose to stand by me then.”

“Really...?” For a moment that worried lip quivered, although Dai quickly quelled it. “I can't imagine it. Weapons are so scary... But...” Dai turned to face him fully once more. Little fists twisted in his collar, holding him tight. “...I do like talking to you. It almost makes it feel... like I'm not really alone.”

Finally, his frozen, pensive face freed itself from its mask of stone, warmth spreading through his heart while he gazed down at his hopeful friend. Consequences be damned, they had both needed to interact again. “I feel the same. When I see you again, I remember I'm doing the right thing.”

Bright, hopeful eyes gazed compassionately up at him for all that they did not comprehend his turmoil, little hands on his collarbone. “Don't be lonely anymore.”

“I'm not lonely,” he grinned down at his friend, the tiniest part of him surprised to find he meant it. Solitude had always suited him better, but since allying himself to Dai's noble cause, in the rare moments he found himself without their bustling companions, claws of longing had begun to prick his heart. He tried not to think about those bygone days in Dai's company.

Dai sniffed the air doubtfully. “Maybe... But sadness clings to you.”

“Not even you can lift my curse.” Still the smile clung to his face. Dai was enough. So long as Dai was here, safe and mostly happy, everything he'd been through was worth it. This warmth cuddled into him was proof. “But I don't mind, really. Just knowing you're safe is enough.”

“I don't really get it,” Dai paddled those little feet.

“That's okay,” Hyunckel rubbed his shoulder. “It's not something you need to. Are the others treating you well?”

For the briefest of moments, a broad grin stretched across Dai's face, fierce eyes passionately ablaze. “Yeah, everyone treats me really nice! And the dragons are cute when they're around. It's just...”

'Cute' was hardly the word that Hyunckel would use for the terrors stomping about who-knew-how many floors above his cell, dust and debris from their trudging no longer tearing him from his slumber, but that hardly mattered now. Not with Dai's head bowed low and little fists clenched about his knees.

“Just...?” Hyunckel gently coaxed, rubbing circles into his back.

Dai sighed heavily, twisted and pulled the loosest part of Hyunckel's tunic about himself, wrapped tightly about his chest.

“Just that everyone seems really busy. Like if I tried to spend time with them, I'd just be in the way. I don't think I can ask them to play with me.”

Hyunckel quickly quelled the urge to suggest he ask Larhart. His feelings on the matter, especially now, were abundantly clear. It would take quite some time to convince him to try to get close, subtle seeds of tolerance sown into that barren mind over incremental moments in time. For now, his promise must be the first – and only – suggestion.

“You've still got me.”

Dai hummed agreement, little feet waddling in the air. “Yeah. I like you, Hyunckel. You're... You might be the only one who knows how I feel.”

Hyunckel tilted his head, waiting for him to continue.

“No one really talks to me. I mean, they do, but it's like they're talking to someone else. It makes me feel... like I'm not supposed to be here...”

Unwilling to encourage that line of thought no matter how true it may be, Hyunckel tightened his hold about him, those dark, feathery spines spreading to cushion the careful press of his chin.

“We'll be able to talk more before you know it.”

Dai twisted his cheek to regard him curiously. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he smiled. “I'm discussing it with Larhart right now, and eventually your father too. I'll be out of these chambers before you know it.”

Dai beamed brightly up at him with such force it nearly blinded him. Hyunckel was powerless against the kiss to his cheek before Dai leapt to his feet, dancing about the cell.

He worried, for a moment, that all the noise might attract attention. Who knew what lurked in the halls, just waiting to catch them unawares?

Although he savoured what he could of the heartfelt moment fated to vanish all too soon, Hyunckel wandered over to lightly nudge his back. “I'm glad you came to visit, but it's time for you be going. You don't want them to find you here again, do you? Didn't someone lecture you last time?”

“Oh, you're right!” Dai scampered out of the wide open door which Hyunckel quietly closed behind him, giggling secretively. Then he turned swiftly on his heel to wave cheerfully up at him through the bars. “See you again, Hyunckel!”

“Yeah.” He raised a hand in fond farewell. “Take care, Dai.”

It wasn't even locked. He could make his escape right now and carry Dai far away from here before anyone noticed they had fled. And... whether advised to or not, his friend had let slip a crucial piece of information. A significant portion of the dragons were currently missing – if they were to escape together, there would be no better time.

But Hyunckel knew better than to think it would be entirely unguarded. Although the Dragonkin servant that had granted him a blanket would be easy enough to dispatch should it come to that, he knew not how many others there could be. What traits Beastlings exhibited were often dependent on species, and those with such a small stature often gathered in groups. Long burrows such as these could easily house several dozen. What tactics would they utilise to try to stop them? Would they swarm them in droves, mindlessly throwing themselves at their weapons to slow their progress? Or would they focus on evasion, screeching for their comrades tunnelling ahead?

Dai might be able to sense them before they could raise the alarm, but Hyunckel refused to rely on those senses alone.

If something were to happen to him in the pursuit of Dai's freedom, even if he granted him the perfect opportunity to escape, without his combat sense it would only be a matter of time before Baran 'reclaimed' him once again. Without the will to fight, he'd be leaving Dai defenceless.

...It would be better to stay here after all. He had already resolved to see this through, and not endanger Dai any further. They'd already lost everyone who would fight alongside them. No one would be waiting for them outside these basalt walls, and if they ran they would make an enemy of their one tentative ally, to say nothing of Baran's army.

No, he couldn't run now. Not if he was to watch Dai grow into his newest role.

Chapter Text

Deep down, he must have recognised that their perceived freedom was a trick. Larhart appeared far too quickly after Dai had left, even for his agility. His captor could feign ignorance all he wished, but it could only be a trap, one which the pair of them had narrowly avoided. Even at a run, with Hyunckel guiding the way along a path just barely recalled, the very moment they reached the precipice overlooking the outside world he would have felt that tremendous spear cut cleanly through his armoured calf. He would not fell him – not in front of Dai, not after all this effort and generous resources – but that did not exempt him from suffering should his captor deem fit to punish him.

If not for himself, he was relieved that Dai, at least, had been spared the fate of watching him succumb to that blow.

“Master Dino visited your chambers again, did he not?”

A fine greeting if there ever was one, Hyunckel mused internally, although he responded to the pointed words with a cultured nonchalance.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Your scent clings to him despite his numerous reprimands.” A bucket swayed from Larhart's elbow as he let himself into the cell, its unknown contents sloshing quietly. “And as it is abundantly clear that you have not stepped foot outside this cell, there is only one conclusion to be drawn.”

As much as to keep racing thoughts guarded as to fill the space, Hyunckel muttered, “Just how good is your nose, really?”

Larhart shifted to regard him with a lifted chin. “Not nearly so keen as a full-blooded Darkling, but it is enough that I would be able to tell immediately if you had left your quarters. The stench would linger in the tunnels, after all.”

Right. Of course it would. It mattered not if it was medicine or sweat, he probably reeked so horridly right now that it kept the guards away. Water and a rag alone could only do so much, after all.

“That makes sense.” Hyunckel leaned back against the wall with the faintest quirk of lip, arms raised behind his head, pits exposed, simply to watch that keen nose crinkle. “So, what brings you all the way to this stinking human's nest?”

“I have come to collect on that debt.”

That's right... They had already spent so long in each other's presence, trading information and barbed or playful words in place of blows, that the terms of his imprisonment had entirely slipped his mind. Larhart had neglected to take him up on his offer. He seemed more the sort to ask for companionship than pleasures of the flesh, although at times Hyunckel still failed to comprehend his mind. Still, however rash, desperate or foolish his taunt had been, he was dutybound to face the consequences now. Stiffly, Hyunckel nodded.

Now that he truly studied it, his companion nearly close enough to lay a hand on, steam coiled above the liquid's shimmering surface. A sulfurous odour within wafted to his nostrils beneath the scent of something far fouler. Not even the flowers that grew upon graves smelled nearly so rancid as the markedly herbal mixture.

Larhart stood before him, then, the bucket striking his thigh. Displeasure radiated off of him in waves, but what truly worried him was the sickly pallor of his waxy skin and the dark smears beneath his eyes that blended in with his natural markings.

Hyunckel had no time to comment on them before he issued his first command.

“Remove your vestments.”

The toga was in his hands before he could even think to disobey. With a sharp nod of Larhart's head, he dropped it off to the side.

Steaming water that would be comfortably warm were it not for the chill still lingering upon his skin crashed over him without warning, drenching him, suds soaking through pants and blanket alike. Boots squelched as Larhart stepped towards him. Hyunckel hardly had time to drag sopping silver hair from his face before powerful hands were upon him, scrubbing with half enough force to rub him raw.

“Hey! What are you-”

“Be quiet.”

Hyunckel blinked at the unmistakable order, stunned. But... there was something about the way he went about this – perhaps the focus in dark-ringed eyes, or the way rough jerks of the fragrant rag balled in irritated hands somewhat lightened for all that he was no less diligent in his task – that quenched his desire to shove him away.

With little else to do he closed his eyes and breathed deep, determined to piece together the facts.

Whatever dubious mixture of scents the bucket carried clung insistently to rippling skin. Above it wafted a softer, almost floral scent. Was it soap, perhaps? A kind he had never encountered if so. The gentle, fruity fragrance of the towel wiping him down, when he allowed its pleasing aroma to relax him, left him slightly heady.

Hands which carried more tenderness than he could ever fathom glided down his shoulders, arms and chest, separated only by the thin cloth. Even with the threadbare barrier he could still feel the warmth of his touches.

Unable to look anywhere else for both proximity and desire, Hyunckel focused on the twitches in Larhart's furrowed frown. The way sharp eyes subtly glanced about his reddened skin, the waxing and waning flares of nostrils silently searching for any patches he had missed. The subtle part to cracked purple lips he didn't seem aware of as he drew a silent breath, beyond which lay blunted teeth, pale as the whites of his eyes half hidden by dark lashes.

An errant swipe snagged on the centre of his chest peeled Hyunckel's lips back in a heartbeat; pearly whites glinted back at him immediately, instinctive as much as a warning in their beds of vicious red. Hyunckel blinked, swallowed and closed his mouth just to make Larhart do the same. At times like this it was hard to deny the extent of how his Darkling heritage affected him, pure instinct combined with such keen focus on an unusual task he did not fully understand.

To his credit, however, Larhart further softened his ministrations.

Moisture still beaded upon his skin by the time Larhart forewent the heavenly towel in favour of rubbing bare palms over his muscles. The concentrated focus in his expression and touches inspired pleasure in neither. Hyunckel was... relieved, he assured himself, swift to cast aside the notable pang of disappointment. This strange little ritual was just another obligation to Larhart for all that he had named it a debt to be paid.

Those gentle motions grew gradually smoother and longer, the brush of wrists and barren forearms sparsely gliding along his torso and sides while heated palms smoothed over his back, a mere glimpse into the tone of well-trained muscles that left Hyunckel craving more. To spar with him again even in such a restrictive space would be a dream come true if he were to simply ask.

One of those beautifully slanted ears glanced his cheek in one of those exaggerated motions, and in an instant, both froze.

The sound of jaws parting beside his own stilled the breaths inside him, Larhart's own scalding against dampened skin. His heart hammered so loud in his chest there was no way he couldn't hear it, couldn't feel it beneath his palms. Shivers ran down his spine from where those unsteady pants tickled his neck. It would be so easy for him to sink even bluntened teeth in...

“Forgive me...” Larhart whispered in breathless tones, motionless but for the rise of his chest. The sound of his swallow coaxed Hyunckel's own breath to slip from his lungs in a shaky sigh. “I needed to... ensure I removed it all...”

Ears far less expressive than most Darklings darkened at their tips as, so slowly he appeared not to move at all, he began to draw away. Yet Larhart's face still hovered far too close. So close that all he could see were granite eyes beneath scowling brows while their noses almost touched.

His voice wavered, in a way neither could admit.

“I assure you it was out of strictest necessity.”

Hyunckel swallowed down the urge to nod, only all too aware of the way doing so would bring their faces together. Their foreheads, noses or chins...

How would Larhart react to the touch? Would he reel away, never to return to his side? Would he be intrigued, or amused?

...Or would whatever sensation had just passed between them while scalding breaths faltered over his skin return in force, unstoppable, yearned for?

When his companion gradually eased away with the squelch of saturated boots, twitching skin mourned the loss of his hands. All at once Hyunckel's lungs heaved as though he had fought a mighty battle, basalt clinging to his clammy back as he staggered against it.

“No matter how much you sweat,” Larhart continued, voice closer to its usual tone if still laced with an edge of unsteady breath, “no matter how filthy you may feel over this coming week, you mustn't bathe with the water I provide. Do you understand?”

The blatant curves of scowling lilac lips freely marked his displeasure, although over what, Hyunckel couldn't begin to guess. One week... What was so crucial about a week?

“And, above all else, you cannot let Master Dino lay hands upon you. If he somehow braves this wretched stench and prises the door open once more, you must forbid him entry.” Larhart bared his blunted fangs, still too close to his face for comfort, so imposing. “It is imperative that you follow this task precisely. Do I make myself clear?”

Suddenly it all made sense, now. The agitation, the urgency, the desperate need to keep him and Dai separate, and now the crucial torrent of spectacular scents that clung to him like dew clung to spring leaves before the dawn.

Thick arms folded sternly over his sopping chest, his own features as pensive as stony. “Hadlar will pay us a visit in a week.”

It was impossible to miss the way jagged brows rose and the whites of muddy eyes seemed to glow in their pits of snow.

“Scents are important to Darklings,” Hyunckel continued, offering a hand peeled from his ribs. “And since you endeavour so tirelessly to ingratiate yourself to Dino's family, that you work so hard now to erase every trace of him from this place is damning.”

With a sluggish shake of his head, Larhart groaned a defeated sigh.

“Perhaps it was a mistake to simply settle for the capture of one with your formidable mind.” Hyunckel made no move to stop him as, with slower movement and infinitely more gentleness than before, Larhart closed the distance once more to again rest callused hands upon his shoulders. “Death would have been a mercy compared to that which you are sure to face.”

A gentle smile spread up Hyunckel's features as he gazed into that uncommonly, wonderfully open face. “I've experienced worse than anything he can devise.”

“The validity of that claim aside...” Chocolatey eyes shimmered softly right before his own. Heated palms squeezed with more assurance than tenderness. Those rigid, violet-tipped ears quivered faintly amidst gold-spun strands, and despite himself, Larhart swallowed. “May the gods ever be in your favour.”

Hyunckel stared.

Really, it should have been obvious from the lengths his captor went through to maintain his health and something of his physique, but to hear those telling words uttered with such quiet sincerity felt like a bucket of ice water thrown over him in all-consuming darkness.

Larhart wanted him to live.

No sooner had he understood the sentiment, sluggish arms reaching to perhaps grasp his elbows or shoulders in turn, Larhart drew away, his baleful gaze lingering in the gloom in his mind.

The clack of the metal gate resounded within the cell. Before he could really acknowledge his absence his companion had appeared again, a mop in the hand not offered towards him. Hyunckel gingerly accepted the comparatively soft towel and set about drying his face and still-dripping locks.

Larhart took his time spreading the pooled, rancid water all throughout the cell, nose scrunched all the while. Not that Hyunckel could blame him. There were dozens of strategic uses for beastbane herbs – the name finally recalled for the lack of that heated body pressed to his own – but even humans could barely tolerate their unfiltered stench. For one of Larhart's lineage to endure such a thing, to go through all this effort, it must truly be of utmost importance.

Was there some significance of the beastbane herb in Darkling culture? There had to be, surely. But it had never been mentioned during the years of his father's tutelage, nor in any of Avan's books on warfare save for its uses on the battlefield. The gut-wrenching ache in his chest was overshadowed by the memory of Avan's mischievous grin, a peg fastened to his nose, gleefully waving a freshly crushed beastbane leaf before his face. It was the first time Hyunckel had cried unrelated to his father's recent passing. He could not help but smile at the memory, hidden poorly behind the fall of the towel.

The silence, broken only by the wet sweeps of the mop, felt much less tense. Beneath the makeshift veil covering his face he peered across at him hard at work. Even with squelching boots and short steps Larhart's movements were graceful. Hyunckel would have thought cleaning up messes to be beneath him, but he was surprisingly good at this. Was it that his skill with the spear lent itself innately to anything with a pole? Because he was tasked with maintaining Hyunckel's meagre life? Or could it be that, despite his stern disposition and unparalleled combat ability, Baran had made him perform as servants do and scrub the fortress? He hoped it wasn't the latter.

If Larhart felt his curious eyes upon him he gave no indication, simply moved his efforts to the outside of the cell. Whether it was to further remove traces of Dai's presence or to keep the cell from being the only shining example of cleanliness, he couldn't say.

On the bench beside him sat a set of clean, dry clothes which, with a hasty glance at Larhart's back, he hurriedly changed into. Gentle warmth enveloped him, and after the chilled breeches clinging wetly to his legs this was a little slice of heaven that tore a sigh of relief from his lungs. A long ear flicked in the gloom ahead, and Hyunckel almost smiled again. Instead he allowed the bench to creak beneath his comfortably dry weight and tried to ignore the fatigue that seeped into resting muscles. It guided heavy forearms to weigh upon his lap while his chin reached his well-muscled chest. He could almost doze, although he would never dare.

Once Larhart had finally finished his supposed cleaning, slipping away with his supplies to leave him in peace, Hyunckel tipped forward to try and think this through, forehead set heavily upon a palm. The other trawled blindly for the blanket beneath it to no avail. He leaned down a little further, delved his arm deeper, hoping to catch a glimpse of the earth-toned fabric folded and soaked through, but his secret had well and truly vanished. True, it likely would have done little for the pool of now-cold water submerging most of his cell, but he would have liked to try. There was no way that Larhart didn't know about it now.

Chapter Text

Alongside his dinner Larhart brought a new blanket that, strangely, put him at ease, heavier and softer than even the clothes about his body. He made no mention of how it carried his companion's scent, just as Larhart in turn made no mention of the ratty old thing it replaced. The silence between them sat strangely heavy, filled by a weight bereft of stolen glances. For all that he sat plastered to his side, long hair tickling his shoulder bared to the air, Larhart couldn't look at him.

All along he'd known it was only a matter of time until unholy vengeance was unleashed upon him. If anything, he was relieved to finally know when to expect the royal visit. He should thank his companion, once he had eaten his fill of the healing broth. Even if it was knowledge only reluctantly confirmed, it set Hyunckel's mind at ease, granted a purpose to work towards now. Survive Hadlar's barrage, and repay the favours that Larhart refused to label kindness.

But the moment the wooden spoon struck its matching bowl after his final mouthful, his companion was gone, every trace of his presence along with him. Although Hyunckel muttered a 'thank you' to the room, it likely went unheard.

Visiting his cell without gifts of food far more frequently than Hyunckel assumed he would have time for, Larhart became rather more daring with him throughout the week. During mealtimes he slumped bodily against him and locked an ankle or calf across his own, and occasionally brought for himself a bowl of the very same stew he often plied Hyunckel with. When sweat ran in rivulets along the grooves of heated muscles while he trained, the Darkling embraced him from unpredictable angles, chin resting upon a shoulder bared by his movements before he left to sprawl along his paltry bed, so quiet and still with watchful eyes closed so peacefully that Hyunckel often wondered if he dozed. He half expected Larhart to offer himself as a training weight throughout his push-ups, although he never did.

For all that his heart raced whenever he recalled the gestures in the dead of night, Hyunckel found he did not mind. If this was what it took for his friend to reclaim some peace of mind before his gruelling confrontation, then it was a price he would gladly pay. After all, Hadlar was the type to pounce on any perceived weakness no matter how genuine. Although Larhart could certainly handle himself, he would vastly prefer he not need to face ridicule. Better that Hadlar's unjust anger be trained where it belonged – on Hyunckel himself.

It was not until the final day that Larhart brought him a change of clothes, one which Hyunckel was only too happy to slip into. An odd sensation lingered upon his skin, but he cast it from his mind in an instant. It was hardly unpleasant by any means.

Besides, for all those grim and ashen features drawn into a serious scowl where Larhart sat stiffly upon the awful wooden plank some named a bed, the dark smears of worry beneath stormy eyes left their mark only faintly upon his skin. He was sleeping enough now, if still ill at ease.

Whether to lend a shoulder, or simply to not tower over such a vulnerable figure, Hyunckel nestled beside him. Larhart hardly seemed to notice his bulk against his side, or his gaze peering across at downcast features. If expressions held tangible form, the rock between his feet would be a bubbling puddle of limestone and loathing.

“You needn't look so despairing over me. Hadlar can talk big game, but I've defeated him on numerous occasions. He isn't a threat to me.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Larhart's scowl deepened, hard lines etched unmistakably into open features. Distracted fingers balled slowly around a fistful of his sagging collar, knuckles glancing his throat, as if such an act could stay his tongue.

“You may believe yourself immortal, but do not be conceited. You know as well as I that his might waxes each time he is revived. There is no telling how powerful he has become after his defeat at your hands.” Long ears pinned flat to the sides of his head. “Hyunckel. I ask that you do not provoke him unnecessarily. Your punishment will not be pleasant.”

Black-clad fingers dropped his shirt to lace together between his parted knees only to squeeze the life from each other, the bared flesh of his fingertips almost amber in the torchlight. Tension bled from his frame set so tight that his joints paled.

“I fear I can do no more for you at this time.”

...Did his breath just falter?

Without a word Hyunckel rested a steadying palm atop trembling hands. Larhart's head reared back, the whites of his eyes aglow.

“You've already done far more than was expected of you. I'm grateful for that.”

An appreciative smile tugged at his lips, and Hyunckel let it happen. Larhart's attention flitted back and forth along his features as though to discern his intent in the gloom. Or, perhaps he thought himself unworthy of such open affection.

“You can go wherever it is you need to, make yourself known elsewhere. I've gone without bathing for so long my stench alone will probably keep him at bay,” he grinned. “Rest assured I'll not let Hadlar kill me.”

Larhart's face fell further. “You can't know that... Durable as you yet remain, you're still only human. You will be unarmed, unarmoured- No, it is worse than that...”

No one rose to the rank of Legion Commander without seeing some of the worst forms of 'entertainment' the Dark Army had to offer. The graver the crime, the harsher the restrictions inflicted upon the prisoner before their unjust trial. He had once had the displeasure of witnessing a double agent be stripped bare and beaten to death before a jeering crowd. Most likely a similar fate awaited him.

“I'll get to keep my pants at least, surely?” Hyunckel smirked dryly.

His humour was lost on Larhart's stern scowl.

“I would imagine so.” He chose to ignore the hint of uncertainty in Larhart's tone. “I understand it would be imprudent of me to ask such a thing, under the circumstances especially, but... Would you permit me to safeguard the remnants of your Armour?”

A plea filled wavering browns as much as that heartbreaking tone, the briefest twitch beneath his palm before he decided against whatever movement he wanted to make.

Hyunckel gazed back at his lone ally, mulling over his words.

Of course he understood Larhart's hesitance. At times that armour was as much a part of him as an arm, leg or blade. Moreover, he was also asking him to relieve himself of his final potential weapon against Hadlar, paltry as it may be. One good kick could at least infuriate the volatile man if nothing else. Perhaps it would be best to heed Larhart's words, and not provoke him too much.

Just as he so completely comprehended the situation, Larhart understood better than anyone the importance of spiritual armour. It was like a second skin and a friend. A trusted companion to watch your back and ease your pain. Even when unequipped, it was a constant presence and a comfort to lonely or wandering souls. The Darkling's frequent visits had kept his mind from truly taking note of just how cold the silence was. Gone was the thrum of magic through muscle and bone, and the dulcet tones of power within his skull, and its ethereal warmth that often seemed truly impenetrable.

In truth, perhaps Larhart was the only one who could truly know the weight of his words. Their weapons were sisters, forged from the same mound of ore to achieve different ends, their auras and combat style so similar yet distinctly their own. So, at long last, gaze still resolutely set upon that dour, serious face, Hyunckel inclined his head.

“Take good care of her, won't you?”

“You have my word.” One of Larhart's hands eventually broke free of the other to flatten meaningfully atop his chest. “I will do all in my power to restore your precious protector.”

Firm fingers reluctantly untangled themselves to set about this grievous task. They paused briefly at the loosened buckle behind his greave before he quickly tugged the strap free. His sabatons followed freely after that. Their comforting weight rested across his forearms as he watched the torchlight dance across their gleaming surfaces. Larhart had truly bested him, for it to still remain in pieces despite his renewed resolve. Soon, perhaps, it might return to him in better condition. The Darkling had made mention of knowing its creator, correct?

Soothing metal did not sing beneath his idle thumbs. He pondered the lack of magic flowing like water beneath his touch, the odd sensation of cool, unresponsive metal, and sighed. As though peering at the truth through a thick sheet of ice, he came to realise with muted horror that this was the first time in years his soul armour did not shield his mind.

Don't make this worse for yourself, he gently chided, and eventually steeled himself to shift the despondent pile into Larhart's arms.

“Thank you.” A note of apology filled that quiet voice. Still its owner stared at him. “I understand what a cruel thing it was to ask. For those like us, a chivalrous warrior's weapon is a measure of his very soul. You'll not come to regret this.”

And then, the day of reckoning was upon them.

Heavy clinks and the occasional scrape of chains poorly masked the encumbered gait of otherwise familiar steps. Lilac fingertips appeared from the gloom ahead to curl about the bars, as though their chill could steel him for the burden expected of him.

Eventually, he let himself in without a word, and sloped, conflicted brows finally came into view.

Larhart's ashen face before his own told him all he needed to know. What he wouldn't give to cast that grim, sunken expression from that otherwise handsome face. Serious as he was, it hardly suited his rival to look so dour.

Without thought or care, Hyunckel slipped his tunic over his head to drop it effortlessly into his waiting palm, unbothered. Larhart hardly seemed aware of the way his fingers clenched.

In an effort to spare him his grief, Hyunckel took the lead, walking them over to the wall in which a sizeable hook was embedded. He grabbed Larhart's wrist when he made no move to follow through, and even lifted his own to help.

“Hyunckel-”

“I know.”

Apology softened those heartfelt browns as Hyunckel let tender hands lock shackles about his wrist. Seeking forgiveness, perhaps, where they trailed falteringly along the smooth skin of his forearm.

“I... hope you find it within yourself to forgive me for this. I owe my life to Master Baran. His command is all I have ever cared to know, and with tensions in the Dark Army as they are, now more than ever he needs me by his side. I cannot disobey this order...”

Hyunckel allowed himself to smile, and steeled his heart against the agony darkening Larhart's furrowed expression. “I'd rather it be you.”

A tight grimace marred those conflicted lips as ashen eyes slid guiltily away, and it was all Hyunckel could do to lift his yet-free hand instead of resting it atop his head.

“But why? It it thanks to me that you must endure this at all! If I had simply granted you death, none of this would-”

“One of us had to look after Dai,” Hyunckel finally admitted, as wavering eyes locked once more onto his own. “Baran's victory suggests that he and I are the sole survivors of Avan's Disciples. That duty now falls to me.”

Larhart grimaced, studied him carefully, averted his eyes once again. Then closed them. Seeing him look so guilty sprouted fondness in his heart alongside that sympathy.

Though he had said nothing, Hyunckel knew. All their friends were dead. Baran would have shown no mercy to any who blocked his path, and united as they were, he knew none of them stood a chance if they chose to stand and fight. He himself had barely made it out, somehow, against all odds.

When Larhart again deigned to look at him, warm, callused hands settled upon each shoulder. Both breathed deep through their noses to savour whatever was about to happen.

“...Endure it for me.” Though loosened lips did not beg, Hyunckel found it in searching eyes, and comforting palms that glided along the sides of his neck to gingerly cup his cheeks. A prayer for his safety beside encouraging words.

Hyunckel smirked – or at least he believed he did. If it were an expression gentler than that, neither breathed a word about it.

“I've endured far worse.”

He didn't dare mention that he'd always been free to fight back before. Whether Larhart sensed that hidden truth, or whether he, too, foresaw a rather unpleasant future, he frowned.

“If there is anything you need...” Murmured words hovered in the chilly air.

“I'll let you know afterwards.”

Callused thumbs caressed the slopes of his ears while clammy palms cradled his jaw. Dilated pupils searched for any signs of discomfort as that compassionate face inched closer to his own, and when his eyes slid peacefully closed, blinded to the world, their foreheads rested tenderly together. Hyunckel suddenly found himself wishing it were this man who had been tasked with beating him. At least then that duty would not be performed out of malice.

Chapter Text

Hyunckel lifted his head. Although he could not be certain that it was the same one as on that night, the Dragonkin gurgled softly at him while feathery paws fumbled with the lock. Ominous growling just beyond the torch's reach only delayed the flighty creature further. After a few more seconds a bulky forearm pierced the gloom as impatient claws snatched the key for himself.

Steel clattered against stone as the prison door launched into the wall, deafening.

Hyunckel didn't even flinch.

True to his blustering form, Hadlar seemed intent on drawing out even this meaningless precursor, every thundering step towards him so slow it was far more tiresome than menacing. Oversized ears scraped along the low ceiling, his coarse, unkempt hair flattened to his scalp by the pressure. Glinting fangs revealed by a jagged gash of snarling lips emphasised his displeasure with the same blinding certainty as flared nostrils in that bulbous, wrinkled nose. Predatory eyes never left his own while his other senses took in the state of his cell.

Hyunckel held firm to his gaze, never once backing down. To stare a hostile Darkling straight in the eye was both an immeasurable insult and a warrior's necessity, and depending on his mood, it would likely make things worse. But he yet possessed a shred of pride could not be trampled down. Cowering would excite Hadlar further. He couldn't show weakness in a position like this.

His vile stench permeated shrivelled nostrils long before threatening fingers gripped his jawbone until it popped and putrid breath muddled his senses.

“Never in all those loathsome years with you underfoot would I have believed you could make a suitable offering.”

Unbothered by the uninspired taunt, Hyunckel met his words with silence.

“Taking a leaf from your dark master, are you? Well, no matter. You'll find your voice soon enough.”

That hulking body blotted out the light as Hadlar crowded into his space, his massive, angry face wreathed in shadow. Long claws twisted his face slowly this way and that, the intensity of his inspection akin to the way a farmer would check his livestock after a storm. Nostrils once blown wide withered with disgust.

“How the mighty have fallen.” Fierce pressure built in his jaw beneath the insistent squeeze of broad claws that tilted his chin up. “You never seemed the sort to allow yourself to be claimed.”

Hyunckel narrowed his eyes up at him, unable to clench his jaws against that persistent force. What nonsense was Hadlar spouting?

...But, no. The rising rage bubbling just beneath the surface of veiny skin was genuine. Hadlar truly believed that sentiment, strange as it sounded.

Vile touches still lingered upon his skin long after Hadlar dropped his threatening hold, tingling with the shift in pressure.

“Baran was far too merciful to leave a whelp like you unscathed. His little servant has clearly not taken it upon himself to correct your insolence, either.”

His cheek buckled beneath the force of a blow that snapped his head to the side, hard enough to hear a crack before he struck the wall. He paid no mind to its sting as he glared up at him.

“There's that expression that Dark King Vearn is so endeared to,” Hadlar snarled right into his face, spittle splattering across blemished skin. “That, and only that, is what spared you when you were inducted into our ranks. You, an insignificant flea!” His head snapped back the way it came. At least he expected that one. “Had no right to rule anything!”

Hyunckel had not quite hastened to suppress a snort when the next strike landed, spiny knuckles launched directly into his sternum. Violent coughs and gasps hacked at his lungs, stolen breath unable to be reclaimed while that vicious fist slowly twisted, testing the give of his flesh. Scalding fluid trickled horridly between clenching toes. Another blow came, then another, vengeful and unpredictable. The tang of copper flooded his mouth with an uncomfortable thickness, but Hyunckel gulped it down despite every urge to spit it out. No need to provoke him further. He couldn't give Hadlar the satisfaction of killing him over something as trivial as this.

An errant blow landed upon his healing scar. Manacles tugged faintly against his wrists where his body tried to double over.

“You. Pathetic. Puny. Human!” Hadlar spat, each word emphasised by another ferocious impact. Unbridled rage seeped from every pore in that veiny, jagged face. “Know you the shame you have brought upon me?! The years of trouble it was to have a human brat running around? Like father like son, truly! Ohhh, I should have killed him sooner!”

Those words carved far more deeply than the blow that followed, split lip and battered nose oozing blood. A deep breath sucked sharply through gritted teeth.

“I had almost hoped to find you soft-bellied and pitiful, you know. But, as one of Avan's ilk, it's probably just as well I do not. I could never forgive a rival who took students like that!”

Avan's smiling visage flashed across his mind. He quickly forced down the memory. Justifying this moment wouldn't absolve him of his guilt. Of his heedless betrayal of his second father...

“Further, know that it is your fault that Dai has been reduced to such a pitiful state!” A dagger-sharp knee buried itself into a nerve in his thigh. Hyunckel grunted stiffly. “Had you not foolishly met your match after slaughtering me, neither you nor Dai would be in such a predicament!”

He already knew that. If he had only been stronger, faster. If only he had managed to deter or defeat Larhart. If he had only found a way to reverse the damage Baran inflicted upon his own son so that Dai might join hands with him and take the world by storm. Quiet moments drowned out by nothing more than his own ragged panting often accompanied such lamentations.

But Hadlar didn't need to know that. He need not be privy to how close to the truth his scathing words struck. Even if it killed him, to show weakness like that was something he could not afford to do. Without breaking eye contact Hyunckel twisted his head and spat the blood from his mouth.

A crushing blow struck his crown, head bowed with the force. Blood dripped from his nose onto the ground between their feet, Hadlar's similarly bare. His shoulders shook with laughter his throat was too weak to voice. All this bluster and he and Hadlar were in the same sorry state.

“Surely you do not weep!” his assailant snapped, spiny fists trembling with rage in his periphery. “A heartless whelp like you has never cried once!”

Hyunckel spat again, the glob of blood and spittle seeping between Hadlar's toes. His howl of unbridled disgust only made him laugh harder. He hardly cared as massive fingers roughly seized his face, razor claws piercing his cheeks as he jerked his head up to face him, eyes hard as firestones that blazed with tempestuous rage. His bones groaned beneath his grip.

“You. Insolent. Creature!” Yellowed fangs glinted fiercely in blood-red jaws. “You dare to mock me, knowing that your life is in Baran's hands?!”

Hyunckel would have sneered could his muscles resist Hadlar's pressure.

That vital piece of information tingled pleasantly within his hazy mind. No matter how violent his urges, no matter his need for vengeance, Hadlar was not at liberty to kill him. Just as Hyunckel's life was no longer his own, neither was it Hadlar's to take. By virtue of that alone he had already won.

Sharp cracks echoed across bloodied stone, and suddenly it was much harder to breathe. That sounded like something broke. Adrenaline flooded his body, blinding him to whatever pain that was supposed to bring about. Blood splattered across Hadlar's forearm with Hyunckel's cough, heaving chest seeking air far too light for his lungs.

Spittle doused his face to mingle with the sticky fluids already streaming there. When he gathered as much of his breath as he could, Hyunckel barely resisted the urge to wrap his chains between his palms.

He supposed it was a blessing in disguise that Hadlar had chosen the way of the martial artist to enact his revenge so personally. He knew of many who would take their blades to his skin or revel in slower, more intimate tortures. At least with simple punches, however bone-breaking, he would recover.

Hadlar relished his perceived helplessness, raining blow after blow upon his increasingly battered body. Rough stone behind him braced him as often as broke his momentum, scraping his bare back with a torrent of lava. Hyunckel endured the barrage in silence, though he could not keep from hacking up blood at times. Never had he been so divided about the endurance of his body, his famed and presumed immortality, his previous allegiance to all manner of Darklings, as the very thing that kept him alive now blinded him with nauseating sensation.

Time lost all meaning between those gruelling fists and the wall, amidst shallow breaths, dulled pain, and the foggy haze of his mind on the verge of slipping unconscious. Eyes speckled with black and red caught glimpses of gleaming fangs mouthing angry words he could not comprehend. Still the onslaught continued, countless punches to compromised and unmarked flesh both. Briefly, amidst the depths of his floating mind, as a knee buckled beneath a sweep he wondered if there was a single place Hadlar would spare. How much blood yet remained in his body...

With a final strike to his face so comparatively soft one could mistake it for affection, his assailant stepped back, at long last sated by the bloodshed and brutality.

Hyunckel dared not breathe relief lest he return for more.

Swollen eyelids blinded him to all in the darkness of his cell. With all his heart and might he willed his ears to work in their absence.

“Even after all this you are unbroken in spirit,” Hadlar muttered darkly, displeasure radiating through him. “Infuriating as that may be, it is no less than is expected of you.”

If he had had the strength Hyunckel may have laughed. Something so simple as this could never ruin him. Meet pride with pride, and hatred with hatred. For one such as him there was no other way to live. There was nothing that Hadlar had the ability to throw his way that would destroy him like his salvation.

A low growl vibrated the air between them, but he cared not to acknowledge it. “You've no words left for me? You may never have another chance.”

Perhaps if he had not been granted his own revenge against the man looming over him Hyunckel may have fought the stiffness in clenched jaws to spit out a scathing retort, to twist in his chains to snarl his loathing into his face. But at this very moment, he pitied him. To need to resort to torture of an unarmed, half bare and forcibly restrained opponent to 'prove' himself superior? It was little wonder that none stood at Hadlar's side willingly.

“So be it.” Bulky arms blotted out the last of his light where they rested across a rigid chest, tone still laced with venom despite his much calmer demeanour. “You should be grateful to that Larhart brat for taking pity on you.”

He did not understand.

“I have no desire to make an enemy of his master at this time,” Hadlar continued, as much to himself as for this captive's benefit. Even deprived the gift of sight his revulsion was palpable. “Know that that alone is why you keep your life this day.”

By Hadlar's will those words lingered heavily in the cell, lapping over one another where they bounced and amplified on the stone. That suffocating presence so full of loathing, spite and disgust lingered even longer, simply observing him, staring him down, before Hadlar turned on his heel, spat at the entrance to his cell and strode smugly into pitch-black halls.

Would that stubborn flesh responded to the roar of his heart, Hyunckel might smile or grin. For all the pain he would no doubt endure once the adrenaline left his system, he had won. He lived.

Chapter Text

Hours passed in a blind haze of agony and shallow breaths, arms numbed beneath the aches for how long he slouched there against the steadying wall, unable to find even the brief reprieve of unconsciousness. Whether it stemmed from a focus on his breathing or the knowledge that anyone else could harm him at a moment's notice, he couldn't say. But when he recognised those familiar, even steps atop the pounding in his skull, relief flooded him to his very core. Heavy feet stood firm, impatient shoulders twinging with the anticipation of freedom at his hands.

Hyunckel tried to smile, he thought, to express his gratitude for his presence, although for the unchanging pain and pressure in his face there was no way to know if he succeeded.

Tension oozed from his companion's frame when he stopped before him, yet far less stifling than the days before. Without a word Larhart reached gradually towards him, his faltering almost-touch hovering just beside his cheek, silently asking permission. Similarly wordless, Hyunckel allowed his face to tilt and slowly fall until that encouraging firmness cradled his stinging cheek. He could sense more than see a frown forming on familiar lips as callused fingertips gingerly traced the edge of his keening jaw, blinded to the result by eyelids all but swollen shut.

Tender fingertips brushed the shell of his ear as though to soothe him. Without pause they dutifully drifted about his battered features while that quiet intensity burned against his skin, reassuring as any armour. Only when the pad of a careful thumb glided over his split lip was he snapped from his trance with a startled hiss.

Larhart stiffened then, as if not even he had anticipated the movement or reaction, before he tersely cleared his throat like that could relieve the awkwardness of the moment.

“...Forgive me. I should have warned you.”

“'s fine...” Hyunckel's face burned. It had to be his injuries reacting to the care that made him feel such things, undoubtedly...

He focused instead on the unwavering assurance of the palm still cradling his cheek.

“I ask that you refrain from moving too much while I tend to your wounds,” his ally continued with an air of authority to which his body freely yearned to comply, patient in his expectation of answer.

Unwilling to dislodge Larhart's hand with his weary nod, Hyunckel softly grunted affirmation. The sarcastic piece of his mind that commented on his limited ability to move failed to reach his mouth.

Stuffy ears thought they might have caught the gentle slosh of water somewhere beyond his person, but when he tried to confirm this with his other senses, all he smelled was blood.

But he had not been mistaken. Even for the sting of subtle pressure against his mouth Hyunckel drank greedily from the vessel set against his lips, oblivious as to the water's source. A quiet sound a little like a grunt slipped from his companion as he pulled the cup away. Maybe it had something to do with what felt like saliva dripping down the side of his chin. Deprived of the use of his hands Hyunckel twisted to wipe it away on his bicep.

Unhindered by the brutish display those tender hands dabbed gingerly at his face with a soft cloth drenched in a familiar heat, comforting where it seeped into grimy skin. His ally had dunked the cloth a number of times before his tingling flesh cast off the worst of its filth with a sensation he had sorely missed this past week.

Only once he had finished with this duty did Larhart speak again, that tentative palm never quite caressing his jaw.

“I will begin to apply the balm now. Tell me if I approach a place you would rather not be touched.”

A scent he could not smell tickled his nostrils when Larhart reached into a little cloth bag at his thigh, and when he withdrew his hand, obscured as his vision was, something slick and shiny coated his fingers in the flicker of the distant torchlight. Both may well have held bated breaths for the eternity that passed between them before his companion moved to complete the mentioned promise.

That freezing, sticky substance slid along the cheek not braced by heat, and despite himself, he hissed at the sensation. Perhaps he was not truly aware of his attempts at soothing as cool fingertips found the shell of his other ear, carding lightly through the fine hairs beyond it.

With his one working eye he studied the intensity etched into stony features as skilful hands lightly eased his pain. Dark, heavy brows knitted together to crinkle above his nose, and a dash of his dark pink tongue slipped past slightly parted lips on occasion. Perhaps it was not such a terrible thing to allow himself a little vulnerability now and then, if his reward were to witness from his stalwart salvation these displays so bizarrely unguarded they appeared almost otherworldly.

It hurt to keep watching him like this, but Hyunckel could not tear his gaze away. Even as the shadow of Larhart's palm briefly blinded him while a careful fingertip traced the cut along his forehead from where one of Hadlar's claws had nicked he found he did not blink.

Methodical fingers glided down his temple, his cheek, his jaw, compassionate ministrations that avoided his throat to instead trace his collarbone before they abruptly paused. Although damp breaths whispered hot over his neck, this time was nothing like the last. Neither isolated intimacy nor that exquisite tension ran between them now with either hands or breaths. Whilst still tender in their necessary service, they lacked the rigid urgency they had previously possessed, a fact which made them appear all the more reserved where they hovered as if afraid to do him wrong.

Quiet as a shift in the breeze before a swirling tempest Larhart's low, soothing tone rolled out of him.

“Before I unchain you, will you permit me to treat your torso?”

“Go ahead,” Hyunckel answered automatically, eager to be free of these bonds and rest. Courtesy had never stopped Larhart before when he required access to his body, so why did he seek his permission now? Was it a Darkling thing? Did his chest look worse than his face?

Whatever the case, no doubt his friend would treat him well.

Larhart waited patiently until his approval finally sunk in, then may have stiffly smiled. With the utmost care that soft towel hot with a fresh layer of water smoothed over despondent flesh.

As heavy, battered eyelids weighed down upon his face, Hyunckel allowed them to close beneath perfect pressure mindful of his wounds. Pleasing warmth spread beneath touches so achingly familiar that for a single moment he had to fight a lapse in consciousness. Outside of the battlefield Larhart was always so gentle with him...

Fingertips trailed with almost startling softness to rest lightly atop the scab which would certainly scar, the cool lick of the healing balm quick to warm beneath the press of their muscles. The weeping wound stung faintly against the salve, no doubt forced back open under Hadlar's assault, but not so fiercely as to warrant Larhart's concern. There may well be something more going on, something his weary mind could not piece together and his patchy vision could not see from this angle.

That careful hand smoothed in a single measured sweep across his abdomen to treat the bruising on his other side. Occasionally it left his skin to towel him clean or gather more balm to slather upon him, but it was always thorough. So when it blatantly favoured the flesh between his armpit and his flank, Hyunckel braced himself for the worst.

His resolve did not prepare him for the way his body jerked away when Larhart finally glanced the area, however. Blinding pain struck like lightning when fingers ghosted atop his ribs. Larhart swiftly caught the knee that flew reflexively for his face. Agony flared through Hyunckel's split and swollen lip as he winced apologetically across at him, heedless of its sting for the burning need to put this to rights. It was hardly a proper apology, but it would have to do.

When he let himself go limp, short chains clinking against the wall above his head, Larhart released his leg. Hyunckel silently offered every praise to the gods for granting his friend the devilish speed necessary to protect that serious face of his.

“It would be wise to minimise your movement for a few weeks while those heal. I hear cracked ribs are rather troublesome.”

No retorts came to his keening mind. Yet his body innately gathered a deeper breath to respond to him, an agonising burst of harsh coughs tearing through his chest and throat in retaliation.

When the fit subsided, Hyunckel focused his shallow breaths while screaming nerves twinged against careful ministrations. Cold salve spread thickly over where Hadlar had first struck his body as if to distract him from his ribs, and Hyunckel grit his teeth. Even as the balm lapped at the numbing pain, it would make for one hell of a memory. He was lucky that one did not break as well.

Warm palms worked their way up the centre of his chest on their path towards his restraints, never once brushing the space atop his heart for all that he had certainly been struck there. He did not really process the clacks of shackles nor the falling of numb and heavy arms until only the sting of salve remained as it bit into mottled wrists.

Larhart guided him away from the wall with the same attentiveness he granted this whole experience, strong shoulders beneath his arm. Stiff legs faltered for a moment but managed to keep him upright.

“You should sit.”

The distance between himself and his makeshift bed swam with dizzying speed. Even with Larhart's aid he might not make it that far.

“...On the floor,” Larhart amended softly.

Without thought Hyunckel followed the cues of his body guiding him down, groaning knees bowed beneath him, bruised shins screaming beneath his weight against the icy floor. With the last of his strength he made himself as comfortable as one could under the circumstances. Larhart knelt beside him, he thought, an impression of that sturdy warmth against his thigh, although drooping eyes could no longer confirm.

“Allow me to tend to your back, if you would be so kind. While your wounds are less severe, ideally they should be seen to as well.”

As Hyunckel's head dipped in silent acquiescence, his chin did not rise again from where it settled amidst the bruising of his collarbone. Only his knees made contact with heavy hips as that firm, reassuring heat shifted to nestle behind him. Larhart may have set a bucket between his thighs, he thought, its wooden presence solid at the curve of his spine.

Whether through fatigue or relief that this ordeal was finally over, he did not know. All he understood was that, as heated liquid followed its destined path down the grooves of his back, chased by the reassuring pressure of firm hands through the towel, Hyunckel felt... at ease. Again that floating sensation lapped at his consciousness while Larhart worked, embraced by a mysterious comfort despite the cool expanse of the floor pressing through the fabric of his pants, and this time, he did not fight its call.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. Dull pulses throbbed through every nerve with the rhythmic thuds of his heart. Mouth drier than any desert could ever hope to match, it hurt to simply swallow.

Gauze fibres pressed sticky and intimately familiar to his lattice of recent wounds. Without opening his eyes he mentally mapped their path winding along disgruntled skin. They extended no lower than the line of his pants, fastened with a perfect firmness about his waist, chest and arms. For all that Larhart had left him clothed where it mattered most, his mind drifted to the last time he had been bound head to toe like this after Crocodine's repayment of a perceived debt. When for the first time since he was a boy his body had exuded tears with an incurable necessity, weeping profusely as he both lamented and celebrated his latest chance at life. Not even the strength to do so assailed him now. The hollow ache behind ribs firmly secured kept him company in the orange warrior's absence.

A pleasant softness brushed against his chin with the minuscule twist of his head, the weight of it distinct if somewhat new. The structure upon which his own crushing bulk lay was not the scathing lance of ice he had expected. Had Larhart carried him? Dragged him? It mattered not how he got to his bed, only the warmth of the blanket bundled around him.

With little but cloth there to keep the splinters at bay, any movement was entirely his own. When he made to sit up, while reluctant, flaming nerves snarled at him to remain still, he could manage it at least. Plush fabric puddled across his lap only to slip between his knees. When his gaze followed its movement a flash of colour captured his attention. Resting upon a fresh change of scarlet garb sat a small clay pot which contained that greenish cream.

There was no way to know how long he had slept, nor whether or not the poultice which moistened his skin had been applied for long enough to produce a full effect. For now it would be better to play it safe. Especially due to the lack of a fresh roll of gauze, as he gratefully pulled on the offered toga, he concluded it would be best to leave the bandages on.

With more effort than he cared to admit he lurched to his feet with a grunt, swaying slightly. It wasn't like when his beloved armour cradled him and directed his broken body in accordance with his will. Without Larhart's aid, even pure willpower would make it nigh impossible to move. Despite Hadlar's relentless attack his battered thighs hardly hurt at all. He was thankful for his frequent training to keep his muscles toned. Although, thighs always werethe strongest part of a human.

Today alone the canteen waiting for him upon a stool in the corner lacked the accompaniment of even a bowl of soup. Hyunckel closed throbbing eyes to better expand his senses into the darkness beyond his abode, but nothing stirred. Larhart was long gone. Any food he might have left behind would have long since grown cold.

That was probably for the best. It was all he could do to pluck the vessel from where it stood and let cool, clean water seep past cracked and stinging lips, its life-giving moisture across his tongue like the first gulp of air one took when they breached the surface of the ocean. Much thicker than that and he might just be in trouble.

Once his thirst was sufficiently quenched, he hooked a thumb into his waistband and assessed the damage to his legs. Mottled skin more purple than red or yellow greeted him from otherwise moonlit thighs. He much preferred Larhart's shade if he were being honest. At least the lilac reminded him of pleasant things rather than angry bruises.

Would it even be worth it to squander such a precious commodity on such a paltry thing as bruising? So often he had experienced far worse throughout his life of battle that he couldn't justify it now. Mindful of its elasticity he set his waistband carefully back against his skin and sought a place to hide the pot of salve, lest it be taken away when he had greatest need of it. There was nowhere to hide anything in this cell, however, and with neither his armour nor blade he could not gouge a space for it.

...Did his newfound trust in Larhart mean nothing? When had he grown so paranoid? Naturally it was difficult to overwrite years of survival instincts flaring up with wounds so intense it would be cumbersome to fight for his life. But he mustn't forget who it was that provided him with such exemplary treatment, either. Larhart wasn't here to hurt him. Captor or not, his rival would never stoop so low.

“You have awakened.”

A flare of agony chided him for the movement as Hyunckel startled at the voice, the object of his thoughts unnoticed for his fancies. Yet for the pain, he patiently awaited his friend's quiet approach.

Sharp eyes pored over the state of his cell and silently nodded approval. Even with the heavy bundle cradled awkwardly in the crook of an arm Larhart let himself into his room with all the grace and ease he had come to expect of the man. Hyunckel recognised what it was long before his companion, with not a single part of him touching his wounded body, nestled contentedly at his side, for its deep, familiar yearning called to his hopeful soul.

“I have something for you, if you'll accept it.” Larhart freely offered him the package.

Hyunckel unwittingly cradled it close to his chest despite the flares of pain as he peeled back the first layer of smooth, dark cloth.

It is good to see you, old friend, he smiled down at his stalwart companion. You look better than last I saw you.

Indeed, the breastplate sat contentedly atop his armoured boots and the greaves sprawled out across his lap. Fingertips danced as though in a trance along its polished surface, tracing the wicked curve of menacing eyes and glinting fangs. With only the softest experimental call, his armour answered.

Familiar cloth and steel wrapped about his frame in a wave of purple light. Not only did his greaves stretch all the way up his legs to brush against his hips, but his breastplate settled reassuringly about the bruising atop his ribs like a layer of fresh bandages, shielding the break from harm. It mattered not that his abdomen lay exposed if this was the part it chose to protect. He tried not to let his surprise show on his face as he gazed across at Larhart's neutral frown.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

“I gave you my word, did I not?”

Much to his immediate detriment searing skin pinched in thought. True, Larhart had vowed its safe return, but the cynical part of his mind hadn't quite trusted that he would not claim the spoils for himself.

He'd never been gladder to be wrong.

“You did. But even so, I did not fully... believe it could be done so quickly.”

Larhart tucked his own crystalline strands behind an elegant ear, his palm coming to rest against the side of that shapely neck for all that the pensive frown never left his lips. “You have yourself to thank for that. Whatever Hadlar's assault ignited within you... your Armour responded to your spirit. It was your indomitable will that revived it, far more than any attempt by my hand.”

Speaking of the arrogant sadist, his mind blazed with questions about his words.

“Hadlar said it is thanks to you that I yet live. What did he mean by that?”

Lilac fingers curled at his chin with more than a hint of a smirk. “I had believed you had some knowledge of Darkling customs, but could it be that I was mistaken?”

“'Some' being the operative word,” Hyunckel scoffed. The burn in his ribs berated him.

His companion lightly hummed. Golden strands danced again across the bevel of his neck with its subtle tilt.

“As underhanded as his reputation is rumoured to be, not even Lord Hadlar would dare stoop so low as to violate Darkling ownership rites. I presume that he mentioned Master Baran as well, correct? As I serve under him directly, and I am in charge of your maintenance, a slight against me would be a dishonour against Master Baran. Some have gone to war over far less grave concerns.”

Ownership?

True, Hyunckel's initial thoughts had drifted to such a notion, but their arrangement hardly presented itself as such. Truth be told, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Larhart didn't see it that way, either.

“An outdated tradition, of course,” Larhart confirmed his suspicions without judgement. “But one which he takes as gospel. A consequence of his previous greatness as well as the age in which he once lived, I would surmise.”

Hyunckel hummed. “When did you do it?”

His companion shrugged. “Throughout the week before I ensnared you, of course. When else would I have had the opportunity?”

“So...” Hyunckel's mind swam in his effort to recall each instance of Larhart's unusual behaviour leading up to his beating. “When you doused me in that powerful mixture?”

Larhart dipped his head.

“And the lack of bathing thereafter?”

“There was no surer way to maximise our chances of success.”

“Suppose I acknowledge that as a way to create a stronger scent, that doesn't account for all of it. Did you do something to my clothes as well?”

Larhart simply nodded.

“But I had been in that musty old thing all day and night. Surely he could smell it was a little old?”

“The timing of our ruse mattered far less than the impression that it gives.” That smirk dragged a little higher up lavender lips, almost a sneer were it not for blunt and covered fangs. “If the topic intrigues you thus, I would be delighted to elaborate at length. One can learn much about political advantages from the intricacies of Darkling nesting habits.”

“I am curious about the role of beastbane in that mixture.”

Larhart beamed. “So you do know that much, at least.”

“Naturally,” Hyunckel grinned back. “It's in the name, although not many Darklings would refer to themselves as beasts. The right concentration can ward away creatures far more dangerous, however.”

“Indeed.” Even for the dull orange hue of the torchlight beyond him and Hyunckel's diminished vision, his features seemed to glow with the borderline excitement that brewed within him. “Because beastbane can dissuade most anything with the appropriate applications, Darklings often line their breeding grounds with it. I diluted the mixture to make it appear as though we had mated long before this day.”

Hyunckel cared not about the pain rupturing his lungs as he let out a hearty bark of laughter. “You're brilliant.”

Pride lifted Larhart's chin higher beneath the praise. “Whilst one might consider it counterintuitive to line one's nest with a substance that they themselves tolerate poorly, some consider it a mark of commitment. That they are willing to potentially sacrifice a crucial part of themselves so completely for the sake of their mate is something to be respected, at least in theory.”

“I'm assuming there are exceptions?”

Larhart nodded. “Others conclude that even for a mate they should have no need to either weaken or debase themselves. Now,” long lips twitched, his intelligent eyes aglow with something almost sinister were it not shared with Hyunckel himself, “I would expect the risk of being interrupted to far outweigh the drawbacks of such a sacrifice.”

Hyunckel smiled brightly while he nodded along and occasionally offered input. If nothing else, listening to the cresting waves of Larhart's animated voice explaining his customs kept the thoughts of his pain at bay, that rough tenor and gentle tones relaxing his limbs. Faintly he recognised that he had fallen asleep under his care before, but even with the resting state of his body and the comforting lull of his friend's words that wouldn't happen again. This topic was far too engaging.