Looking Through Your Eyes

[Lady Alainn]

Sometime between Pencaliel's story and the subsequent reassuring snuggles on the arbour bench, Malachi's former companions trudged onto the scene and stood quietly in the shadows-- one pair of somber eyes shining from a few feet above the glow of the torch light and the other pair of contemplative blue peering out just beneath the wall torch's base. To their relief, it seemed everything was under control, but they waited a moment or two just in case. Kolmar did not like what he saw in regards to the change of countenance in his fair charge, but it was evident she did not need him. Somehow Malachi was holding himself together, which surprised the dwarf considering his frantic exit not too long ago.

Kolmar's lips tightened into a grim line. His guests had more going on than he could imagine-- much more than Nekia had let on. Had he been premature in his gusto to protect them? No. They had been brought together for a reason. They had been placed under his protection for another reason and the Council was taking its time to come to a decision regarding the dragonkin for yet a third reason; obviously, for they accepted his Offering of Faith without even seeing the lad for themselves. No questions. Just eyes. And silence.

Taking care not to disturb the pair, the half-breed butler and his master slipped around Yuubi's fenced in garden and cautiously opened the terrace door to let themselves into the house. From there they parted ways-- Hoomite to the kitchen to find out why there was still light seeping out from under the door and Kolmar to his quarters to retire for the night. What time Malachi and Pencaliel came in from the damp evening, the dwarf did not know. He'd fallen fast asleep by the time the little maiden took enough courage to venture indoors and brave the gaping sky lights to get Malachi cleaned up and into his own bed.

---

The next several days passed much in the same way as the previous several days, although with a watchfulness and weariness that did not escape the dwarf lord's notice. The Druid steadily improved health-wise, which was a good thing, but her state of mind had taken a turn for the worse. Not that she grew mad or unreasonable, but Kolmar couldn't help but notice how she constantly looked over her shoulders, and when it was quiet, how her gaze frequently visited the nearest skylight. Malachi did not fare much better, his attention so thoroughly fixated upon her even if separated by layers of mountainous rock.

But somehow, everything continued on normally as well. The two spent many hours on the couch in the common room reading books. Kolmar passed by behind them one time, a smile on his face as he caught them reading the children's book on the creation of the world. Pencaliel held it reverently before her as Malachi's fingers awkwardly tugged on the paper tabs to make the stars appear in the dark sky. No doubt the lad had never seen such delicate details in a book before. The mechanisms fascinated the dragonkin as much as the story itself did, as it was related in the elf maiden's careful, lilting tone. They made quite the peaceful picture and Kolmar's smile broadened to see it. He did not want to intrude, however, so he hurried on past them on his way out the door to visit the lower levels and spread some cheer among the downtrodden.

Malachi was quite a mystery to him still. He'd been under the impression that the dragonkin was on the verge of truly opening up to him that night at the tavern, and if things had continued in the same way, he had no doubt that by the end of the week he'd have the full story behind those golden eyes. However, the Malachi that greeted him the morning after was a different man. Kolmar couldn't put his finger on what gave it away, but it was there all the same, and it wasn't because the elf now slept with the angelic canine guarding the foot of her bed instead of the winged one. It was so much deeper than that, something that dug down into the lad's core and spread across his features. Part of him feared that he would have to start all over again in digging beneath Malachi's defenses.

But as long as Malachi did not withdraw completely from the dwarf, he would not worry too much. And so he watched.

---

High above the rest of the world, or so it seemed, the Naazgard Council also watched the new additions to their fortress intently-- though it was through a distance. It had taken them most of the week to come to some decision on what course they should take with the dragonkin. The older members of the Council remembered vividly the War in which the refugee's kind had ruthlessly conquered their brethren and were cautious. The younger members had grown up within the wake of the War and eagerly turned their eyes upon a renewal of war to make their names, wanting nothing more than to imprison the dragonkin as a spy from the encroaching dragonkin settlement.

It was obvious the dragonkin could not stay. One in their midst was enough, and the shoemaker would get a hearty applause of approval if he packed up his shop and left their hallowed walls for good. No, they could not afford to be lenient to a second dragonkin. The real question was, though, what should they do about Lord Kolmar's Offering of Faith?

No matter which way the discussion turned, someone's eye always fell upon the gleaming hammer upon the magistrate's desk and the discussion began all over again. When they had demanded an Offering of Faith, they had expected the dwarf to return to his quarters to secure one. The lapse of time would have allowed them to gather their forces and arrest the dragonkin before anything could be produced. The immediate offering of Ikspar had thrown them completely off guard and ruined all their plans. The dragonkin was now so deeply embedded in Lord Kolmar's protection that they could not legally lift a finger against him unless the dragonkin proved dangerous-- an event they had hoped would have happened by now.

So they sat and they talked.

They had things to discuss with Lord Kolmar, important things. They needed his help in determining the true threat of the dragonkins in the southeast. It was the reason they had summoned him. But while they were indecisive about his charge, they could not bring up the mission they hoped he would agree to. They had to have his answer, first.

How much clout did Lord Kolmar have with them, exactly? How much did his word really mean across the dwarven kingdoms? Would they be digging their own graves if they offended him? Who would be offended in the process? Obviously, the great dwarven warrior and diplomat had mighty allies all across the continent and with many different peoples. His name brought fear and respect wherever it was uttered.

Finally, it was decided that while Lord Kolmar had a great deal of clout with them, he did not have enough to keep a dragonkin without a thorough investigation first. Especially not when a war between their kinds was so imminent! Once they could all agree to that, it didn't take long to also agree that a messenger and a squadron of Watchers should be dispatched to bring the dwarven lord and his three charges into the Council Chamber in order to meet them and settle this once and for all.

---

A full week had passed since the elf maiden, soaked to the bone from the storm outside, had stumbled into the cave where he had taken shelter. How she and Malachi had lasted this long in the confines of stone when so much of the negativity in their lives had taken place in such, Kolmar knew not. But he honoured their endurance.

Malachi's wing continued mending until the bone grew strong enough to insist on getting exercise. Kolmar's knuckles were not as fortunate in a quick mending, his vigorous days of youth now far in the past. He kept them wrapped and stuffed in gloves when wandering the great halls, only allowing them to breathe freely when in his own house. Malachi's feathers, however, were not as patient. They fluttered and quivered, begging to be released from their restlessness. And so the dwarf did the only thing he could do-- convince the dragonkin to accompany him to the Tower Gardens on the mountain's peak for a brief flying session while he waited for his elf to awaken.

 

[Kaisaan]

He ached.

It was the most accurate state of being that Malachi could relate to, though, it went so much further than that, so much deeper than a mere state of pain or discomfort. His body hurt, yes, and he made great effort and took great pains to make sure those around him didn't notice. He'd likely cracked a rib or three, he was littered with bruises from legs, torso and even shadows on his jawline, and there were a few nasty cuts on his shins and arms. The half-blood remained silent about it all. He didn't want anyone knowing, anyone worrying, especially Pencaliel because if she knew, she'd wanted to heal him, to help and that would not help her. She was all he cared about and she was so very fragile, so very scared right now even as she tried to be brave. Kontaro had hurt her far more severely than he'd at first realized and now, though it hurt like fire through his chest, Malachi could understand why she didn't want him near when the hours grew longer and the night closed in. He left the little elf to Nekia then and unbeknownst to everyone in the house, when all went quiet and even Hoomite and Yuubi retired for the night, Malachi had yet to go to sleep. It was only when he crept into the hall and patrolled the house before coming back to Pencaliel's doorway and curling himself there for the night that he rested.

If such a state of agitated dozing could be described as rest.

What affected him most was not the pains of his body, however, so much as those of his mind, his spirit. It was an ache down to his every thought, every emotion, every fiber of who he was. It was an exhaustion, a state of resigned acceptance and yet a fierce guardedness that consumed all that he was. Failing to protect Pencaliel once was not acceptable, it was not forgivable, not to him, but he'd let himself have the mercy of a second chance, another attempt to keep her safe. In the end, though, he'd never been doing that, he'd failed the second time around even before he'd gotten a chance, as surely as the first time. He couldn't protect the little Druid from a threat he himself represented and brought to her just by virtue of being in her presence. Malachi was poison to her, a lethal serum slowly draining her of light and hope, and life. It didn't matter how much he wanted to help her, how much he wished he could comfort her and protect her. He couldn't. His father would never let him go. He'd never be free and he would always be a danger to Pencaliel. He wasn't good for her and she could never be truly happy or safe or flourish around him.

So she shouldn't be around him.

The thought had been gaining slow, but sure footing in his mind, a whisper that tormented him at night, circling and circling until he could hardly stand it. Malachi knew it was the darkness that spoke it, the words in his father's voice, taunting and cold....but that didn't mean they didn't contain some truth. A lie was only the truth twisted around to use as manipulation. Lies could not exist without truths and Malachi understood that what his people would try to use to harm him, to make him vulnerable and weak....might actually bring about some good. Not for him, but for Pencaliel. He should leave. It would be safer for her if he went. She could heal then, could go back to her forest and live without fear of the Darkness that was ever around him, always looking to harm and consume anything he touched, anything that brought him any kind of happiness. She could be away from the eyes and knowledge of his father, away from the threat of Kontaro who even now Malachi knew was alive. Pursuing.

He couldn't protect his little elf if he stayed....but if he left.....

The thought was never far from him and when he was with the Druid, when she was curled close and reading to him, her voice soft and steady in his ears, that was when they plagued him most. He could not let her be harmed. Malachi only had to look down at her when she thought him entirely focused on the book before them, only had to watch her mouth move and her slender fingers turn the page, watch her eyes light up as she read the text and the excitement and wonder come through her voice for the whispers to gain firmer hold.

He should leave and never come back, but the very thought, if given any true contemplation, stole the breath from his lungs and sent such a spike of grief through his heart that as fast as he'd pondered it, Malachi had to push it away again. But it lingered and no matter how much he wanted, it wouldn't go away.

----

Going outside had been both a longing and a dreading experience for Malachi. He needed to see the sky. It wasn't a want or a desire, but a need. It wasn't about his wings, growing stronger and needing to stretch. If that had been his only problem, he could have easily remedied such a thing with Kolmar's guest home alone. The rafter-like, towering ceilings would have allowed him to fly laps if he'd been so inclined, but in truth his need had nothing to do with flying, but everything to do with feeling suffocated underground. He'd spent the first hundred years of his life underground and with just one dose of the sun and the sky, he'd found himself in desperate need of their cure in regular doses. It was this need that decided him in the end, that had him agreeing with Kolmar despite the fact that Malachi didn't desire to be far from Pencaliel.

And he was deathly afraid that if he saw the sky and knew how easy it would be to take flight and never come back....the temptation would be too much....even as the very thought killed him.

The half-blood was a mess of tangles within as he followed Kolmar to the Tower Gardens, unable to keep the shifting, fluttering of his wings under control, but at the same time unable to speak. In the days following the storm, Malachi had found himself more and more unwilling to voice his thoughts, to speak at all unless spoken to. It wasn't that he growled or that he'd reverted back to a feral state - Nekia was quick to reassure anyone who asked that such wasn't the case - but it was clear that the half-blood was not himself.

Though, in truth....when had he ever been?

He followed Kolmar now in complete compliance, not as an animal follows a master or a child a father, but rather as a soul lost and numb to their surroundings, trusting that another would know the way when they themselves could no longer fathom finding it.

 

[Lady Alainn]

The crisp autumn air assailed Kolmar's nose hairs the moment he stepped off the lift and into the gardens. Cool fingers, invisible yet oh so biting, rippled the hem of his tunic and fluttered the wide bell of his sleeves, partially revealing the finely woven stitches crawling up the inside of the sleeves. On the outside, the new seams Yuubi had painstakingly stitched into the torn fabric were practically as invisible as the wind's penetrating appendages.

Halting, the dwarf closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the morning air slicing through his nose and stabbing his lungs in tiny daggers. There was nothing more invigorating, and as it tingled in his limbs and roused his aging muscles, Kolmar --for a brief moment-- could reach out and grasp hold of his youthful days once more. Then, as it must, the feeling passed like sand through his fingers until it completely drained away into a sweet memory of the by-gone days. He sighed, a great sigh filled with longing and yet perfectly content at the same time, and turned his eye upon the beauty before him. For all his years, the Creator's magnificent handiwork never lessened in his admiration.

In the east, the voluminous, red-tinted sun swelled above the mountain peaks, bathing the world beneath in a golden sheen. Bountiful trees climbed up the ridges and crags of rock and stone to lift their smooth, pale arms high with their burdening treasures of gold and precious jewels. As Kolmar passed under the shade of the emerald-laden trees within the garden to the outer paths, the brilliance of the colours outside the fortress' walls gave him need to shield his eyes with a broad hand. Rubies and fire topazes trickled down the piles of gold, and even a few emeralds of glistened here and there midst the treasure piles. They alone could attest that summer had come and was now gracefully giving up her life that the purity of snow might come and cleanse the earth for her sowing and producing in the new year.

Even the Forge Masters of Kuldar with their superior craftsmanship could not compare to what the Creator could design with a few words, though they had come close on an occasion with their finely chiseled and refined metals and polished gems. As Kolmar looked out above the sea of gold, high above the world, he could almost believe there could be no wickedness in the world. Almost. Alas, one glance back at his downtrodden companion proved this wish to be vain indeed. The dragonkin had been particularly despondent since the night of the storm. Kolmar could only surmise it had something to do with the state he'd found his elf in after his mad, brutal flight up the stairs.

Something was eating up the lad and it pained the noble dwarf to see it. It was most evident seeing him with Pencaliel; the changes in countenance on the face so drawn into blankness spoke volumes, only Kolmar could not speak the language. He yearned to help the lad, but Malachi would not confide in him. Or could not. He'd grown withdrawn, shrinking back from the little bit of bridge they had been able to build between them. Gone was any hint of a smile or look of peace. When Malachi joined him without much improvement in his disposition despite the fresh breath of air, his eye softened as it fell upon the slight limp in the dragonkin's step, the favouring of his side, no doubt caused by the same root as the turmoil inside. His lips pursed together. He must pry, just this once. He felt he had to. Otherwise, whatever poison was building up inside the lad might not ever find an outlet.

Kolmar's fingers absentmindedly ran across the tender knuckles on his opposite hand.

"Is it better than it looks, son?" he asked quietly.

Simple, non-threatening, no veiled meanings yet so ambiguous that it could refer to either inside or outside wounds, or even the Tower Gardens if the lad so wished. Open-ended to allow for as much or as little information as the dragonkin wanted to give. In short, the perfect starting place to begin digging through the muck in search of the flicker of Life he knew to be inside.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi had always loved nature. Growing up in the earth, dark caverns and silver lights, seeing the sun for the first time had amazed him beyond any jewel could do, filling the male with a warm wonder that had been slow to fade even when he'd been forced back beneath the ground. It had been summer then, though. Greens and browns, some flowers and yellow grass, a blue sky above and the whitest clouds he'd ever seen. He'd thought it breathtaking and had longed to see the surface again. The next time he'd seen the outside again, however, he'd not been able to see at all. The ocean was only a sensation to him, only taste and sound, but not sight. He could not describe its beauty. He could not tell of the place he'd been or the land he'd gone through, not even Pencaliel's forest.

He knew the sight of a lake and he knew, once more, the inside of a cave. He'd seen the power of the storms that made him so uneasy and he'd gotten a view of Naazgard and the land surrounding it on his way to getting back to his little elf, but he'd not appreciated it then. Now, however, Malachi was getting his very first view of the world in Autumn.

It was like nothing he could describe and for several long, peaceful minutes in which the world fell away and nothing existed but the splender of the color before him, Malachi was filled with the awed wonder of a child. It was beautiful. There were no words beyond that and yet that one word was not adequate enough at all. He could do nothing but stare, speechless and breathless as if it might all disappear if he so much as breathed.

And then Kolmar spoke.

Gold eyes blinked, openly puzzled at the question and Malachi tilted his head at the dwarf, tempted to speak, to ask what the male meant, but unsure he should. Had Kolmar been speaking for a while? Would he be upset if he knew Malachi had not been listening? The white-haired male shifted, suddenly nervous and nervousness gave way rather quickly to the first whispers of fear as the half-blood tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Was there a correct answer? Would the dwarf be angry if he got it wrong? The panic had started to rise within him when the dragonkin caught the movement of Kolmar's hands, watched the movement of fingers over knuckles, and distress turned to sinking dread.

Kolmar had not beat him for what he'd done. Had not spoken a harsh word or even drawn Malachi's attention to it. But what if the dwarf had only been waiting to do so? What if he'd changed his mind and had now decided the half-blood needed some form of repayment for the injury? Malachi had gone nearly as white as his hair as the taunting thoughts circled viciously through his mind, dark tendrils of cold that latched themselves into him and refused to release so easily. Despite their presence, however, logic didn't desert the male entirely and a sliver of it now made itself known.

The dwarf had not asked a question that would make sense for his own injury. How would Malachi know if Kolmar's knuckles were better than they looked? Would the older male really be so cruel as to ask a question the dragonkin would have no chance of answering correctly? The instant and resounding answer was no. Of course it was no. Every one of his thoughts about Kolmar as they rapidly pulsed through his head had been uncharacteristic of the dwarf who'd been nothing less than noble and compassionate to Malachi since leaving the cave that night. How he could even contemplate a deceit so great from the older male was now appalling to Malachi and he lurched away from the dark whispers with an inward snarl of rage and disgust.

No!

No, they could torment him. They could tear him to pieces if they wished, but they could not, would not attack Kolmar! They would not attack the dwarf who'd been more of a comfort and a support to him than any male in his life had even come close to. They would not mar the son of Ranthar, not when Malachi held him nearly as dear as Pencaliel. No. The Sidhe, the Darkness, they could have him, but they could not have the little elf he loved, nor the dwarf he would have given anything to have for his father. They wouldn't touch them. Malachi wouldn't LET them.

Then leave.

The whisper was chilling, causing a shiver to run down the dragonkin's spine, but he didn't answer it. He didn't do anything more than move toward the garden wall, no longer so pale or scared. Only subdued again as it finally came to him what Kolmar must mean by his words. Why Malachi had not guessed the real purpose of the question before was a mystery. Of course Kolmar would have noted what the half-blood had tried so hard to keep hidden - likely physically and inwardly - and if Kolmar already knew it, there was no use in Malachi trying to pretend it didn't exist. So he didn't lie or try to hide anymore as his large set of wings folded close to his body, nothing but the persistent breeze able to stir the fortress they made, ruffling the feathers that stayed so determinedly clamped against the playful wind. The smaller set curled closer to his shoulders, protective in their position, shielding the half-blood from the world and yet in the end, Malachi did answer, simply shaking his head, his gaze on the multitude of color beyond.

"No, it's not."

Golden orbs finally looked back at the dwarf again, solemn and weary, far older than they had right to look. "I don't want Pencaliel to know. She will try to heal it and she doesn't need to. I don't want her to be hurt by me anymore." Malachi turned away again and spread his wings, extending for the first time in a very long time to their full width, letting the feathers shift and rustle into place as the wind caught against them. Lithe, powerful limbs took the dragonkin onto the stone wall that kept people from falling to their deaths and he perched there for a moment, simply looking down and then out at the distant sky. What would it be like to simply jump without wings to catch him? The thought was a dark one, of course, but Malachi was rather used to such things and a sardonic smile crossed his face in a flutter of emotion before he pushed off from the ledge and dropped like a stone, wings folded close to his body.

It was only as he was nearing the mountain that he opened his wings and despite the pull on the muscle that created a sharp burn, Malachi forced them to stay open, sending him back into the air. The pain felt good. It was something tangible, something he could control, but even the instant ache that appeared did not take away the sense of freedom and the rushing feeling in his middle that came from flying. It wasn't long before everything seemed to disappear and Malachi was left with just the sensation of the experience.

It was more calming than anything he'd felt in days.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Of course he had immediately assured Malachi he would not to breathe a word to the maiden, nor even do so much as to possibly suggest with a observable look. And in exchange for his silence, he only asked the lad to go to Hoomite when they returned for Yuubi's healing ointment to put on the scrapes. Kolmar had a feeling the lad would be more likely to seek the ointment from the silent giant than risk the inquisitive mind of the busybody wife. A small half-smile worked its way across his lips. For as much as that woman had a heart of gold, her tongue could fly with the best of them.

With deliberate, heavy steps, the dwarf had followed Malachi to the ivy-covered barrier enclosing the garden and wearily rested his weight upon his elbows. Creases, deep from the stress of time, furrowed the regal brow which had but a moment before been free from all the cares that weighed heavily upon the broad shoulders. Sunlight glinted off the pure white wings and blue eyes clouded in melancholy aimlessly followed the flashing liquid gold across the sky. Gold, like the expressive eyes which pierced his soul with some new emotion every time he beheld them. No longer did the dwarf see the marvel of Autumn before him, his reflections turning inward to ponder the state of his charge and the few but potent words the lad had left him with.

"I don't want her to be hurt by me anymore."

They echoed in Kolmar's mind long after they had been spoken and the lad had taken flight, as did the haunting expression of those tired eyes. The spark of life inside the dragonkin shone so dimly now; in fact he was almost afraid to say it had been completely extinguished by shadow. This unnerved the dwarf more than anything. What had happened to drain the dragonkin so when he had been making so much progress before? At this moment, Kolmar would even give to have the feral dragonkin from the cave back. At least Malachi had spirit there, even if it had been damaged. But now Kolmar felt like he stared at a mask, a shadow of what the young man was, any time he looked his way. A mask he knew not how to remove.

"Creator, help me," he murmured. Looking down to his hands, he slowly plucked the gloves off finger by finger and held them up for inspection. The edge of the bandage wrap had frayed with the friction of being inside the gloves and the knots had loosened. Without knowing why he did so, the dwarf tugged at the knot and began methodically removing the wrapping. Angry scabs, cracked, dry, and irritated from the lack of air in their prison, stared back at him as white fell away from his flesh.

Malachi had hurt Kolmar-- pretty seriously, in fact-- and Kolmar would forever bear the scars of that fact. But what had he done to wound the maiden? She bore no outward sign of injury, not that he could see at least, and he knew just by the few conversations he had with Pencaliel that she felt she had nothing to resent Malachi for. So what was the story, then? "Anymore" implied that Malachi had hurt her, and probably not just once, but several times. What was he afraid would happen to her? Why did that fear stink like a toxin within his soul? One thing the dwarf knew for certain: Malachi adored the little elf with every fibre in his being and possessed a heart more gentle than many a dwarf. Whatever he'd done to hurt her, Kolmar was fairly sure it had to be an outside source and nothing to do with Malachi himself.

And in that situation, there was only one thing to do. Find the source. Expose it. Cut its ties.

The freed bandages flapped vigorously in his grasp, whipping across the back of his hand and wrist with the wind. Kolmar unwound them from his fingers, except for between his forefinger and middle finger, and held the strips aloft until they unfurled in surrender. Like his bared knuckles, Kolmar vowed he would not let Malachi's inner wounds fester out of sight and in the darkness. He would bring them to the Light where the only true healing could take place within his soul. He would see his charge breathe in Life once more. He would continue to pry. The wraps snapped against his hand once more before he released his hold and let the breeze carry them far, far away.

What was that old saying among the halflings?

Determination and purpose swelled the noble breast, only to hold in breath as the heavy whoosh of powerful white wings beat at the air and lowered their bearer to the ground once more-- who was obviously in an agitated state. Kolmar chewed his bottom lip. That's what it was-- something about throwing seeds of caution to the wind. And when in doubt, getting the dragonkin to open up by turning his focus to his fair little elven maid.


"So... Pencaliel. What are we protecting her from?"

 

[Kaisaan]

The whispers had started the moment he'd truly let his guard down and Malachi had lurched in the air, falling several feet before he caught himself, but the dark, icy chill had gained hold by that point, taking full advantage of his vulnerability with glee. It caressed the fear within him, always present, and watched in delight as the seeds it had planted for days immediately came to life one more within the half-blood. Thoughts he did not want but could not escape started to claw away at the peace he'd managed to find and Malachi tried to push them back, but they wouldn't leave him.

You could leave right now. Who would miss you?

You're a danger to her. They will always find her. She will learn to curse your name.

He can see her. He will try again. You won't be able to protect her. You promised you would, remember?

Liar.

Malachi wanted to clamp his hands over his ears to stop the whispers, but he knew it wouldn't help. It had never helped, though, when he'd been younger he used to pretend it did. He couldn't pretend anymore, however, and it was with the need for stability that he landed, trying to steady breathing that had become far too rapid with the beginning dredges of panic. Once again, it was Kolmar's voice that brought him back to the present....only this time the present was not much better than his own thoughts. It wasn't any better really, and the white-haired male stared at the dwarf with large eyes and blown out pupils, startled like a deer before the hunter and entirely too off balance to replace the mask that had slipped just a little already. Kolmar's question only pulled it away further and the half-blood found himself speaking before he'd even decided to do so, the pressure building inside him simply too great, too painful to stay bottled any longer.

Besides, Kolmar had said 'we'. Perhaps, if Malachi could not protect the little elf, then Kolmar could. Even against Malachi himself. He could trust Kolmar to do that, right? Kolmar cared for the little Druid, far more than he cared for Malachi even if he was kind to the half-blood. The dwarf would make sure nothing happened to her if Malachi left, wouldn't he? Kolmar would understand why he had to. After Malachi explained it would all be clear, the dwarf would see the terrible things he'd done and he'd want the dragonkin gone. The younger male was sure of that and no matter how it would hurt, as long as Pencaliel was safe, he no longer cared what would become of him.

The question presented was a simple one on the dwarf's part, but the answer was far more complex and Malachi started it like any terrified child might; disjointedly.

"From me. From him." The words sounded right to the younger male and yet he knew they weren't enough, couldn't explain what it was Pencaliel was in danger from and he tried again, entirely unaware that another attempt would be just as bad as the first. He was too scared, too far into the Child's state of mind for a rational conversation not ruled by powerful emotions suppressed for far too long. He only knew that he needed to tell Kolmar so the dwarf could keep Pencaliel from harm.

"From...from him seeing her. I can't... He sees everything. I can't stop him. I can't keep him from her. I hurt her." The anguish and self-hatred in those last three words nearly had Malachi choking them into existence and he shook his head rapidly, growing more distressed as the information started to tumble from him in a torrent he couldn't hope to stop now that he'd begun. The half-blood found he couldn't still, his body far too wired, his mind too chaotic for him to remain still and so he paced, wings shuddering and yet tight against his back. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have stayed with her. I shouldn't have cared for her. I should have left. I should leave now. I shouldn't be here. I hurt her. That's all I've ever done, it's all I know." Malachi barked a harsh, cold laugh, stilling abruptly as those words seemed to hit him and his sudden smile was dark and mocking, and full of pain as he continued to chuckle, looking to the dwarf. "It's all I know."

The dragonkin laughed again, the sound almost a giggle until that too registered to him if only for the pain laughter caused his ribs and if someone could have jumped away from their own body in fear, Malachi would have leaped right out of his own skin as he seemed to start back to himself, his form starting to shake. His hands moved to grip his head as if he could forcefully stop the battle raging there, the constant game of tug-of-war for his soul, his power and his mind. "It's my fault. My fault." It was a mutter, but only at first, the words gaining volume again as the dragonkin felt his world spiraling out of control. "I did it. It might as well have been my hands! He found her and I'm the one who led him!" The words were nearly a shriek at the end, the grief contained in them far too heavy for one soul to bear and Malachi stilled, looking to Kolmar with eyes wild with torment and guilt.

"He abused her. He molested her and I helped him do it. He found her, they found her because of me and they will find her again because of me." He snarled the last word and sank to the ground, unresponsive to the cry of protest his bruised shins gave out, his head and hair gripped tightly in his hands once more. The Life seemed entirely drained from him and Malachi's white wings had gone an alarming dark gray, leeching darker the more he spoke. It was a fact the dragonkin didn't take note of.

All he knew were the raw emotions that gripped him and refused to let go. They only seemed to grow worse the longer he dared to breathe and still, he only could think of how each day he was here, each day he stalled leaving, he was endangering the one person he held dear above all others.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Jumbled though Malachi's thoughts came out, there was still enough coherency to them and past information that Kolmar could follow along. Or so he thought. The dwarf knew nothing of Kontaro or the role he had played in wreaking havoc with both Malachi and Pencaliel and so immediately jumped to the conclusion the dragonkin must mean his father. The voices in his head, his natural tendency to distrust, even the small, insignificant view of himself had all stemmed from his relationship with the man responsible for giving him life. Though the Sidhe had fathered the lad, Kolmar couldn't, in good conscience, deliberately call him Malachi's father, even in his own head. He clearly frightened the lad; a master, a cruel hand to cower from.

With these thoughts, the great lord followed along as best he could. Some of the story had already been made known to him, and the consequences he witnessed on a daily basis. But the sheer range of emotions that choked and fueled the dragonkin came bursting forth in such a torrent that Kolmar found himself moving one foot back lest they bowl him over. Never had he seen the lad like this, in either of these two states, nor with his wings...! His mouth dropped open slightly within his beard, startled by this transformation. Even with the darkest moments he'd witnessed thus far, he could not recognize the wretched form before him.

The longer Malachi spoke and the greyer his wings became, the shriller the alarm bells inside Kolmar's head sounded their warning peals. It angered Kolmar to see all of the hard work put into drawing the dragonkin out shrivelling away as if it had never happened. The hours and days spent fostering the trust between them, gone. But it also frightened him to see the lad so. What would happen if next time, Malachi fell deep enough into this contemptuous creature he could not break free? His heart wrenched into his throat. Surely the lad would be utterly destroyed! Already the weight of guilt he heaped upon himself had reduced him into an empty shell.

Kolmar would not stand for this. These grey wings, this broken wretch, this shadow of a man, he would not stand for any of it! Rage flared within once more, causing the fear to dissipate and melt away. The heat of passion built within his breast until the pressure grew so great he could listen in silence no longer. With a voice that could easily shake the mountain down to its very roots, he rebuked the darkness within the lad:

"Is it really all you know?" Kolmar demanded. "Have you learned nothing since leaving the halls of the Dark Ones? Has being in the company of the elf taught you nothing? Have you never felt the warmth of a genuine smile? Has the taste of freedom escaped you completely? Have you never felt so full from tender feelings you thought you might burst? Can you truly say pain and suffering is all you know, son of the skies?!?"

Here he paused to ensure he had the dragonkin's full attention. When gold locked on blue, the dwarf's voice dropped into a cold clarity as he enunciated every syllable, "If this is true, leave immediately! Go. Stretch your wings and fly back to the darkness that seeks to consume you for there is nothing for you here."

Kolmar knew what he spoke to be harsh, but the time of gentle nudging had passed. Malachi was torn right down the middle, his mind unstable. He did not need soft reassurances that meant nothing. Kindness and sympathy would only push him farther away. He needed truth. Not just any truth, but the ugly, raw, unmistakable truth. Malachi needed to understand that Kolmar comprehended more than he realized, that the dwarf was not afraid to face the darkness head-on. That he could stand behind the lad without flinching, a solid wall to block any and all retreat into the land of shadows.

More than anything, Malachi needed to be reminded of Goodness and that Goodness was still obtainable. Yet despite the dwarf's blunt manner, he did not forget the lad was a fragile being, fearful and broken. The dragonkin needed truth, yes, but he also required guidance. To ensure that those wings would not send the young lad up into the air again, Kolmar clamped a hand upon his shoulder, his demeanor filled with compassion when he met Malachi's eyes once more.

In a softer tone, he continued, "But if this is not true, if you have indeed tasted the Light, which I know you have, then stay. Stay and tell me what torments you so, lad. Speak to me of the darkness within you so that it might be uprooted and cleansed."

A second hand settled upon the other shoulder and the dwarf bent his knees a bit to bring him eye-to-eye with the dragonkin. "Look at me, son, and believe me when I tell you that no matter how much he sees, I will be here to fight for you and with you until this battle is won." Blue eyes darkened, a fire born of righteous anger sparking within their depths. Once more his voice rose in authority and he addressed not the trembling young man before him, but the owner of the voice inside his head. "Hear this, oh king of lies and deceit, you have tormented this soul for long enough. This I swear to you: Your reign in this life shall come to an end and I-- I, Kolmar, son of Ranthar, Lord among the Longlegs-- will not rest until Malachi becomes his own master!"

 

[Kaisaan]

The dwarf's voice threatened to shake more than the mountains as the very first words, so powerful and deep, hit the dragonkin like the ocean crashes against the shore, threatening to sweep the very beach along with its might and determination. Malachi would come to find, though, that he was not made from mere sand, so easily pulled into any one current or another, but rather he was stone; resilient and long-lasting no matter the strength and fury of the storm. All the same, Kolmar's words pierced him, true as any arrow, and where the Darkness urged him to flee the abuse sure to come, mocking his trust of the dwarf, it was in reality the Light that found strength in the words heard, growing from the small speck it had been reduced to, transforming into a flame and from a flame only threatening to expand further.

The Brightness spoke soft words to him, not at all like the whispers that sought to tempt him, that deceived and urged him to quick decisions and hasty judgments. The Light was open, honest and strangely enough, sounded a great deal like Kolmar. It didn't buffer the truth, even when painful and it was for the Light's influence that he was able to truly hear the older male's words for what they were.

Truth.

Every memory, every recollection the dwarf spoke of rang with it. Malachi's thoughts raced with each reminder Kolmar uttered and even the Darkness couldn't taint the memories. Pencaliel's singing. The first time he'd discovered he could hum. A child's simple greeting in the marketplace. Regaining his eyesight. The joy of flying. The sight of a blue sky. The first time Kolmar had called him 'son'. The dwarf's warm hand on his shoulder. Yuubi's cooking. Nekia's gently guidance and insistent teasing. Waking to a little elf squealing over packages on a chair she couldn't get to. Gentle fingers through his hair and upon his wings. Listening to Kolmar's horn and the dwarf's singing. Pencaliel's kiss. It all rushed by in a torrent too fast to catch hold of, but so clear to him nonetheless and Malachi barely knew he was crying, couldn't even feel the air in his lungs anymore for the intensity of the experiences. Gold eyes did indeed look to Kolmar, wide and startled, not yet comprehending it all in a way he could put into logical context, but he did understand the older male's words.

They struck him hard, ice chips in his chest, as cold and brutal as the dwarf's tone and Malachi flinched before them, shuddering under Kolmar's touch when his palms came to rest upon the dragonkin's shoulders. If the voice directed at him had not turned gentler then, Malachi likely would have shut down, too much information coming upon him at once, emotions swinging from one extreme to the next with nothing but a breath of wind to steer them. Kolmar seemed to sense such, though, and the half-blood was given a reprieve, his mind able to disengage from the locked state it had found itself entering into.

He listened to the dwarf with a clear head for just a moment and Malachi felt the tears drip off his chin as his mouth trembled, trying to work, wanting more than he could explain to speak to Kolmar, to tell the dwarf everything and see all the Darkness banished. He wanted Kolmar to get rid of it....and yet, he knew, deep down that it was not the dwarf who could do that. Kolmar could listen, could speak, could encourage and explain, but he couldn't heal. He couldn't cleanse. There was another who could.....someone Malachi had never truly known, had never trusted, had never felt he could go to. The Light urged it, though, in patient reminders and prompts. Never pushing, never demanding, never pulling or manipulating. Simply waiting.

Still waiting.

Like Kolmar. Like a father.

As if the very thought of the word had summoned him, Malachi felt the Darkness within him surge. It fought the clarity that had come to the dragonkin just moments before and even as Kolmar addressed it directly, perhaps the two forces of Light and Dark sensing each other, Malachi found himself pulled under, drowned within his own mind as he was shoved aside and something, someone, started to take over. It was the most frightening thing the half-blood had ever felt before, but he couldn't stop the possession, couldn't fight it, didn't even know how to. It was only the Light, suddenly flaring and wrapping about him that kept the dragonkin from falling away into the abyss that had opened up with willing and eager jaws for his descent.

Outwardly the signs were far different as Malachi's eyes rolled back into his head and his body started to convulse, desperate gasps for air escaping him before a scream did. His form arched sharply, unnaturally for the position he was in, seeming to hover above the ground, his wings hitting the stone over and over with the spasms that wracked him. Black, inky as the Void spread across his wings as he abruptly went limp and still, never hitting the ground as his body stayed suspended. Silence held but for a moment then before the dragonkin's body moved, rising again and his lids snapped open, gold eyes fixing on Kolmar, the malice within them unmistakably sharp, achingly cold.

Nothing like Malachi at all.

"This soul belongs to the Deyes'moro. It is a Vessel of Deyes'sheo. He is mine." The entity tried to stand then, but a force far stronger kept the body on its knees, pinned there and no matter how the dark being struggled to rise, it could not. Rage entered the deep, malevolent tone as the entity continued to address the dwarf. "You think a few pathetic memories change what he is? He is a scatha. He was born of the Darkness, he can not escape it. He can not be saved."

Malachi's mouth sneered and the utter loathing in that expression, the evil contained in the depths of his gold eyes was cringe worthy, terrifying in its intensity. That the dragonkin had been able to face such his whole life and still be as receptive as he was to the Light was nothing short of the Creator's subtle, protective touch even in the bowels of the despair and pain Malachi had grown up knowing. It was pure cruelty that faced Kolmar now, that finally addressed the dwarf directly, showing itself in the face of its weakening grip on Malachi.

"You would seek to be his father, wouldn't you, dwarf?" Laughter sounded, cold and scathing. "Why? He is nothing. He will never be your son. He is mine and he will not escape me. He can not escape what he is. He can not outrun the Darkness and it will consume all he cares for. You can not stop it. He can not stop it. He is a creature of Darkness. It has claimed him and he will turn to it in the end."

 

[Lady Alainn]

Kolmar had only seen a demon possession once in his life, but even that could not prepare him for the sight before his eyes. His stomach twisted in knots with each sickening jolt of the lad's body that wasn't of his own doing. And Malachi's wings! It became clear to him then what the significance was behind those colours. In every other person, the battle between good and evil raged inward, but on the Darkling Prince it played out upon his wings for all the world to see.

This was a spectre of evil the dwarf had hoped never to see again.

---

"Dragonkin in the camp! Dragonkin in the camp!" cried a voice, followed closely by a horn blast.

"Make way! Make way!" shouted another.

Kolmar roused himself from his cot and made his way past the beds of the other half-dozen soldiers snoozing in the tent. He ducked his head out as a second horn blast sounded, holding the bear hide just high enough above his head to shade his eyes from the glow of the setting sun. A parade of dwarves marched into the camp: the banner-wielders hoisting high their fluttering standards while those on the outside ranks held their shields in front of their chests and beat upon them with the heels of their chainmail fists to keep time.

"Dragonkin!"

"Make way!"

Another blast of the horn.

By now, his comrades had also woken and crowded behind him to see what all the commotion was about. Kolmar offered to find out and hefted Ikspar onto his back before trudging towards the center of camp. He hadn't made it very far when he saw them. The Dragonkin. He couldn't miss them, not the way they towered head and shoulders above the company of dwarves surrounding them. Three of them. And they—the sworn enemy—were permitted to pass? Kolmar drew closer, a suffocating dread already beginning to settle upon his chest.

Two males had their arms wrapped around the torso of a fallen sister, white strips of cloth fastened around their biceps in the symbol of peace approach. The female weighed heavily upon them, much more than she should have. Her crusty, burgundy wings still dripped with fresh, crimson dwarf blood. Kolmar's first instinct was to expect some sort of trick, a device to catch them all off their guard, for why would Dragonkin willingly come in peace? His hand tightened around Ikspar's shaft and he widened his stride to reach them faster.

Then he saw her face.

Hollow, empty eyes stared off into space as if no one lived inside her. Her whole body writhed in agony with the power of a thousand snakes. Dark mist poured from her mouth as she babbled incoherently and it seeped out from her lifeless eyes, mixing with the blood caked on her face. She had drunk too much of the Darkness-- the secret weapon of the Dragonkin. It consumed her body and soul until she was only a shell. Kolmar slowed as the dwarven Druid passed through the company of dwarves to approach the trio. The Druid's face darkened upon seeing the lass and he stopped short. In a loud, authoritative voice he demanded: "Why have you come?"

"Our sister has fallen beneath the aide of our healers but we have heard that the Power is still strong in you. You can cast out the Darkness that plagues her. She will surely die if you do not help her."

"And why should I lift my hand to heal one sworn to kill me and my people? To destroy that which the Creator put into place? This is the consequence of seeking the darker magics and partaking in what you do not understand. If she dies, it is by Azamuthel's hand and shall not be put on the heads of the Dwarves."

"As Druid, it is your duty to help those who cannot help themselves. You are bound by oath, and we ask you to remember that oath."

The Druid frowned at this, but nodded reluctantly. "Aye, tis true enough. Very well, bring her forward."

They had barely stepped into range when the old dwarf's hand shot out, the heel of his palm smacking against the forehead of the possessed warrior with a sickening thud. She staggered backwards as her brethren dropped her, her body limp as if only suspended by puppet strings. Her body arched and a bone-chilling laugh barely escaped from her lips before it was quickly interrupted with another slam of the Druid's hand. Once, twice, three times the dragonkin staggered back from the Druid until her body sagged onto her knees, the power within her weakening with each assault.

On the third hit, the Druid cried out: "By the power of the One who holds dominion over the living and the dead, I command you to release her soul!" A shudder rippled through her body and the warrior fell prostrate before the Druid.

"Get up!" he commanded. When she lifted her head, the darkness around her face had vanished. She was still too weak to stand on her own and her brethren quickly moved to her side to lift her between them once more. With a somber "Thank you" they carried her out of the camp.

"Dragonkin in the camp!" cried the first voice.

"Make way!" shouted the second.

The company of dwarves turned on their heel to escort the Dragonkin out of the camp, banners flying and fists clashing against shields.

--

This time, however, it was not some dark power corrupting a being, but a corrupted being itself possessing its target. Kolmar's mouth settled in a grim line, blue eyes glaring into shadowed gold. He mustn't show any sign of intimidation to this monster! And more importantly, that monster needed to be silenced. Immediately. Kolmar took one step forward, not completely sure how he was going to go about doing so, but froze as the ghoulish form's words raked down his spine like a bed of icicles.

Father? Son? Since when had Kolmar ever considered Malachi to be his own blood? Further more, when had he ever sought it? But now another thought wiggled its way in: The spectre was not talking to the dwarf at all, but to Malachi. He/it was addressing and simultaneously crushing the boy's hopes. And that, above anything threw the dwarf into a fit of fury unlike anything he'd ever known. He might not view Malachi as a son, but if the dragonkin was beginning to think Kolmar as a father...

All of a sudden, it was as if he'd been possessed himself. His hand shot out with a mind of its own, connecting with the lad's forehead with a nauseating whack! before he even knew it had left his side. The powerful forearm retracted and surged forward once more. "By the Creator!" he thundered, his blue eyes dark and murderous thunderheads themselves, "you will be quiet!"

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi wouldn't feel the pain of the strike just yet, in fact it hardly seemed to register with his body, only a jerk indicating the dwarf had made contact at all, that the strike would have sent him sprawling if he'd been able to do so, but the effect of the dwarf's words? Oh, that was felt. It was felt to the very depths of Malachi himself, but far more by the evil being who had stolen his body from him, who had invaded his mind like a parasite even from the age of youth and the half-blood welcomed the agony that wracked through his frame because it wasn't his. For the first time in his life the fire flaring across his nerves, exploding through his mind was not truly touching him, was not truly harming him, nothing more than an echo reverberating against the confines his body created, the prison his flesh had become for the creature that now writhed inside.

It was his father's pain and hearing it, feeling it, seeing it sparked an answer to questions Malachi had not even been aware existed, only given form in the deep recess of his subconscious; could his father be harmed? Could the dark being who held such control over his life, his every action and breath for so long truly be defeated by any opposing power? Could Malachi really ever be free of him?

To his greatest shock and most profound hope, the answer was yes. The reply was a resounding yes from the universe around him, like thunder through his bones, into his spirit and Kolmar's was the voice that spoke it, that kindled the life within the half-blood. It was inevitable that with that reappearance of the ember the dwarf had made note of just days before would come a true flame soon after, fire that could and would spread into an inferno.

The Right of the Firstborn.

It woke as a fury so deep that Malachi, for a moment, felt his own body, felt himself jerk in resistance of the dark power set upon him. His wings surged white, lifted from the ground for but a moment, a flicker in time before the blackness, thick as ink swept over the feathers again, but there was no denying the purity of the snow's touch had graced them not moments before. There was no question that Malachi had heard Kolmar and no doubt that he was starting to fight with everything he had.

--

She had not foreseen this - how could she unless the Creator willed it so? - but Nekia had known nonetheless that this day, this hour would come. It had to. For Malachi to ever become what he was meant to be, for his future to remain steady alongside Pencaliel's, for him to fulfill the Fate that awaited him this day had to come. Nagoron had be gotten rid of. He was a poison within his son, undoing any progress Malachi made, a leech feeding on his soul and the Angel felt it - the moment she was given leave to act.

Her feet could not race her to the gardens fast enough. She had left Pencaliel rather abruptly, but the little elf was safe. Malachi was not and it was to him she was called, to his side and his aid she was summoned. Nekia would not deny that, nor would she pause for anyone in her way. Her journey to the dwarf and the half-blood was not hindered, however, and her arrival was anything but unnoticed as upon catching sight of her, Malachi's body started to writhe, fighting the ethereal power that kept it chained where it knelt. Ropes of darkness crawled under the Dragonkin's skin, through his veins and the white of his eyes showed as fangs gnashed together, the Darkness in torment so close to the Light the Angel radiated. Always it had used Malachi as a buffer, unaffected by the touch of the Creator, but now it had made a fatal mistake.

One Nekia had been waiting a long time for and even if Nagoron, if the Deyes'moro, had wanted to retreat it would no longer be allowed to. It had risen to the bait long awaited, long dangling before it and now it would endure the trap. The extermination.

She wanted more than anything to snarl in the face of that Darkness now, to unleash the righteous justice that would soon be met out, but Nekia knew that was not her place. Not yet and she would do everything according to her Father's will lest she err herself in her zeal to see Malachi freed. No, her mismatched eyes, blazing with light, turned to the dwarf and it was to him she spoke, to him her message was given. Into his hands was this step to Malachi's salvation entrusted. As it had always been meant to be.

"The Mark of Abomination mars the Creator's Chosen. To you is given the Power and Blessing to remove the root of Darkness from your son."

No more words were spoken, were needed as Nekia held out a dagger to the dwarf, the blade flashing like the scales of a fish in the light, clean and untouched, and sharp. Upon seeing it, the Darkness within the Dragonkin seemed to panic, the body it had possessed starting to thrash, trying to escape the invisible hold that had kept it pinned since the moment it had crawled out from the pit, had dared to show its face. It was a face that now understood it was looking at the end of its terrible reign.

Malachi understood it, too.

--

The Dragonkin did not know how to describe the feeling rising within him, a pressure that was beginning to make his very DNA tingle, burn as it spread. His father, the Darkness was not aware of it, not yet, far too focused on the outside threat and that's when Malachi started to wonder, to suspect and as that suspicion grew, so did the awareness of the evil so deep within him. It was only when the half-blood felt the first surge of pain, the first searing touch of cold through his mind, through his spirit that understanding came even as a scream left his lips, breaking past Kolmar's command to silence if only because it was not Nagoron that uttered the sound of agony but Malachi himself. It rose into a sharp keening before breaking into a snarl and then silencing all together.

Rage had broken the voice of pain as the Dragonkin lashed back at the pain, at the cold fire trying to overtake him once more, trying to get him under control with a desperation Malachi could feel. For the first time he could ever recall, the power that had claimed such utter control of his life was afraid and it encouraged an utterly primal, guttural will to rise within the white-haired male, a savage, justified fury at the cruelty that had been heaped upon it for so long.

Malachi didn't take time to question it, to wonder over it, to try and understand it. He used it. And the wild energy, building inside, responded sending a surge of white spreading across his wings, stretching them in a showing that had always meant defiance to Malachi as he battled the claim the Darkness had put upon him since birth.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Arm still outstretched, the dwarf stared in wonderment at the splayed digits at the other end, so familiar and yet so foreign in that brief span of time. Such a raw power had coursed through those fingertips! Even now, remnants of the hot fire flashing through his veins swirled around his body, ebbing with every breath until it completely washed over him. Something intensely beautiful and powerful had transpired, was still transpiring, between himself and the dragonkin. It was only little wonder the whole mountain did not shudder beneath the strain to alert unsuspecting dwellers within to the significant moment happening atop her crown.

When his limbs became his own again and his line of sight finally extended past his hand, Kolmar was hardly surprised to find Nekia crossing over to join them. Unwavering blue held her gaze before sweeping back to the sagging, thrashing form. Malachi's whole body seemed to shudder within himself as the Guide approached, straining to flee from the brilliant Light surrounding her. Yet the dragonkin stood as immovable as stone, a determination and fire in his eye the dwarf had never seen before. Whatever had occurred before, it was clear it was only the beginning.

Were they finally to see Malachi unshackled from his constant torment? Was the dragonkin at last to have the freedom to be his own man? His gaze shifted back to the woman, expectant, wondering, even somewhat wary as they waited for the answer. And oh, what an answer she gave him! From somewhere on her person, a knife appeared in Nekia's upturned palm, and it travelled not to Malachi, but to Kolmar's own hand. As his fingers wrapped around the slender hilt and Nekia's words echoed in his ears, the dwarf comprehended exactly what was expected of him in that moment.

Kolmar doubted even the Angel herself understood the full extent of what she was asking him to do.

It wasn't as easy as marring the slave mark on the dragonkin's pale skin. It was more than that. By branding his son, the dark fae had declared his ownership over the boy. To remove this mark meant a purchase, an exchange from one person to another of the well-being and care of Malachi. It meant providing for the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual needs for the lad not out of sympathy or goodness of heart anymore, but now because of duty. By disfiguring the mark, Kolmar would enter an unbreakable bond, an oath, a covenant, between himself and the dragonkin. Malachi would forever bear his name, and he Malachi's.

Back in his first moments of acquaintance with the Druid and her dragonkin companion, he wondered briefly if he would have still welcomed the strangers to share his shelter if he had known where the path would lead. If the giants had gifted him with the foreknowledge of this moment rather than three weary travellers on a stormy night, would he have even stopped in that cave to wade it out? Here before him stood a life-changing dilemma much like Hothrangrath must have faced the day he lost his wings. His people had not understood his choice, and the people he chose to find refuge with hardly treated him any better. For once, Kolmar could truly understand the long-haired elder and it nurtured a deep feeling of respect for the man whose inner strength must be astounding.

His eye drifted to the gleaming tip of the knife in his hand, then over to Malachi once more. With heavy steps that seemed to take much more effort than they should have, Kolmar circled the anguishing dragonkin until the cruel mark faced him-- ugly and exposed between the writhing wings. He swallowed and raised the knife point, not to carve out the symbol but to ponder again the ramifications of this action.

Could a dwarf do this? Could a dwarf claim a dragonkin as his own blood and still have integrity among his own people? Could he willingly father a son of their sworn enemy? Could he place an outsider above the needs of his brethren? Would his works of mercy among the downtrodden of his people now be for naught? Could he live with himself if he deemed his dignity and reputation more important than the needs of this lost lad?

The answer rang out undeniably even without deliberating over these questions. It resonated through his core in one consistent, clear note. And on that note, Kolmar pressed the knife tip against the dragonkin's back, the blade slipping easily through the scarred flesh between the shoulder blades. With a careful precision, the dwarf attacked the evil symbol. Blood pooled in the wake of each knife stroke, beading along each line cut into Malachi's back until the brand was no longer distinguishable. Instead, something much more familiar, much more welcoming shone through the bloodied flesh and Kolmar knew at once he must carve it in.

The dwarven symbol "freedom."

 

[Kaisaan]

The pain was very real this time and it was assuredly his own as the first slice of the knife through his skin brought a ragged cry to Malachi's lips. His wings jerked, flared, threatened to fold completely in reaction, in self-preservation, but the Darkness wanted that, wanted him to disrupt the pain and so the dragonkin did not. He fought the desperate need, the instinct to make the agony stop. It wouldn't. Even if he halted it now, it would continue in some form or another. It always had, for as long as he could remember. One hurt replaced another and Malachi knew this was his only chance to stop the cycle, and wanted to.

He would.

The Deyes'moro shrieked its outrage as it was attacked, lashing out at him with the tongues of a thousand freezing whips, wrapping around his mind, around his soul, refusing to release what it had claimed. He fought it. For the first time in his life, Malachi truly struck back, a nature having woken from deep within that he could hardly understand but didn't need to. It was heat and rage, a determination like he'd never known he possessed, throwing off the shadows that came upon him again and again, fighting its way toward the surface.

Toward the Light that was appearing like cracks in the void, making out an image, a symbol he could not yet see clearly. He knew he wanted to reach it, though. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life and as another shadow latched on to him, Malachi snarled and turned, watching the Darkness surging toward him once more, but this time he didn't fight it off. He grabbed it and pulled. His father, the evil that sought to consume him didn't register the danger it was in, how Malachi had turned from prey to hunter until it was utterly too late. Not until the first beam of Light struck the writhing mass of shadow did it understand, screaming as it tried to retreat back down to the depths and this time found itself unable to do so because the dragonkin was dragging into the brightness growing larger and closer. It could not escape, no matter how it fought as Malachi used every hurt, every moment of fear, every desperate cry and drop of despair it had brought him to resist everything it threw at him in its terrified attempt to get away from the defeat that approached. His father could not hurt him more than he already had and Malachi was not going to let him do it again.

For Pencaliel, who he loved, he found the courage. For Nekia, who'd become a friend and a protector, he didn't give up. For Kolmar, the dwarf who had so unexpectedly become the father he needed, the dragonkin believed. And for himself, for his own sake, for the first time, he fought.

And he won. It came, so suddenly, the light and it reached for the Darkness even as it touched Malachi, encouraging him to let go. So the dragonkin did, hardly understanding, but trusting and he watched as the evil that had taken such deep roots within him was consumed by the brightness that touched everything. As the void disappeared, Malachi felt the pressure that had been building inside himself simply explode.

The dragonkin was released from the invisible binds that had held him, so quickly that he fell forward, only his hands catching his body, leaving him on all fours, wings sagging to either side, splayed out upon the stone. Red streaks coated the feathers, more near the bloodied portion of his back, but even the crimson could not take away, nor hide the way the plumage seemed to glow, so white were the wings now. Pure as snow and just as reflective of any light, seeming to sparkle with a million silver and golden glimmers, there could be no doubt that the evil that had gripped the half-blood was now gone, the taint on his soul washed away - his insides reflected on the outside. The dragonkin didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe and finally Nekia knew she could approach, and she came to crouch before the male, gently slipping her fingers beneath his chin, encouraging him to look up.

Molten gold eyes, so clear and wondering, questioning, rose to her mismatched blue and brown, and the Angel smiled at what she saw within the dragonkin; a fresh chance, unmarred by shadows, untouched by pain. A place to build a solid foundation of faith, trust and love upon. The Creator was good!

"Come on, Mala. It's time to rise." The words were soft, patient and after a moment Mala nodded to them, seeming to understand they meant much more than merely getting to his feet, but for now that was all he did, following his guardian up from the stone. He stood then, to his full height and there was no hunch in his shoulders, no effort to hide behind the white hair that even now fell into his face, no trembling wings caught close to his body. There was only an astonished, hopeful question, a need to know that this was all real, that somehow, whether it had been him or Kolmar or the Creator, that warm, brilliant Light, he was truly free of what he'd feared for so long.

Mala turned, his gold eyes finding Kolmar and the gratitude that flared in his expression, that brought a true and genuine smile spreading across his face was instant, needing no words at all.

 

[Lady Alainn]

---

Pencaliel pushed back the curtain separating the tub from the rest of her bedroom and hopped down. Oooh! Bad idea. Her toes scrunched up trying to escape the stone floor's penetrating chills. Slippers, where did her slippers end up? Ah, there they were! Clutching her towel tighter about her, Pencaliel scurried over to the full-length mirror and fished the slippers out from under it with her toes. Brr! If only the dwarves could learn to heat their floors as well as filter in sunlight! How ever did they manage to survive during the winter months?

She wiggled the slippers between her feet, easing one foot in and then the other. It was only when the elven maiden looked up to fetch her robe from the hook by the mirror that she took note of the image in the glass. Despite the fact steam fogged over most of it, looking more like a watercolour than a true reflection of herself, a lone, pale line ran jagged across her bronze shoulder before melting back into the fog. The cold now forgotten, Pencaliel stepped closer to the mirror, her hand extending to touch the scar in the image. Her lips parted and her eyes widened in shock.

A scar. She had a scar.

Balling her hand into a fist, the maiden rubbed away more of the steam to get a better look. She lifted her arm up, grateful that her side no longer pained her with the remnants of Mala's bruised rib. The thin line started just outside her armpit and cut in a slant down her side like a whip lash. It was definitely new and there was only one place she could think of where she might have gotten such a cruel looking scar. The cave.

But hadn't the Creator washed all of those memories off of her? Hadn't He cleansed her wounds and made her pure again? Had they only faded before? Were they all going to come back now? Was she going....

Her thoughts halted so abruptly they made her gasp.

Tentatively, Pencaliel let the last thought finish.

Was she going to look like Mala?

Her thoughtful fingers traced the angry white ridge over the otherwise smooth skin. On further reflection, she should be covered in scars both inside and out. She had been whipped, beaten, and molested. Mala had many such scars littering his body from his abuse. They were countless. How could she be worrying about her complexion when his was marred for life and hers deserved to be? He would forever bear the constant, permanent reminders he had once been viewed as no more than an animal. A plaything. A slave.

What would she look like if all of her scars came back? What would Mala say? Would he be able to live with himself-- with her-- if they did? Suddenly, things began to make more sense in her head. The Creator's waters had stripped the wounds from her body, leaving her whole and unblemished but for this one faint reminder of what had transpired at the hands of the pale man-- Kontaro. Not for her sake, but in His mercy and grace He washed her clean for the dragonkin's sanity. And the scar? That was a gift for her. A reminder of what He had done for both of them.

One reminder, just like the one fear still lurking in the shadows of her mind. The one that whispered her name in the secret of her dreams and curled its icy fingers around her heart just as the Darkness's unrelenting tendrils had pierced its way into her sleep through the watchful magic of her bracers in Rembark. Back when her home had only been the wooden slats above her head, the warm furs beneath her, and the cooing of Wryn in her ear to lull her into peaceful slumber.

But that shadow wasn't nameless anymore. He had been met and though Kontaro had damaged her, she had survived. Though he still plagued her in her dreams, she had felt power in standing up to him. Even now, her whole body glowed with warmth as she remembered screaming, "I have faith!" into his cold, cruel eyes. Kontaro would never dominate her spirit again, that Pencaliel was certain of. He couldn't. The scar he'd given her was a testament to more than just the evil she'd experienced. It was proof that she had, and would continue to, overcome anything the darkness threw at her. By the mercy and grace of the Creator.

Pencaliel lowered her arm to hide her scar once more. Thank the Creator Wryn was blissfully unaware of everything that had transpired since she'd left the forest. The little bird had her own fears to deal with-- the growing threat the Darkness posed every day the Druid was not there to combat it. In that moment, Pencaliel knew that their time of respite was over. It was time to move on and finish what they had set out to do.

As if to confirm that, Yuubi's knock sounded on her bedroom door.

"My lady, I beg your pardon, but the Council Guard is here demanding to see you and the young master! They say it is quite urgent and won't take no for an answer!"

---

Malachi sagged on the ground before him, the dragonkin's wings drooping in apparent fatigue. Kolmar could not blame him. This ordeal had been hard on both of them, but for very different reasons. Blood stained the upper portion of the dragonkin's back, blood he himself had shed. Never before had the dwarf lord deliberately carved into innocent human flesh, especially with the full intention of disfiguring. It weighed heavily on him, this feeling of wrongness-- of guilt-- and no matter how he tried to shake off the cloud, what should have been a triumphant victory remained only bittersweet. Perhaps one last parting gift from the dark one who had possessed the lad for so long?

Kolmar stared down at the dripping blade clenched in his fist and then, without raising his head, slowly held it out to Nekia.

"It is finished. I will hold it no longer."

But the angel did not take the proffered knife. Instead, it slipped from his fingers only to clatter upon the ground with a hollow echo. His startled gaze shot upwards to find she had departed from his side. And Malachi? The transformation there almost stole Kolmar's breath. The lad no longer huddled under Pain's influence, but had risen in full stature and... dare he think it? ... acceptance of his birthright.

Golden orbs burned with an intense clarity, now truly shining without the shadow of clouds to hinder their purity.

No slave stood before Kolmar now. He was in the presence of a Firstborn.

An answering grin spread across his own features, unable and unwilling to keep the flood of joy washing over him to himself. He reached out, clapping a firm hand on the dragonkin's forearm in traditional dwarven affection. No words were spoken between them. None needed to be. The dark one had been banished and before him....

Before him stood his son.


When the wonder of it all finally ceased to hold him captive, the rustle of silken green fast approaching caught his attention. Over the garden path flew the fair maiden Pencaliel in her new dress, one of Malachi's tunics nestled in her arms. Behind her a string of dwarven guards straggled to keep up, puffing heavily in their attempt. She appeared more excited than frightened, and the guards more winded than threatening. In his new lightness of heart, Kolmar couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

Loosening his grip upon Malachi's arm, he nudged the dragonkin to turn around and shook a clean handkerchief loose from within his tunic sleeve. Despite the lack of alarm he felt at the sight of the guards, Kolmar did not want to make them uneasy with a bloody dragonkin if he could help it.

---

Her heart pounded with each footfall upon the path, shouted at her with each throb to pick up the pace. To get to him faster. The guards escorting her were completely forgotten the moment she'd spotted the flutter of white wings on the other side of the gardens.

Something wonderful had happened. She could feel it and the mountain confirmed it as it trembled and quivered beneath her feet. But what could it be? Exhilaration tingled her skin and coursed through her veins, growing stronger the closer she drew to him.

Quick, quick!
We want to tell!

See, see!
The Light, it frees!

Finally, finally she reached him and Mala turned towards her at her approach. She slowed down, hazelnut eagerly searching his face for some clue to the mountain's riddle. At once, the elven maid realized what it was.

His eyes.

They were... they were soft. She'd seen them in adoration, in tenderness, in contentment, but always there had been that hard line encircling them. That remnant of shadow lurking beneath the surface. But now there was no sign of it in his steady gaze. The darkness... it was gone. And his wings! So brilliantly white! Whiter than the fleece of the newborn lamb, whiter even than the freshly fallen snow! Could this mean...?

Raising a trembling hand, Pencaliel tentatively brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek. "Mala?" Her panting came too heavily for her to utter more.

 

[Kaisaan]

It was a strange thing to feel so....peaceful. Mala didn't understand it in the least and he knew that he didn't, that it was abnormal to him, but that lack of comprehension didn't alarm him. It couldn't as the Light around him wouldn't let it. He could feel himself being cradled in that warmth, in the Presence of something, or someone, he couldn't describe in words and it was that Light keeping him so stable, so calm. He wasn't captive, though, he knew that, too, and truly had no desire to leave the comforting embrace, but at the same time the dragonkin knew it was shielding him, tempering everything.

Just as he knew it wouldn't hold him, protect him from the world around like this forever. Only for now, only for a purpose. Soon enough he would be released from the cocoon, allowed to process all that had happened for himself, his emotions, thoughts, reactions all his own, none lulled by the Light's influence, but it wasn't yet time for that. Mala found himself grateful he didn't have to come to terms with what he was, who he was now, without help and didn't fight the Presence that held him so lovingly, merely watching the world through a light-hazed filter that allowed him time to think, to understand what was going on, to remain calm in the face of things he knew would have made him unsure at the least and scared at most.

To be without the Darkness would be a relief, a blessing, a liberating experience, but it wouldn't erase the past. It wouldn't make the pain of what he'd gone through, the hundred years of his life disappear. It wouldn't make everything instantly better, it couldn't. There would be habits to unlearn, new ones to apply. There would be memories to deal with, now clear of the black haze he'd always seen them through, but there nonetheless. He would have the opportunity, truly, to heal, but that repair would not come in a day or even two. Mala would have a past to face, a future to discover and at times it would be overwhelming, everything seen, experienced through a new kind of filter he was unfamiliar with and didn't know how to work. There would be moments of joy, happiness. He could already see that in a way he'd never been able to, but there would be grief, fear, pain as well. Perhaps not as bad as he had known his whole life, but not absent completely, either. It couldn't be.

For now, though, he was guarded from it, the Light far too loving, too knowing to simply leave just yet and the dragonkin was grateful. It was that constant filter that allowed Kolmar's touch, for the first time, to bring nothing but a flood of warmth, trust, affection to Mala and he found himself smiling back all the more keenly, understanding the message clearly. He was absolutely awed by it.

A father. Could it be possible? Could he truly have a father?

The question was unanswered, but it caused him no grief as he turned, no fear as the dwarf saw to his back, even the pain of it dulled, and his gold eyes came to rest upon a sight most beautiful.

Pencaliel.

Her fawn-brown eyes were looking up at him with such wonder in their depths and the dragonkin's heart echoed it, a smile far gentler than the one he'd given Kolmar, different in its adoration and purpose crossing his face. It came freely, no shadows flickering at the edge of the happiness as Mala leaned into the little elf's caress, his lids lowering, flickering in contentment of her touch and the faintest rumbles of a purr vibrated within his chest. If nothing else did, that sound right there would prove something was different for Mala would have never uttered it around so many people, the dwarven guards least of all, but he hardly seemed to take note of them. His gold eyes were for none but Pencaliel.

"Ne Pen'neth."

His words were soft, only for her, and Mala's clawed fingers rose to palm her cheek, his forehead lowering to her own, a moment of pure tranquility, understanding between them, light and warmth before a twinge of pain broke the dragonkin's single-minded focus. It wasn't anything great - mostly because the Light was shielding him for now - but it was enough to make his wings shift uncomfortably and gold eyes to look back at not only Kolmar, but Nekia as well.

The Angel seemed to have come more than prepared, pulling swaths of bandages from who knew where to wrap around his chest and back to stem the bleeding. She'd calmly stopped the dwarf from using his handkerchief on Mala's back and had instead directed him to get some of the blood off the dragonkin's wings - that Mala had allowed the touch, nay, had been almost oblivious to it, was amazement enough for the entire day. The day was far from over, though, and it was perhaps for that reason that the Light stayed, calming him, allowing clear thought to reign and not reaction. It was certainly serving him well now as Nekia finished bandaging him and then smiled at Pencaliel, reaching for the tunic the elven maid held and speaking to Mala himself.

"Put this on, Ichii. Let Pencaliel help you. I suspect where we need to go would disapprove of a shirtless dragonkin." So saying, she turned her mismatched eyes to Kolmar, questioning. Did he know what this sudden escort wanted.....and did she have reason to release her wrath upon them?

 

[Lady Alainn]

Of course Nekia had a wad of bandages standing by. She had expected, anticipated, and facilitated these events from the moment she tucked that knife up her sleeve. Kolmar shook his head, his smile still broad on his face, and obediently moved his handkerchief to clean the blood from the bone of Malachi's wings while the hound-woman wrapped the wound. The inner wings would be stained crimson until Malachi could properly wash them, but for now they were light enough to be easily passed over. At least it would not spread to the tunic nor encourage harmful rumours. That was really all they could ask for considering how unprepared they were at this moment in time to be taken before the Council. Kolmar could only trust that the Creator knew what He was about.

On Malachi's other side, Pencaliel basked in his tender caresses. It wasn't simply body heat radiating from the dragonkin anymore, but there was a calmness to him as well now. A steadiness. Two days ago, if Kolmar had wanted to push Malachi around, the dwarf could have easily dominated him. But now? He wasn't sure if he'd be able to budge the dragonkin from this spot if he didn't feel like moving. Especially with the elf maiden standing so beguilingly before him. Kolmar studied his work on the wings and decided they were clean enough. He quartered his handkerchief to keep the blood inside and tucked it into his sleeve before turning his full attention to the commotion coming up the garden path.

The tromping boots of winded dwarves slowly replaced the ethereal silence sheltering their small group from the harsh world. Pencaliel only had this one moment of tenderness and the reassurance of the Life sparking within golden eyes to know something special had happened. There would be no time for questions and even less time for answers until this ordeal finished. She had to trust Mala was all right. Armed with flashing shields and thumping spears, the guards would sweep them away into their next task without a care as to what might be transpiring before their very eyes. Pulling back from his embrace as Nekia's shadow loomed over them, the Druid quickly shook out the tunic and held it out for the angel's expectant arms.

"We've been called into Court," the elf informed them in low tones. "It seems the Council would finally like to meet the Dragonkin worth more to Kolmar than the renowned Ikspar. ...I don't think it will be a very friendly meeting."

With a flick of Nekia's wrist the soft, blue cloth settled snugly around Mala's neck and fell down his torso in rippling waves like liquid, settling easily around his wings. It reminded the elf of the soothing waters of the lake. What was it about water that it always managed to show up in those significant moments? Pencaliel took over then, snapping the tiny silver buttons down each the side of the tunic. Brown fingers brushed pale flesh repeatedly as they worked quickly, her fingers shaking in the task. Excitement? Nervousness? Pencaliel wasn't sure which one it was, or if it was something else entirely. Her eyes couldn't help but pick out each scar peeking out from under the swath of bandages. They disappeared in large masses of crisscrossed lines as the tunic slowly covered them up. Her skin should look like this, but the Creator's touch had cleansed them from her. Since so many of Mala's scars were internal, had the Creator dealt with the inside ones instead of the outside ones for him? Is that why his eyes shone with such clear intensity now? But why did it involve so much blood?

Her lips tucked between her teeth in silent frustration. She had so many questions! How did Mala feel now? Had the Creator visited them? Why did he need to be wrapped up in bandages? What happened? But delving into such questions without proper time to answer might only agitate the dragonkin, and Mala did not need to be agitated. Not now when he looked so peaceful. Her hand reached up to brush a few escaping white hairs behind his ear before she moved on to the snaps along the back seams.

By the time the guards swarmed the small group, Mala was properly clothed with Pencaliel dutifully smoothing the wrinkles from the bottom of the tunic. Kolmar shook his head again and chuckled to himself. For once he, the Dwarf Lord, was less properly attired than the "savage" Dragonkin. The dwarf tugged the strings hanging loosely from his simple linen tunic to tighten the neck. Too much chest hair in Court was scandalous, even if it was as impressive as the soft mass of black curls of Kolmar son of Ranthar, Lord among the Longlegs'. Perhaps it would be enough of a distraction to keep prying eyes off of the bloodied wings.

Stepping forward, he placed one hand on Mala's lower arm to reassure him and the other on Nekia's shoulder to let her know he would handle this. A significant look from his piercing blue eyes confirmed this message just in case the gesture wasn't enough to convince the angel it would be all right. They had all expected this day to come and Malachi was in the best state he'd been in since... well... since before Kolmar had met him.

The dwarf lord then approached the leader of the guards, who happened to be the very same frilled and spotless dwarf who almost refused Nekia and Pencaliel entrance to his guest house when they first came to Naazgard. Of course, Kolmar was not aware of this irony. All of them had faces as friendly as a cactus', with the lead dwarf's mouth twisted into a sour frown.

"Hail, my good dwarves!" he called out in an easy tone, though his eyes were trained on the spear tips jutting slightly towards them. "To what do we owe this visit?"

The lead dwarf pulled himself up a little taller and puffed his chest out, feeling a little intimidated by the sheer height of the famous dwarf lord. Kolmar stood a good head above him, and at least half a head above the tallest of their group. "We have--" he cut himself off abruptly at the squeak in his voice and cleared his throat before starting again. "By order of the Council and King Hachan, may his beard forever lengthen and his ale never dry, Pencaliel the elf maiden, Malachi the dragonkin, and Lord Kolmar of the Longlegs are required to appear immediately before the Court." Here his eyes darted to the dragonkin's. "Any attempt to resist will result in immediate arrest and any action against a person may be counted as treason with a swift punishment of exe--"

Kolmar waved his words away with a hand and a chuckle. It would do well for him to keep this exchange as mild as possible lest they unsettle Malachi! "Stay thy tongue, master dwarf! You will have no trouble from either. We accept your summons." He noted with some relief that Nekia's name had been left out of the order. No doubt they were not even aware of the angel's presence. Glancing once again towards the hound-woman, his eye pleaded for her to trust him once more and his thoughts bade her return to Yuubi to pack supplies for a quick exit. He doubted the dragonkin would be permitted to stay one second longer than the court session. The fact Malachi had managed to stay a week in such a hostile place was a miracle.

As if on cue, the guards formed a more complete circle around Pencaliel and Malachi to prevent escape. Kolmar strode at the front of the procession with the chief, his rightful place as a dignitary.

Slipping her hand into Mala's, the Druid offered him a hesitant smile before falling in line with the short, marching legs. Inwardly, she was not nearly as calm as her demeanor. Her heart raced, her insides nothing but a plethora of fluttering wings and slender bodies banging against the walls of her stomach. 'You're a Druid, you're the Druid!' she reminded herself over and over with each step. Whatever happened in this Court, she had the Creator on her side! Pencaliel gently squeezed Mala's hand, this time a little more certain in her reassurances.

 

[Kaisaan]

----

After the stone walls and bustling city of Naazgard, the heights of the mountains' paths while steep and narrow enough for a goat itself to misplace a step, were nothing short of freeing for someone like the dragonkin and even Pencaliel had to be feeling the relief that came with removing the weight of stone that had been lingering over their heads for so long. If she was, she didn't say so. None them said much of anything and if not for Yuubi's heartfelt goodbyes and words of advice - needed or not - they likely would have been surrounded by silence far longer than a few hours at a time.

Mala had been quiet through the day's trek, but it wasn't quite as sullen as the rest of the party of four, more tranquil, thoughtful than anything. He took time to studying each member of their group, recalling how just the day before everyone had been before the Council of Dwarves, awaiting a judgment they couldn't have sincerely earned, their actions in the city perfectly exemplementry if not entirely perfect. Nekia had been the only one excluded and perhaps for good reason as the Angel was clearly furious, even now almost a full day after the event, and while she didn't take it out on Kolmar, Pencaliel or Mala, she certainly appeared as if she needed to hit something....or at least scream. She remained very eerily quiet for the guide and Mala gave her a wide berth, understanding in some strange way that her anger stemmed not from anything they'd done, nor even being forbidden from being at the Council, but for some righteous reason he could not grasp just yet.

And that was all right.

Kolmar seemed gripped by it, too, though perhaps not in such a consumed way. He caught the dwarf's eyes often lingering on Pencaliel, that anger in his eyes surfacing again, but the same odd understanding that helped him with Nekia told him Kolmar wasn't upset with the little elf. Rather he was angered on her behalf, likely for the harsh and certainly unfair accusations the dwarves had leveled at Pencaliel. The Council had torn into her with a vigor Mala had recognized almost intimately, accusing her to be unfit of being a Druid, providing clearly made-up proofs as to why she should be denied her birthright, her heritage passed on from mother to daughter. They claimed her unfit for her position among her own kin and swore not to accept her among their own. The Order of the Druids was dead, obsolete and unnecessary for the changing world, they protested and pointed out that the Druids had been unable to save the races from the Great War, and in fact it had been a Druid who started it. Why should they trust one now, much less allow her in their city?

No arguments had broken through their closed ears, not even the Great Kolmar able to make them heed reason and every time the dwarf now looked at the little elf, he had to hear those shameful accusations against her once more, rankling against his sense of honor and propriety. Mala could somehow understand that in a way he knew wouldn't have been possible before. He would have seen the anger and nothing else, the way the strong dwarf clutched at his prized ax and would have taken it for a threat, but now...there were details in that justified simmer of rage and it comforted rather than scared. He hoped it did the same for Pencaliel.

The little elf was agitated. Mala could see it clearly even if she was giving away little else of her thoughts. Her demeanor was rather closed, blank so to speak, but every now and again, the dragonkin could have sworn there was a glint of anger in those fawn-brown eyes. He could remember it clearly from the trial, that spark threatening to light dry tinder ablaze and it hadn't quite disappeared yet, as strong as either Nekia or Kolmar's more open displeasure even if better hidden. Even still she was fighting what had been said, the lies spat from venomous mouths aiming to strike their prey down. It was encouraging to see and like the others, Mala let her be. He felt it the wisest course to let everyone process what had happened as they desired, in whatever way was best for them.

Himself....the trial seemed almost a dream. An unpleasant one to be sure, but almost as if it hadn't effected him and hadn't been meant to. He knew he felt upset by it, but more-so for his friends than for himself. He knew he'd been the catalyst in their problems, that the Council had lashed out at them because of him and guilt would have consumed him had the Light allowed it, but it did not. It allowed no panic, no aggression, no fear to reach him and for the time being, the dragonkin rested in that assurance, that safety. He wouldn't have been willing or able to face all that had that had happened in the last two days without that support and while he almost seemed to be walking through a fog, it was far better than trying to get through the terror that might have gripped him otherwise.

It left him able to focus far more on the others and on the trek itself as they grew further and further away from the oppression that was the Dwarven City. Perhaps he would return one day, but for now, Mala was glad to put it behind them and to be out in the open once more.

It got dark far too soon for their turning minds, but not soon enough for their weary feet and the group stopped in the valley between two mountains, the teasing gurgle of a stream deciding their destination and a copse of trees providing a good, open place for a fire. Pencaliel started one, appearing glad to be useful while Kolmar and Nekia both disappeared into the surrounding forest to see what they might catch for that night's meal. The little elf followed their example, though, more on the gathering side of things, after roots and berries no doubt, and her gentle suggestion that he go for water was heeded. Like the other three he disappeared into the foliage on his own task.

It was the first time in a great while that Mala found himself completely alone, but in truth it was needed. He'd been just as quiet as the others during their exodus from Naazgard, but where they had been roiling with emotions, hidden or otherwise, he'd been tranquil in comparison, calm. Perhaps the dragonkin was the only one who knew why, however, and even now the effect was still strong. The Light, having filled him in the courtyard atop the mountain, had yet to leave and created a buffer between everything that happened around him and Mala himself. It allowed him to feel, to process, to observe in an unhurried way without panic or fear, without aggression. From the moment it had entered until now, it had protected him from what he wouldn't have been able to deal with on his own, but its time to leave was drawing close and the dragonkin could feel it. The thought wasn't an alarming one. All throughout the day it had whispered to him in the silence broken only by crunching rocks beneath many feet and labored breathing. It had imparted truth, some he heard clearly and others only impressions upon his spirit, dormant until a later date and Mala now understood that when the Light departed, it wouldn't truly be gone - just less overwhelming to his senses, allowing him true contact with the outside world again.

It would be hard to come back to that, to feel his emotions and thoughts so keenly again, to be forced to process everything through a filter still damaged, but no longer contaminated with Darkness. The healing would come, but only if he got rid of the infection still present and Mala knew that too in a way he never had before, could accept it. He wouldn't like it, he knew that as well, but for the first time in his existence, that pain wasn't nearly as daunting to face anymore.

He wanted to be free of it, was willing to endure the treatment necessary to see such become a reality.

But first the Light had to let him go and it was crouched beside the stream, thinking on what he'd been told, that the dragonkin took a breath and declared he was ready. The Light flared in clear approval, a warm wash of gentle love, heat, before it slowly seeped away, the potent glow fading from his mind and Mala stayed very, very still, eyes closed. He realized only upon needing to take a breath that he'd been holding it at all and let the oxygen flood his lungs with a deep inhale. It seemed to be the trigger for everything else, too, as gold eyes opened, taking in the sight of the stream, the forest, but not truly seeing it just yet. No, he was far too distracted by the sensation akin to air on a wound covered for a bit too long and therefore overly sensitive to any outside element.

His mind was not raw per say, but his own thoughts felt far too abrasive, like a bumbling bull in an emporium, unable to move without hitting something, spots in his own head more breakable than others. Emotions that hadn't been withheld, but rather tempered, were now free to swirl about as they wished and for a terrifying moment, Mala was sure he'd drown in them all and be swept away. He'd known this was coming, that it had to, but the reality of it was confusing and frightening. He was almost unable to tell where one thought began and another ended, where each emotion started and how to untangle the mass each one was thoroughly working itself into. Confusion and anger, protectiveness for Pencaliel and what had been leveled at her. Thankfulness and guilt regarding Kolmar who had been made to leave his own people for Mala's sake. The desire to fix whatever was bothering Nekia, to be worthy of her protection of him. Hurt, rejected, bitter for the prejudice against himself when he'd done the best he could to follow the rules, to cause no trouble only to be met with hate, with accusation and lies.

It was too much, too much at once and for the first time the Child, the Man and the Animal were striving to hang on to each other, to work together against the tide, but they were so new to each other, too new together to know how to defend themselves. They were trying, failing, flailing and then there was a touch, a very physical one and Mala was starting, gold eyes wide as he looked to the presence he'd not noted until now. His gaze met Nekia's mismatched brown and blue, and the Angel gave a soft smile at the surprise on his face....but a distinct lack of fear as the first response. Progress.

"Easy, Ichii. Breathe." she coaxed, understanding what ailed him. From the moment she'd heard the Creator's command and broken off from Kolmar, she'd known what she'd come back to and wasn't disappointed. The guide watched her charge do as told, the panic receding slowly from his body, the threat of shaking, hyperventilating assuaged for the moment as he calmed again. "It's not easy to come out of His embrace, I know. The feeling won't last too long, I promise."

"There's too much, Nekia."

It was only a whisper, a plea really, and the woman smiled fondly at the still-crouched dragonkin, reaching out to brush his wayward hair back as she shook her head. "I know it appears that way, but you'll sort through it. Emotions are not as scary as they seem, Ichii. They're just powerful things with wills of their own, or so it feels like sometimes."

Mala nodded slowly, comprehending even if he didn't like it, and Nekia smiled to herself again as he looked back at the stream, noting that he'd not gathered the water yet. She touched his head again affectionately, but moved away. "Come to camp when you're ready and I'll see to your back, all right?" Another nod answered before the Angel was gone and the dragonkin was left to himself once more, but perhaps a little calmer this time, steadier. Knowing someone was close by who understood the way his mind tugged and pulled at him like a river's current was reassuring and allowed him to travel down a road he hadn't dared to before...even if in reality he was only peeking around the bend to view the road itself without actually walking down the path just yet.

The absence of his father in his head, coiling about his thoughts, his emotions, his spirit like a poison.

It was a good feeling, but strange....almost empty, but full of potential to be filled with something so much better. There was hope there, relief....but grief as well. Such an intense, sharp pain of rejection that it stole his breath and the dragonkin found himself on his knees instead of his feet, crying when he'd not meant to in the least. It confused him and yet made perfect sense in the same sobbed breath. For so long he'd craved the love of his father, to be cared for, to please the man who'd raised him - and such was too kind a word - to be wanted and to know it would never happen....while some part of him had already lost faith in the Sidhe, another part, the Child had still held out an unfathomable hope. It was gone now and in its place was hurt....and anger. The second emotion followed the first like a storm, making the male shake and gasp past the tears that tasted of bitter salt upon his tongue.

Why hadn't he been wanted? Why wasn't he good enough for his father? What right did the Sidhe have to judge his worth so harshly, with such blatant disregard and disgust! What right did they have to treat him as if he was nothing, no better than an animal only existing for their use and entertainment? He was more than that! Mala didn't yet know what that 'more' looked like, but there was something within him that screamed it, roared that he was worthy of love, of being wanted and the dragonkin looked down at his own reflection, distorted and wavering in the water of the stream, blinking away the tears furiously. His father, his people didn't deserve them, just as he hadn't deserved their abuse.

He wasn't an animal. He wasn't a slave.

It was the first time he'd ever acknowledged the truth of it and Mala continued to stare at his own image for long moment, wanting more, wanting to never forget it, to somehow see what he knew on the inside reflected on the outside. And then he saw the red. The red staining the white. The blood in his hair. The blood from the moment Kolmar had carved the brand from his back and suddenly the dragonkin's hand was moving, finding the knife in his belt and then the blade was finding his hair. White slithered down his shoulders to pool at his knees and Mala lost sight of his reflection once more as his eyes filled, blinding him as he continued to ruthlessly saw off the white mane that had somehow become the sole symbol of his pain. Even that became too much, however, and the knife fell as his shoulders shook, his entire frame wracked with sobs he didn't want to utter but couldn't fight.

He wasn't an animal. He wasn't a slave. His father's acceptance and love was not needed. He was worth more.

So why did it still hurt so much?

 

[Lady Alainn]

It was better to be quiet.

Pencaliel did not think she could handle walking and talking at the same time. Putting one foot in front of the other was proving hard enough. Her head, her muscles, everything pleaded with her to sit and think. They ached, not of a physical nature but with the tension rippling throughout her small frame. The hard march through the mountain pass was taking its toll on her, forcing her to keep moving when all she wanted was to lie down and pass into oblivion. Sleep came too quickly and left too soon the first night. How she longed to close her eyes and see her mother's face again! To hear her gentle wisdom, remember her fierce love, and take to heart the courage that shone in her eye even when they clouded over from the poison eating her alive.

Whether acceptable or not, the Creator had chosen to work through her, Pencaliel, and regarded her as one of His vessels. And if He saw her as worthy of administering peace, who was she to object? She knew she was a Druid, just as easily as she knew she was an elf and had brown hair. She knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She knew she missed her tinkling earring. And she was a Druid.

But the words of the Council members rolled through her head-- mocking this calling and the woman who gave her life-- with one phrase in particular: Bastard born of a bastard! Bastard born of a bastard! Bastard born of a bastard! Her fist clenched. They deserved every inconvenience her curse brought them.

'Do they truly?'

'Of course!' the elf inwardly retorted. 'They are blind and hard-hearted. I couldn't bestow a blessing on that, could I?'

'You did not have to bestow anything.'

Her eyes flashed with indignation. Of course she'd had to do something. How dare the Guiding Voice convict her conscience of anything else! What kind of Druid would she be if she did not follow their ways? "When you enter a town and are welcomed, give your blessing of peace. Heal their sick and tend to the needy. If you are not welcomed then wipe from your feet even the dust of the town and I will curse them." They'd treated Mala contemptibly. They'd spat in her face. She'd cursed them upon leaving their city. That was the way of the Druid.

'I had a right to!' she retorted.

'But was it right?'

Pencaliel tightened her jaw but said nothing.

'You did not heal their sick, nor helped the poor,' her inner Voice chided her. 'Was it truly a right and just punishment to forever damn that place of refuge with darkness?'

'REFUGE?!' Pencaliel almost screamed the word aloud but bit her tongue. What was safe in the way they held themselves superior above everyone else? What was safe in their pigheaded assumptions and rules and regulations that ostracized more than aided? What was safe in seeing an enemy where a potential friend stood? What was safe in--

'Many people lost their homes.'

'It was only the mirrors!'

'Many children are frightened and scared.'

Relief flooded her veins when Kolmar's command to halt for the night cut through the silence. At last, something to get her mind off of this haunting guilt!

---

​

Three of the four sat quietly around the crackling fire, the sun now hugging the horizon as the steady wind brought in the night air. Kolmar had managed to catch a pair of squirrels and a thick-hided jack on his excursion, which he now carefully skinned in preparation for a simple stew. Nekia busied herself with the squirrels. Pencaliel, on the other hand, sat cross-legged near the flames, her elbows balancing on her knees as her hands barely held up her head. Kolmar glanced her way every so often with his lips drawn into a grim line. Try as he might not to show it, lest he alarm Malachi, the dwarf was deeply worried about the elf maiden.

Both of them had prepared to defend the dragonkin before the Council, believing him to be the person they would focus their hatred on. Neither had expected that approach to back-fire. After a few ill-timed remarks, the Druid found herself in their line of fire instead. What ensued was a disaster and in that moment, Kolmar felt embarrassment for both his kin and the young maiden. They had no right to humiliate her in public like that, even though everything they'd said had been true. Pencaliel could not help those circumstances nor should they weigh against her claim to the druidship her mother had passed down to her. The Creator used the unlikely for His greatest purposes, it was His way! It grieved him that his kinfolk should be so far removed from the Creator as to forget Him. So what had been the purpose of such intense interrogation as Pencaliel had undergone?

But that was neither here nor now. No matter how much he desired to see the city of Nazgaard return to their faith, if they chose to be blind he could do nothing. The young maiden, however, was someone he could directly influence and he fully intended to. When the time was right. Such sullenness she'd been displaying since their swift departure was not like her at all and the elf was only growing more withdrawn. From the moment he'd met her, she'd been nothing but a sweet, gentle spirit. And an incessant talker. Any attempt at conversation had been welcomed gladly, but ever since the Council he could not even get her to say two words together. There was also an anger present every so often in her usually soft brown eyes that troubled him. A righteous anger he could understand, for he himself felt it on her behalf whenever he recollected the poisonous words his kinsmen poured on her. But this was a darker rage, one that burned in the very depths of her being and turned her expression black. One that allowed her to utter a such a terrible curse upon an entire city and show no remorse.

His frown deepened momentarily before he glanced in Nekia's direction. If he did not know better, he would assume her to be oblivious to the wilting elf and absent dragonkin. Her mind was elsewhere and had been all through their march. But she must at least be aware of what was going on in Malachi! It was true the dragonkin had been abnormally peaceful and contemplative these last almost two days, yet Kolmar couldn't help but wonder if it was merely the quiet before a storm.

Ach! The knife in his hand slipped, taking a slice of skin off the side of his thumb. A bead of blood oozed from the cut and Kolmar stuck his thumb in his mouth to staunch the flow. No one seemed to notice the dwarf's mishap. Just like neither one of the females seemed to notice Malachi was missing. How long did it take to fill up a pot of water? Why wasn't anyone else concerned? Kolmar removed his thumb and inspected it. Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, he directed his attention to tracking down the lost dragonkin. They couldn't boil the meat until they had water anyway.

"Did the lad get himself lost?" the dwarf asked the angel with a raised brow.

His voice seemed to stir the elf from her trance for she tilted her head just enough to glance in the direction of the creek. She shook her head then and with great effort pushed herself up onto her knees. Her body swayed and she closed her eyes to steady herself. She opened them again to find a concerned shade of blue boring into her. He must have looked at her too accusingly for she hastily explained, "I'd better go find Mala."

"No, no," Kolmar objected with an upheld hand. "You stay and rest. I will find the lad."

Pencaliel nodded wearily and sank back down onto the bedroll to continue her musings. Without a protest. Without even a message to give Malachi when he found him. The dwarf handed the rabbit to Nekia and stood up himself. This whole scenario baffled him. He made a mental note to prod both the maiden and the lad once everyone was fed and settled for the night. Between the Druid's unusual mood and her seeming indifference towards Malachi--whom she scarcely ever allowed out of her sight-- something needed to be done. He doubted he'd be able to endure another day's march without clearing the air.

The trek down to the creek was remarkably easy despite the steep and rocky terrain. Kolmar had no difficulty in finding secure footing and a broken twig hanging here and there at eye-level suggested magnificent wings had passed through not too long ago. Before long the gentle gurgle of the mountain stream rose over the breeze's rustling and the dwarf was suddenly deposited on the edge of the creek itself. Just off to his left knelt his quarry, the cooking pot empty and forgotten at his feet. Not far from it lay a knife and locks of white hair. He was weeping. More than that, for the dragonkin's grief, anger, and fear was so potent the dwarf could taste it on his tongue. Large shoulders rose and fell with shuddering breaths, wings quivered and quaked. This was not the calm Malachi who'd left to gather water.

Watching Malachi for a moment, he cocked his head to one side as his mind worked through the events of the last two days. It methodically calculated the triggers, responses, and possible remedies, so used to it was he now that the process had become second nature. What caused the lad to act, how was he reacting, why? These questions ran through the back of his mind as he pieced together each significant event since yesterday morning. Malachi had been tranquil since departing the fortress of stone with no signs of this inner turmoil, almost-- dare he say it-- happy. No, not happy. Light.

This was not light.

Fear rekindled in his breast. Had Malachi's father somehow re-established connection with his son? No, it couldn't be. The Creator Himself had cleansed the foul spirit from Malachi and what the Creator put right the enemy could not undo. Not this quickly at least. Or was it something as simple as the wound on his back paining him? The wound Kolmar himself had carved into the pale flesh to claim the lad from darkness. He dismissed that hopeful thought with a shake of his mane. No, this was something internal, something deep, something that had lain dormant for the last day and a half. It was not of a dark nature, though. Malachi's wings still shone with a brilliant sheen, though dimmed somewhat by the tears. The storm had broken.

A light of understanding flickered through the pools of blue at the thought. Broken. Yes, yes that was it! Though the darkness had been cleansed, the dragonkin was still broken; a collection of threads and scraps from a magnificent tapestry torn asunder. The pieces were all there, the dwarf could testify to that, but they were scattered by winds of oppression and deceit. With the newness of freedom wearing off, no doubt Malachi now only saw the mess.

But he was such a promising mess!

With a sympathetic sigh, Kolmar trudged the short distance to the other male to squat beside him. They were almost the same height in this position: the dragonkin doubled over and the thick-chested dwarf sitting back on his heels. He had no words to say, not sure where to start or what the lad would even hear. Malachi did not appear to be aware of his presence, the sobs neither breaking off in embarrassment nor attempting an explanation. But when Kolmar settled his arm around his shoulders, the lad instinctively leaned into it and his heavy head came to rest upon the dwarf's shoulder. The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth then, wondering if he'd just been mistaken for Nekia or even Pencaliel.

Oh, Nekia. How could she sit there so calmly skinning squirrels when her charge wept so wretchedly a short distance away? She surely would bring much more comfort to the lad than anything Kolmar could give him. Just then her voice filtered through his head. Not a present command, but a memory. A sweet, powerful memory. He almost gasped from its intensity.

"To you is given the Power and Blessing to remove the root of Darkness from your son."

The Angel's words upon the mountaintop resounded within his head as this truth sunk in for the first time. They had been heard and understood before, but not digested. Not taken to heart. But now as he sat here attempting to soothe the lad, it finally felt right. This was his son now. His son by blood and by right, even if not by flesh. His son given to him by the goodness of the Creator. His son lay broken and weeping before him, in sore need of comfort. Slowly Kolmar's other arm wrapped around the dragonkin, pulling him into a firm embrace.

"My son," the dwarf murmured. Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks unchecked and glistened his beard. It felt so good to say those words! So long had he wished, dreamed, and longed for an heir to call his own. A son to carry on his lineage of honesty, integrity, and compassion. A son worthy to wield the shield and crest of the Longlegs. And Mala, despite his abundance of feathers, had been chosen for him.

"My son, my son, my son," he repeated over and over again. "My son."

 

[Kaisaan]

Mala would understand later that he hadn't so much as flinched at the sudden contact from an outside source. A little thing to anyone else, but to him it would mean everything. Right now, however, he was hardly thinking so clearly, never less aware of what he should have noticed or taken attention to, rather he was reacting out of need, out of the want for comfort - a thing he'd actually come to expect in the months since meeting Pencaliel. It wasn't a conscious acknowledgement, but an instinctive one and when the dwarf's arm came around him, it wasn't surprising like it could have been. On some level it was anticipated and the dragonkin reacted accordingly, accepting what he so longed for, even if that desire was a silent one, not yet sure how to express itself.

Acceptance was as close as he could get to verbal response right now and the Creator, in His wisdom, had blessed him to be surrounded by people who knew such things without needing explanation, who were patient when others might not have been so understanding of the very quiet dragonkin.

That silence didn't bother Mala. He understood it, touch more than enough to convey a message as Nekia had always known and Pencaliel understood clearly now. Kolmar, of course, constantly talked, but even he was learning and as the scent of the dwarf finally registered in his stuffed nose, Mala didn't pull away, rather he seemed to curl closer, trusting the presence of the male in a way he'd never trusted one of such gender, never having reason to until presently. Kolmar's words, so simple, repeated, only confirmed his faith and the dragonkin shuddered with each utterance the dwarf made, the effect that had perhaps more power than Kolmar could yet realize. Nagoron had called him the same. My son. When the Sidhe had said it, though, there had been no tenderness, no comfort, no pride or love, only a clear message of ownership as one might call a dog or an object their own. Kolmar's words held no such coldness and they pierced Mala deeply as an arrow through darkness, a spreading fire giving testament to its path, the doubt burning away to nothing, the fear ignored, the grief shattered in the wake of its passing.

The dragonkin quieted.

Slowly but surely he did. Even so, however, he did not remove himself from Kolmar's shoulder, breathing only hindered by a stray hiccup or two as he let the words circle around in his head and deeper still, in his heart. It became clear slowly to the white-haired male that he'd been...claimed. It wasn't the new mark on his back that confirmed it because unlike Nagoron, Kolmar had not marked him to show ownership, had not inflicted pain to remind Mala of his place or to make sure all who saw the brand would understand who he was subjugated to. No, the symbol carved between his shoulders had helped to free him, to give him back to himself, but this....those two words were claiming.

But not demanding. Not without the freedom of choice and as they sought to gather the dragonkin to themselves, to the dwarf, it was with a gentle pull, one that sought his willing compliance and promised to always watch out for his well being. It was unlike anything Mala had ever expected, even with all Pencaliel was to him - because she could never be this - and he understood, very suddenly, that he wanted to belong. Not just to anyone, but to the dwarf who held him so securely, to Kolmar who, against all reasons Mala could see, wanted him. It was an exhilarating thought, and terrifying all at once, but for once the first emotion outweighed the latter and the half-blood found himself finally uttering sound. Just a word, just one said more in question than anything as his gold eyes very slowly looked up into Kolmar's darker set, searching for the answer he desperately wanted, needed. Hoped for.

"....Father?"

Kolmar's response was rather instant as the dwarf smiled broadly, looking happier and prouder than Mala had ever seen him before despite the tear-streaks on his face, as if the dragonkin had given him the greatest gift in the world. It filled the half-blood with a warmth he didn't understand, but relaxed into and the dwarf, in his wisdom, was gentle in his joy when he finally responded, saying nothing but those two first words.

"My son."

Two words, but they spoke volumes, confirming all Mala wanted to know and the younger male curled closer to the elder in that moment and closed his eyes as Kolmar held him a bit tighter in response, understanding. Neither moved for a time after that, content to be in silence, but it was getting dark and when Mala's stomach finally made known its protests against the delay in dinner, the dwarf chuckled and finally pulled away, patting the dragonkin on the shoulder in a familiar way.

"Come, lad."

He said nothing more and didn't need to as Mala followed, filling up the pot with water and then trekking behind the dwarf as they made their way back up the bank and toward the camp. The light of the fire greeted gold eyes first and Mala had to blink to see more clearly his surroundings, taking note that Nekia was watching him from the corner of her eye - and Kolmar as well - with a knowing smile pulling at her lips. It made Mala duck his head as if caught keeping a secret and the Angel chuckled softly to herself, but said nothing.

She would leave Pencaliel to address the meekness in her dragonkin and the ragged ruins of his mismatched hair. It might be good for the little elf to do so for a time and come out of her dark musings.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Night settled swiftly over the camp, but Pencaliel did not notice. The crickets, katydids, and other nocturnal creatures went unheard. The breeze went unfelt. The murmur of branches overheard fell on deaf ears. Only the fire, the crackling, dancing fire, held her captive. In a world of darkness, she was supposed to shine so brightly. Her thoughts drifted back, decades ago, to when she'd journeyed to a tiny hut in the middle of lush, green hills where the former Dwarven Druid lived.

---

"Etann, your name shall be. Light Bearer. For within you dwells the Light of Him who created all. It is the calling, the honour of the Druid to be His Light in this world of growing darkness. We shed Light in the darkest places and penetrate even the bowels of Hell itself. Though all should fade, though evil should prevail for a moment, His Light, His Life that He bestows, remains. It remains in us. And we, by duty, guide and protect the earth and her dwellers in His name. It is an awesome gift to be chosen as His instrument and one not to be taken lightly. Caliel, daughter of Quariel and Nathir and Druid of the Elves, are you prepared to accept this responsibility as Last Druid of Iruknel?"

"...I am."

"Then on behalf of the Dwarves I bestow upon you this gift: bracers of growth and renewal. The bronze bands interweave to represent the strength and interconnection of the different races. We have chosen emeralds as the centerpieces in good faith that you will do all in your power to see this world flourish once more. And with this gift I recognize your place among the Druids."

---

The fire consumed her, its reflection prancing in her dark eyes, its smoky warmth heating her skin and bathing it in an orange glow. Pencaliel absentmindedly rubbed her wrists where the faint lines of her beloved bracers lingered. How much longer would the reminders remain before ceasing to mark her position? Already the sun was doing its best to erase them. Erasing everything about her that made her stand out. Eclipsing her light with its own brilliant rays. Not like the night. At night the fire burned but it illuminated her features instead of engulfing them. It let what was not worth seeing drift into shadow.

Like her shame.

She shivered and hugged her knees to her chest to ward off the growing chill. Maybe the Creator had lied. Maybe her light had been snuffed out after all and she would never be able to get it back. Like the bracers, it was probably gone with only the remnants left to remind her what had been. Maybe this emptiness, this tiredness, this darkness hiding just below the surface was all she'd have from now on. She couldn't seem to get rid of it and it only latched on stronger each time it reared its head. Why else would grief and pain constantly follow her like a plague?

It was then that the dwarf and Mala broke through the bushes to rejoin them. Pencaliel tensed. Physically tensed. Something was different between them. In them. They were subdued, but content. Content! Not solemn, not melancholy like they had been, like she still was, but content! Her eyes darted to Nekia and caught the significant smile, following it to the sheepish recipient. His hair hung in bloodied clumps, obviously attacked by a knife, and there was no telling what other self-harming trick he'd pulled while he'd been unsupervised.

Suddenly, something within the elven maid snapped.

Anger flooded her system. The same anger that consumed her in the caves when she fully believed Mala betrayed her. The same anger that flared when she realized Nekia could have prevented her capture by the pale man. The same hot, seething rage that surfaced when the Dwarven Council stripped her bare before their people and her friends. Oh, not physically, but they may as well have hoisted her up to the rafters with the way they humiliated her. Every verbal attack had been a whip lash. Every dark glare a pale hand on her flesh.

Kontaro.

The spirit of Kontaro reeked in that place. It had descended upon her in cloying amounts, goading her into action then just as it goaded her now to view the scene before her with animosity. She couldn't help the feeling that she'd just been tossed to the side.

Forgotten.

Replaced.

And in that moment she did a very unPencaliel thing. That is to say, it was probably the most unPencaliel thing she'd ever done in her entire, young life. She attacked on no one's behalf but her own. Before she knew it the elf maid was on her feet and advancing towards the dwarf, her hand rubbing furiously over her wrist as if that could bring her bracers back. She couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but the humiliation and rage bubbling up, bursting from her breast in a torrid of words.

"You took long enough finding the stream! I'm sorry my company is so revolting you needed time away to stomach me. Go ahead! Say it! It was a good thing I lost my bracers. It saved the Council the trouble of taking them from me and revoking the blessing of the dwarves! You obviously don't need me. My mother obviously wanted to burden the world by acknowledging her lowly, bastard child and passing her gift onto me." Her arm shot out, gesturing towards Mala. "And yet a dragonkin who keeps--"

"Etann!" Kolmar's low voice cut through like a knife, catching Pencaliel's words in her throat. Her hand shook, then fell against her side in a deadened thump as her eyes widened. The full weight of his disapproval came crashing down upon her, reducing her to a crumpled mess on the rocky ground. If she could have shrunk further into an earthworm to bury herself in the earth, she would have. He continued in a harsh whisper, "Think very carefully what you are about to say for it cannot be undone."

Etann. He'd called her Etann. She'd said all those awful things and he still called her Etann! Pencaliel couldn't look past her hands splayed on the ground before her, the dwarf lord's blue eyes boring through her as if they could see the darkness swirling around inside her. Yes, he had reprimanded her in her outburst, but he'd used the title his people had given her. He still claimed her. Still regarded her as the Light Bearer when she was anything but...

Tears welled up within her and coursed down her cheeks unchecked. Her shoulders shook, and then her whole body as sobs wracked her frame. Underneath where she lay, the earth melted under the intensity of her emotion and slowly gave way to mud. As if a rain cloud had settled above this one spot and refused to move on.

 

[Kaisaan]

Pencaliel's voice cracked through the air like a whip, unexpectedly harsh and brittle, angry, and Mala very literally jumped, his gold eyes growing wide as he watched the little elf who'd taught him to trust, the one person in the world who meant more to him than anything, advance like a wrathful demon. Every word was acid fire, aimed to hurt, to cripple in her rage and that it was directed at Kolmar did not make it better, any less shocking....or frightening. How the dwarf could stand silently and let the words hit him without shrinking was something the dragonkin could not yet understand. He had stood up to his father in defiance often enough, but the words, the actions, the rejection had hurt.....and what Pencaliel was doing, it had to be hurting the dwarf, too.

In this moment, watching the fury that burned in doe-brown eyes, listening to the poisonous lashings that were still erupting from the volatile being that had been his sole source of comfort, safety, happiness for months now....Mala couldn't see Pencaliel. He only saw a Sidhe. It was then that Pencaliel's attention shifted to him, including him in her anger, and Mala's world instantly spun wildly. There was no healthy experience to draw on for the dragonkin, no fight had with a loved one or a friend that could tell him what was happening. There was only abuse, only hateful, cruel words and even more damaging actions to give him insight into how this would play out and what was wrong. Somehow he'd upset Pencaliel, somehow he'd managed to do that after all their time together and now her anger was roused. The dragonkin knew more than well what happened when others grew angry with him, and he didn't need his father's voice or influence over him to understand what was coming.

That pain would come from Pencaliel was something his mind couldn't even wrap around, but it had to be true. Her anger was proof enough of that, wasn't it? What else could it mean? Mala didn't hear his own whimper, the blood rushing in his ears too loud as he backed away, an old familiar fear starting to spike within his body before Kolmar's voice made him still. It wasn't the word, merely the tone and it hardly brought comfort, only command that his body instantly obeyed, the response more than drilled into his psyche. It wouldn't have lasted long, not enough to keep him here, to keep him from bolting if not for Nekia's sudden presence behind him. It was the Angel who coaxed him to turn away from the sight of the little elf, to breathe and realize that the world around him wasn't imploding, wasn't falling apart beneath his feet.

No one was going to hurt him. The Guide and the dwarf wouldn't let such a thing happen, even if it was Pencaliel who wished it.

It was Nekia who shushed the torrent of fear building inside, gently, but firmly dousing it as one would a fire. He found himself sitting some distance away from Pencaliel without knowing how he'd gotten there and then Nekia was moving away, touching his head in gentle reassurance before her movement took her toward the elf sitting, sobbing in the mud. Mismatched eyes flickered and met Kolmar's blue, as she passed, a wordless thanks there for his quick action and a request that he see to her shaken charge as she saw to the distraught female at their feet.

Never minding the mud, the Angel lowered herself slowly to her knees, letting Pencaliel become aware of her before she simply pulled the small elf into her arms, securing them tightly around the shuddering, sobbing frame, understanding that what Pencaliel needed more than anything was to be comforted. And to know that despite her mistake at Naazgard, there was still a plan for her. The Creator had certainly not placed her where He had and then led a blind, lost dragonkin into her path for nothing, and He certainly hadn't bestowed His gifts on the little elf without purpose for those as well. Mistakes were part of life and while Pencaliel was young, she would come to understand that someday. It was a hard lesson to learn, however, and often made all the harder by guilt and those who loved nothing better than to bring up faults when one was at their lowest.

Nekia knew such things as she cradled the elf close and spoke gently to her.

"You are loved, little Etann. So very loved, though, I know you doubt it at the moment. Such is the natural way of things, little Druid. You are not perfect--"