Warhammer (CH8) (Patreon)

Eli laid with his head on Morgaine’s lap, her black, scaled fingers combing through his hair. They were in his bedroom after sunset.

“Don’t come anymore.” He said after a while. “I’ll… be fine on my own.”

Her caress halted briefly, but then she trailed her talons along his temples, to his jaw and down his neck. She didn’t say anything.

Eli inhaled, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. “I’m being serious.” He said, his arms tightening involuntarily around her waist. “In a few years, I’ll be an adult. I’m already to old to be doing this.”

“But you are not an adult yet.” She murmured. “And neither will you be, not for a long time.”

“But it’s different for humans.” He protested, burying his face between her thighs. He knew he shouldn’t, but the feeling was really too amazing.

She moved her other hand to his back, her claws tickling his spine. “You do not live among humans.”

“I am human.”

Again, Morgaine said nothing, but Eli knew a question was hidden in her silence—are you? He thought he was, but maybe he was wrong. Was Lily involved with a third person? He thought he resembled William, but as he got older, he was less certain.

“Was my mom… close to anyone else?” He asked tentatively. He wasn’t really interested in airing Lily’s dirty laundry, but there was a chance of it relating to his situation.

Morgaine’s arm went under his own, her hand pressing against his side. She turned him around easily, her inky eyes meeting his. “And if she were?” She asked quietly.

He sighed, his head lolling backward. “I don’t know, honestly. I-…” He considered his words for a moment. “I don’t think I want to know. But I feel like I have to, since it’s related to me.”

“Liliana was close with others, but Thalion was her only lover.” She said.

Eli blinked. “What? Then how am I-… I mean, you know, like this? And why did you ask that?”

“My questions are as your own. I’d thought perhaps you would know, had Liliana taken another man in the mortal world. It seems we are both without answers.”

He looked at her for a moment. He felt there was something she wasn’t telling him, but if she didn’t want to, she wouldn’t. There was no sense in being pushy. “Okay, but about what I said before-…”

“No.” Morgaine said, interrupting him.

He spluttered. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Your request. I have denied it.” She said simply.

“Why?”

She bent over, her long, dark hair tumbling down her shoulders. Strands of it tickled Eli’s face. “Is it so great a sacrifice, to sit and talk with someone for an hour or two? Do you feel that way, Elias? Is that why you no longer have breakfast nor supper with us?”

He groaned. It really was impossible to argue with her. “You know that’s not true.”

“If you feel you occupy too much of my valuable time, then repay me with some of your own. Allow me to see your face at the table, in the mornings and evenings.” She whispered, laying down next to him. She pressed her lips against his cheek.

Eli turned pink from his neck to the tips of his ears. “I can’t deal with you.” He mumbled.

Morgaine laughed—a rarity for her.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Eli voiced a suspicion he’d held for a long time. “You were very close to my mom, weren’t you? It’s why you… treat me like this. Because I look so much like her.”

She hummed. “I knew her well.”

Eli felt there was a story there, but frankly, the drama of one life’s interpersonal relationships was enough for him. If it didn’t relate to his condition in some way, then he was content with not knowing.

“Your face is almost exactly like Liliana’s.” Morgaine murmured in his ear. “But you are not like her. She was… very bright.”

“And I’m not?” Eli asked, mock-affronted.

Morgaine’s tone was amused. “No.”

“A side-effect of being demon-possessed, I suppose.” He said with forced levity.

Her hand, which had been stroking his chest, stilled. “Sometimes I forget you’ve struggled with this for so long. No other child, human or fae, would’ve been as composed.”

“Well, it wasn’t that bad at first.” Eli said. “Just nightmares, and I often forgot them after waking up. And I’m not sure I am that composed.”

They were quiet for a while, but then Eli sighed. He knew she’d been trying to take his mind off things—chatting about anything and everything—but it hadn’t been entirely effective. “It should be past midnight.” He said, his voice low.

Morgaine’s caress resumed. “It is an hour past midnight.”

He stiffened. “Already?” He asked. “Well, I guess time flies when you’re having fun. One more reason you should stay away—you make it arrive too quickly.” He added sourly.

“You’d not rather get it over with?” She asked, her tone careful. She knew the nightmares terrified him, but he never told her what they were about.

 “You need to go.” He said, avoiding the topic.

Morgaine refused. “An hour yet remains.”

He groaned into the blanket. “Two-o-clock is cutting it too close.”

It seemed incomprehensible, that he could even fall asleep in this situation. However, a strange drowsiness would come over him in the early morning hours. He could fight it, but eventually it would drag him into unconsciousness.

“…”

When he realized she wouldn’t compromise, he resigned himself. He appreciated her concern, but at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a little humiliated. It wasn’t just about her—he didn’t want anyone to see him like that.

He curled into a ball, clutching at his head. His panic was starting to rise. At first, he thought he could win, beat these nightmares and the things inside them. That there was some trick to it or-… fuck, he didn’t know. Some kind of solution. There was none. He couldn’t stop it from happening. He couldn’t fight back. Finding the ‘door’ to the real world had become difficult to the point he couldn’t remember the last time he succeeded.

The only thing he could do was endure. But it was too hard. His spirit was too weak, his mind too vulnerable. It was going to break him. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day. It-… they would wear him down. They had nothing but time. And there was nothing they weren’t willing to do.

Eventually, the hour arrived. Sweating and shivering, he shut his eyes, feeling that almost greasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Go.” He said, all but choking the word out. “I can’t stay awake anymore.”

Morgaine mumbled something, but he didn’t hear her, nor could he feel her hands. His entire body was turning numb, like he’d taken some kind of narcotic. “Go.” He mumbled through thick lips, and with a swollen tongue. He felt himself being dragged down—into that pit. Down, down, down…

------------------------

It was dark. Very dark. But not dark enough to obscure the occasional shifting shadow, to hide the hints of movement where none should be. The boy—around six years old, judging by his tiny hands and feet—knew there was something wrong with this house. That there was someone-… something in the house.

And he was scared. So very, very scared. But he didn’t cry. He didn’t make a sound. He hid in the master bedroom. In the closet. Through the slats of wood, he could see the small tube-television playing grey static. The only source of light he could find. If it came through the door, he’d know. He’d see it.

And he would see it. Because it was looking for him. It’d been looking for a while. In every room, in every corner, under every bed, in every cupboard… in every closet.

Its shadow was in the hallway. It was in the hallway. It was in the room.

His chest tightened. His throat constricted. Tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare think. It was thin. And tall. So very, very tall.

It was in the closet.

A sob escaped his lips. “Please.” He choked out. “Please don’t do this.”

It bent forward. Slowly. Until its face was mere inches from his. Oh God, its face. It whispered. In voices. Voices, voices, voices.

The boy shook his head. Shook it so hard it felt his neck would snap. “No.” He said, repeating the word over and over.

Its was closer, against his ear. It-… they whispered again. He refused again. Again and again. Until they stopped asking. But there was no relief, only terror. Because now, they would start hurting him.

Everything was quiet, except for the static coming from the TV. Then, there was a slow sound, somewhere on the edge of hearing.

Crack.

A sharp squeal followed, like that of an animal. Then breathing. Heavy and labored. A minute passed. Then the sound again.

Craaackkk.

An injured little cub. That was the only way to describe the cry coming from the closet. Terrified. Agonized. Helpless. Not understanding why.

And then other sounds. Gristly, wet sounds. Sounds of flesh and blood, followed by high-pitched wailing. For hours upon hours. Until it was over. Until there was nothing left of him.

----------------------

“You’re really going to do it?” Licia asked. “You’ll compete in the summer tournament?”

Beatrice nodded. It was late-morning, and they were heading to class, having just left the estate. “I want to forge my own path. If that’s the best way, then fine. I’m not afraid of a little bloodshed.”

Licia sighed. “Maybe you should be afraid, Bee. You’re good with a sword—better than Belle and I—but training is training. It’s not the same thing as a real fight-…”

“You’re right.” Beatrice interrupted, squaring her shoulders. “Which is even more of a reason for me to participate. If I’m going to become a knight, I’ll need the experience.”

Belle shook her head. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. You want to get out from under father’s-… Thalion’s thumb, but you’re willing to serve the king?”

“Everyone serves a king, no matter where they go or what they do.” Beatrice said, brows furrowing. She didn’t like that her siblings saw him as a parental figure, and she certainly wouldn’t admit she sometimes felt the same. “Might as well serve the one I know.”

“No, actually. I don’t think so.” Belle said, crossing her arms. Licia sometimes struggled to see through Bee and Eli’s carefully constructed word-webs, but not her. It was natural, given she was usually the one listening instead of talking. “His majesty’s knights are tied far more tightly to him than some random courtier. Right now, he doesn’t care what you’re doing because he barely knows you exist.”

“It’s not like I’ll be the only knight, Belle. There are plenty of them already. I’ll just be some rookie. Why would he pay attention to me?”

Belle shook her head exasperatedly. “How will you deal with your responsibilities as Thalion’s heir while training to become a knight? Your schedule is already packed. Unless you’re going to try and relinquish your birthright, which I hope you’re not considering. That would be beyond stupid.”

“Really, Belle? You’re telling me to be mindful of my responsibilities?” Beatrice asked. She seemed to regret her choice of words for a moment, but then she pushed ahead stubbornly. “Don’t patronize me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Belle asked defiantly, shrugging off the thinly-veiled insult. She stared at her sister. “Yesterday, it was Eli; who you still haven’t apologized to, by the way. And who probably—probably—skipped breakfast and class because he doesn’t want to deal with his cranky older sister.” She huffed annoyedly. “Today, it’s me. Why? We’re on your side, Beatrice. Don’t treat us like we’re getting in your way.”

“I wasn’t-…”

“You were. When he stuck up for you against Flynnoré, you acted like you had everything handled. Now I’m trying to stop you from making a big mistake, but you won’t listen. Ask Eli. Ask Hawke. Ask Mother. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you the same thing—your dislike of Thalion is clouding your judgement.”

Beatrice’s lips curled downward. “Are you sure my judgement is clouded? I think eating soft food and sleeping on soft sheets has addled all of your minds. That bastard killed our parents and kidnapped us, and you call him father? I, for one, only have one father, and it’s not-…”

“No.” Belle interrupted, gritting her teeth. She was furious. “You don’t say that to me. You don’t act like I didn’t love dad, or like I’ve forgotten about him.” She took a short, steadying breath—or attempted to. “You know what, I was going to bite my tongue, but you deserve it. You’re such a bitch. Seriously. Screw you for even thinking that. I’m done talking to you, and I’m done caring about what you do with your life.” She gave Beatrice a last scathing look before storming off toward the stables.

Licia glanced between her sisters, her expression one of struggle. “Sorry, Bee.” She mumbled a moment later, turning and going after her twin. She caught up quickly, grabbing Belle’s arm and leaning to whisper in her ear.

Beatrice remained on the spot, her expression one of conflict. “Why don’t they understand?” She mumbled to herself. She stood there for a long while, until her sisters had mounted and rode off. When they crested a distant, grassy hill, disappearing behind the horizon, she sighed. “I’m not doing this for me.”

----------------------------

Eli’s reflection, visible on the bathwater’s surface, more closely resembled a massive, open sore than a human being. His arms, torso and face; obscured by a curtain of disheveled, red hair, were covered in bruises and lacerations. The occasional patch of flawless, porcelain skin only made them appear more gruesome. Perhaps most disturbing of all—they clearly weren’t injuries. They were wounds.

The door slowly opened behind Eli, but he remained near-catatonic. If not for a muscle twitching under his raw, bloody skin, there’d be no sign of him having heard.

“By the gods, Elias. How did this happen?” Someone whispered after a moment’s stunned silence. Their voice was male, rich and smooth—Thalion’s. He circled the bath slowly, peeking at Eli from every angle. Already, the opened flesh was knitting closed, purple bruises fading to a mottled yellow. “Did this… happen last night?” He asked after a while.

Eli said nothing. Through a gap in his hair, a single of his ember-like eyes stared fixedly at the water’s surface.

“If all you’re planning to do is ask the obvious, you might as well leave.” A smoky, female voice said suddenly. It was Morgaine. Stepping into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her.

Thalion’s cat eyes shifted from him to her. They burned with anger. “How could you have kept this from me?” He hissed. “How could you let him hurt himself? What are you doing, Morgaine? I trusted you with the child-…”

“Does that look like his doing?” Morgaine interrupted, pointing at a vicious tear on Eli’s back. It zig-zagged from shoulder to hip, looking like he’d been savaged by some kind of animal. It would have left a hideous scar if not for his mysterious regenerative ability.

Thalion halted. Drawing a short, uneven breath, he re-examined Eli’s wounds. His brows gradually furrowed. “No servant would’ve dared—or so I thought. But it seems I was wrong.” He glanced at Morgaine. “Who? Tell me. You must know.”

Morgaine tilted her head, looking at him strangely. “I spoke with Elias last night. I know what he told you. And yet you still ask such things.”

Thalion returned her stare. “He told me of his night terrors. That he walks in his sleep. But you say his wounds are not his own doing.” Thoughts churned behind his eyes, but a conclusion seemed to elude him. “If he isn’t responsible, nor the servants, then who? Say it. This isn’t the time for riddles.”

She just looked at Thalion, as if waiting for realization to dawn on him. When it didn’t, she let out a quiet sigh, rolling up a single sleeve. “Your logical mind has served you quite well over the years, High Chancellor. If not for that staunch rationality, you’d perhaps not have been the most trusted advisor for two generations of royals.” She raised her arm, exposing a stretch of pale-grey, almost white skin. Flawless, except for a nasty bruise near her scaled wrist. “But betimes, it blinds you to the truth. Even when it’s in front of your very eyes.”

“That’s-…” Thalion mumbled, staring fixedly at the sore. Its shape was like a grasping hand, four fingers and a thumb being clearly visible. “How did you get that?” He asked. “Why haven’t you healed it yet?”

“It cannot be healed.” Morgaine said simply. She lifted her wrist, urging him to take a closer look.

He did so, bringing his face closer to the bruise. His nose soon wrinkled, like smelling something foul. “That’s… no bruise.” Thalion said confusedly. “It’s-…

“Rot.” Morgaine finished for him. “The flesh has already decayed. It has to be removed before it can be regrown anew.”

They stared at each other in silence.

Eventually, Thalion looked away, toward Eli. “He’s… capable of using the Source? How can that be? Is he truly not human? But I had his blood tested-…”

“Enough of your foolishness.” Morgaine said suddenly, eyes narrowed. “If you can not accept what is happening, then you are of no use to anyone.” She pointed a clawed finger toward the door. “Get out.”

Thalion seemed dumbfounded. But then he frowned. “Are you implying what I think you are, Morgaine? If you are, then you must’ve lost your wits.” He growled, pointing at Eli. “Whether that be a sickness of the mind or spirit, I know not. But I do know this—you will not cure it by entertaining his delusions of ghosts and devils. By the wisps, those are manling tales, meant for scaring children. They are not real!”

“Leave.”

He looked like he was going to argue with her, but then Thalion shook his head. “I do not know what torments the boy. I admit that. But neither do you, Morgaine.” He paused before continuing. “I would be a fool to completely ignore your words and his. Something is wrong. I can see that much. Perhaps you will find a solution. You are, after all, more inclined to such endeavors than myself.” He walked toward the door, grasping the handle. “But if you can’t, then… I’ll entreat Her Majesty.”

Morgaine’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. “You would go that far?”

“Yes, I would.” Thalion said simply. He exited the bathroom, leaving her alone with Elias.

---------------------