Author's Note: Yes, Laine is
alive (hard to believe, I know). So here's the sequel, but I'm thinking
I just might make this into a chapters sort of thing... you heard me, chapters.
Meaning: there's more to come.
I guess you could say there's some
yaoi hints in there, but it wasn't intentional, I can assure you of that
(it's okay, you can read it Mash ^^). Umm, I worked very hard on this sequel,
and under a lot of stress too, so it'd be nice if I could get some feedback.
Thanks again!
Author: Laine
Blinded
Something moved in the darkness.
The rustling of clothing, the shaky gesture of a hand to a forehead wet
with perspiration and covered in tousled brown hair. It was usually so
fine, so soft, but now it hung limp, matted with blood and sweat. Beneath
the strands of blood-soaked hair rested two fine eyebrows, drawn together,
furrowed. Just below them were the eyes, though closed in an unsatisfying
sleep. They were far more interesting when he was awake; intelligent and
cold. It was always entertaining to try to find some hint of emotion in
those eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets, yet revealed nothing.
A sigh escaped from parted lips of
a pale pinkish hue, a great contrast to the ashen complexion of the skin.
Something was murmured in the restless slumber, but was too faint to be
discerned. Then the mouth closed, the pale, perspiring face suddenly drawn
into a frown.
All of this was studied under the
intense gaze of a pair of sinister red eyes, glowing with anticipation.
They were completely and utterly fascinated by the still figure that lay
there, watching fists clench and unclench, the rise and fall of the chest.
Ears strained to hear the faint, whispering breath in the overpowering
silence of the darkness.
Dilandau could hear his own steady
breathing in the silence. He reached over to touch the still figure lying
before him. Delicate gloved fingers traced a line along the jaw of the
sleeping figure, over the pale pink lips, and brushed the dark, damp hair
from the burning forehead.
You're too soft, too fragile in
your sleep, Labariel. You look absolutely... helpless.
Dilandau scowled.
Dragonslayers are supposed to
be strong- like me. They're supposed to obey orders, my orders. They all
listen to me... they're all the same... what makes you so different?
He reached again for the unmoving
figure, placing a hand under the chin. Dilandau tilted his head to one
side. "What is it about you that makes me hate you so much, yet..." He
said aloud, roughly shaking the pale face he held in the palm of his hand.
Dark brown hair swayed savagely from side to side and eventually hung limp
as Dilandau released his grasp.
Then his eyes narrowed, his lips
pressed together as he watched the still form lying before him. He leaned
forward, his hands hovering over the figure. "There's something about you..."
He reached for a strand of the limp, dark hair and pulled. It came out
easily, and Dilandau stared at it for a moment before letting it fall to
the floor. "... I'm going to find out. One way or another." A grin played
upon Dilandau's lips as he turned to leave. At the door he stopped himself
and turned around.
"Sweet dreams, Migel." He grinned
again and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
***
Voices... that voice... where
is it coming from? Wide eyes opened to complete darkness. The voice
had faded, and the still figure lay alone in the silence. There was not
a sound from the shadows, and it was deathly cold.
Where... where am I?
A sudden, sharp pain. A choked cry
broke the silence. The figure writhed in agony as the throbbing, pulsating
pain coursed throughout weak limbs. Hot tears streamed down a dirty, pallid
face. No one heard the young soldier crying in the darkness.
***
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened slowly and a small,
blonde head peered into the room. "L-Lord Dilandau?"
"I said come in, Chesta." The aforementioned
Dragonslayer nodded meekly and stepped inside the intimidating room. His
Lord and Master stood, hands behind his back, staring out the large window
of his lavishly furnished quarters, seemingly lost in thought. Chesta stood
by the door, fidgeting as he awaited his commander.
"Shut the door." He did as he was
told.
"You wanted to see me sir?"
Dilandau nodded the affirmative,
but didn't move from his position by the window. "Terrible weather we're
having."
Chesta's gaze went from his commander's
back, to that of the view outside. It was a gloomy, rainy day. It was raining
hard, and it looked as if a storm was approaching, but compared to the
torrents of rain they received the night before, today's weather seemed
tame. "Yes sir. It's been raining ever since..." Chesta trailed off. He
knew full well he wasn't to bring up the night when Migel had... he had...
well, he just couldn't bring it up in front of his commander. That would
be just stupid. I wouldn't want to trouble Lord Dilandau, seeing as he
already has so much on his mind... this whole incident with Migel will
just add to his stress. And that was the last thing anyone wanted...
"I never asked for your- what did
you just say?" Dilandau spun around to face the blonde, causing him to
take an involuntary step back.
"I- I..." Chesta gulped. "I just
meant it's been raining s-since yesterday, sir." His commander looked at
him skeptically for a moment, studying his face. Chesta could feel his
face growing hot as Dilandau stared him down. Can he tell that I'm lying?
Why is he taking so long? My face must be as red as a beet. Just come out
with it and accuse me already! He must already know... Dammit, I was never
a good liar anyway...
Chesta stood very still, wondering
what sort of punishment he would receive for lying to his commander. A
beating? Probably. You deserve it you moron. He thought, inwardly
kicking himself for lying in the first place. Maybe I should just confess
now and be done with it.
With a look of amusement on his face,
Dilandau watched the smaller Dragonslayer fight his internal struggle.
It was so obvious that Chesta was lying, he was never any good at it. The
fool.
"Sir?" Chesta began, before Dilandau
simply shrugged and turned back to his window. "Sir?" He repeated himself.
Dilandau spoke, though keeping his
back turned. "You can tell me what happened between you and Migel now.
I'm very curious." He couldn't help but grin when he saw Chesta's jaw drop
in the reflection of the window.
"H-how did you... I mean, yes sir."
Chesta hung his head.
"Come here." The silver haired boy
motioned Chesta over to the window with a wave of his hand. The other boy
hesitated for only a moment.
"You're not- I'm not going to be
punished?"
Dilandau smiled. "Come." Chesta made
his way over to the window. Dilandau patted the windowsill beside him.
"Sit." He said. Chesta sat. He looked up into the fiery eyes of his leader,
awaiting his next order. But Dilandau merely turned back to gazing outside.
"Sir?" No answer. He waited another
moment. "Lord Dilandau?" He said in more confidence. Dilandau turned around,
slowly and leaned towards Chesta, his lips right by his ear.
"Now..." He whispered. Chesta frowned,
perplexed.
"I'm sorry sir, I couldn't hear-"
He was cut off by the abrupt sensation of pain at the back of his head.
Dilandau had grabbed a handful of his golden hair and pulled his head backwards,
almost hitting it against the glass window.
Dilandau roughly twisted the fistful
of hair in his hand. Chesta whimpered in pain and confusion as his neck
was jerked back once again. "Now..." He repeated, this time his face only
inches away.
"Tell me everything."
Chesta had no choice but to obey.
***
Migel's throat was sore from crying.
Fresh tears fell from his face, and despite his efforts to stop them, they
still came, regardless. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Soldiers
don't cry... I don't cry. What is this that I'm feeling? He had been
in battles where his wounds were so serious that he had almost died. On
two occasions. But he hadn't cried then. Why now? Why should this time
be any different?
He vehemently shook his head, ignoring
the intense pain it brought, and the stinging in the back of his eyes.
He tried his eyes again, opening them to survey his surroundings. It was
pitch black, wherever he was. Migel tried blinking, but the darkness remained.
He figured that he was in a basement room of some sort, he had already
established that he was lying on a bed, but that was all he knew. What
he really wanted to know was why. Why should he wake up in this unfamiliar
room, and a very dark, damp one at that?
And the pain. He had never felt anything
so intense before. His head, his arms, his legs, his... everything ached
terribly. Migel let out a groan as another wave of pain swept through his
body. The tears that had subsided for the moment returned.
No... I can't start crying now.
I can't. I never cry!
Migel wiped his face with shaking
hands. "I can't... what is wrong with me?" He rubbed his eyes, in an effort
to make the tears stop flowing. It did nothing. It was if there was something
inside him that needed to be released, and now that it had come out, it
wouldn't go back.
