Memoir - Prologue

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Memoir is a sequel to The Persistence of Memory, a lemon of mine. If you would like to read it, it is here: www.katido.com/~snapple/ficarc/pom.html
While reading PoM is heavily reccommended, it is not absolutely required.
PoM is NC-17 for heavy sexual content and Memoir is rated R for sexual content, profanity, violence, just being dark, and containing scenes where Xelloss has the opportunity to cook a meal over an open flame.
Parental guidance is strongly advised against.

It has been ten years since Dark Star and Vorfied were pushed from this world. Ten years since Firia set up her pottery shop. Ten years since Valteria hatched from his shell.
It has been eight years since Xelloss was captured by the Golden Dragons. Eight years since he was tortured in Devil's Nest. Eight years since Milgasia and Firia rescued him. Eight years since Xelloss' mazoku memories were almost completely erased. Eight years that Xelloss has been, for all intents and purposes, human.
Eight happy years.
Eight years is a long time, but the Golden Dragons still remember Xelloss, and Milgasia still remembers Firia.
Memories come back to haunt you, even when they've been forgotten.

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The cell was huge. Perfectly round, its single wall encircled a floor fifty feet in diameter. Like the rest of Devil's Nest, it was made entirely of stone. But unlike in the thousands of other dungeons in this prison fortress, the wall and floor here were clean and sterile polished granite. The ceiling was high enough to give echoes to the softest of whispers. There were no windows. Why would there be? This cell was in the deepest depths of Devil's Nest, surrounded on all sides by thick walls, paranoid guards and row upon row of single-prisoner dungeons.

The guards always told the prisoners here: "Make yourselves at home. They bury you this deep in Devil's Nest when they never plan on letting you out."

This was actually just a joke. In reality, no one in the upper levels of Devil's Nest gets out either.

Bolted into the floor in the center of the cell was an iron ring. The ring was a foot wide and two inches thick. It looked old somehow, as if it had existed from the beginning of time and only now chose to squat in the middle of this cold den of stone.

Strung from this ring were heavy chains that were welded to the wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs and collars of the 75 golden dragons shivering naked in the chamber.

74 of these dragons were of the Water Dragon King's tribe. They had been gathered a few at a time, caught in sparse numbers and saved up in here for a rainy day. Their clothes and valuables had been taken long before they were chained into their new home. They were rather quiet now, even the few children were silent. [There were no mothers. The mothers had died before they would let their young ones be stolen, but after their slaying there was no one to stop the taking...] There were stints of conversation every now and then, but it was all involving rumors [Did they really kill the Hierephists?] or fears [They're not going to feed us after this week, they're just going to wait and see who eats who first...] or truths [This place is Hell itself.]

They were being fed, the ill were attended to when neccessary, and they were even taken to facilities for bathing and sanitary functions at regular intervals. But the food, while certainly enough to live on, was bland and visually unappealing. Healing was executed with a smug grin that told the recipient they were only putting off the inevitable. The guards jeered at the prisoners as they dunked them in freezing water and then watched them during every minute set aside for elimination.

The process was meant to degrade them, to kill their hope and murder their pride.

For 73 of the dragons here, it had worked.

Dragon 74 hadn't been here long enough to even look up at the ceiling. Milgasia was still unconscious, his condition nothing that his fellow dragons could help him through.

Dragon 75 had never even seen the Water Dragon King's temple, let alone been a member of his tribe. She was the last of the Fire Dragon King's clan. Her last act in her priestesshood had been to divest herself of it. But as she watched the dragons around her weep for the injustice of everything, Firia felt the urge to pray to her God once again for the first time in over ten years. She stroked Milgasia's hair, worrying over how he had begun mumbling in his sleep an hour ago. Did he have a fever? He felt too cold for that...

Firia bit her lip. She wanted so badly to be able to attend to Milgasia, but the wards here were so heavy and fierce that she doubted she could fire off a light spell without being blasted across the room. The other dragons had told her about the healers that cared for injuries here. Where were healers for Milgasia, then?!

But she knew why the healers wouldn't come. She had been all but directly told that Milgasia could stay asleep forever and the jailers wouldn't care at all. Troublemakers like him didn't get special attention. The fact that this outraged her so much was exactly why the wardens had let her know about it. They knew that she cared for him. They knew that Milgasia wouln't die of his injuries. And they knew that while the dragon's health was on the line, Firia wouldn't dare misbehave.

They had her on a leash much stronger than the iron cuff around her neck.

The poor dragonfolk in here didn't need such encouragement. But then, the dragons in here hadn't attempted a jailbreak, or stolen property, or sabotaged equipment... Yes, Firia was a bad dragon. And she knew that she was only being kept in here for her own misery. The fate of these dragons was not the same as hers. The wardens' eyes had told her that they were keeping her for something 'special'.

She didn't want to know what it was.

Firia looked around her, at the crying children and grief-struck guardians, and tried desperately not to think of Xelloss. How long woud it take for him to wonder when she would return? When would he start to worry that she wouldn't? And who would support him through the grief when she never came back-

She was going to stop thinking about Xelloss.

The entire congregation looked up as a telltale clank announced that the door to their home was being opened. Immediately they looked down again as several jailors strode inside, surveying the crowd. No one wanted to bring attention to themselves by making eye contact.

Firia too kept her eyes to the floor, knowing that she already had too high of a chance of catching the visitors' fancies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a female figure stalk past.

"We're picking, oh honored guests of Devil's Nest! One lucky Fwin gets to leave this cel..." the female ran her tongue over her teeth, "...forever. Who will it be?"

Firia couldn't stop herself from looking over her shoulder as a guard yanked a young male dragon to his feet. "Shall it be you? Oh, don't be so shy, sir! Your legs seem to be weak. You need excercise! Oh no, too scrawny. Reject." The dragon was flung back to the floor in a clatter of ringing iron chains as another elderly dragon was hauled upright. "Perhaps a lass with experience? No, you wobble too much. And you're shriveled. Reject." Another dragon was dragged to stand, and another, the female warden taking tremendous glee from watching terror slide from face to face.

The captives grew jittery, starting when a jailer brushed their shoulder or passed them by. Firia tried to stay nondescript and not draw attention to herself. Knowing her luck, she would only cause more trouble.

Suddenly a child squealed as she was lifted high above the floor. "Aha! Ripe for the picking, fresh for the press. Young blood is the best!"

"NO!"

The guards froze in their tracks as the prison grew silent with that one echoing syllable.

Firia found herself kneeling before the female lead guard before her mad scramble across the floor could even register in her memory. "Please. Please leave her alone." Firia fortified her voice with steel as the warden glared down at her. "Take me. See? I'll go willingly. I won't even fight. I'll do anything you say. Isn't a cooperating subject better than a struggling prisoner or a wailing child?"

The dragon she had knelt in front of grinned, showing off serrated teeth. The ice-hued catseye in her ear glittered with the same malicious wink as her own yellow irises. She leaned over slowly, frozen blue pupils staring straight into Firia's. "I can assure you, the offer is greatly appreciated and will be," the guard licked her lips, "fully accepted." She waved a hand, and with her signal the child was dropped into the arms of a nearby dragon. "However, I must know-" she hooked her fingers under Firia's chin, clawlike nails digging painfully into her flesh, "-are you crazy? I think you're crazy. It won't really make a difference one way or the other," her fingernail dragged back and forth against Firia's throat as she spoke those last words, "but I really just want to know ahead of time if we're actually going to be able to drive you insane. Because if the deed's already been done, then we won't bother trying."

Firia's breath caught in her throat as she tried to answer. Now that she actually could look up at the warden, she discovered with horror that her jailer's armor was covered in dragon fangs. They were too small to be Golden Dragon fangs, probably some lesser beast. But why would a Gold kill its own kind and wear its parts for clothing?! "Your -- your armor!"

A blow across her face knocked Firia to the floor. "Now, was that an answer to my question? No, it wasn't. It was insolence. Don't dare to address me if you have no knowledge of my name or station!" The warden yanked a fistful of Firia's hair, pulling her back to her knees. "My name is Avril, and my title is Devil's Knight. You refer to me as Dv'Naught Avril. Say it." Avril nudged Firia's brusied cheek with a knuckle.

"Dv'Naught Avril." Firia kept her eyes fixated on the small space of floor in front of her knees.

"See? You're not stupid. It must be insanity." Avril waved her hand and Firia was hauled up between two guards, their arms curled under hers. The warden snapped Firia's collar and cuffs off by simply pulling them apart with her bare hands. They proceeded out of the cell, Avril following Firia as she was dragged out. The former priestess didn't struggle against the guards - she knew by now the extreme importance of good behavior. Their strength obviously dwarfed hers anyhow.

"You don't really know what I am, do you?" Avril tapped Firia's flank with a lash that had been tucked into her belt. "Then again, you are a rather queer one. You're obviously not a pitiful little Water Gold. But you are some sort of Gold, are you not?" The sting of leather across her thigh prompted Firia to answer.

"Yes." It wasn't a whisper, but it was very soft.

"Ahhh. I am a Sky Gold. Ouros is my King, the highest of all dragons. That makes me part of the greatest of all dragon clans. And that makes you..." - the end of the lash slid down Firia's back - "one of the Lower Golden Races. A Fwin. Poor little thing. We do feel sorry for you."

Firia fought the instinct to jerk away as the lash trailed along the curves of her body. Avril was only hungering for a reaction that she could punish. A Sky Dragon? Firia had never met members of any of the other dragon races because she was born after the Barrier was erected. Contact with other Golds was impossible until very recently, and even then she didn't seek it out. Milgasia had been the only other one she had met. And a Fwin? Where had she heard that word? Certainly she had never seen this kind of derision directed at other dragons...

Firia's stomach turned. Except for the Ancients. That was right...she had heard the term before. The Chief Elder had referred to the Ancients occasionally as Fwin, but never explained what the term really meant.

Firia began to feel sick with the dawning of a new understanding for her past and a rebirth of fear for her captors.

"You seemed very surprised at my clothing, Fwin. Why?" Avril's voice was as playful and light as the brush of leather through Firia's hair.

"I've never seen a dragon wear...parts of dragons."

Avril chuckled low and long. "You have never seen a Sky Dragon before! Well." She licked her lips, mulling things over. "You probably won't understand this, but I'll explain it anyway." Suddenly, Avril yanked Firia away from the guards and pinned her against the rough stone wall of the corridor. One hand held Firia's wrists above her head while the other wrapped very tightly around her neck. She leaned against Firia, her lips almost touching the Fwin's cheek as she spoke.

"Do you feel this? This is what it feels like to be owned. I am an Ourach, and by rights you are mine. This is the natural way of things, and for me to take mementos of my possessions is only my right. Do you understand? They were all mine to begin with. Everything within my grasp..." Avril squeezed Firia's wrists, "...is my possession." She let go of Firia's neck, took each hand within hers, and guided the palms to rest against the lower edges of the armor shielding her breasts. She pulled Firia's wrists down, letting the Fwin's fingers brush against the small fangs embedded there in the metal's rim. The teeth couldn't possibly be more than an inch long. No dragon had teeth that tiny...

...Unless it was in human form. But only Golden Dragons-

Firia couldn't stop herself from jerking away. The Ourach slammed her back against the wall, the fangs along her armor jabbing into the dragon's bare skin. Avril pressed against her captive. A whimper escaped Firia's throat as Avril ran her teeth along it.

"Now. Do you understand this?" Avril closed her jaws, squeezing a fold of Firia's skin between sharp fangs.

"No!" Firia's anguished cry echoed through the prison, rousing the weary from sleep and stirring the fears of the restless.

The Devil's Knight brushed a claw up and down the flesh of Firia's wrists. She parted from the Fwin's neck. "I knew you wouldn't understand." She dropped Firia's wrists and stepped away, letting the dragon collapse onto the floor in a fit of sobs. The guards scooped her up again and resumed the journey at Avril's command.

Avril flicked the lash over Firia's thighs. "You're an interesting specimen. Our master will positively adore you." Firia didn't reply, her energy drained and her heart heavy with dread.

The journey led them far from the center of Devil's Nest, and as time crawled by Firia realized that the rock walls had changed. They were a different type of stone. And the air here wasn't stale and long buried, but rather fresh and crisp. Devil's Nest was situated close inside a cluster of mountains. At the depth they had started from, Firia and her captors could very well have traveled into an adjacent mountain without ever seeing the light of day.

Avril smirked. "Congratulations. You're one of the priveledged few to actually leave Devil's Nest after entering it."

Firia declined to reply that she had already achieved that feat eight years ago. Besides, there was no more time for conversation. They had arrived at a thick iron doorway which Avril pulled open as if it were nothing. Firia decided that Sky Dragons definitely must be stronger than Fire Dragons. She'd have no chance of budging a chunk of iron that large.

They entered the room, Firia's toes dragging through thick carpet. It was so quiet here. In Devil's Nest there had always been the ambient noise of chains and pleas and sobs, slamming doors and pounding hearts. The stone corridors had been filled with echoing footsteps and phantom voices. This room was the first truly peaceful place Firia could recall being inside of since she had left her home. The carpet absorbed the clacking of boots against floor and seemed to soak in the heavy breathing of the two guards. Darkness settled around the room, brushed aside by the occasional glowing wall sconce. The place was decorated in deep tones of burgundy and dark, dark red. Rich mahogany cabinets and glass shelves on black iron frames rested against the walls.

It was quite large. Firia noted that the ceiling was as high as that of her former cell, and the room was almost as wide as it. The guards carried her to the far side where a curious piece of furniture squatted. It was a deep red velvet cushion resting in a heavy bowl-like iron frame. The thing was tilted forward enough to make it a very comfortable chair, but it was too large for that. It stretched seven feet across.

The guards turned so that Firia's back faced the cushion and then pulled her onto it. Avril grasped her ankles as Firia sank into the couch. The Devil's Knight pushed her feet down until soft lined cuffs wrapped around them.

"The metal in these is far beyond your strength to strain, so even if you're insolent enough to struggle it won't accomplish anything. Ah, good girl." Avril tugged at Firia's wrists, praising her limp muscles. "See? I wish all of our prisoners were this smart. You know we'd beat you senseless if you misbehaved, don't you?"

"Yes." Firia didn't care if Avril was being rhetorical or not. The Ourach pulled her wrists out to the sides and pressed them into the velvet to be cuffed. Her legs and arms spread over the couch, resembling the shape of an X. With that, Avril and her assistants backed away. Instead of lurking over Firia and teasing her, they stood at what might be considered attention. They looked like they were waiting for someone.

Firia stayed silent, trying to relax in this strange chair. She shivvered. Her clothing had been stripped off before she'd been incarcerated with the other dragons, but not until this moment had she felt truly naked. Maybe it was the sensation of soft velvet against her skin. Or perhaps it was the fact that being chained up like this made her completely vulnerable to whatever her captors wanted to try. But Firia thought that it was more likely that the room itself made her want to be clothed. In the dungeons, when she was chained up and surrounded by prisoners, her nudity had a context. In that state of complete hopelessness, what was the lack of clothing but just another way of making her feel like an object? But this was a place of introspection and dignity. With no clothing, Firia felt out of place.

And I feel like a specimen on a lab table, waiting to be examined. Firia let her eyes drift to the ceiling and tried to lose herself in the weaving black vines of the fresco that adorned its molding. Why couldn't she just forget where she was and why she was here? She couldn't help but think of her son as she lied there in silence. What would he be doing right now? Firia couldn't even tell what time of day it was. Maybe he was sleeping. Yes. He would be lying in Xelloss' arms, the both of them completely oblivious to the rest of the world. Xelloss was a heavy sleeper when he was content. Valteria would wake up first. He would patiently rouse his dad and convince him to stay awake, and then Valteria would cook breakfast. Xelloss would make the tea and then put the biscuits in the oven. He was very good at baking. He could cook some things very well. He just wasn't allowed to handle anything non-tea that involved an open flame. Valteria had learned to cook very early. They made a very good team. Sometimes they let Firia sleep in and surprised her with breakfast in bed. Xelloss would ask Valteria if he could season the eggs himself this time, and Valteria would tell him absolutely not. And they would squabble until Xelloss pulled the biscuits out of the oven and whapped Valteria with a dishcloth. Then Valteria would poke holes in the yolks of Xelloss' eggs in retaliation, and they would sit and eat. Xelloss would complain about his eggs.

Firia realized she was crying. She panicked for a moment as she realized that she couldn't wipe the tears away. She didn't want the Ourachs to see them. It was okay to cry in front of the guards before, and she had done it quite a lot. But this crying had been for her family, and Firia wanted these dragons to see the tears as much as she wanted them to see her husband and son. She turned her head to the side, wiping her cheek against the velvet cushion.

Firia blinked. She could now see a door six feet from her chair. It was made of wood and had more mundane proportions than the door she had entered through.

It was opening.

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