Brom comes back broken.
Oromis, weak though he is, carries his student away from the others and into the shelter of his home. Other healers and riders had offered, but Brom had fought and screamed so much that no one dared approach.
Glaedr watches as Oromis begins to gently strip off the boy's blood stained clothes. Brom? The gold dragon lowers his head so they are eye to eye and brushes his rough jaw across his student's tousled hair, a gesture of affection usually reserved only for Oromis, Brom?
Brom flinches at the contact, but says nothing. He has not spoken since Saphira's death, twelve hours earlier.
When Oromis motions, he mechanically raises his arms so the elf can tug his tunic over his head. "Brom," Oromis says gently, "Are you hurt?" he can see the half healed burns and the numerous cuts winding across the former Rider's arms and toso, but he wants to hear his student say the words.
Brom shakes his head.
He feels numb, Oromis says to Glaedr.
Or he doesn't want you to heal him. He wants to suffer pain because Saphira did.
That is foolish.
Love is never wise, the gold dragon said with a touch of amusement.
Oromis goes to gather salve and other ointments from his cupboards. He's far to weak to do any substational healing spells, so until Brom is calm enough to see a healer, his body will have to do the work for him. Glaedr stays with his jaw resting on the top of Brom's head, one gold eye trained on Oromis.
Glaedr, I'm fine.
The dragon snorts.
I'm weak, Oromis admits, I can feel the magic waning from my bones and my mind is stinging like it's been filled with bees.
That is not fine.
Returning to Brom, Oromis holds up the salve in his student's line of vision. "This will sting slightly," he explains, dipping a finger into the salve, he rubs it across the worst of the cuts along Brom's left shoulder. After, he bandages the wound securely. His student flinches, but nothing more.
For the better part of an hour, Oromis bandages, examines and pools what little strength he has into healing his student. He reaches for magic a few times, and the pain is so intense blackness skirts along the edges of his vision. Glaedr pulls Oromis back to himself with a firm mental embrace, pouring strength into the elf's trembling limbs. The tremors are harsh and sudden, and the betrayal of his own mind and body more overwhelming than Oromis ever dreamed. He sits, chest heaving for the span of several heartbeats, staring at his hands.
Glaedr growls low in his chest. I will tear them apart for what they did to us.
You...already did, Oromis reminds him. The headache is lessoning with each breath. He curls his hands into fists.
Brom is watching him now. His face is still blank and pale, but there is some life in his eyes. His lips half open, as if he wants to speak but cannot remember how to form words.
Perhaps you frightened him, Glaedr suggests.
Gently, Oromis reaches across from Brom and pulls out a clean tunic. Tugging it over the boy's head, Oromis says, "You must rest."
Brom looks at him through those blank eyes. Nods. Lies down.
Oromis looks to Glaedr.
The dragon settles down, shuffling his wings into a more comfortable position. There's nothing more we can do for him now.
Sighing, the elf stands and half stumbles towards his dragon. Glaedr drops his head against Oromis's chest and Oromis wraps his arms around the dragon's snout, reaching up to scratch the leathery patch of skin just below Glaedr's ear. What are we going to do?
Survive.
How is your leg? Oromis asks, glancing through his eyelashes at the stump. He shudders at the sight, remembering the white hot agony of it, Glaedr's howls...
Gently, Glaedr tugs Oromis's mind away from the memory, sweeping through the elf's consciousness with images of wide open skies and the feeling of strong wind beneath their wings. At times, I feel as if it is still there, the dragon admits. But I will survive.
Clenching his eyes shut, Oromis presses his forehead to Glaedr's rough scales, allowing the dragon to support the full weight of the elf's body. Glaedr leans into the touch. His throat vibrates under Oromis's arms as he purrs.
We will both survive.
Brom wakes up screaming.
The sound is raw and primal, and Oromis is awake suddenly, instantly, his heart racing. Glaedr radiates concern. He's curled up outside their hut, but Oromis can sense that his tail is raised and teeth bared, ready to fight. What's happening?
Half crawling, Oromis makes his way to Brom's room.
His student is sitting up in bed, fingers fisted at his temples, features contorted into a scream of anguish. Louder than his physical cries, his mental howls are blows, catastrophic and furious.
Several elves mental pleas brush Oromis's consciousness.
Master, what is happening? Are you well?
Do you require assistance?
Oromis-elda, are you...?
Oromis presses a shaking hand to his own head. Glaedr-
Yes, his dragon says in response to the unasked question, and Oromis can sense Glaedr's quietly soothing the others.
Oromis focuses on Brom.
His student is now rocking back forth, still screaming, his breaths harsh and hitching in his throat. Gently, Oromis says, "Brom?"
Brom does not respond, or give any indication that he has even heard his name. He continues to rock.
Cautiously, Oromis extends a hand towards him. 'Brom-"
Wildly, Brom lashes out with his left arm, hand curled back into a fist. Oromis ducks. A second hand pulls back, Oromis catches Brom's wrist with firm, steady fingers.
"Listen to me," Oromis says, voice low and soothing. "Listen."
Brom's eyes are closed. He's stopped screaming, though his breathing is still harsh and irregular. Oromis can see the silver streaks of tears on his cheeks.
"I'm here with you. I can help you. You need to clear your mind. Focus on your breathing. In," Just as they had done in countless lessons, Oromis places his other hand on Brom's heaving chest, indicating where he should focus his breath. 'Breathe in, and out...slowly...yes, like that."
Brom's breathing gradually slows to a more normal rhythm. His eyes slowly open. Glazed with pain and confusion, it takes him several seconds to focus on his surroundings. When he does, Oromis feels Brom's heart flutter under his hands. "I'm here with you," Oromis reminds him. Gently, he brushes his mind against his student's. Not searching, not questioning, not speaking, simply holding Brom's mind with his own. Giving him a steady presence to focus on.
Brom flinches, but does not close his thoughts. He releases a long, shuddering breath.
"Do you know where you are?" Oromis asks, gently.
Brom swallows hard. Nods.
The raw chaos of his grief-torn mind burns against Oromis's with a sudden fevered intensity. He's reaching for her, reaching for Saphira, because he hasn't quite comprehended what he's lost. He doesn't believe it.
Oromis wants to say something, something that is soothing and calming, but also true, but he cannot think of anything that could possibly reassure his student now. Brom has lost the other half of his soul, and at such a tender age...barely a man, even by the standards of his own short-lived race.
It is Glaedr who finally touches Brom's mind. Little one, he says softly, the epitaph startling and gentle, You will not find what you seek. Cease your search; it will only bring you more pain.
Brom recoils, and there is such rage in his eyes that for a moment Oromis worries that he is going to attack them. But then the fire fades, and he collapses in on himself, shoulders slumping, head hanging low against his chest. "I lost her," he whispers. The words scrape from his throat like it hurts him to say them. His voice is hoarse with little use and tears, but he speaks. He turns his head, looks Oromis straight in the eye, and says, "I lost her. I lost her, I lost her, I-"
Oromis pulls him forward into an embrace, cradling his student like a child. Brom holds him almost to tightly, gripping his tunic with such force his knuckles turn white with the strain. Oromis does not protest. He holds Brom tightly against his chest, cupping one hand against the back of his head, curling fingers into the still blood-stained hair. Saphira's blood? Brom's?
Glaedr growls low in his chest, and does not answer.
Brom howls again, a harsh keen that brings tears to Oromis's own eyes.
Gently, Oromis rocks him back and forth, back and forth, crooning an ancient lullaby that probably soothes himself more than his distraught student.
I don't know if he will survive this, Oromis admits to Glaedr.
The dragon hesitates. Time will tell.
A few days later, while Oromis is preparing their things to flee with the other elves who are not staying to fight, Brom comes up to him and says, "I'm going with them."
His voice is low and hard, and Oromis puts down his scrolls and turns around so they are eye to eye. Brom is still pale. Though his wounds have been treated by other healers since Oromis had administered the salve, there is still an air of fragility about him, in the slope of his shoulders and the trembling of his hands. His mind is still wild and fractured with pain and grief. Oromis probes it gently, but Brom has shielded himself from them.
After a few minutes of quiet Oromis finally says, "Do you think that is wise?"
Brom coughs something that sounds almost like a laugh and spins away. "I do not know what is wise anymore, Master. I know what is right. I have to kill him."
"Morzan?"
"Morzan," Brom spits the name like a curse. "He killed her," the pain in his voice is raw, sharp, he killed me.
Oromis tenses as the last thought reaches him mentally. "You are not prepared for-"
"I'm prepared," Brom hisses. His voice is lower now, akin to a growl. "I can kill him."
"That is not what I am saying," Oromis says as calmly as he is able, "such a path of violence and destruction will only hurt you-"
"I AM HURT!" Brom screams, the mask of controlled rage shattering, "I'm broken, and this will make it-"
"Killing Morzan will not bring Saphira back," Oromis says gently.
Brom recoils as if he's been stung. "No," he says, "but it will mean that her death will mean something."
"It will always mean something," Oromis counters softly. He wants to reach out and force Brom to look at him, force him to stay, to heal, to train more, but if he has learned anything from there time together, it is that Brom is stubborn. "It will always mean something to those who loved her."
"Don't," Brom snarls, and he spins around, breathing like a cornered animal, his eyes red with weeping, "do not pretend to understand how this feels-"
"I understand better than some," Oromis says, firm. No matter how distraught his student is, Oromis will not allow him to be disrespectful.
Brom says nothing. He curls his fingers around the hilt of his sword and turns away. "I am leaving," he says finally, ragged and quiet. "You cannot stop me."
I could, Glaedr growls. The dragon pads out from behind Oromis and lowers his head so it is level with Brom's. He blinks. But I will not. I cannot keep you prisoner here, hatchling. No matter how we meet wish too.
Brom sighs. "May good fortune rule over you, Oromis-elda," turning, he touches two fingers to his lips and bows low.
Recognizing Brom's gesture and unspoken request, Oromis inclines his head, "May the stars watch over you, Brom."
Brom looks at him, suddenly vulnerable and wavering, his eyes wet and red, jaw clenched.
Gently, Oromis reaches out and puts a hand on his student's shoulder. "Go," he says, softly, though the word tastes like poison in his mouth.
Glaedr brushes his rough jaw across Brom's brow. May the wind and sun always be at your back.
Brom closes his eyes, lifts his shoulders. "Thank you," he says, finally. "For everything." Then he turns away, and disappers into the maze of the forest.
Oromis watches him go.
We did everything we could, Glaedr says quietly.
Oromis closes his eyes and rests his head in his hands. I know.
He hopes it will be enough.