This is the next chapter to Darkest Demise. Niall struggles with what happened to him. Note that this story is rated M, so I want no complaints, 'kay? And like I said, no homophobic stuff either. Review! Review! Review!


After his encounter with Miach, Niall was feeling more tired than he expected from himself. Sluggishly, he retreated to the bedroom the Summer King had given him. Several cockatoos flew by in a blur as he closed the door behind him.

Niall couldn't think straight- his mind was a blur of fear and anxiety, and his thoughts weren't anything more than muddled. With tension in his bones, he flopped onto the soft bed, feeling relief instantly when he did. A sigh escaped him. Nothing was making sense anymore. Just hours ago, he felt depressed, on the verge of suicide- alone. Never would he have considered that affection or friendship would be offered. Especially not from Miach. There was no doubt in his mind that this king was unlike Irial. Miach was selfless and as far as Niall could tell- kind in ways Irial could never be.

Yet, in the somewhat quiet of his new home, Niall felt alone. Pain still ached him in both his body and his heart. Somewhere inside, he was still undecided, still an imperfection.

Staring out at the distant rafters on the high ceilings, he took a deep breath. These birds held the threads that kept him sane, that kept him from walking to the balcony outside his door and jumping. The birds and Miach seemed to be the only ones who understood him. To a degree, he thought.

But then he stared off at the ceiling and couldn't help but feel a shiver of worry overtake him. Irial had lied and betrayed him, had broken him so very badly. Yet Niall still wanted to speak to his old king. Perhaps knowing that Irial was still ruling the court he'd grown to despise incited such feelings in him. Niall did not really know.

Quietly, he stood up from the bed and glanced around the room. It was beautiful, almost angelic, and again, reminded him nothing of the Dark Court. Still, though, in the pit of his chest, he missed it. All of it. He missed those nights with Irial where they'd laughed and shared affection. He missed the languid eyes of the women and on occasion, men, he'd addicted. All the same, he hated the Dark Court. He hated the way they'd held him down and did things to him most unimaginable.

Niall abruptly took his thoughts away from there. He could undo his past, be different. He could prove Irial wrong. He moved swiftly towards the corner of the large room, where a mirror stretched from one end of a wall to another. Quietly, he stared at his reflection. He'd been too afraid to even look at the image hours ago, when he'd taken a shower. Now he felt even more afraid than before. His eyes were wide, his lips parted. He looked frightened.

Niall tried to turn his head away, tried to forget the scars he knew laced his body, tried to forget the one that marred his face. He couldn't though. Not yet. At that moment, he could recall all of the horrid things that had inflicted him. Could remember the pain in his screams. Within a minute, he was hyperventilating, unable to move. His lips were dry against the air of the well ventilated room. His palms were sweaty.

Niall could do nothing else but stare at the two brown eyes that were his own in the mirror before him. I… He could feel nothing else but pain everywhere- anxiety. Guilt. Fear. It all rushed him at once. I cannot stand this pain. Frightened, he ran to the other side of the room, where the bathroom was. He searched through every cupboard for a blade. Any kind, he thought frantically. Any kind to ease the pain. The pain that hurts so much. Finding nothing in his search, he slammed his fist on the sink with a cry. It was then, his eyes wandered to the ground, where one of Ria's utensils had fallen. The blade was made of bone, with a sharp, grooved edge. Carefully, Niall picked the blade up from the ground and held it in his palm. A bead of sweat ran down his face.

He held the knife in his good hand and slowly walked up to the mirror he'd run away from. His reflection still frightened him. With his breath slowing, he held the knife's tip to the expanse of his throat, right below his jaw line, and swallowed. The blade was sharp enough that it drew a small dot of blood that ran down his neck in a line. Niall pressed the blade harder to his throat, feeling the cold bone slice his skin, but was still not at ease. The wound will heal in a matter of hours. I need iron.

He stared at his reflection. His eyes were still wide, still red, now brimming with tears. His breath was slow, ready. I do not fear death. He moved the knife away from his throat to the center of his chest. With his free hand, Niall felt his heart. Then with the other, he moved the knife to that spot. The place where I feel nothing. Niall pressed the blade to his chest, gasping at the pain he felt. It was deep, but not deep enough to kill. If he wanted to, though, he could kill himself. But do I want to?

"I should", he cried. He tried desperately to press the blade harder, but his fingers clenched. He couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to, he was unable. Niall just couldn't find the will to end his own life. With sudden cry, he threw the blade to the ground and collapsed, tears rolling down his face. On the ground, he was safe. Safe from himself. Safe from Irial, and most importantly safe from his memories. Distantly in his mind, Niall remembered one of the nights he'd spent with Irial, before he'd known how twisted Irial was.


Niall and Irial were staying at a village- a village Gabriel would destroy only a mere two days later. The town was small- unheard of to many. Except Irial, of course. The Dark King seemed to know about every place that dared to exist. But nonetheless, Niall was young and guile, so he'd trusted Irial much more than he should have.

The pair arrived at a mortal inn. It had several horses moored in the front. Niall was reminded that mortals need transportation that fey did not.

Inside, Niall could taste and smell the mortal air. Women, most likely whores, were laughing daintily in the laps of the men at the pub. Their faces were painted. And several were revealing their undergarments while others showed cleavage. The hostess filled glasses with beer and other brews. Niall felt the urge to ask Irial where they were, but thought better of it. It was obviously a brewery. And a whorehouse.

Irial was speaking to the hostess as Niall glanced around uncomfortably. In the corner of the small room, he saw a man and a woman kissing. The woman was laughing quietly as the man's lips touched her throat.

"Niall." Irial's voice broke his gaze. His king smiled at him. "For a moment I thought that you weren't awake."

Niall smiled apologetically. "I was distracted."

"Indeed, you should be." He laid an arm around Niall's shoulders, tugging him close by the hip. "Look at all of the free entertainment, Gancanagh. Surely you will be kept busy tonight."

Niall had to agree. It wasn't unlike Irial to feast on debauched pleasures. Nor was it unlike Irial to include Niall in those pleasures.

Irial glanced back to take the keys from the more than endearing hostess and led Niall up the wooden staircase. Soon, the two of them were headed into the mortal den. There was a hall with a series of rooms. Each room had a small number written on the door. Irial stopped at one door with the number eight. Using the key, he opened the door and held it open for Niall to step in.

Inside of the room interested Niall. It was dimly lit with a few candles that were melting slowly near the one window on the left. A large bed sat in the center if it all. And on the bed sat a boy, no older than twenty years of age or so. He looked thin. From malnourishment or by nature, Niall was unsure. In the dark of the room, he was unable to completely be sure of anything. The boy looked once at Niall, who was awestricken, and then at Irial. Niall almost jumped at the sound of Irial closing the door behind him.

He felt his king's presence without needing to turn around. Quietly, he asked, "Irial, what is this?"

Irial ignored the innocence in his voice and came to stand beside him. "This, my friend, is Emrys. He wishes to please."

"To please?" Niall's brows furrowed as he stared from Emrys to Irial. "Is he a whore then?"

Irial shrugged and came to take a seat on the bed beside the mortal boy. "I suppose." He smiled wickedly. "But only if you regard him that way."

Niall glanced back at the door and then at Irial. His eyes couldn't help but linger at Emrys. "And he is here to please you? Why am I here, then?"

Irial smiled again. "He is here to please you, Gancanagh. Consider it my gift. And I suppose if I want what he has to offer… yes; he may please me."

Niall's heartbeat was rapid. "You've paid for him? For his… services."

Irial nodded once, black eyes lingering on Niall for a moment. "Yes. And he was more than a few ducats from my purse."

Niall was suddenly frightened, and he did not know why. This boy, he must be very young. He looks it. "H-How old is he?" Niall hesitated to ask.

Irial gave Niall a bored look before glancing at Emrys. "How old are you, child?"

The boy blinked once before murmuring to Irial, "Nineteen." He leaned against Irial's shoulder and shut his eyes.

Niall gave Irial a disapproving look, but his king glared at him and stood up, gently lowering Emrys's head. "What is wrong, Niall?"

Niall's voice was a mean whisper so that the mortal would not hear him. "I can not have sex with a young boy, Irial. It is unthought-of."

Irial approached Niall and firmly grabbed his shoulder, staring him in the eyes. "You amuse me with your good graces, Niall. Sometimes, you are enjoyable, and other times you suddenly care for mortals. Why is that?"

"Because I know when something is wrong."

"What about the other times, Niall? What about our trips to foreign lands- the wines? The moments where mortals willingly grabbed our flesh? Are those times any different? Were they any less wrong to you when you and I both enjoyed them?"

Niall shook his head, annoyed. Irial always knew how to convince him that his thoughts were incorrect. And once again, Niall was losing the argument. "It isn't the same, Iri-"

Irial interrupted him. "Do you want the boy, Niall?"

Niall glanced at Emrys. The boy was lying there, prone. His eyes were unmoving except to look at Irial and Niall. Niall clenched his fists, unable to lie. He sighed. "I do." And as much has he hated to accept it, he had a longing to be fulfilled- and the boy was a solution.

Irial's usual wicked smile returned. "I know that you do, which is why I am giving him to you." He placed his hand on the small of Niall's back and gently guided him towards the bed where Emrys sat. As he approached, Emyrs opened his eyes and sat up. Upon closer inspection, Niall noticed that the boy's hair was brown like his own, but that Emyrs' eyes were blue. Irial had finally gotten Niall near enough that he could sit on the bed if he chose.

Niall knew that he should hate Irial for encouraging him to do such a thing, but he knew that his king was right. What made this circumstance different from the others? With a tentative movement, Niall sat on the bed, trying to conjure his thoughts. He stared at Emrys nervously, unsure of what to do next. The boy, probably having done this plenty of times, slowly unbuttoned his shirt and laid prone as he had before. "I am unafraid" he told Niall.

Niall glanced back at Irial and sighed with frustration. Irial's face was unchanging- stoic. As Niall turned back to the boy, he felt guilty. But as his mind realized the power and possibilities he now had with a willing participant, the guilt vanished. With one last hesitation, Niall leaned in and tasted the boy's lips. Then he remembered the other sexual voyages he'd gone on with Irial. This is no different, he continued to tell himself. But it was only half true.


Niall took his thoughts away from that memory. It was by far one of his worst. He laid on the cold floor very alone- and very hurt. He wanted to talk to his king again, even if he was unsure how, because in his chest he knew that Irial hadn't been the only thing telling him to do sin. Beside Irial's voice he also heard his own.

Niall could never forgive himself for what he and Irial had done to that boy that night, nor could he forgive himself for all of the others he'd addicted. Seeing what the Dark Court did to him made Niall even more empathetic for the lives he'd stolen.

With tears still stinging his eyes, Niall stood up and walked over to the mirror again, this time picking up the blade with him. Instead of holding it to his throat again or his chest, he held it to his hair. In the mirror he stared at himself and frowned. He eyes were too frightened. His body too tense.

His hair was not shoulder length but came partway down his jaw. It was long enough to grab, long enough to render him weak. Long enough for Gabriel to drag him. Long enough for the dark fey to hold him prone and unable to move as they violated him. That will never happen again, he thought. With a swift movement, he cut a strand. And another. He kept cutting until he was satisfied, until his hair was shorn and unable to be grabbed. Until I am no longer afraid.

He stared at the brown hair that littered the sink and finally felt a calm. And then he wiped his eyes and told himself that he would forget his past.