Disclaimer: the characters and places (Drizzt, forgotten realms, etc, etc)
that you've read about in books aren't mine.
Brionne, Nala, the places they inhabit and the people around them, are.
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
Someone screamed, but it was far away. He leaned closer to his mother and she stroked his hair, soothing in the dark.
"My sweet Brionne," she whispered, love and sorrow in her voice. He knew he was dreaming, knew what the following day would hold for the ten year old child in his mother's arms. He didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to remember what would be the child's future.
One of the auctioneer's men walked by with a torch, the light shining obscenely bright through the bars of the slave pens.
His mother sighed, gathering her courage. "Brionne, listen to me, my child." She whispered, and he looked up at her tear-streaked face, just visible in the dim light. "Whatever they want you to do, whatever they try to make of you, remember that you can always pretend to do it, pretend to be it. Remember that they cannot change who you are, only what you do. No matter what comes, I know you will be a good man someday. I know this."
Someone was calling his name. A man's voice hoarse with emotion, with fear. He tried to get up, to go to that voice, but a sudden coursing pain down his right arm stopped him. It hurt worse than any injury his body had ever known. It poured over him, through him, and he couldn't gather the strength to face it. Grateful, he let the dreams take him again.
Nala was crying in his memories. He knew by her dress and the setting that he was remembering the first day they met. He would have gone to this stranger who looked like him, only female; held her, comforted her, but Relder was there. He had seldom seen his master's eyes so fierce with desire.
"Teach her." Relder ordered him. He found himself at a loss for words for the first time in years. "Make her be like you."
Guilt stabbed him like a knife. He knew, he had always known, that Relder preferred women to men. He knew he had been the anomaly in the man's life. He just never thought this man would begin a search for a woman as similar to Brionne as possible. The very thought was...diseased.
"I cannot." He had told the man, so sure in his control. His only hope for her, for his soul, was to devalue her to the point that Relder wouldn't want her. "Look at her, where did you find her, a farm?"
He summoned all of his allure to his eyes, all his warmth, all the things Relder desired in him. That smile, seductive and cocky at the same time curled on his lips. His master stepped forward, and for a heartbeat, Brionne thought he had him distracted. It was the only time in their years together that he misread the man.
Relder slapped him to the ground. "You can train her, and you will, you stupid jealous whore. I will be back in a fortnight. If she displeases me, I'll punish you. And her." His eyes were like ice as he left the two of them.
He had tried. To his pride and shame, he had tried. The threat to himself meant nothing, but he knew she would have no chance at all without learning what he could teach. His mother's last words haunted him. Nothing he could do would make him a good man in his own eyes.
In the end, it mattered not at all. There was no possibility of teaching her in two weeks what he had spent twenty years learning. Relder was displeased. They were both punished. Nala almost died. Perhaps it would have been a mercy if Brionne had smothered her in her fevered sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"I failed you, mother." He wanted to cry, "I failed Nala; I failed myself."
He heard his name again. The pain in his arm was still there, but he was finding no comfort in his memories, his dreams. With a gasp of effort, he forced himself to go to that voice. To wake.
************************
The hunter bared her teeth in a silent snarl. Her dogs milled around without direction, confused and unable to find the trail. They had been down a dozen dead ends, and now the scent was gone completely.
"Spread out!" she ordered her men. "Look for some sign."
The hunter's voice was sharp, to make sure they understood the importance of their task. As they rode off into the forest she felt herself smiling. The hunt was proving interesting after all.
****************************
Nala put her hand on Brionne's chest. She felt her spirit focus, sharper and brighter than it had since she had been taken from her family. She held that point of focus, feeling it, knowing it in every way, and then she sent it spinning down through the physical connection she had with Brionne's skin.
The collar fought her, in its dark yet passive way. The sensation was like pushing through tar; it clung, dirty and thick, to her 'self' as she passed.
And then she was inside of it, swimming through the bright energy of Brionne's form. She found the harm at his throat, and knew it was no threat to him. A lance of his pain passed by her, and she tracked it down the nerves to his arm.
The bones were broken, jagged ends grating against each other. "Pull, like so." She instructed her body, the far-away shell of herself. It complied. Bright pain flared throughout the injured area. "Turn, to there. Release, and hold."
She felt the focus of her energies becoming tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller. She pulled the pieces together, binding the splinters, knitting the break together. She guided Brionne's body as she had her own, but on a smaller scale. "Build here." She whispered to his bones. "More blood there."
His body was providing the fuel for the healing, but hers was spending the energy to guide it. She felt a fading in herself as her body called her home. With fierce determination, she denied it, trying to get the bone stable, strong.
Exhaustion overtook her, and she couldn't maintain that control, that focus. Her own body reclaimed her with fierce possessiveness.
******************************
Drizzt carried Nala, cradled like a sleeping child against his chest. She had been this way since before Brionne woke up. He wouldn't have been so worried for her, except that Brionne seemed at a loss for her condition also.
Brionne walked beside him, stumbling and exhausted, but he wouldn't stop. Twice now, Drizzt had forced a halt, determined to make his stubborn friend rest before he hurt himself. Both times, Brionne had tried to explain to him, but he was too tired to find the right words, or the gestures to say what he wanted to. When Drizzt didn't understand, he would just bend over, pick up Nala with a grimace of pain, and walk on. Within a few steps, Drizzt would take her again, and they would walk further in silence.
A gaping wound, from ear to ear. Silver eyes staring dead at the sky. Gentle lips parted with the leaving of his last breath, never to kiss again. Drizzt had expected all of these things when he had walked numbly to Brionne's fallen form. Instead, Nala had been doing...something. Some sort of healing spell, but nothing he had seen before. Brionne's right arm had been broken. That was obvious from the way it bent sharply in the middle when she moved it. Now it wasn't.
More amazing was the slash to his throat. He had seen the force the man put into the cut. He had seen almost the full length of the blade drawn against Brionne's flesh. Brionne should have been opened to his spine. And yet the wound was shallow--tiny marks across the gaps the "collar" left bare, and a bruise that was slowly turning dark. The collar would not allow itself to be cut, and somehow it had saved him.
The forest became less dense, more tame. Occasionally they would cross a wagon-sized path, probably leading to some small homestead. The day passed from morning towards afternoon, though the sky remained dark with the promise of rain.
Brionne stumbled again, and caught himself with his left hand on a tree. His right arm was cradled protectively against his chest. He hurt, but he wouldn't stop.
***************************
REVIEWER REQUEST: Was it cheesy? Let me know what you thought. Thanks,
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
Someone screamed, but it was far away. He leaned closer to his mother and she stroked his hair, soothing in the dark.
"My sweet Brionne," she whispered, love and sorrow in her voice. He knew he was dreaming, knew what the following day would hold for the ten year old child in his mother's arms. He didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to remember what would be the child's future.
One of the auctioneer's men walked by with a torch, the light shining obscenely bright through the bars of the slave pens.
His mother sighed, gathering her courage. "Brionne, listen to me, my child." She whispered, and he looked up at her tear-streaked face, just visible in the dim light. "Whatever they want you to do, whatever they try to make of you, remember that you can always pretend to do it, pretend to be it. Remember that they cannot change who you are, only what you do. No matter what comes, I know you will be a good man someday. I know this."
Someone was calling his name. A man's voice hoarse with emotion, with fear. He tried to get up, to go to that voice, but a sudden coursing pain down his right arm stopped him. It hurt worse than any injury his body had ever known. It poured over him, through him, and he couldn't gather the strength to face it. Grateful, he let the dreams take him again.
Nala was crying in his memories. He knew by her dress and the setting that he was remembering the first day they met. He would have gone to this stranger who looked like him, only female; held her, comforted her, but Relder was there. He had seldom seen his master's eyes so fierce with desire.
"Teach her." Relder ordered him. He found himself at a loss for words for the first time in years. "Make her be like you."
Guilt stabbed him like a knife. He knew, he had always known, that Relder preferred women to men. He knew he had been the anomaly in the man's life. He just never thought this man would begin a search for a woman as similar to Brionne as possible. The very thought was...diseased.
"I cannot." He had told the man, so sure in his control. His only hope for her, for his soul, was to devalue her to the point that Relder wouldn't want her. "Look at her, where did you find her, a farm?"
He summoned all of his allure to his eyes, all his warmth, all the things Relder desired in him. That smile, seductive and cocky at the same time curled on his lips. His master stepped forward, and for a heartbeat, Brionne thought he had him distracted. It was the only time in their years together that he misread the man.
Relder slapped him to the ground. "You can train her, and you will, you stupid jealous whore. I will be back in a fortnight. If she displeases me, I'll punish you. And her." His eyes were like ice as he left the two of them.
He had tried. To his pride and shame, he had tried. The threat to himself meant nothing, but he knew she would have no chance at all without learning what he could teach. His mother's last words haunted him. Nothing he could do would make him a good man in his own eyes.
In the end, it mattered not at all. There was no possibility of teaching her in two weeks what he had spent twenty years learning. Relder was displeased. They were both punished. Nala almost died. Perhaps it would have been a mercy if Brionne had smothered her in her fevered sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"I failed you, mother." He wanted to cry, "I failed Nala; I failed myself."
He heard his name again. The pain in his arm was still there, but he was finding no comfort in his memories, his dreams. With a gasp of effort, he forced himself to go to that voice. To wake.
************************
The hunter bared her teeth in a silent snarl. Her dogs milled around without direction, confused and unable to find the trail. They had been down a dozen dead ends, and now the scent was gone completely.
"Spread out!" she ordered her men. "Look for some sign."
The hunter's voice was sharp, to make sure they understood the importance of their task. As they rode off into the forest she felt herself smiling. The hunt was proving interesting after all.
****************************
Nala put her hand on Brionne's chest. She felt her spirit focus, sharper and brighter than it had since she had been taken from her family. She held that point of focus, feeling it, knowing it in every way, and then she sent it spinning down through the physical connection she had with Brionne's skin.
The collar fought her, in its dark yet passive way. The sensation was like pushing through tar; it clung, dirty and thick, to her 'self' as she passed.
And then she was inside of it, swimming through the bright energy of Brionne's form. She found the harm at his throat, and knew it was no threat to him. A lance of his pain passed by her, and she tracked it down the nerves to his arm.
The bones were broken, jagged ends grating against each other. "Pull, like so." She instructed her body, the far-away shell of herself. It complied. Bright pain flared throughout the injured area. "Turn, to there. Release, and hold."
She felt the focus of her energies becoming tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller. She pulled the pieces together, binding the splinters, knitting the break together. She guided Brionne's body as she had her own, but on a smaller scale. "Build here." She whispered to his bones. "More blood there."
His body was providing the fuel for the healing, but hers was spending the energy to guide it. She felt a fading in herself as her body called her home. With fierce determination, she denied it, trying to get the bone stable, strong.
Exhaustion overtook her, and she couldn't maintain that control, that focus. Her own body reclaimed her with fierce possessiveness.
******************************
Drizzt carried Nala, cradled like a sleeping child against his chest. She had been this way since before Brionne woke up. He wouldn't have been so worried for her, except that Brionne seemed at a loss for her condition also.
Brionne walked beside him, stumbling and exhausted, but he wouldn't stop. Twice now, Drizzt had forced a halt, determined to make his stubborn friend rest before he hurt himself. Both times, Brionne had tried to explain to him, but he was too tired to find the right words, or the gestures to say what he wanted to. When Drizzt didn't understand, he would just bend over, pick up Nala with a grimace of pain, and walk on. Within a few steps, Drizzt would take her again, and they would walk further in silence.
A gaping wound, from ear to ear. Silver eyes staring dead at the sky. Gentle lips parted with the leaving of his last breath, never to kiss again. Drizzt had expected all of these things when he had walked numbly to Brionne's fallen form. Instead, Nala had been doing...something. Some sort of healing spell, but nothing he had seen before. Brionne's right arm had been broken. That was obvious from the way it bent sharply in the middle when she moved it. Now it wasn't.
More amazing was the slash to his throat. He had seen the force the man put into the cut. He had seen almost the full length of the blade drawn against Brionne's flesh. Brionne should have been opened to his spine. And yet the wound was shallow--tiny marks across the gaps the "collar" left bare, and a bruise that was slowly turning dark. The collar would not allow itself to be cut, and somehow it had saved him.
The forest became less dense, more tame. Occasionally they would cross a wagon-sized path, probably leading to some small homestead. The day passed from morning towards afternoon, though the sky remained dark with the promise of rain.
Brionne stumbled again, and caught himself with his left hand on a tree. His right arm was cradled protectively against his chest. He hurt, but he wouldn't stop.
***************************
REVIEWER REQUEST: Was it cheesy? Let me know what you thought. Thanks,