Author's note:

Short chapter.

Does anyone want to beta at all? Pleeeease?

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Night or day, Darshay could not tell how the hours passed in the darkness of the dungeon. Gently, he laid moistened scraps of his shirt, across Windrider's burning forehead. He had used the last of their water to soak the shirt scraps. Swallowing convulsively, Darshay tried to ignore the dry scratchiness of his throat. His body cried for that water, but for now it was more important to try and bring down the fever that held Windrider at bay.

Well, there would be more drinking water soon enough. Kestlon liked to see them suffer, but he could not have them die. Not while either of them had the least remnants of Power, anyway, thought Darshay bitterly as he unconsciously brushed back stray silvery strands of hair off Windrider's forehead.

Windrider's hair was much like his mane had been but long like his tail: silvery, bordering on white, with the shorter locks constantly flopping over his eyes. A grossly teasing reminder of a happier a times; times that would never happen again. Wind, my brother. Darshay bit back tears. What has he done to you?

The happiness and hope that had once emanated from their bond was gone now. The man that lay before him was Windrider, Darshay knew, but it was not. It wasn't just his form. Windrider looked as Darshay had always seen him in his mind's eye. The Companion in human form--albeit, it had given him quite the shock, but it was not what made Darshay's heart cry in sorrow.

The Companion had been changed, more than just in body. There was a blankness now where vibrance and light had once been. The Companion who could not be ruled, could not even be constrained to the ground, no longer had even the whisper of winged thoughts in his empty eyes. If only they could get back to Haven, shivering remnants of hope sang softly to Darshay, everything would be better. Windrider would be okay. The Healers gathered at his father's court would find a way to Heal this hurt. The other Companions would know what to do. . .

Mumbling pulled Darshay away from the escape of his mind.

"Yes, Wind?" he whispered, leaning closer to better hear, "Yes?"

"H-hurts," gasped Windrider, opening his eyes to stare up at Darshay. The dead dullness of those once sparkling blue eyes, settled the weight of reality firmly back on Darshay's shoulders. The Heralds and Healers of Haven could not help Windrider. The two of them would never escape here alive. Kestlon would win.

Windrider whimpered as he caught the scent of Kestlon in Darshay's thoughts. Darshay silently cursed to himself. No, Kestlon would not get to Windrider again. Not even if it costs me my life. . .or Windrider's? The thought niggled at the back the back of Darshay's mind. Would death be better than living for the broken Companion?

"Yes," croaked Windrider. "Death. . ."

Darshay started, he had not meant to think that publicly. "No, Brother. We cannot let the Dark win so easily."

Windrider just stared at Darshay in reply, the blankness of his eyes answer enough.

This time Darshay let the tears fall freely. With arms that suddenly felt as heavy as stone weights, Darshay gathered Windrider to him, mindful of Windrider's hurt ribs and broken hand, so that the former Companion could lay his head on Darshay's lap. "I know Brother. I won't let Kestlon have a chance at you again. Never."

At least we greet the Havens together, thought Darshay as he felt tears roll off his chin. He willed himself to hear the drops fall to the ground though he could not see them in the darkness.

"It is never dark in the Havens," whispered Windrider.

Darshay nodded. It would be nice to see again.

"Darklord has left them by shadows encumbered,
Darshay and Windrider trapped in his gloom,
Deep in his prisons, past hope, past believing,
Heir and Companion, will this be your tomb?"