26. Torture to Hell
The next day, Willow and Varhog were able to pretend that the events of the previous evening were a strange anomaly that wouldn't trouble them again. After flying back to their hut on Sunset, they enjoyed the same easy, lighthearted interaction that had been present during their first full day as a married couple, interspersed of course with a fair number of passionate exchanges.
But Willow couldn't completely ignore the fact that something wasn't quite right, for each time they made love, Varhog's semen created an increasingly uncomfortable sensation within her body, along with an irritating rash on her inner thighs. She kept these discoveries to herself, knowing how Varhog would react if he also became aware.
Their final intimate encounter that night left them sleepy and content after the exhausting night and long, happy day. Willow and Varhog prepared to drift off to sleep in one another's arms, as they had been privileged to do the prior several nights. But their whispered conversation was abruptly interrupted by a tortured scream from Willow, who was snuggling on Varhog's chest. She wrenched her body away from him, clawing at the opening of her body as she ran to the washroom.
Willow continued to cry out in pain as she jumped into the washbasin, pouring cold water all over herself and rinsing out the inside of her body in an attempt to relieve the searing heat created by Varhog's semen and the touch of his skin on hers.
Willow felt Varhog's presence before he spoke, and all he managed was a strangled whisper. "Willow, I . . ."
Willow clamped her hands over her ears at the harsh, horrifying sound, feeling a deep, uncontrollable rage fill her. Then she turned on Varhog in terrible fury. "Get away from me!" she screamed, hating him for creating this unbearable, scorching fire in her body. The outline of Varhog's body shimmered as her eyes blurred and the pain in her head intensified. Her throat felt tight and constricted as if something was lodged there.
Varhog stiffened in utter disbelief. Willow had never spoken to him—or anyone else—like that, and she knew how it hurt him, but she felt possessed and couldn't help it. Varhog backed slowly away with inexpressible misery in his eyes at her unprecedented outburst.
Willow felt a small degree of relief after rinsing off and now began shivering from the cold of being wet, so she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, remaining in the washroom, where she leaned against the open door. She alternated between hating Varhog for what was happening and hating herself for the torment she knew she was causing him.
She felt Varhog in the front room and would have seen him had she looked up. But she kept her eyes tightly shut, one hand clutching her temples to fight the sensation that her head would split apart. When a dizzy spell washed over Willow, she slid to the floor, almost bashing her head against the door frame. She sensed Varhog respond involuntarily and knew he wanted to come help her, but she was glad he didn't. The thought of him being near made her so sick that she turned to the chamber pot and vomited into it.
Willow began to panic as the powerful loathing seemed never to diminish when time once again stretched interminably on. But just as the night before, after almost exactly two hours, she felt the shift—this time more pronounced because of how heightened her reaction had been—as the terrible energy moved on.
"Varhog," she weakly cried. He was by her side in a moment, and Willow threw her arms around his neck, feeling a pang of deep fear when she flinched at the touch of his bare hide. But she ignored it, pressing herself to her husband, whom she loved so much.
"Don't speak," Varhog said. "I remember your words from last night. You need not reassure me again. Is there anything I can do for you now?"
Willow shuddered in relief at his understanding, not feeling the strength to apologize and knowing her words would never convey the depth of her sorrow and regret. She nodded wearily, pleading, "Take me to bed and hold me."
-:-:-
Varhog lifted her wordlessly and did as she asked. He made sure she was comfortable and felt her slip off to sleep in his arms, but he couldn't follow for some time. His anguish over these frightening episodes was unbearable. He had tried to remind himself of her words while she shuddered on the floor in the washroom, but he could still hear her shriek of agony echoing in his head and see her clawing desperately at her body.
Then there had been her hateful words, screamed at him in unrestrained fury. He had never had to prepare himself for the chance that Willow would address him in such a manner, so gentle and sweet was her nature. When this puzzling trance came over her, she wasn't herself, which was the only thing that allowed Varhog to continue believing Willow loved him, so convincing was the evidence to the contrary.
Varhog eventually drifted into a fitful sleep, where her words and actions haunted his dreams. But the nightmares didn't end when he awakened the next morning, for he almost immediately noticed the angry red welts on the inside of Willow's thighs, further evidence that her awful reaction to him was only worsening. He flatly refused to make love to her all that day, insisting that he wouldn't knowingly add to her discomfort.
The rest of the day dragged by slowly, and Varhog's anxiety and feelings of helplessness only increased. He fetched Willow food and drink when she requested, and she only got up to use the washroom.
When she once again lay in his tense arms that night, Varhog asked, "Could this have something to do with the baby? Do you think that's possible?"
Willow gasped and seemed to grasp his idea as if it were her last hope for survival. They both reached with their minds to briefly explore that area of Willow's body but found no reassurance. The fertilized egg had moved from its initial position, heading toward her womb, but it still appeared to be some distance from arriving at its nesting place in her uterus.
Willow looked at him miserably, and Varhog already knew what she was thinking, as many times as she had voiced her request that day. He answered before she could repeat it. "I won't, Willow." He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see how forlorn she looked, continuing in a whisper, "Can't. I can't make love to you again when it might hurt you so badly. Please understand, Eartheyes."
When Willow spoke, Varhog heard the tremor in her voice but kept his eyes closed. "Please," she begged. "This can't be permanent. Will you never make love to me again?"
"I don't know, Willow. While this continues—if it does—I won't."
Her tears finally spilled out of her eyes and onto his chest, and Varhog's eyes also brimmed as Willow sobbed, "I think it's starting again."
Varhog nodded curtly, gently moving away from Willow so she could situate herself in the bed without him. He crossed the room and sat in a chair, allowing the tears to stream down his face as he watched her slump against the pillows he had been leaning into. She seemed to breathe in deeply for a moment, but then she suddenly sprang out of the bed so she could lean out the window and vomit. Willow didn't meet his gaze as she returned to the opposite side of the huge bed, the side they had barely touched and which must have been mostly free of his scent. She laid down and closed her eyes. Without any perceptible evidence of his presence, she drifted off to sleep only a few minutes later.
-:-:-
Willow awoke in the morning to find Varhog resting on his back on the floor, breathing deeply with sleep, though his fingers and eyelids twitched nervously. She felt a pang of remorse coupled with relief. What was wrong with her? The conscious part of her mind wanted Varhog near as much as ever, but the subconscious part was grateful for his distance.
Willow silently made her way to the washroom, but a sudden spell of lightheadedness in the hallway forced her to stop and steady herself against the wall. She absently rubbed her throat, noticing that the tightness had eased after she left their room.
Willow attempted to relieve herself and, though her bladder was full, was unable to. As she stared at herself in the mirror, trying to make sense of these mysterious new symptoms, Varhog appeared behind her, wearing clothes, which made her grateful for some reason. He warily watched her eyes in the mirror.
"I'm fine," she reassured him.
"May I brush you hair?" Varhog asked, and Willow's stomach clenched as the sound of his voice made the hair on her arms stand on end. But she wouldn't allow her body to reject him. She would fight this, no matter how hard it was.
"Of course, sweetheart," she said, acting like nothing was wrong, though she knew he could tell. "You never got to, after all."
"But I can see that the thought now makes you uncomfortable," Varhog said. To her relief, his maturity kept him from stalking off like a slighted child, though she saw in his eyes that her deception had hurt him.
"I'm sorry, Varhog," Willow whispered, also now fighting back the tears that threatened. "I'm trying to resist this. I won't surrender to some inexplicable force that suggests you're dangerous to me. Please brush my hair. Part of me really does want you to." There. She had been honest and while she knew it was still hard for Varhog, she saw his appreciation.
Willow handed him the hairbrush, and he asked, "What's the best way?"
Though his beautiful voice only added to the now-constant pain in her head, Willow patiently instructed, "Hold a section near the bottom in your hand and work out all the tangles at the end. Then move up and repeat it. That way it will only pull against your hand."
Varhog nodded his understanding, moving close enough that he could reach her hair by extending his long arms. The sensation was pleasant but when his fingers brushed her back, Willow flinched. She knew Varhog noticed—she was watching his face in the mirror—but he kept his eyes on his task. Rather than being the romantic experience she had anticipated days before, Willow now found herself grateful he finished the job efficiently. He finally met her eyes and handed the brush back to her.
"Thank you," Willow whispered sadly at the tortured look on his face.
"I'd like to go out," Varhog very quietly said. "Would you like to come, or do you prefer to be apart?"
Willow trembled at the pain his voice caused in her, both physically and emotionally, because she could hear how tormented he was at the thought she might truly wish to remain apart. "I don't prefer to be apart, Varhog, but I'll stay," she carefully said.
Varhog inclined his head in acceptance, turning to leave without another word, and the tightness in her throat once again diminished. Willow could clearly see how Varhog's emotional anguish was affecting him. His broad shoulders, usually straight and proud, were hunched and defeated.
Willow went back to the bedroom and slipped into her lavender gown, trying not to think about how Varhog always looked at her when he saw her in it. Besides some items in Sunset's saddlebags, which Willow didn't feel like retrieving, the dress was the only clothing she had, and she no longer felt like being naked.
Willow then made her way to the kitchen and explored it more extensively for the first time. It was modest and humble like the rest of the hut but sufficient to perform all the necessary tasks of such a room. She found the cupboards well stocked, as Myrintuk had promised.
Myrintuk, she thought. Her new mother. How would she feel if she learned of Willow's behavior toward her beloved son? Now that Varhog was gone, Willow found herself wishing he was back. She loved him so much, so why, why was this happening? He didn't deserve it.
Willow busied herself making some bread in an attempt to keep her mind off the terrible events of the past few days. She heated the small oven with magic and found the needed ingredients. Though staying occupied was helpful, Willow continued mulling over their dilemma. She knew there had to be some logical explanation, but she just couldn't find it. Thinking of logic made her think of Arya. Maybe she would know what to make of this situation. Willow resolved that if things stayed the same or got worse in the next little while, she would seek out Arya and ask her advice.
The bread finished baking some hours later, and Varhog still hadn't returned. Willow went outside in the warm afternoon sun to spend some time with Sunset.
Where is he! she cried to her dragon. Do you have any idea?
He is flying, sunshine, Sunset responded. He and Black Thunder left as soon as Varhog came out of the hut this morning.
Sunset! I feel so awful about these strange occurrences. It seems like Varhog is slowly dying inside. And can I blame him? I can't believe what I screamed at him the night before last. I've never spoken to anyone that way. What's wrong with me!
I do not know, sunshine. I am so sorry. I have been heartbroken experiencing your conflicted emotions through our bond.
I'm starting to get cold, Willow mourned. It seems I've been cold ever since that night at the hot spring. Varhog hasn't been able to touch me since last night. Can I snuggle under your wing?
Of course, sunshine.
Willow crawled closer, hugging herself to Sunset's warm belly as her dragon gently rested her velvety wing over Willow's body. Willow stayed there, crying softly until night fell. With the darkness came chilling cold, so Willow bid Sunset goodnight, grabbed some clothes from the saddlebags leaning next to the hut, and went inside.
After putting away the clothing, Willow started a small fire to warm the main living area and sat at the table, picking at the bread. It tasted good, but though she had barely touched any food all day, she had little appetite. She was lonely and wished Varhog would come home, but she was beginning to worry he might not.
The thundering boom of dragon wings startled her then filled her with relief. Varhog had returned to her. Willow stood up, her stomach fluttering nervously. She clung to that feeling, promising herself that no matter how much her subconscious mind might object to his return, she would welcome Varhog home with all the desire her conscious mind and heart now felt.
Varhog ducked in through the door with his arms full of items from Black Thunder's saddlebags. He dropped them all on a chair next to the door and faced her, looking strong and handsome. The twisting in Willow's stomach was not imaginary, and she went to him, wrapping her arms around him and inhaling deeply. He smelled like the wind.
"I missed you so much, Varhog," she breathed. "You were gone all day."
"I'm sorry, Willow," Varhog murmured, obviously drinking in the sincere warmth of her welcome.
"Please, Varhog," Willow entreated before anything about the way she felt could change. "Please make love to me again. I feel so cold and empty."
Willow pulled back her head and saw that he longed to believe her words, so she quickly kissed him and was grateful the expression had the same effect as before. They stayed right where they were and swiftly satisfied the demands of their desire, which was so powerful after only two days apart. How had they lived without this?
Varhog fell to his knees when they were done, holding her body and head close to him, and Willow heard the emotion in his voice indicating that he was near tears. "Thank you, Willow. All day I have tried to steel myself for the possibility that I might never get to do that with you again, and it was worse than death. Then, at least, I might forget what you felt like, how it feels to love you like this. But in life I'll always remember and I will always long for you, my beautiful wife. I didn't know what to expect when I returned, but that was the best gift you could have given me." He rested his face against her hair.
-:-:-
Varhog dared say no more, fearing it would cause the dreaded change that took Willow from him. He simply held her close and smelled her, trying to memorize everything about what he sensed.
Varhog felt Willow begin to tremble almost imperceptibly in his arms, and he knew she was struggling to subdue the revulsion his nearness invoked. His heart sank, and his wishful hope that all of the heartache of the previous days had only been an awful dream was dashed. Varhog began to pull away, but Willow stubbornly shook her head, grabbing her dress where it was gathered around her hips and pulling it off over her head. She did the same with his shirt, and Varhog reluctantly helped her get it over his horns. Then she pressed her body into him, lifted her face back to his, and kissed him again.
Varhog couldn't control the overwhelming urges it created, and Willow sincerely seemed to want this, so he did something he had never yet done, fearing he might never again have the chance to try. Without breaking their kiss, he knelt up and moved over to the large sofa, where he pulled himself up before lowering Willow down beneath him. Varhog was careful not to allow the full weight of his body to rest on her, but he allowed enough of it to press against her that it took her breath away.
And as they had two times before, they surrendered to the desires of their bodies and continued sharing their love for as long as they could. They were so confused about Willow's bizarre reaction and the fact that it momentarily seemed not to be playing a role in their interaction spurred them on.
So the hours passed in blissful love, and Varhog almost felt himself healed of the pain caused by Willow's unintentional rejection of him. But he failed to mark the passage of time as it blurred in his mind into one beautiful moment of closeness with her.
Varhog felt the shift in Willow a split-second before her piercing scream filled his ears, shockingly different from the beautiful sounds of her pleasure only a second before. He recoiled, leaping up as she shoved frantically to distance herself from the source of her excruciating agony.
Willow at first seemed paralyzed by the burning of his semen, so deeply had it penetrated into her body. Varhog watched in horror as she convulsed on the sofa, her legs twitching helplessly and her fingernails scratching over her womb with such force that she gouged deep marks in her skin and her blood flowed freely. Her face was a contorted mask of torture. She writhed in pain, tumbling onto the floor, where she curled into a tight ball while her screams increased in duration and intensity.
Varhog moaned in despair, cursing his stupidity. He had to help her. He felt certain Willow would die right before his eyes if he couldn't think of a way to relieve the torture he had caused, and the thought made his body clench in terror. So he carefully picked her up, turning toward the washroom. Though she struggled mightily to get away from him, Varhog gently held her, determined to take her to the washbasin.
"NO!" Willow shrieked in a pitch so high his ears popped. "NO! STOP TOUCHING ME! YOU'RE KILLING ME!" Varhog heard Sunset roar in warning outside, and he sobbed in desperation. Hot tears filled his eyes and fell—as if in slow motion—down onto her bare skin. Her seizures began anew as bright red welts marred her perfect skin where the liquid touched her, like she had been burned with acid. The screams ripped from her throat with concentrated volume, and she thrashed in his arms, striking wildly against his chest.
Varhog choked back another sob, hating himself for what he had done and was still doing to Willow. When he reached the washroom, he swiftly set her in the large basin meant for bathing and filled it with water from the jug, recklessly using magic to increase its volume so she would be covered up to her neck. He quickly healed the deep scratch marks on her abdomen and cooled the water more than it was—also using magic—then focused his mind inside her body where he had been. He recoiled once again as he perceived the excruciating suffering she was experiencing from the searing, blazing, liquid fire of his semen. Using words of power from the ancient language and his mind, Varhog gently swirled water into Willow through the narrow opening of her womb, working to wash away any residue of the innocuous fluid that seemed to be killing her.
Willow began to calm down, and as the screams slowly subsided, she lay shuddering in the water. Once Varhog was reassured that she wasn't in danger of imminent death, he scooted back, feeling a part of himself die at the noticeable relief his distance provided her. He leaned back against the open door with his hands clenched into trembling fists, trying to remember her words of reassurance after the first time this had happened. But he was unable to given the unbearable intensity of her reaction. Willow hated him and how could she not? She had screamed that he was killing her, and it had appeared to be no exaggeration.
Sobs engulfed Varhog, thick streams of tears running toward his ears. From their beautiful time of love and joy to pure hatred and agonizing torture. Heaven to hell. He didn't stop crying the entire two hours of her episode, nor did he ever look at her. Varhog feared that if he met her eyes, he would see in them the confirmation that she loathed him.
In an exhausted, quavering voice, Willow finally said, "Varhog."
Varhog shuddered, and his tears increased. He didn't deserve to have Willow speak to him. He was the source of her agony, and he felt certain that this unexplained shift had something to do with the experiences of their wedding night, when his near-abandonment had followed so closely behind their first expression of physical love. Each night the frightening transformation began at exactly the same time and lasted for exactly two hours before passing. What did it mean? Varhog had to have answers before he went insane. Willow's reaction was getting increasingly worse. Would it go on forever? Would it get stronger every night? He didn't think he could bear it, but nor could he bear living without her.
In a lifeless tone Willow said, "If there is such a place as hell, we have discovered it." Her voice sounded wretched, and Varhog finally risked looking at her. She still reclined in the water, her face toward the ceiling and her eyes closed. She was shivering again, but this time from cold. Varhog used magic to warm the water, feeling a small sense of relief as she relaxed.
"Thank you, Yelloweyes," Willow softly said. But Varhog somehow knew that she didn't look at him because she knew if she did, she wouldn't be able to be so tender and grateful. "Thank you for that and for earlier. You saved me."
"Even as I killed you," Varhog bitterly said.
Willow grimaced and started to speak, but Varhog interrupted, "Don't. Now that the worst of it is over, I can remember your words from the first night. I'm trying to trust them. Believe me, I'm trying. But . . . I can't bear to cause you this pain, whether it's your body's conscious or unconscious reaction. I swore I would never leave you after almost doing it, but tell me now honestly if you don't wish for me to go."
Tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes and Willow said nothing, which was confirmation enough, but Varhog still clung to the sliver of hope that she would refute it. "Sweetheart," she finally said, so sincerely his heart ached. "Varhog, I love you so much. I'm not lying. You know that. But . . ." And here it came. Varhog stopped breathing, clenching all his muscles in preparation for the devastation as Willow continued, "But I don't know if I can survive something like that again. Perhaps it would be better if we stayed apart for a time to see if this will end."
Varhog gasped as the power of the pain stunned him, though he had tried to prepare for it. All he could do in response was sob more forcefully, his head once again slumping against the door behind him. He heard Willow leave the water and close the small distance between them. Then she knelt, working her way into the circle of his arms, her hair and skin dripping all over him. The feel of her soft body was torture. "Varhog," she whispered, "please do not despair."
"How can I not? It would be worse than death to live apart from you, but it's slowly killing me to see you flinch away from me with a look of revulsion in your eyes that begs me to stay away from you. It's how humans have always acted toward and looked at me, just never you. Never you."
Willow lifted her hands to his cheeks, attempting to stem the flow of his tears, but it did nothing. Her warm, soft lips kissed over his eyelids, on his nose, then so entreatingly on his lips.
But for the first time, this kiss was different. There was no force on earth that would get Varhog to make love to Willow again when there was a possibility it would kill her, so this kiss created no overwhelming demands to satisfy, just the feel of her lips on his own. So they kissed as they had always wished they could—to show their affection and provide comfort, able to enjoy the simple expression without unbearable urges to fulfill.
Varhog's tears stopped for the first time in hours, and he opened his eyes in wonder, bringing his hands to Willow's face to feel her soft skin and continuing to kiss her tenderly, so grateful it was not a moment of passion but of gentle love and healing.
Even when they both opened their mouths at the same moment, the exchange did not provoke powerful emotions other than a deep sense of oneness and love. Varhog felt no revulsion or rejection from Willow, and she seemed content to let him carry on as long as he wished, so he finally ended the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "That was different," he observed.
"Mm-hmm," Willow murmured. "And nice. I like being able to kiss you like that. I can enjoy it for what it is—just a kiss. Maybe we've learned to control it."
"Eartheyes, nothing would get me to make love to you again after I saw and felt—" Varhog choked at the memory of the pain inside of her then continued, "what you were feeling that last time. Nothing. Won't you open your eyes?"
Willow sighed and opened her eyes, immediately lowering her face so Varhog wouldn't see. He reached for her chin to gently lift it, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Wait," she whispered. "Please let me explain." He dropped his hand. "Varhog, my eyes are lying right now. What do you hear in my voice?"
"I hear you, Willow. That you love me, accept me, and want me to be here."
Willow nodded. "Yes, Varhog, and that's how I feel. But my eyes say something different and I fear if you see, you'll doubt what I feel. We have long relied on our eyes to communicate things that can't be said with words, and you've come to trust mine so completely that seeing this look in them will devastate you, as it already has before. It's growing, sweetheart. I don't know why, but the look in my eyes is stronger and I can't bear to let you see it."
Varhog lifted her chin, staring at her eyes through the sheen of tears. He thought he would be prepared for anything, but he was wrong again. He flinched at the fear, revulsion, deep pain, and the undeniable message that she wished she were a hundred miles away from him.
"I'm so sorry, Varhog. As I said, they don't reflect my true feelings. Can you trust my words?"
"I'll try, Willow. But I don't know how long I can believe your words when your eyes look like that. What are you feeling? I mean physically? I can see you're pained in my presence."
"Must I enumerate all the unpleasant symptoms? I can see no purpose to it. It will only serve to make you more miserable and convince you it would be best if you left, which I won't tolerate."
"But you suggested it yourself only a moment ago," Varhog reminded her.
"Yes, but I think we can make this work a few more days until we see what will happen with the baby. I had the idea to ask Arya if she has any explanations, since she seems to understand the logical nature of things. There must be a reason for these symptoms. Last night when you moved away before it started, I was able to fall asleep, so mild was my discomfort."
"So I'm going to keep my distance and you won't look at me and we'll sleep separately?" Varhog summarized. "It hardly sounds appealing."
Willow laughed despite herself, and the familiar sound Varhog loved so much made him smile faintly. "I think we can for a few days. As unpleasant as it sounds compared to our first day, it still feels infinitely better than you leaving."
Varhog nodded fervently. "Shall we sleep, then? I can see you're exhausted, and I am too."
"Yes, we shall." They stood, and Willow took his hand, though Varhog saw it required effort by how she clenched her jaw to keep her face blank.
Varhog sighed sadly. "Tell me what pain you feel," he insisted.
Willow gave in. "Constant pain in my head, blurry vision, lightheadedness, nausea, tightness in my throat, pain in my breasts and abdomen, spasms in my hands and feet, inability to relieve myself, burning at the touch of your skin, pain at the sound of your voice, deep anger, moodiness, vomiting . . ."
Varhog laughed humorlessly then clamped his lips together. "Sorry. All that? No wonder you wish me gone. I would too."
Willow smiled weakly but didn't look at him as his Willow would have. "I miss you already, Eartheyes."
Willow bowed her head in grief, and the tears started again. They were in the bedroom then, and Varhog guided her to the side of the bed where she had slept the previous night. She said, "I desperately wish it wasn't this way. If there was anything I could do, anything at all, I would. It has been completely involuntary."
"I trust you. Now lie down and sleep. I'll sleep on the floor again. I'm used to it. It's not any different from the ground on a hunt." Willow acted like she would protest, but Varhog saw it was what she wanted and walked across the room before she could speak.
Varhog lay down, forcing his mind to think of nothing, and sleep found him quickly.
-:-:-:-