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fellowshippers2005-12-30 05:18 pm
lucky-jack.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-12-30 05:18 pm
The Year of the Gods. Ch9: Emptiness DM/EW AU
Dominic nodded at the warrior who was so subtly guarding Garren as the little boy played with his wooden sword in the doorway of the hut. The child muttered to himself as he raised the weapon to strike an errant cobweb and laughed and blinked when a droplet of water, dislodged by the violent attack, dripped onto his face and down his nose. Wiping it away with the back of his hand, he readied himself for attack once more, sword held firmly in both hands, feet planted as he had been taught by the warrior band, for maximum steadiness. "Slash and parry", he chanted, "slash and parry".
"Stop that!", Dominic's tone was harsh, causing the guard to glance sharply at his leader and Garren to drop his sword in surprise. "You may go", said Dominic, quieter now, indicating that the warrior should leave him alone with the boy. The man nodded, and with barely a glance backwards, he retreated to the warmth of his hut which he had coveted all morning.
Garren's features were as open as his father's and his eyes as clear, blue and full of expression. The similarity struck Dominic like a knife to the heart and he found that he could no longer meet the little boy's gaze.
Recovering from his initial surprise, Garren's face lit up with pride and excitement. Dominic was the leader of the warband that he aspired to join. When he came to adulthood he would ride with Dominic and prove himself in battle as a warrior worthy of a place by the chief's side. Because Cendric was old and he would have walked into the shadow world by the time Garren grew up. Cendric scared Garren and so did Dominic in a way. For weeks after he had seen the chief's son laying with his father as a man lays with a woman, Garren had feared the hardened and grim faced warrior. But soon, under the tutelage of the war band and of Danell, he had come to realise that Dominic could do this because he was a beloved of the gods and not a mere weakling like his father who had not proved worthy in the world of men and so should be punished. Now Garren revered Dominic and was filled with awe whenever the great man deigned to speak to him, to acknowledge him, to look upon him with eyes that seemed dangerous yet......Garren was not sure what Dominic thought of when that blue-grey gaze lighted upon him, the expression was always unreadable. Somewhat affectionate? Somewhat appraising? Somewhat dangerous? Nevertheless Garren was warmed by it as any boy is by the acknowledgment of a hero.
"Will you show me how to hunt on horseback?" asked Garren, eagerly turning to get his cloak which lay by the fire in the hut. "Or will we go out with the men to set the traps?" The boy picked up his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before reaching the doorway once more. "Will you teach me how to...?"
"No", Dominic's voice was cold and expressionless and brought Garren's chatter to a stuttering halt.
"But...", Garren looked up into Dominic's face, yet the man would not meet his eyes.
"Follow me", Dominic ordered and set off towards the shelter of the trees on the edge of the settlement.
Garren ran behind Dominic, but could never quite catch him as the warrior strode grimly on in front, not once looking behind but trusting that he had hold enough on the boy's heart that he would follow willingly.
Entering the dim shade of the wood, Dominic turned and pulled the boy towards a fallen tree-trunk, thick with lichen and still sparkling with the early morning frost that had pierced Dominic's skin in the stone circle and was now working it's way into his heart and soul.
"Sit", he commanded, but kept pacing himself until Garren had sat down. He could feel the boy's gaze upon him, so trusting and full of admiration and that knowledge made him feel sick. Dominic drew in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes closed. But in that forced darkness, Lijah's face came to mind as he had last seen him that morning, his eyes sad and his gaze accusing as he, yet again, had refused Dominic the permission that he had sought.
'Would it had been differrent', Dominic thought, 'Had we been free...." But always, the ghost of Lijah's voice interrupted him, "I am not free". Dominic fought down a nausea and gritted his teeth. He could do this. He had to do this. For all their sakes, he had to do this.
"It is cold", came Garren's little voice behind him, slightly hesitant at first but soon assuming the candour and confidence of youth. "I will have some warm milk when we return to the village and perhaps when I am older I will have mead like the men and be served by the women there. Like my father serves you all, willingly because he knows he is weak. When I am older I will take slaves as you do, Dominic, and I will have them serve me warm mead each day during the frosts when I have come home hunting. Perhaps we shall get my father to cook us whatever we catch from the traps today and serve it to us in the big hall and......"
And Dominic was upon him. Garren screamed at the sudden attack but a hand was clamped over his mouth as he was carried further into the shade of the trees. Struggling, he clawed at Dominic's arms and succeeded in biting the hand that was almost suffocating him now, causing Dominic to drop him. Garren scrambled to his feet and turned to run but was arrested by a tug on his cloak. He span round and was caught by a stinging blow to the face. Stunned, he sat on the ground and, eternal shame for an apprentice warrior, began to cry like the mere child he was, hiding his face in his hands in the hope that he wouldn't be seen.
Had Garren been watching, he would have seen the struggle going on inside Dominic. The intense anger that Dominic had felt when Garren had so maligned his father, had turned to shame when he realised that he had been an instigator in such thoughts and feelings. His attack on the boy had been instinctive, outraged and full of self-pity, but now that Garren was sitting on the ground, the tears falling silently down his face, looking for all the world like Lijah, Dominic wanted only to pick him up and hold him close. The feeling of tenderness was almost alien to him, yet it swept over him like an eagle descending upon its kill. He fought it. After all, what good was tenderness in a life so brutal and empty as his?
Kneeling on the cold, uneven ground, Dominic grasped Garren's hands and pulled them away from his face. The little boy would not meet his gaze and so Dominic roughly pushed the boy's chin up and forced the child to look at him. Challenged him to acknowledge the emptiness in Dominic's soul.
"It is winter", Dominic began, deliberately keeping his voice low and his eyes unblinking. "and the gods are laughing at you Garren". Garren shook his head but Dominic stilled it with a firm hand. "Yes, they laugh because you have been their great joke as you have been ours also. You will never make a warrior, never make a man, but it has been amusing watching you try".
"I thought", blurted Garren, "I thought you were pleased with me".
Dominic forced himself to laugh." Yes, you will make a wonderful slave someday, just like your worthless father. You are the grandson of a chieftain and when you are older and your father is toothless and unattractive, I will take you to my bed as my new wife".
Garren's face was as pale as snow and his large blue eyes, wide with fear and betrayal. "But the gods", he protested. "The gods said.."
"The gods do not rule here Garren, I do", spat Dominic. "Your father was a great warrior and the gods demanded his release or his death, but I chose to keep him my slave because the gods do not rule me, Garren. Lijah was a threat to me and so I humiliate him daily for my pleasure. He sucks my cock, little boy and I fuck him and he screams like a bitch and cries like you".
Garren's shock turned to anger as he struggled to be released from Dominic's iron grip. "It's not true", he yelled, "it's not. My father would have escaped if that was true. He would".
Dominic stilled the boy and leaned as close to his face as he could get, so that he could feel the flutter of the child's eyelashes against his own skin. "I told your father that should he try to escape, we would kill you. Little boy. He endures all to protect you. And you are not worthy of such devotion".
The child had gone stiff with shock as the import of Dominic's words really sank in. His whole world had just been turned upside down and he no longer knew what to believe or who to turn to. Dominic released him and the boy merely sat where he dropped, hugging his arms around his chest for the little warmth it afforded him. Dominic watched him, different emotions coursing through him as a hare courses through the fields when it is harried. After a few moments, Garren looked up, confusion and fear on his face. "But why tell me this then? I don't understand".
Dominic's heart pounded but he made himself look the boy in the eye. "Because I tire of the game and I tire of you trailing round after me and my war band and I tire of your bragging, cocksure manner. You will never be Brigantes, you will never ride with me in battle and you will never leave me. Because you know if you try and escape, I will kill your father. You are my slave, little Garren and that is all you will ever be. And when you are older you will take over your father's duties as my whore. Never forget that. Boy".
Dominic took stock of the huddled little figure at his feet and then spat before turning round to leave the wood. With his back turned and as his feet found the path back to the huts, Dominic called out, "And stay out of my way today Garren. There is plenty of work at the fish nets in the stream. I expect fish to be served at my table tonight. That should keep you busy".
The harsh chill of the wind was a shock after the relative shelter of the trees and it pulled Dominic up mid stride. He stood as still and as cold as a standing stone, fighting the urge to turn and see what Garren was doing and at the same time, steeling himself at what he still must do. His soul was shattering and he must deal it the last crushing blow. For all was now emptiness.
Inside, the hut was smoky and warm and very dark bar the dim burn of the fire at its centre. Dominic stood in the doorway and searched the gloom with smarting eyes until he found what he sought. On the far side sat Lijah, his gaze concentrated on the bone needle and wool threads he had in his hand. His fine, snow skin glowed red in the firelight and his brown-black hair fell in wisps over his ears. His dress clung to the contours of his body, slipping slightly off a shoulder to reveal the smooth curve of his neck and a blue tattoo from his old, far off life. Dominic had never felt so weak and alone as he watched the figure of the man he loved so very much. Every instinct in his body shouted and screamed 'don't do this', and he nearly gave in and walked away. But too late. Without looking up from his work or stirring in any way, Lijah had known he was there. "Come in from the cold", he said softly.
Tears pricked Dominic's eyes as he forced his feet forwards towards where Lijah sat and lowered himself down so that he was sitting slightly behind him. "I fear I will never be warm again", whispered Dominic, his voice gravelly and thick.
Lijah's head turned ever so slightly and, after a moments hesitation, he leaned backwards so that his back was resting against Dominic's chest. Dominic, allowing himself a precious moment of peace, wrapped his arms around Lijah's waist and nuzzled his neck, burying his face there and inhaling the smoky scent of his lover. Lijah relaxed and let himself be held, his head dropping back a little and his cheek resting against Dominic's hair. After a few moments of silence, Dominic stirred and, still keeping Lijah in his embrace, moved to his side a little and looked into his face. Lijah could not fathom what he saw in Dominic's eyes, but a strange fear took him and he was, for a moment, paralysed. Fate is all.
"What?", questioned Lijah, bringing a hand up to Dominic's face and tracing a finger down his cheek. It seemed Dominic was filled with a sadness and a hopelessness that was in stark contrast to his usual anger and passion, and Lijah did not know what to make of it, or of his own apprehension.
Dominic gazed at Lijah's face, taking in every detail before shaking his head sadly. Tilting forwards his let his forehead rest against Lijah's and then pushed forward ever so slightly until his lips rested against the other man's.
"Dominic?" The vibrations of his own name spoken against his own lips, was more than he could bear and he leaned in to capture Lijah's mouth in an ever deepening kiss. He allowed his hands to rove up and down Lijah's back, over the curve of his shoulders, through his hair, and Lijah responded likewise, tilting his neck for Dominic to place kisses on his throat.
Dominic dipped his head and kissed that throat, laying his cheek against the pulse there as if trying to absorb some life and vital heat into his own cold, empty body. "I love you", he whispered against the smooth skin there. "I love you". Then as suddenly as he had made his approach to Lijah, he pulled away from him and stood up, marching over to the door of the hut and standing with his back to the figure in the centre, silhouetted dark and silent against the harsh winter light.
"Dominic?", Lijah asked again, confused.
Dominic shook his head, not trusting himself to turn round. "I need my breeches and tunic washing for the feast tomorrow. Take them to the stream now and do it".
"But...", Lijah began, the fear finding its way into his voice.
"Do it", shouted Dominic. And then he was gone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan and his band were escorted into the Deceangli territory by a deadly and silent guard. The Brigantian deputation had placed their swords into the ground on the village borders to show that they had come in peace, but this did not stop the Deceangli from being suspicious. The Brigantes did not merely walk into your territory unsupervised. There was no enemy like an old enemy.
Morgan could feel the spear at his cheek and one at his back as he was prodded and poked into the chief's presence. Darragh looked a lot like his son, but was bigger built and weightier, his hair grizzled and his skin showing all of his great age. yet, if you looked closely enough, Lijah was there, in the clearness of the blue eyes, in the silent way the man held himself. But perhaps, Morgan hoped, there was none of the intelligence that so marked the son. Morgan's musings were cut short as he felt a blow to the back of his knees.
"Kneel in the presence of the chief", barked a voice as Morgan sank to the ground. He forced himself to keep an even temper as he turned a speculative face to Darragh.
"Well?" Questioned the chief, his brow creased with the effort of trying to second guess his enemy.
"I am Morgan, leader of the warband of the Brigantes and I bring you news of your son and your grandson". Morgan was gratified with the murmur than ran round the gathered throng in the settlement.
Darragh frowned. "My sons and grandson are dead. I have seen the body of my eldest boy, Dafydd, and I assume the others shared his fate. Killed by your war band. What is to stop me taking my revenge?" There was another murmur, this time of assent from the crowd.
"If you kill me, my lord, you have revenge on the individual, but if you let me live, I can make you a deal which will give you the territories you have dreamed of. Lijah is alive and brings shame to your tribe as I shall describe to you. Garren also lives and shows rare promise. My lord, I can give you the Brigantes".
Darragh stood silent for a moment and contemplated the enormity of this news before turning a shrewd eye to Morgan. "And what will you gain out of this, warrior?"
Morgan smiled...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lijah walked slowly through the woods to the stream, Dominic's kisses still lingering on his skin and warming him in ways he could not help but acknowledge. His spirit was in turmoil and he felt Dominic's sudden rejection of him like an icy finger pressing into that warmth, sending shivers of apprehension down his spine.
The stream was edged by ice in the shallower places and a little way down from where he stood, he could see where the fish traps were placed, probably not very fruitful at this time of year. Lijah crouched down and undid the bundle he had made of Dominic's clothes, laying him out on the ground beside him and losing himself in contemplation once more. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that the icy cold hand on the back of his neck made him gasp and spin round, ready to defend himself from whoever attacked him. But when he faced his assailant, his heart skipped a beat and the words of anger dried in his throat, for there stood his son Garren.
"Father", came the little voice, apprehensive and hoarse with tears, "can we go home now?"
Lijah could barely trust the proof of his own eyes and ears and he crouched for a second, rooted to the spot before pulling his boy to him and folding him a tight, possessive embrace. "But Garren, how...?Are you not being guarded?" Lijah pulled back to search his son's face for an answer.
Garren looked at his father and burst into tears again. "He'll kill you if I escape, he said. He said that the gods laughed at us all. He told me to get the fish for tea from the stream..."
Lijah, through his cautious joy, felt that icy pang strike again and the apprehension that had plagued him all morning grow to a certainty that filled his chest to bursting and made the tears prick at his eyes. He hugged Garren to himself . "Who said this Garren? Who told you to come to the stream?".
"Dominic", sobbed Garren. "He, he'll kill us".
And now Lijah couldn't stop the tears as he shook his head against his son's neck. "No son, he has set us free", he whispered quietly.
Garren pulled away, looking scared and confused. "No father, you're wrong. We have to go now or he'll kill us. Please".
Lijah gazed at his son, through salt-blind eyes and felt the indecision root him to the spot. He was free at last, Dominic had freed him against all hope. And now how was he to leave? Because with his bodily freedom came the freedom to acknowledge his soul, and his soul threatened to break in half if he walked away. He looked down at Dominic's clothes, the clothes Dominic had equipped him with and then back at his son, so dependent on his father. He knew what he had to do, but how? How do you walk away?
Garren took Lijah's hand and pulled him until he stood, then led him, as a parent leads a child, through the trees, picking up the clothes as he passed. After a few minutes they stopped and Garren handed the clothes to his father. "Put these on father", he pleaded. "You are a man again now".
Lijah felt like one dead as he slowly took of his robe and exchanged it for the tunic and breeches. When he was dressed, he looked at his son once more and then back towards the village, now obscured by trees. Garren once more tugged at his hand. "Quickly father, he will kill you".
Lijah reached down and picked Garren up, holding his son to him for the life he could feel there, much as Dominic had held him and taken strength from the warm beat of his pulse earlier. And there was warmth and comfort there but there was also an awful, cold emptiness that could not be filled. "My son" whispered Lijah, turning and walking away from the village. "They cannot kill me. I am already dead".
As always, former chapters can be found here at: http://www.geocities.com/voyeur_ism/Becs_index.htm or at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saura_'s highly recommended site here: http://personales.ya.com/europa/becs/
"Stop that!", Dominic's tone was harsh, causing the guard to glance sharply at his leader and Garren to drop his sword in surprise. "You may go", said Dominic, quieter now, indicating that the warrior should leave him alone with the boy. The man nodded, and with barely a glance backwards, he retreated to the warmth of his hut which he had coveted all morning.
Garren's features were as open as his father's and his eyes as clear, blue and full of expression. The similarity struck Dominic like a knife to the heart and he found that he could no longer meet the little boy's gaze.
Recovering from his initial surprise, Garren's face lit up with pride and excitement. Dominic was the leader of the warband that he aspired to join. When he came to adulthood he would ride with Dominic and prove himself in battle as a warrior worthy of a place by the chief's side. Because Cendric was old and he would have walked into the shadow world by the time Garren grew up. Cendric scared Garren and so did Dominic in a way. For weeks after he had seen the chief's son laying with his father as a man lays with a woman, Garren had feared the hardened and grim faced warrior. But soon, under the tutelage of the war band and of Danell, he had come to realise that Dominic could do this because he was a beloved of the gods and not a mere weakling like his father who had not proved worthy in the world of men and so should be punished. Now Garren revered Dominic and was filled with awe whenever the great man deigned to speak to him, to acknowledge him, to look upon him with eyes that seemed dangerous yet......Garren was not sure what Dominic thought of when that blue-grey gaze lighted upon him, the expression was always unreadable. Somewhat affectionate? Somewhat appraising? Somewhat dangerous? Nevertheless Garren was warmed by it as any boy is by the acknowledgment of a hero.
"Will you show me how to hunt on horseback?" asked Garren, eagerly turning to get his cloak which lay by the fire in the hut. "Or will we go out with the men to set the traps?" The boy picked up his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before reaching the doorway once more. "Will you teach me how to...?"
"No", Dominic's voice was cold and expressionless and brought Garren's chatter to a stuttering halt.
"But...", Garren looked up into Dominic's face, yet the man would not meet his eyes.
"Follow me", Dominic ordered and set off towards the shelter of the trees on the edge of the settlement.
Garren ran behind Dominic, but could never quite catch him as the warrior strode grimly on in front, not once looking behind but trusting that he had hold enough on the boy's heart that he would follow willingly.
Entering the dim shade of the wood, Dominic turned and pulled the boy towards a fallen tree-trunk, thick with lichen and still sparkling with the early morning frost that had pierced Dominic's skin in the stone circle and was now working it's way into his heart and soul.
"Sit", he commanded, but kept pacing himself until Garren had sat down. He could feel the boy's gaze upon him, so trusting and full of admiration and that knowledge made him feel sick. Dominic drew in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes closed. But in that forced darkness, Lijah's face came to mind as he had last seen him that morning, his eyes sad and his gaze accusing as he, yet again, had refused Dominic the permission that he had sought.
'Would it had been differrent', Dominic thought, 'Had we been free...." But always, the ghost of Lijah's voice interrupted him, "I am not free". Dominic fought down a nausea and gritted his teeth. He could do this. He had to do this. For all their sakes, he had to do this.
"It is cold", came Garren's little voice behind him, slightly hesitant at first but soon assuming the candour and confidence of youth. "I will have some warm milk when we return to the village and perhaps when I am older I will have mead like the men and be served by the women there. Like my father serves you all, willingly because he knows he is weak. When I am older I will take slaves as you do, Dominic, and I will have them serve me warm mead each day during the frosts when I have come home hunting. Perhaps we shall get my father to cook us whatever we catch from the traps today and serve it to us in the big hall and......"
And Dominic was upon him. Garren screamed at the sudden attack but a hand was clamped over his mouth as he was carried further into the shade of the trees. Struggling, he clawed at Dominic's arms and succeeded in biting the hand that was almost suffocating him now, causing Dominic to drop him. Garren scrambled to his feet and turned to run but was arrested by a tug on his cloak. He span round and was caught by a stinging blow to the face. Stunned, he sat on the ground and, eternal shame for an apprentice warrior, began to cry like the mere child he was, hiding his face in his hands in the hope that he wouldn't be seen.
Had Garren been watching, he would have seen the struggle going on inside Dominic. The intense anger that Dominic had felt when Garren had so maligned his father, had turned to shame when he realised that he had been an instigator in such thoughts and feelings. His attack on the boy had been instinctive, outraged and full of self-pity, but now that Garren was sitting on the ground, the tears falling silently down his face, looking for all the world like Lijah, Dominic wanted only to pick him up and hold him close. The feeling of tenderness was almost alien to him, yet it swept over him like an eagle descending upon its kill. He fought it. After all, what good was tenderness in a life so brutal and empty as his?
Kneeling on the cold, uneven ground, Dominic grasped Garren's hands and pulled them away from his face. The little boy would not meet his gaze and so Dominic roughly pushed the boy's chin up and forced the child to look at him. Challenged him to acknowledge the emptiness in Dominic's soul.
"It is winter", Dominic began, deliberately keeping his voice low and his eyes unblinking. "and the gods are laughing at you Garren". Garren shook his head but Dominic stilled it with a firm hand. "Yes, they laugh because you have been their great joke as you have been ours also. You will never make a warrior, never make a man, but it has been amusing watching you try".
"I thought", blurted Garren, "I thought you were pleased with me".
Dominic forced himself to laugh." Yes, you will make a wonderful slave someday, just like your worthless father. You are the grandson of a chieftain and when you are older and your father is toothless and unattractive, I will take you to my bed as my new wife".
Garren's face was as pale as snow and his large blue eyes, wide with fear and betrayal. "But the gods", he protested. "The gods said.."
"The gods do not rule here Garren, I do", spat Dominic. "Your father was a great warrior and the gods demanded his release or his death, but I chose to keep him my slave because the gods do not rule me, Garren. Lijah was a threat to me and so I humiliate him daily for my pleasure. He sucks my cock, little boy and I fuck him and he screams like a bitch and cries like you".
Garren's shock turned to anger as he struggled to be released from Dominic's iron grip. "It's not true", he yelled, "it's not. My father would have escaped if that was true. He would".
Dominic stilled the boy and leaned as close to his face as he could get, so that he could feel the flutter of the child's eyelashes against his own skin. "I told your father that should he try to escape, we would kill you. Little boy. He endures all to protect you. And you are not worthy of such devotion".
The child had gone stiff with shock as the import of Dominic's words really sank in. His whole world had just been turned upside down and he no longer knew what to believe or who to turn to. Dominic released him and the boy merely sat where he dropped, hugging his arms around his chest for the little warmth it afforded him. Dominic watched him, different emotions coursing through him as a hare courses through the fields when it is harried. After a few moments, Garren looked up, confusion and fear on his face. "But why tell me this then? I don't understand".
Dominic's heart pounded but he made himself look the boy in the eye. "Because I tire of the game and I tire of you trailing round after me and my war band and I tire of your bragging, cocksure manner. You will never be Brigantes, you will never ride with me in battle and you will never leave me. Because you know if you try and escape, I will kill your father. You are my slave, little Garren and that is all you will ever be. And when you are older you will take over your father's duties as my whore. Never forget that. Boy".
Dominic took stock of the huddled little figure at his feet and then spat before turning round to leave the wood. With his back turned and as his feet found the path back to the huts, Dominic called out, "And stay out of my way today Garren. There is plenty of work at the fish nets in the stream. I expect fish to be served at my table tonight. That should keep you busy".
The harsh chill of the wind was a shock after the relative shelter of the trees and it pulled Dominic up mid stride. He stood as still and as cold as a standing stone, fighting the urge to turn and see what Garren was doing and at the same time, steeling himself at what he still must do. His soul was shattering and he must deal it the last crushing blow. For all was now emptiness.
Inside, the hut was smoky and warm and very dark bar the dim burn of the fire at its centre. Dominic stood in the doorway and searched the gloom with smarting eyes until he found what he sought. On the far side sat Lijah, his gaze concentrated on the bone needle and wool threads he had in his hand. His fine, snow skin glowed red in the firelight and his brown-black hair fell in wisps over his ears. His dress clung to the contours of his body, slipping slightly off a shoulder to reveal the smooth curve of his neck and a blue tattoo from his old, far off life. Dominic had never felt so weak and alone as he watched the figure of the man he loved so very much. Every instinct in his body shouted and screamed 'don't do this', and he nearly gave in and walked away. But too late. Without looking up from his work or stirring in any way, Lijah had known he was there. "Come in from the cold", he said softly.
Tears pricked Dominic's eyes as he forced his feet forwards towards where Lijah sat and lowered himself down so that he was sitting slightly behind him. "I fear I will never be warm again", whispered Dominic, his voice gravelly and thick.
Lijah's head turned ever so slightly and, after a moments hesitation, he leaned backwards so that his back was resting against Dominic's chest. Dominic, allowing himself a precious moment of peace, wrapped his arms around Lijah's waist and nuzzled his neck, burying his face there and inhaling the smoky scent of his lover. Lijah relaxed and let himself be held, his head dropping back a little and his cheek resting against Dominic's hair. After a few moments of silence, Dominic stirred and, still keeping Lijah in his embrace, moved to his side a little and looked into his face. Lijah could not fathom what he saw in Dominic's eyes, but a strange fear took him and he was, for a moment, paralysed. Fate is all.
"What?", questioned Lijah, bringing a hand up to Dominic's face and tracing a finger down his cheek. It seemed Dominic was filled with a sadness and a hopelessness that was in stark contrast to his usual anger and passion, and Lijah did not know what to make of it, or of his own apprehension.
Dominic gazed at Lijah's face, taking in every detail before shaking his head sadly. Tilting forwards his let his forehead rest against Lijah's and then pushed forward ever so slightly until his lips rested against the other man's.
"Dominic?" The vibrations of his own name spoken against his own lips, was more than he could bear and he leaned in to capture Lijah's mouth in an ever deepening kiss. He allowed his hands to rove up and down Lijah's back, over the curve of his shoulders, through his hair, and Lijah responded likewise, tilting his neck for Dominic to place kisses on his throat.
Dominic dipped his head and kissed that throat, laying his cheek against the pulse there as if trying to absorb some life and vital heat into his own cold, empty body. "I love you", he whispered against the smooth skin there. "I love you". Then as suddenly as he had made his approach to Lijah, he pulled away from him and stood up, marching over to the door of the hut and standing with his back to the figure in the centre, silhouetted dark and silent against the harsh winter light.
"Dominic?", Lijah asked again, confused.
Dominic shook his head, not trusting himself to turn round. "I need my breeches and tunic washing for the feast tomorrow. Take them to the stream now and do it".
"But...", Lijah began, the fear finding its way into his voice.
"Do it", shouted Dominic. And then he was gone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan and his band were escorted into the Deceangli territory by a deadly and silent guard. The Brigantian deputation had placed their swords into the ground on the village borders to show that they had come in peace, but this did not stop the Deceangli from being suspicious. The Brigantes did not merely walk into your territory unsupervised. There was no enemy like an old enemy.
Morgan could feel the spear at his cheek and one at his back as he was prodded and poked into the chief's presence. Darragh looked a lot like his son, but was bigger built and weightier, his hair grizzled and his skin showing all of his great age. yet, if you looked closely enough, Lijah was there, in the clearness of the blue eyes, in the silent way the man held himself. But perhaps, Morgan hoped, there was none of the intelligence that so marked the son. Morgan's musings were cut short as he felt a blow to the back of his knees.
"Kneel in the presence of the chief", barked a voice as Morgan sank to the ground. He forced himself to keep an even temper as he turned a speculative face to Darragh.
"Well?" Questioned the chief, his brow creased with the effort of trying to second guess his enemy.
"I am Morgan, leader of the warband of the Brigantes and I bring you news of your son and your grandson". Morgan was gratified with the murmur than ran round the gathered throng in the settlement.
Darragh frowned. "My sons and grandson are dead. I have seen the body of my eldest boy, Dafydd, and I assume the others shared his fate. Killed by your war band. What is to stop me taking my revenge?" There was another murmur, this time of assent from the crowd.
"If you kill me, my lord, you have revenge on the individual, but if you let me live, I can make you a deal which will give you the territories you have dreamed of. Lijah is alive and brings shame to your tribe as I shall describe to you. Garren also lives and shows rare promise. My lord, I can give you the Brigantes".
Darragh stood silent for a moment and contemplated the enormity of this news before turning a shrewd eye to Morgan. "And what will you gain out of this, warrior?"
Morgan smiled...
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Lijah walked slowly through the woods to the stream, Dominic's kisses still lingering on his skin and warming him in ways he could not help but acknowledge. His spirit was in turmoil and he felt Dominic's sudden rejection of him like an icy finger pressing into that warmth, sending shivers of apprehension down his spine.
The stream was edged by ice in the shallower places and a little way down from where he stood, he could see where the fish traps were placed, probably not very fruitful at this time of year. Lijah crouched down and undid the bundle he had made of Dominic's clothes, laying him out on the ground beside him and losing himself in contemplation once more. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that the icy cold hand on the back of his neck made him gasp and spin round, ready to defend himself from whoever attacked him. But when he faced his assailant, his heart skipped a beat and the words of anger dried in his throat, for there stood his son Garren.
"Father", came the little voice, apprehensive and hoarse with tears, "can we go home now?"
Lijah could barely trust the proof of his own eyes and ears and he crouched for a second, rooted to the spot before pulling his boy to him and folding him a tight, possessive embrace. "But Garren, how...?Are you not being guarded?" Lijah pulled back to search his son's face for an answer.
Garren looked at his father and burst into tears again. "He'll kill you if I escape, he said. He said that the gods laughed at us all. He told me to get the fish for tea from the stream..."
Lijah, through his cautious joy, felt that icy pang strike again and the apprehension that had plagued him all morning grow to a certainty that filled his chest to bursting and made the tears prick at his eyes. He hugged Garren to himself . "Who said this Garren? Who told you to come to the stream?".
"Dominic", sobbed Garren. "He, he'll kill us".
And now Lijah couldn't stop the tears as he shook his head against his son's neck. "No son, he has set us free", he whispered quietly.
Garren pulled away, looking scared and confused. "No father, you're wrong. We have to go now or he'll kill us. Please".
Lijah gazed at his son, through salt-blind eyes and felt the indecision root him to the spot. He was free at last, Dominic had freed him against all hope. And now how was he to leave? Because with his bodily freedom came the freedom to acknowledge his soul, and his soul threatened to break in half if he walked away. He looked down at Dominic's clothes, the clothes Dominic had equipped him with and then back at his son, so dependent on his father. He knew what he had to do, but how? How do you walk away?
Garren took Lijah's hand and pulled him until he stood, then led him, as a parent leads a child, through the trees, picking up the clothes as he passed. After a few minutes they stopped and Garren handed the clothes to his father. "Put these on father", he pleaded. "You are a man again now".
Lijah felt like one dead as he slowly took of his robe and exchanged it for the tunic and breeches. When he was dressed, he looked at his son once more and then back towards the village, now obscured by trees. Garren once more tugged at his hand. "Quickly father, he will kill you".
Lijah reached down and picked Garren up, holding his son to him for the life he could feel there, much as Dominic had held him and taken strength from the warm beat of his pulse earlier. And there was warmth and comfort there but there was also an awful, cold emptiness that could not be filled. "My son" whispered Lijah, turning and walking away from the village. "They cannot kill me. I am already dead".
As always, former chapters can be found here at: http://www.geocities.com/voyeur_ism/Becs_index.htm or at
saura_'s highly recommended site here: http://personales.ya.com/europa/becs/
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... and now the chapter is printed and now I am about to delight myself on it! *grins madly*
Would come back to make a proper feedback!
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Thanks for reading!
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