The brown-haired, thin-faced assistant looked even paler when the mist of recent effort graced her brow. She was doing an admirable job of controlling the heaving of her chest, but the rising and falling of her bosom was still eye-catching.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Dresan grit his teeth. Since the first ironically polite intrusion into his spirit, Graz'zt had been carefully pushing his way farther and farther into the pure-blooded Tiefling's waking mind- which, terrifyingly enough for Dresan- caused thoughts and opinions so uncomfortably close to his own that he had trouble telling what he was actually thinking at any given time.
"Are you certain I can do nothing but bring you water?" the pure-blood Tiefling asked again, deciding against coming any closer to her.
Eunice nodded, getting some stray strands of hair stuck to her forehead in the process.
"If you like, I can bring the food in for you... make sure that his ankle is still straight? It's reasonable, to fear Drow. They are dangerous creatures-"
Just a hair more dangerous than she considers me, came the grating thought.
"It's fine, I... I'll be fine at it, in another few..." The young woman took a few more moments to finally get her breathing fully under her control. "Thank you, though."
I'm wasting my time being kind to her, when she fears me just as much as she fears the monster within.
"I'll go now," Dresan shot suddenly, turning his back on his grandfather's assistant to descend the stairs.
"Did you- do you, by any chance, know when Lady Druce might return?"
'So that I might hide in her skirts?' the thought played out in a mocking sing-song. There was no way for Dresan to tell whether it had been organic to his own mind, or whether Graz'zt was egging him on again. He froze, pressing his eyes completely shut, his fingers so tightly wrapped around the banister just before him that his fingertips whitened rapidly.
"She is at market," he forced himself to say in an amicable tone. "I know not when she will return from there."
"Oh, I forgot," Eunice replied in a strangely bouncy tone. "No matter; I'll just leave these here for now-"
Fear so thick it sinks into the flesh, makes the bones itch. She reeks of it, to the highest heavens, and to the lowest hells.
"-and wash this-"
"Give me-"
And as Dresan turned around to take hold of the cup, Eunice moved forward- the two ended up within inches of each other. The young woman's gaze met the middle aged man's, and for a moment, Dresan felt the same surge of infernal energy as he'd felt when he confronted his mother, days before.
I could crush her- destroy her, this minute. Obliterate her weak mind, and that abominable terror along with it. Utterly tear her spirit to shreds- show her what it is to have true power.
Eunice smiled winningly, like a teenager who'd just seen the first person upon whom her delight rested. It was not an ignorant grin, but instead betrayed a piercing awareness of exactly what had gone through his rapidly darkening mind.
"Thank you so much, my Lord Ranclyffe," she said in a breathy voice. "I-"
"Hawke," Dresan corrected, reaching forward to pluck the cup out of the younger woman's hands with a touch of guilt. The throbbing sensation within him would not abate, even though his mind suddenly argued against it. "Dresan Hawke, I- I took my wife's name."
"How sweet!" Eunice cried genuinely, clasping her hands in front of her chest as though the thought of a man taking his wife's name was just too much for her heart to bear while remaining within her.
Dresan clung to the thought of his wife, trying to muster within himself a tangible awareness that the woman to whom he now spoke was young enough to be a child to him.
"Come, Eunice-dear, let us bring this creature his food, and then be on your way. I'll explain to Battlemage Ranclyffe that I let you depart to enjoy the outdoors, of which, seeing not for himself the good, he thoughtlessly deprives you."
Now who is afraid?
Eunice turned around, retrieved the food tray from the floor, and stood up to look back at Dresan over her shoulder. "Shall we go, my lord?"
And Dresan, without verbally replying, simply nodded and moved past her to open the door to the scene of the supposedly near-violent incident.
The curtains were opened, allowing early afternoon sunshine to pour into the room. The bedclothes were whole and neatly folded, looking for all the world as though the last person to have touched them was Drussandra herself. The table and chair were precisely where they were supposed to be, and sitting calmly in the chair was the supposed culprit himself, who turned piercing crimson eyes toward the incoming male mage.
"Whoreson."
Dresan caught his breath, nearly dropping the cup as he did so. The single word, unspoken, unbidden, and certainly not original to his own mind, seemed to be pressed like a searing hot poker branded into his lungs. His left lung, to be perfectly precise.
"My lord?" Eunice asked, genuine concern glimmering in her tone. For all her prior reticence, she rushed around Dresan to put the tray down and look over it to him.
"Fine, Eunice, fine," the middle aged mage smiled tightly, looking down at Bahlzair's blank face.
"That's right. Lie to a divination student. Surely that will work."
Dresan winced, desperately trying not to be caught off guard again. But the dark Elf's face twisted into a wicked smirk, and his eyes flashed with the sort of sanguine enjoyment one might expect to see in the faces of attendees at a post-combat coliseum.
Eunice looked from Dresan to Bahlzair, then took a deep breath and let go of the tray before her.
"I've left the bandages outside," she commented briskly as she moved behind Dresan and back through the door. "Just one moment, and I'll have them back."
"Both monsters in one cage."
Dresan groaned to himself as he heard the door lock shut behind him. Crossing to the window on the other side of the room, he looked out to casually check the streets for either his mother, or his mother's mother.
"You're doing that," he said to Bahlzair acidly, tapping the frame of the window with his empty hand as he spoke. "How? What spell is it?"
"Wrong question."
After recovering from the amazing sensation that the words were being branded onto his left lung, Dresan turned furious eyes on the Drow behind him. "And how do you propose I do it? Leap from the window?"
"Would silence his voice forever, wouldn't it?"
"I can hardly solve the 'problem' of your patron haunting me by killing myself," Dresan breathed, too furious to wait for his body to cooperate.
"Don't pretend you haven't thought of it," Bahlzair scoffed, rising from the chair to walk slowly toward Dresan. "But since you are a coward, you live."
"Which of us is the bigger coward, then?" the pure-blood Tiefling demanded, his infernal rage skyrocketing, unchecked by his better sense. "Impertinent spiderspit- I should destroy you- no, punish you. Slowly. Mercilessly. According to the custom of your own, wicked, cursed, hideous-"
"Hideous? What else do you find distasteful, disgusting, or frightening? That, perhaps?," Bahlzair replied, pointing to the shadow that Dresan cast.
There appeared the image of a menacing shadow creature; magnificent, backward-curling horns crowned its head, and a flicking, spiked tail sprouted from its back. Where Dresan had Human-seeming, fleshy hands, the shadow creature had cornugon-like claws, and where the middle aged mage had feet, the creature sported unmistakable hooves. Deep within himself, Dresan had to admit that he was immensely pleased by the image- and as he did, the sensation of having had his lungs branded with hot irons faded.
"I... must question your... definition of frightening," the middle age mage mused at last, conscious of the fact that nearly an entire minute had gone by.
The dark Elf stood immediately behind Dresan, who turned slightly over his shoulder to notice the male creature's closeness. His spine straightened and stiffened when he felt a feather-light, adoring finger trail its way from the middle of his upper arm down toward the top of his wrist.
"Good," came the oddly soothing thought. It was as though instead of mercilessly searing through Dresan's chest, the words warmed it. "The truest shows of love and loyalty are found in the show of fearless power, not in mincing, mewling obeisance. You cannot deny this thought- it was your own, long before you set foot here. Consider this: did you pair yourself with a weak-willed, common woman, or with a headstrong warrior? Now, Eunice is much more than Terezio is allowing her to be. She can be set free, but she must recognize herself- as you have. Think of it- would it not have been better for you if someone had led you to your gifts sooner than you found them on your own? Why would you withhold the hand of guidance from someone, when you know how it feels to be without help? To be feared, despised all your life; a natural predator caged in by trembling prey?"
Dresan allowed a long, slow breath to escape him. He felt his heart pounding mercilessly in his chest, feeling as though it would soon burst past his lungs, through his ribs and flesh, and out into the chilly air. Oddly enough, the rest of his body relaxed, as though it were used to strange dark Elves venturing the touch of an eager, but careful paramour.
"Hold your hand a while; let me understand you," he replied at last, his voice unwilling to break a whisper. "What is it you ask of me, concerning this woman?"
Bahlzair stopped distracting the pure-blood Tiefling with his touch, but did not back up at all. This time, when the warm words manifested themselves on Dresan's heart, it was as though they were being slowly written there. "Keep yourself in her presence, and you will see for yourself who taught your mother to treat you the way she did."
This expressed, Bahlzair ran his finger along Dresan's arm one last time, then at last backed away from him. After a few moments of thought, the middle aged mage turned all the way around.
"By what spell do you inscribe words by fire into the hearts of your listeners?" he asked, looking intently into Bahlzair's crimson eyes. The glimmer of humor there didn't surprise him as much as he felt it should have.
"It is not the action of my will, but of yours," came the reply. "You might rather ask what it is that allows you to feel them."
Dresan made no answer, but returned to looking out of the window, so many thoughts and feelings swirling within him that he had little opportunity to tell from where they all came.
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