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the worst part of this is that in eirika’s rare moments of coherency, she knows that lyon has done nothing to help her. he has only hurt her. a part of eirika knows that this is not him anymore. this isn’t the lyon she knew, the lyon who she had loved.
it’s far too difficult to remember that this isn’t him on days like this where his magic is all that there is to pull her back together. on days like this, where his magic fixes the worst of her hurts, forces her back together, pulls the little parts that she’s lost back into something resembling a whole, where he takes her to his bed and lets her warm it for a little while, she sees him only as lyon.
lyon is so kind. he is so gentle. his cold hands feel good on her. they do something to alleviate the burning on her skin. her fingers, forced back onto her for a little while by his magic, almost feel when he holds them.
eirika is a torn doll, broken beyond any real repair, but lyon stitches her back together. he places a hand on the brutal gashes on her chest, the burns that curse her stomach, and then, as he does, she hurts less. wounds seal at his will. he wipes at her skin, then sits her beside him on his bed.
in the morning, eirika’s new master will pry her apart again, or perhaps, if he is gone, one of the other rough denizens of lyon’s court who want to prove their power over the former princess of renais will court her.
they will be cruel. eirika knows this, but here, laying still beside lyon, she closes her eyes. lyon is the only one she can trust. she can only bow to him and hope he will piece her back together.
she cannot die. lyon has whispered this to her. he will not let her die. no matter how much her body crumples, he will piece her together again.
—
in the morning, eirika’s new master comes. she is leashed and led from lyon’s room.
he takes her to a desolate courtyard. eirika feels his dagger on her skin, too eager in his hunger. he torments her till something of her long dead words break free in frantic cries.
when he tires of her, he lets her leash drop. eirika knows she cannot crawl away, but her terror seizes her. she tries to drag herself away from him.
he digs his lance into her. he pins her there, first with his lance, and then, with his cock, driving it into the hole that he leaves when he removes his lance.
eirika can only lay. she cannot speak. he pulls at her skin as he fucks her, nails digging in.
he leaves her there, staked to the ground.
lyon comes for her at night. he digs a hand into the hole in her chest, pushing her back into place, then seals the hole. he helps her to her feet, to his room.
eirika cries as he heals her.
—
in the morning, they leave her with the dogs. eirika can see lyon in the distance. she tries to call out to him, but he only watches, and eirika’s heart shatters again as she realizes that he will not save her from this.
—
in the evening, he heals her again. he stitches her back up.
—
her master takes his lance and he takes her hands and feet, leaves her with nothing to hold herself on. they take the fresh prisoners, fodder for the monsters, past eirika where she lays, twitching and shaking.
eirika hears one of them call out, and her master pulls out her tongue.
—
lyon brings her to his court. they chain her there.
she sits there, until a new man enters, haggard and limping, pulling a man in chains behind him. he stares at eirika. lyon tells her, a hand caressing her face, that their guest has captured a spy from renais. eirika cares nothing for the familiar man, his blond hair bloody and ragged. nothing in eirika cares. eirika cannot cry. her eyes no longer make tears.
lyon laughs. eirika cannot tell what they say.
the blond man yells. he screams at lyon, calls for eirika till a sword meets his neck.
eirika can almost remember his name.
the man who’d captured him is given eirika’s lead.
she knows that will happen. she is his reward. he will hurt her. eirika lays, silent, in the room she is placed in. she does not care.
but
his hands do not hurt her. eirika hears his ragged breath. he fiddles with something in his stinking coat, wincing as he raises his arm.
he is...familiar. eirika stares, eyes blank, as he moves. he combines the powder from a pocket with the liquid, shaking it briefly.
he settles in the bed by eirika. she tries to remember him.
“i am sorry.” his voice is low, broken and desolate. “my lady. we did not know. i will—,” his voice cracks, “end this.”
eirika does recognize him. she knows him beneath the grime and new scars, his hair cut close to his skull.
if she could cry, she would.
eirika stares at seth.
she tries to make her hands reach for him, but all she can do is shake.
seth lights something, sparking the flint and steel. eirika feels the heat begin to build. the fire licks at her, licks at seth, and he cries out.
the door cracks.
eirika sees her master. so often, he watches when the other men take her. he strides towards seth, lance at the ready. he knows. he has to know.
seth lowers the liquid he mixed to the fire.
the heat explodes. a scream is torn from eirika’s lips as the fire blooms outward, encompassing the room, burning away at her skin. eirika cannot move. she cannot see.
she hears seth scream.
eirika hopes this will kill her.
—
—
—
lyon takes her hand and tugs her to her feet, and eirika cries.