Chapter Text
“Well executed, da’len.” The warmth of his god’s smile had melted the distant ache in his chest the instant he stepped through the eluvian’s shimmering surface, at least temporarily. It was replaced with pride for having earned favor, for having proven his commitment with more than words.
Elgar’nan turned to leave him there all too soon however; Mithrahn couldn’t help the confusion that crossed his features. He took a few quick steps to draw up alongside the other man, trying to match his pace despite the disparity in their strides.
“Did I…are you displeased?”
“No.”
“Is that all, then? I have struck a heavy blow against our enemies.” Something in his gut twisted as he called them enemies, but he shoved it aside; Elgar’nan’s approval was worth more than they ever could have given. “Is that not worth celebrating?” He tried his best to contain the indignation bubbling beneath his surface. His chest had swelled with self importance for having provided such a setback, but the lack of fanfare for what felt like such a fundamentally world shifting action in his own mind did pluck at a certain nerve.
“Do you expect me to laud you in excess for carrying out the task you were commanded to perform?” Elgar’nan stopped short, turning just enough to sneer downward at him. “Your obedience is owed; I will not coddle you and fawn every time you strike where I demand.”
“But I-” he began, hands flexing. Mithrahn felt his frustration shrivel in his chest. “…of course.” He fixed his eyes at a point on the ground. “Forgive me.”
“Mind yourself in the future; that pride of yours will do you no more favors than Fen’Harel’s did him. I should hate to find you too much like your former master.”
“I am not like him.” Mithrahn nearly spat, unable to stop himself.
“I believe that you do not wish to be.” Elgar’nan turned away from him again, and Mithrahn simply remained standing stock-still for a long while after he’d gone.
—
The miniscule thorns woven into his handmade lash drew blood as readily as any weapon, but he bit down on the cry that swelled in his throat as he swung it over his shoulder again. He felt blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his back and down his sides; it pooled at a point just below his stomach and dripped to the ground below where he knelt, his upper half supported by the outstretched arm not wielding the whip. There was only the barest hint of a breeze through the secluded courtyard he’d selected to carry out his self imposed penance, but it was enough to make the shallow cuts sting as it ghosted along his back. The pain brought with it release, every drip of his blood carrying his wretched focuses out of him and letting them seep into the earth.
“Pride,” he muttered, flicking the whip against his back again. “Hesitancy.” Another strike. “Disloyalty.” Another. “Faithlessness.” Another. He paused, breathing heavily, and swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. “ Pride. ”
He let the lash fall from his hand after one final swing, then dug his fingers into the dirt. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, but he did not allow himself to sob. He sat back on his haunches, head pointed to the sky, and took a deep breath as the sting began to abate. He could feel the blood beginning to dry, becoming sticky and cracking all along his skin. The added discomfort served to drive the lasting point of the exercise home.
Quiet overtook the courtyard as he continued to kneel, letting the last of the adrenaline ebb from him. When he moved, the stinging discomfort made itself known all over again; he indulged himself with a sharp intake of breath as he bent forward to retrieve the lash.
“I knew I scented blood…feeling penitent, are we?”
Mithrahn jerked in surprise, which sent a flare of pain along his back. Ghilan’nain’s approach had been so nearly silent that he had missed it entirely, but the instant her voice registered through his brief panic he bent lower to press his forehead to the earth.
The goddess scoffed; he could hear her movement, then, a soft whisper of tendrils against the ground. Still, she was quiet, especially so for someone so large. “Get up,” she commanded, voice sharp. “I am not so vain as my brother; you need not kiss the earth upon which I tread.”
He sat back on his legs once more, turning his head to look at her. She was pointed in his direction, bent low as if she was studying him, but her focus was not quite perfectly aimed. She was blind, he realized with a dull surprise, or at least mostly. One of her tendrils snaked its way up his back, smearing what remained of the blood that had not dried upon his skin. He shuddered, biting his lip to still the noise of pain that threatened to escape. Her head adjusted, and it was as if she was finally looking at him in truth.
“This is not a practice of your people,” she observed, the tendril replaced by a pair of seeking hands. Her fingers traced the lines left by the whip, the branching cuts from the thorns, then older scars that littered his skin.
“No,” he said, fingers digging into his own thighs as Ghilan’nain continued her silent exploration. “I…it helps. To clear my thoughts.” He could not bite back another sharp inhale as clawed fingertips dipped into one of the larger cuts. “And remind me of my failings, so that I do not repeat them.”
“Fascinating…a fine suggestion.” Ghilan’nain suddenly dug the claws of one hand in, raking a long row down his back. He cried out, his own nails breaking the skin of his thighs.
“For the blow you dealt me in those accursed wetlands,” She said, voice cool. He felt her second hand tense, lightly scraping over the new gashes, and braced himself just before she drug both across his shoulders to split the skin. “For my dragons,” He felt three arms wrap around him, and he was pulled against her for a brief moment. Her claws dug in slightly harder as she pulled them down his front, not enough to do extreme harm but enough to ensure he would feel the ache of it for days. “For my Razikale,” she hissed, voice taking on a shrill hint of true fury.
She dropped him, unceremoniously, into a heap on the ground.
Mithrahn managed to keep his tears quiet, breathing heavily as he shuddered against the dirt.
“I have been commanded to make my peace with you, da’len.” Ghilan’nain leaned down, confirming his position with a tendril. “I will consider this pain recompense. May it remind you of your failures.” She withdrew. “It is not enough…but you are not mine to destroy.”
He was quiet for a long moment, struggling to pick himself up from the dirt. The pain he felt reminded him of his original purpose within the courtyard, and he swallowed the thick hatred in his throat. “Peace, then.”
“Leave me.”
He gathered his whip and the cotton shirt he had discarded before he’d begun, swiftly fleeing the courtyard with little regard for his still bleeding wounds. His head swam with too many conflicting thoughts to silence, and he knew the pain would allow him no rest regardless, so he sought the comfort of the bathing pools he’d found while exploring the grounds. The moonlight reflected over the surface of the water, a calming enough sight had he not been so abuzz with rushing emotion. He stripped himself of his wool-lined leggings and dropped the balled cotton shirt atop them as he stepped into the water. It was cool, but not uncomfortable, at least until he sank down far enough for the first of his wounds to touch it. He froze, shuddering, then let out a shaky exhale.
He bent his knees, dipping slightly further beneath the water’s surface. Gooseflesh prickled along his skin, bringing with it a fresh wave of pain. A sob waited in his throat. He refused to give it release; he would endure. His pain had been awarded in retribution for his own actions, and penance was not meant to be easy. He inhaled deeply, and fully submerged himself in the cool water.
The pain was immense; he clung to it, let it scrub clean his racing thoughts.
When he surfaced a few moments later, softly gasping for air, he felt eyes on his back.
“What a mess you’ve made of yourself,” drawled Elgar’nan; there was something difficult to identify in his tone-a level of amusement, but beneath that, something all together darker.
Mithrahn turned to face him; his god sat at the bathing pool’s edge, almost lounging. His long cloak and its various decorations had been discarded along with his armor, leaving him in surprisingly plain clothes. They echoed modern elven trappings, or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say modern elven trappings echoed him. A vest of finely cut and layered leather covered his torso, but left his heavily muscled arms exposed. The leggings that covered his lower half were tight, leaving little for the imagination. Mithrahn averted his eyes, refusing to allow himself to stare.
Elgar’nan barked a laugh at his subject’s sheepishness. “Come, da’len. Let me see your handiwork.”
Mithrahn obeyed, stepping through the water toward the pool’s smooth stone edge. The water grew more shallow as he approached, and by the time he stood before his god it only reached his knees. Some part of him felt shame at being so exposed, but the undeniable allure the other man exuded made such matters seem trivial. He turned without being instructed, allowing Elgar’nan to view the ruin of his back. Most of the blood had been washed away, but what had dried before Ghilan’nain’s additions remained; the cuts themselves were only a little more than superficial, but they would doubtless add to the plethora of scars that covered his skin. There had been more than he could count for longer than he could truly remember.
Elgar’nan’s touch was gentle, as his sister’s had been at first, but lacking in her curiosity. The movements of his fingers were more assured, akin to an artisan inspecting a finished piece rather than a student examining an aid. He heard the other man shift, and felt those broad hands move to his waist, effortlessly lifting him so that he sat on the edge of the bathing pool. He was dimly aware that he was bracketed by his god’s thick legs, mere inches from being pressed against his chest. The other man moved to touch his back again, and he shivered. The pain flared, but behind it rushed warmth that ran straight between his legs. Mithrahn’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt a flush of shame at his own body’s reaction.
“I have always considered pain to be a particularly effective tool when teaching,” Elgar’nan murmured from above him. “I will admit to my surprise at learning you share the sentiment.”
Mithrahn was quiet for a moment, considering. “I want to make myself someone that can serve you well.” The admission was sincere; he felt as though the warmth from the other man radiated even more strongly as it passed his lips.
“I know you do, little Rook.” His hands braced against the smaller man’s back, felt the tension of his anticipation. His fingers pressed firmly into his subject’s shredded flesh, tracing the lines of his new hurts and drawing forth a cry of pain. “You offer this pain for absolution.” He let just the tips of his fingers track the cuts, touch soft. “And I will accept your offering, for I am gracious.” Again, his fingers tensed, dredging up agony as they roamed the other man’s wounds.
“Thank you,” Mithrahn breathed, voice catching in his throat. The pain was beginning to grow tame, faded by so much prodding, but it was swiftly being replaced with the heat that had begun to build within him. As his god’s nails scraped along the deepest of Ghilan’nain’s cuts, he moaned, leaning forward just slightly. He did not seek to escape the pain, only to offer more of himself; somewhere behind him, the other man made a soft noise of surprise.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for ages; Mithrahn feared he had far overstepped. One of Elgar’nan’s hands moved to his chest, and pulled him back so that he was pressed flush against his god’s chest.
“The desires of your mortal body are base indeed, da’len.” His tone was light; Mithrahn might have mistaken it for teasing, had it been almost anyone else.
He did not respond, too wracked with shame to dare, but he tensed as the other man’s hand dipped lower, marking a path down his stomach that felt as though it might ignite given only a hint of flame. He let out a long, slow exhale, attempting to force some mastery of himself. His god’s hand paused just above the thick auburn curls leading down between his legs; he couldn’t help shuddering with the need that rapidly built in his gut. “Please,” he nearly whispered, parting his legs as much as he could given the presence of his god’s thighs on either side of him. “Please, I need…”
Elgar’nan pulled at him again, repositioning; the scrape of leather against his skin brought with it a new wave of pain, but it was tempered as blunt fingers found their way between his legs to dip between the folds of his cunt. He was already wet, and his god’s touch almost seemed to multiply his arousal tenfold. He gasped, one arm reaching backward to snake around the other man’s neck though it barely reached given the discrepancy in their sizes. His free hand found one of his own nipples, giving it a soft pinch.
“Impatient, as well. Something to be addressed.” Elgar’nan chuckled, pulling his fingers upward to circle Mithrahn’s clit several times before shifting again. He easily thrust a finger inside the other man, earning a low moan in response. He began to fuck Mithrahn on his finger, the heel of his hand pressed against his clit. It proved to be too little, as his subject squirmed and desperately clenched around him in a silent plea. He obliged, adding another finger, and spread them inside the other man between thrusts.
Mithrahn did not spare his voice any longer, his words running together into a long string of praise and pleas for more. Elgar’nan indulged him fully, leaning down to trail his lips along the length of one long ear. He bit when he reached the tip of it, and simultaneously hooked his fingers upward, causing the other man to tense all at once as stars exploded across his vision and his cunt rhythmically spasmed around his god’s fingers. He slumped backward against Elgar’nan’s broad chest as he came down from his orgasm, murmuring near incoherently.
His god pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and withdrew his hand, trailing back up his chest. Mithrahn panted, allowing his arm to fall back into his lap. Elgar’nan’s hands found his waist again, holding him in place as the other man moved behind him before pulling him further onto the stones surrounding the pool. He allowed himself to be moved, breath quickening again as his god took up a position between his legs. He lay back as Elgar’nan pressed a hand against his chest, biting his lip as he heard the rustle of cloth. His back ached from the abrasive stone beneath him, but the pain had become so entangled with pleasure and the anticipation of more that it hardly registered.
He felt Elgar’nan’s cock nudge against his cunt and nearly sobbed with the fullness of the desire even such simple contact brought. He reached for his god, wrapping his arms around the other man to splay across his broad back. He almost resented the leather vest for being in the way of touching the other man’s skin, but the near delirium of his desire made it difficult to focus on anything but being filled as soon as possible. He planted his feet and tried to angle his hips to make it simpler, earning a soft laugh from Elgar’nan, who placed a hand beneath his ass to position him and keep him in place.
With a precision that could have only come with millennia of practice, Elgar’nan aligned himself and thrust forward with one powerful stroke. He bottomed out swiftly, not quite able to press his hips flush despite Mithrahn’s best efforts to take more. His subject’s nails scraped against the leather of his vest as he began to move, hips rolling in long slow waves against the other man’s body.
Mithrahn did his best to buck against Elgar’nan’s movement, seeking further stimulation, but the pace remained languid. It was almost infuriating, though he dared not raise any complaint. The stretch only added to the pleasantly dull pain that wracked his body, and it served only to make him want more. He let his head fall back against the stone, eyes closed as he moaned. Elgar’nan leaned downward, body almost seeming to envelop him, pressing his hips downward. He let his legs find their way around the other man’s hips, and the shift in angle caused the cock inside him to brush against sensitive nerves with every thrust.
Elgar’nan began to move more quickly, though his thrusts retained a disciplined rhythm. Each movement was powerful, almost punctuated; Mithrahn felt the scrape of stone against his wounds each time.
“Look at me, da’len,” his god commanded; he immediately opened his eyes to obey.
As he had the day he had pledged himself, he felt utterly exposed under the other man’s gaze. The world seemed to melt away from him, replaced entirely by the man above him and the delicious mixture of pain and pleasure he was being given. He felt nearly overcome by it, almost immediately tensing as his orgasm overtook him. He felt Elgar’nan withdraw, and nearly sobbed at the loss of fullness despite the euphoria he felt as his god painted the skin of his stomach with cum.
The night was quiet apart from their slowing breaths as they both came down; slowly, Mithrahn allowed his arms and legs to relax. As they slipped from around Elgar’nan, they felt unbelievably like stones. Somewhere above him, as his eyes grew similarly heavy, his god began to murmur in an undeniably ancient tongue. He felt the pain at his back begin to abate, and allowed himself to slip into his exhaustion.