My Sweet Ilithil

Title: My Sweet Ilithil.

Chapter Title & No.: Things spoken in the dark. #5

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non

Rating: NC-17, this chapter is more PG than anything else, though, since there is no smut to be found. Sorry :)

Archive: Yes please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of places and characters to actual persons, living or dead, and places is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Authors Notes: A little note on the theology of the story.
In my world, there are three Gods, who are almighty.
The two Dragons, the Shadow Dragon (good) and the Wraith Dragon (evil), who are twin brothers, and their sister, the One Lady (neutral), who is the balance between them.
Then come the Lords of the Aaenda, who are their seven children. (4 girls, 3 boys). Four of the children (2 girls, 2 boys) are in control of one element each (earth, air, fire, water) but the fifth element (spirit) is divided between the remaining three.
Then finally there are the Aaenda, themselves.
The Aaenda are every single god ever thought up in the world.
There is one for sailors, one for nurses, for thieves, for beggars, for blacksmiths etc. etc.
They are basically like saints or angels or heathen gods of old, as we know them.
But the Aaenda live amongst humans, as humans, because they decided that the Dragon gods and their sister were so powerful that there wasn't room enough for all of them at the top. And the gods are very happy with this set up, and live quite happily.
But this is the reason they are referred to as the Aaenda and not as "the gods".
It is also important to note that although humans have lore on this, it has long since been (conveniently) forgotten that the Aaenda are in fact gods. According to the "Book of Lore" mentioned in this chapter the Aaenda are just mythical beings.
(Ok, all mistakes fixed...I hope)

Thanks again to Kylee for the review, I feel all giddy inside for your kind words.
And to Roseykins, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy the rest.
And I hope you both forgive me for the lack of smexiness in this chapter. I promise more in the next chapter.

Summary: A long conversation during the night sparks a fight, and Pol. gets in trouble. Does Ley. risk it all to save him, or does he save himself first.
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Ley. lay on his left side, watching the slightly parted lips, the soft sound as Pol.’s breath whistled past them, in and out, so slowly.
Pol. lay on his right side, the scarred half of his face hidden in the pillow, only the healthy left side visible for Ley.’s scrutiny, the teen had his left hand tucked between their pillows, the other lay against Ley.’s chest, twitching every now and again.
Ley. studied the teen’s face, every detail, every line, every twitch, for long silent minutes, the abbey utterly silent about them, the window and door barred against any intrusion.
Pol. had gone through his Turning only a few weeks ago, entering the fourth stage of his studies, his new piercing, a gleaming steel ring in the teen’s left eyebrow, had healed perfectly, and Pol. had gotten used to it within the first week.
Ley. smiled softly, as Pol. licked his lips quickly, and spoke,
“You’re staring, Ley.”
Ley. didn’t answer, Pol. cracking his eye open and spoke again, when he noticed the soft look in Ley.’s eyes.
“What? Why are you staring at me?”
“No reason.”
With a grunt, Pol. rubbed his eye, and repeated himself.
“Why are you staring at me, Ley.? I can’t sleep when you stare like that.”
“No reason, really. I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
“You. How beautiful you are. My Ilithil.” Ley. brushed his fingers over Pol.’s cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.
“What does that mean?”
“What? Ilithil?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing really. It’s just an endearment. It just means ‘beautiful’ or something like that.” Ley. avoided the fog grey eye, doing his best to sound convincing.
Pol. sighed and pushed Ley.’s hand away from his face.
“Don’t tell me then. Why haven’t I given you a nickname? I used to imitate everything you did, so why didn’t I give you a name.”
“You did once. A long time ago.”
“I did? When? I don’t remember doing that. What was it?”
“Remember when I showed you your scars for the first time? You gave me a nickname then.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Darangere.”
The look of surprise on Pol.’s face was so comical that Ley. couldn’t help but snicker, the boy only ignored him, asking,
“Seriously? Darangere? Gods, I was stupid, when I was a kid. The Shadow Maker. One of the Aaenda Lords. Fuck, I might as well have named you for the Wraith Dragon.”
“Darangere is not a Lord of the Aaenda. And don’t talk so freely about the Wraith.”
“What do you mean, Darangere is not a Lord of the Aaenda? It says so, in the Books of Lore.”
“Well, that’s wrong.”
“Oh, really? And how would you know? Who is he if he isn’t a god?”
“Darangere is one of the Aaenda, stupid. But he’s not one of their Lords. Plus it’s not a bad name to have. I quite like it. It made me sad when you stopped using it.”
“How can you like being named for the Shadow Maker?”
“You make it sound like such a horrible thing.”
“Seriously? Darangere, the Shadow Maker, he’s a god of death. And you don’t mind me giving you his name.”
“No, I don’t. Darangere is the god of unnamed children that die. He takes the souls of babies that die an unnatural death, before they are dedicated to their rightful god, and keeps them as flowers in his garden. When they bloom Darangere turns them into shadows. They are the shadows who watch over you at night, the shadows that lead lost people, especially children, away from danger, the shadows that stay with their grieving families until they are able to let go. Darangere gives those souls purpose, a purpose they were born to fulfill. I think it’s a rather noble name.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, as always.”
“He nearly claimed you. But you were not meant to die, and for that I am glad.”
“What do you mean?”
Pol. looked at Ley. with alarm, Ley. wanted to bite his tongue out.
Sighing he stroked Pol.’s cheek as he continued.
“Your mother never told you? When you and Arl. were born, you came out feet first. The umbilical cord wrapped around your neck and strangled you. You were technically stillborn, but Arin, the hedge witch that delivered you, managed to get you breathing within a couple of minutes. The midwife and your patron nursemaid were convinced that you had suffered some damage to the head because of it, but I think you’ve proven that to be nonsense.”
Ley. smiled, a sad glint in his amber eyes.
Pol. stared back, silent for long moments, before he looked away and answered,
“Mother never told me. But I remember that Arin used to say I was part in shadow, part in light. I never understood what she meant, and then Father turned her out before I had grown the sense to ask her. I asked Cooksie once but she just warded herself and begged me not to ask about such nonsense.”
“Cooksie’s always been a superstitious old fool. But she was right there, you shouldn’t ask common people about stuff like that. You could have just gone to the village and asked Arlin yourself, she would have been more than happy to tell you.”
“I didn’t even know she lived in the village. But then again, I’ve never remembered when I’ve had time at home. I always remember it at the most inconvenient times, like when I’m about to go to bed, or just before I come home, or as I’m leaving. But now I’m asking you, do you know what she meant?”
“It’s a silly superstition really, although it has some merit. All it means really is that you died while you were born, but someone brought you back to life, and therefore you were a flower of Darangere before you were ever truly alive. People like that are said to see and know more than they should. Meaning the shadows, or ghosts or other people’s minds or intentions. I remember when you were a kid, you were sometimes found sitting by yourself, talking to the dogs, or paintings, sometimes even bare walls. Most of the servants and your family put it down to your general weirdness, but those of us who believed in such things, well we believed you were actually seeing more than the rest of us.”
“The blue lady.” Pol. breathed the words out, half turned over on to his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Who?”
“Nothing. It's just... I always thought she was just my imaginary friend, but now… When I was little, before I came to the Temples, I think even before I ever met you, I had this friend… she was tall, with beautiful deep red hair, and the most beautiful blue dress. It was a simple dress, a maids dress, but I always thought it was so beautiful, because it was so blue. I had wandered into your room, and found her there, sitting in a chair, looking out of the windows, like she was watching for someone. She came to me sometimes, telling me stories and telling me not to be afraid when I felt bad. I always thought I had made her up, but now I wonder… I stopped seeing her after I came to the Temples.”
“She was a ghost. I knew her once. She was my mother.”
Ley. choked, biting back tears at the old memory.
Pol. turned around again, brushing a hand over Ley.’s hair.
“Do you see spirits too?” the teen asked, innocence sweetening his voice so that Ley.’s heart bled.
“Yes. I have always seen a little more than I should, but Darangere never claimed me, as he did you. I’m just different.”
They lay quiet for long minutes, the sounds of the night faint through the shuttered window, Pol. studying Ley.’s face this time, Ley. staring up into the ceiling.
When Pol. spoke it startled Ley. slightly, for he had thought the boy had fallen asleep again.
“Who are you?”
“What? Have you forgotten who I am? I’m Ley. Shaoir, your friend and mentor.”
“Stupid! I don’t mean that…”
“Then what do you mean?”
“What are you?”
Ley. stared back into the inquisitive grey eye of his lover, unable to speak.
Pol. took his silence as stubbornness, and continued,
“I know you’re not a Vampyr. I know enough about Vampyr lore to understand that much. But I’ve seen you. Your real form. When your eyes become pools of liquid amber, and your hair becomes so much redder, your skin becomes so pale, but at the same time it is like you are filled with a dark light, shining out of you… There is no chance that you are a vampire. So, next logical guess would be a Vampyr, but you can stay out in the sun just like me. Sacred grounds do not disturb you, and you drink and eat like a human.”
“The Vampyr can eat and drink…” Ley. tried to interrupt, but Pol. plowed on without listening,
“No, they can’t. They can drink like humans, but food they can only pretend to eat, or eat very little of before they become sick. And they prefer wine over anything else, water makes them weaker. Like I said I know enough about the Vampyr to know you’re not one of them.”
“You know too much for your own good, you little shit.”
Ley. muttered, anger at his own frustration lining his voice, Pol. misunderstanding the irritation,
“I want to know. I have given myself to you, heart, body, and soul, so I think I’m entitled to an answer. But if you’re going to be a prick about it, I might as well leave.”
Ley. grabbed the teen’s arm, meaning to stop him, but Pol. did not move to leave.
Ley. looked Pol. in the eye, his warm amber scanning the other’s cold grey, searching both souls for a way out of this question.
He did not find one.
Sighing, Ley. averted his eyes, and asked softly,
“Who do you think I am?”
“An Aaenda.”
Came the simple answer, startling Ley. so that he looked into the teen’s eye far too fast, his heart quickening frightfully hard.
“How did you find out…” Ley. gasped before he could stop himself.
“I didn’t really. I’ve just suspected, ever since I first saw you in your real form, and the more I learned about them, the stronger my suspicion has become. So, you really are one of the Aaenda? A lord of the Aaenda.” Pol. smiled dreamily, Ley. shaking his head slowly, avoiding eye contact.
“No. I’m not a lord of the Aaenda. But I am one of them.”
“What is your charge? Do you have charge?”
“No. I don’t have a field of worship. But I have a charge. You.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I was entrusted with your protection.” Ley. leaned over, planting a demanding kiss on the teen’s lips, to try and stem the flood of questions.
Pol. wasn’t having any of that.
“What the Wraith do you mean that I am your charge? What the fuck do I need protecting from?”
“Please, Pol., don’t do this. I was sworn to secrecy. I wasn’t even allowed to tell you what I just told you. So don’t make me tell you more.”
Pol. sat up and twisting around pinned Ley.’s arms to the bed, and straddling the elder cleric, sat down on his diaphragm.
“Spill. Or I’ll sit on you until you choke.” Pol. threatened, half in jest and half in all seriousness.
Ley. relaxed his muscles for a few breaths, before he bucked into the boy, and managed to throw him off-balance enough to twist them around and pin him to the bed. Ley. leaned over the trapped teen, and kissed him softly on the lips, Pol. responded hungrily, but as soon as Ley. broke the kiss, Pol. asked again,
“What is it that you’re supposed to be protecting me from?”
Ley. growled and let himself fall back onto the bed, with an irritated sigh.
“I don’t know really.”
“What? You expect me to believe that you’re sent to protect me from something that you don’t even know what is. Come on, Ley., this is me you’re talking to.”
“All I was told, was that when I turned ten your mother would give birth to two boys at the same time, and that one of those boys would become the greatest mage of our times, but he would end up in the Temples to study for the Clergy. I was told I had to go to the Temples to study, and when this boy would be born I had to join the Clergy and become his mentor. Your father took care of most of that for me, so it was an easy task to make up some bullshit vision dream when you were born, and he fell for it. I was also told that I had to keep you safe no matter what, because you will be a part of some great battle one day that will alter the course of our history, or some bullshit like that. All I know for sure is that you are destined for greatness.”
“Greatness, huh? Well, I don’t want it. I don’t need protection from anything, except maybe my brother. And Bri. is pretty handy for that. I just want to be left alone, and be with you, and leave the world to its troubles.”
“That is not your decision, Pol.. Your path was mapped out for you by the Gods. Even if you have some say in how you tread it, you have no power over where it leads. As the Gods demand so must you follow.”
Ley. raised himself up on his elbow, looking down at the boy, trying to look stern.
But as most other times he tried to pull that look on Pol., the teen snickered, and bunched his eyebrows together, frowning comically, and in a silly voice mimicked Ley.,
“As the Gods command you, so must you do. Hell, Ley., the Gods don’t give a crap about me. And I don’t care about them. I’ll do as I damn well please.”
Ley. got angry at those words, and raising his voice demanded,
“Oh, really? So, you’ll do as you damn well please, and let the world fall down around you? You will throw away any chance this world has of ever being right again, just because saving it doesn’t fit into your own self-centered, egotistical plans? Just because it doesn’t stroke your ego to save the rest of humanity, you’ll just let them all die?”
Ley. rose out of the bed as he spoke, pulling on his trousers, and kept raging,
“I can’t believe I’ve failed this miserably. I mean, I knew that I wasn’t handling some things right, but this is far worse than ever before. I’ve taken enough crap for allowing myself to become this close to you, for letting my feelings for you cloud my judgment. I put my own life at risk protecting you. I risk my life by loving you, the way I do. But no, none of that matters because it doesn’t fit your will. You really are worse than Arl., you’re just better at hiding it than he is.”
Pol. sat in the bed, staring at his mentor, a look of pure shock on his face.
The teen tried to respond, as Ley. pulled his nightshirt over his head, and left the room.
Pol. moved mechanically as he slipped out of the bed and dressed himself. He was finishing the final laces of his robe when Ley. reentered the room, his face blushing a faint pink, and growled,
“This is my room. Get out of here. I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
Pol. opened his mouth to speak but the glare he received from Ley. made him hang his head and saunter out of the room.

Pol. wandered through the marble hallways of the Temples, with his mind spinning in confusion, ignoring the few novices and Healers that were about, they ignored him in return.
Pol. had worked up a bit of a reputation in the Temples for going walking late at night, or even the middle of the night, when everyone else was asleep.
The sentries at the gates had long since stopped paying him any attention, so the teen had a pretty free run of the entire grounds.
Pol. slipped unnoticed out of a side door off the Grand Hall, entering the Flower Garden, the warm late summer night greeting him with a soft fog, so thick that he couldn’t see more than a few feet infront of himself.
Pol. smirked at the thought that he could be swallowed up by the darkness, claimed by Darangere as the one who got away, and his feet pulled him through familiar paths without the teen even thinking about it.
When the old stable loomed out of the mist infront of him, Pol. was a little startled, but without a second thought he slipped in through the bottom half of the stable doors, and made his way in almost complete darkness to the stalls at the far back of the stable.

The old stable had not been used as a stable for a few decades, a new, larger one had been built closer to the temples, and the old stable now served as a storage for old and broken things, the four stalls at the back of it that still remained usable were used whenever an animal fell sick or was about to die.
That particular night only one old drafthorse was kept there, its partner had died during the previous winter, and now Dwarkin lay on the dry straw, waiting for death to claim him.

Pol. talked quietly to the animal as he slipped inside the stall, and knelt down by the horse’s head, stroking it firmly on the neck.
“Hello, Dwarkin. How are you tonight, my friend? You doing alright? Can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. Ley. got angry at me for no reason, and threw me out of bed. He accused me of being selfish and uncaring. You don’t think I’m uncaring do you, Dwarkin, do you? No, I didn’t think so. You know what it’s like, love, what it’s like to be so different.” Pol. spoke in a low, soothing tone, kissing the horse’s neck and stroking its muzzle softly.
The horse nudged his side, looking for sugarcubes, that the teen sometimes snuck to the animal, but this night Pol. hadn’t brought anything.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but I forgot. I’ll bring some tomorrow, I promise. Are you cold? Poor thing, you’re sweating, maybe you’ve got a fever. Have you had anything to drink or eat today? I bet that stupid stable hand forgot you again today. Here’s a blanket, let me get you some water. There you are.”
Pol. talked constantly as he found another blanket, and wrapped around the laying animal, then picked up an old cast iron pot, filling it with water and placing it closer to the horse, so it could drink.
The sandy horse only drank a little, before turning away from the pot, and resting his head on the floor, Pol. watched with sadness as the horse’s eyes went dull, and the teen knew that the animal was only waiting for death.
He stroked the horse’s shoulders and withers, talking in a soothing voice, not really knowing whether he was soothing the animal or himself.
Suddenly Dwarkin raised its head and looked to the doors of the stable, snorting loudly.
Pol. rose to this feet, silently, straining his ears for the sound that had caught the horse’s attention.
He heard nothing, but Dwarkin whinnied, and to Pol.’s amazement started to struggle to his feet.
The teen tried to stop the horse, but something had the old horse spooked, for it rose to its feet with great effort, and scratched at the floor infront of the stall’s gate.
A creak by the doors of the stable had Pol.’s heart racing, and swallowing thickly, he called out in a timid voice,
“Who’s there?”
Pol. sushed the frightened animal, as he slipped out of the stall afraid that the horse might hurt him if he stayed inside with it, the horse moved restlessly around the small stall, neighing and snorting.
Pol. had not heard any sound, except for the single creak moments before, but his heart was racing, and he had the eerie feeling that he was not alone any more.
He tiptoed a few paces away from the stall, looking about in the darkness, and whispered,
“Ley.? Is that you? Come out, you’re scaring me.”
When noone answered he tried another name,
“Jorad?”
remembering how his cousin liked to tease him, before he remembered that Jorad was lying in the Healing Halls, dying from a blood poisoning after getting an infection in one of his ceremonial piercings.
A scuttling sound to his left made him twirl around, realization dawning on him with icy sweat.
Someone, or something, was stalking him.
With his heart pounding in his throat, Pol. eyed the door, more than 60 paces away, and as he began running towards it, the horse going wild in its stall behind him, the small lantern that hung by the door was extinguished, plunging the stable into complete darkness. Pol. screamed as he ran into something solid, banging his hip and thigh and toppled over hard.

Ley. rubbed his face roughly, resting his forhead against steepled fingers, and sighed painfully.
Why did I say that? Why did I speak to him like that? How could I be so mean? I said too much. I told him too much. Please forgive me, m’Lord, I didn’t mean to tell him so much.
His mind raced, his conscience gnawing at him, and he felt tears pushing at his eyes.
Suddenly his heart began to race, and fear overwhelmed him.
POL.!
he thought with alarm, and running out of his room, he raced down the halls, holding on to the mental link he had made to the boy years ago, with every ounce of his strength.

Pol. lay absolutely still on the floor, struggling to slow his panting breath, his thigh thundering with pain, his hip bleeding badly.
There was a rush of wind above his head, then leather shod feet touched the packed dirt floor a few feet away.
Looking up, Pol. couldn’t see anything at first, but suddenly the lantern by the door re-lighted itself, seemingly of its own accord, and a foreign voice tsk-tsked above him.

Pol. had never seen a woman quite like her.
She was at the very least as tall as he was himself, so thin that he was sure he could wrap one hand around her thigh, with waist long golden hair, shimmering like it was set with thousands of tiny jewels.
Her eyes were deep set, an iridescent blue, changing colour constantly, from the lightest cerulean to the deepest cornflower blue.
Her face was all of harsh angles and sharp points, her nose straight, her cheekbones high, the lips thin and straight, her skin a pale, milky white.
And yet she was extremely beautiful.
So beautiful in fact that Pol. stared up at her in awe, deaf to the horse in its stall, the animal screamed, kicking and thrashing, before finally his heart gave out in fear, and it fell dead to the floor with a loud thud.
Pol. stirred on the floor, rising up to his knees, wincing in pain.

The woman was dressed in skin tight jodhpurs, with a belted tunic and a long flowing cape, and highly polished, black leather, knee high, riding boots, which now were stained with road dust.
The woman stood there, perfectly still, looking down at Pol. with disdain at first, then suddenly her lips parted in a smile, that would have almost been warm, had it not been for the pearly white fangs.
“What is this, my darling? Why do you crawl around on the floor, like a beast, my dearest. Come, let me look at you, let me see you, you beautiful boy.”
Her voice was sweet, syrupy, and completely intoxicating.
Pol. stared up at her, open mouthed with awe, and when she reached out to touch his face he let his head fall back so she could get a better look.
Her long, slender fingers trembled when she pushed his chin up, and brushed her fingertips over the right side of his face, cooing at him,
“Why does it hide its face, my pet? Does it not want me to see its beautiful face, my pet? Come now, my pet, let me see your beautiful eyes.”
Pol. moved his hands as if in a dream, unfastening the clever design of buttons and laces that held his hood in place, the heavy soft peach coloured fabric falling down to his back.
The woman hissed when his face was unveiled, and placing her palm on his scarred cheek, dug her fingers into the side of his neck, behind his ear, hissing,
“I knew it. Here you are, alive and well, still after all this time. Oh, my pet, how I shall enjoy this.”
She forced the teen to rise, Pol. completely under her spell now, and looking closely at him, she drew a wicked, stiletto dagger from her belt.

“AANYA!” Ley. screamed, slamming the door shut behind him.
The Vampyr tossed Pol. to the floor, as she twirled around, her eyes gleaming with anger.
“Shaoir! You traitor! I knew you were not to be trusted, but the Lord Priest would not listen. But he will listen now, when I bring that boy before him.”
“You will do no such thing, Aanya. I will not let you.” Ley. panted, walking towards the Vampyr, straight backed and unafraid.

The stench of Aanya’s last victim was choking him, the smell of the panic and fear that the poor human had suffered before the ancient Vampyr had put it out of its misery was so strong that it even overpowered the intoxicating scent of Pol.’s blood. The Lady Aanya El Chorez was well known among the Vampyr for her sadistic need to play with her victims, until they were nearly insane with panic, before she fed from them.
Even though the 5000 year old Vampyr was more beautiful than words could ever describe, Ley. was disgusted by her, and hated her more than anything.

She strode towards him, and grabbing his collar, shook him like a disobedient dog,
“So, this is where you’ve hidden for the past sixteen years? And were you not charged with killing that boy? Answer me, boy! Answer me before I kill you.”
“I want to know why.”
“What?”
“I want to know why the Heads of the Vampyr clans want him dead. He’s only a knight’s second son. No one special. A cleric. So, why do you want him dead?”
“It is none of your business why the Clans want him dead. Ley. Emathran, you were given a task, and you should have completed it sixteen years ago.”
“Tell me.” Ley. demanded, squaring his jaws, and crossing his arms over his chest.

Aanya growled, and twisting around grabbed Pol. by the front of his robe, pulling him to his feet and flush against her body.
Ley. started but managed to check himself before he rushed her, the Vampyr noticed the movement though.
Grinning wide, she stroked his cheek, the boy dazed from the bloodloss and the Lady El Chorez’s glamour.
With a ferocious growl she tore open the peach coloured robe, tearing through the heavy velvet like it was tissue paper, and lifting Pol.’s right arm showed his scarred right side to Ley., the boy limp like a puppet in her hands, she nearly screamed,
“He is marked! He’s the One. The one who will bring ruin to us all!”
Ley. stared at the scarred skin for long moments, unable to see what the crazed Vampyr saw.
Then slowly it dawned on him.

Right underneath the scar, there was a faint purplish mark, nothing more than a birthmark or a naevus, in the perfect shape of a crescent moon.
Ley., and many others, had overlooked it, thinking it no more than some blemish caused by the extensive burns that the boy had suffered.

Brushing his fingers over the identical birthmark he had behind his left ear, Ley. breathed,
“Of course… it all makes sense… He’s a NightMagi, he’s the one…”
“Yes! He’s the one who will bring us all down.” She screamed again, and twisted the limp Pol. around in her arms.
The boy’s eyes were leaking tears, but he was powerless to defend himself as the Lady Aanya opened her mouth, and prepared to bite.
Some instinct in him made him twist his head to the left, exposing the scarred right side of his neck, the side that Ley. was used to drinking from.
Aanya froze, mid-strike, and gasped in shock.
Looking up, she hissed at Ley.,
“You have fed from him? You have given yourself to a human? How pathetic.”
Ley. did not grace her with an answer, but charged her with a war cry.
Pol. fell to the floor, weak and dizzy from bloodloss, he lay there and watched as Ley. battled the ancient Vampyr, a battle of life and death.

Ley. threw Aanya El Chorez to the floor, the female Vampyr too weak to rise.
Her blood was flowing from a long gash across her abdomen, and she gazed up at Ley. with glazed eyes.
“Help me, please, dear sweet Ley. Help me, brother.” She moaned, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.
Ley. panted, and wiped blood from his neck, there was a cut there that was bleeding quite freely, but the injury was not life threatening.
Ley. stood over her, disgusted by the grovelling creature, that only twenty mintues earlier had been gloating over her own superiority.
Grabbing the hem of Ley.’s purple robes she kept begging,
“Please, brother… the boy, let me drink from the boy so I can be healed. Please save me, remember how I took you in and made you one of us, please brother. I will not report your failure to the Clans. I shall tell them I did not find you. I shall leave you be. Please.”
Ley. shook his head, pushing the female away from him, and drawing a deep breath, he spoke, allowing his true form to take over,
“Lady Aanya El Chorez, Head of the Viscount Clan, shut your mouth and take your judgement like a noble.”
The Vampyr noble started to object to Ley.’s inappropriate talk, when she looked up at him again, and screamed in fear.

Ley.’s voice reverberated around the old wooden structure,
“I am Leyjen Shaoir of Dragornin, Lord of the Aaenda, son of the Shadow Dragon! Kneel and receive your judgement, Vampyr.”
Ley. stood before her in his true form, his hair a darker red, the eyes filled with the shining molten amber, his skin shining with an inner darkness, his fangs glistening pearly white in the darkness, black feathered wings protruding from his back, the tips brushing the floor at his feet, and the wicked, foot long, glistening black horns at the tops, arched nearly a foot and a half above his head.

Aanya whined, and falling forwards, grabbed the hem of Ley.’s torn robes and kissed his feet,
“The Aaenda! You’re one of the Aaenda… Forgive me my insolence, my Lord, I didn’t know.”
After a few more sobs, the female rose to her knees and let her head fall forwards, exposing the back of her neck.
Ley. pulled a magnificent bastard sword from a hidden sheath under his robes, placing the tip of the shining blade against the back of the Vampyr’s neck, and with a quick thrust ran the blade through her neck.
With a grunt Ley. put his foot on the Vampyr’s back and pulled the sword free, dropping it with a clatter on the floor, as he ran to kneel beside a barely conscious Pol..
He pulled the teen into his arms, stroking the sweat soaked face and whispered,
“There, there, Pol., I’m here. You’re safe.”
“I’m sorry… I should have listened to you.” Pol. moaned back, but Ley. just hushed him, craddling the teen to his chest, relishing the touch of Pol.’s lips against his neck, and rocking the teen a little whispered,
“No. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I should have told you the truth from the start. Now rest. I’ll get you to the Healing Halls and you’ll be fine.”
Ley. rested his cheek against Pol.’s head, closing his eyes, and enjoying the feeling of Pol.’s soft kisses on his neck. He was tired and winded, and his wounds were painful, but the slow beating of Pol.’s heart against his chest was comforting. He sighed, the soft lapping of Pol.’s tongue against the cut on his neck making him pleasantly aroused and wonderfully dizzy.
Dizzy.
DIZZY!

Using what little strength he had left, Ley. roared as he pushed Pol. away,
“NO! No, no, Pol., what have you done…”
The light in the teen’s eyes was fast fading, his lips stained with Ley.'s blood turning a faint blue, the poisoning working fast on his weakened body, as tears rolled down his cheeks, Pol. moaned,
“I’m sorry, Ley., I wanted to know how you tasted, I’m sorry.”
As Pol. lost consciousness, Ley. struggled to his feet.
First he stumbled to the stall where the dead horse lay and tore a wound into its neck, splashing blood around a little, wiping his hands on the face of the dead Vampyr, then he craddled Pol. in his arms and drank from him, as much as he dared to, before he staggered towards the sentry station by the gates of the Temple grounds.
It felt like hours before he finally reached the post, the lifeless body in his arms heavy, but as soon as the sentries found them the alarm was raised, and the Temple was quickly buzzing with commotion.

Ley. told them he had found Pol. struggling with an injured vampire, after the boy had walked in on the creature feeding from the dying horse in the stable.
After a long battle Ley. had finally managed to kill the vampire, and then carried Pol. to the sentry.
Ley. thanked the Gods that the clerics and sentries were not learned enough to tell the difference between the Vampyr and their vampire spawns.
He watched over Pol. with fear, as the Healers worked on his wounds, the gash on the teens hip was ugly, it had cause him to loose a large amount of blood.
It wasn’t until the Healers physically forced Ley. into a bed of his own, next to Pol., telling him that there was nothing more he could do for the boy, that he finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep.