My Sweet Ilithil

Title: My Sweet Ilithil.

Chapter Title & No.: Prolouge. #1

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non

Rating: PG-13 for now, but NC-17 for later chapters.

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: I’ve been working on a fantasy novel for half my life now. It all started with one character and a name, but has grown into about a dozen characters, original races and species and a whole world. Yeah, it kind of got out of hand.
These chapters are just little oneshots, that I want to have as a part of the main story, but would never be allowed in mainstream publishing, so, I’m giving you guys a chance to read them.
The main character (named Pol. here) is initiated into the Temples, to become a cleric, at the age of 5, but he should be in training to be a mage, because he is the youngest son. He was mixed up with his twin at birth, so Pol. is thought to be the middle son.
Ley. was raised at the household of Pol.’s parents, after his mother (a maid) died. When Ley. was 8 he was sent to the Temples to be educated, but decided to become a cleric, shortly after Pol. was born.
Ley. is not really a human, but lives as one, and he was charged with the task of protecting Pol. When Pol. entered the Temples it seemed only natural that Ley. become his mentor. Ley. is 10 years older than Pol.
And so, I think you’ve got all the background you need to enjoy this.
If you’re curious about anything just ask.
Oh, and the smut will begin in chapter 3 or so.

Summary: Prologue. The scarring.
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…Burning, stinging, drops of water thundered into his blistered skin, his pale grey eyes fluttered open, gasping in pain. The cold rain fell from the heavens in a silver curtain.
Gasping he raised a hand to remove the weight from his chest, only to find soft flesh yielding to his touch. He opened his eyes again, trying to focus through the pain, feeling strong hands wrapped around his back, a strong scent he knew well invading his nostrils.
A strong, pale back rose above him, rainwater steaming on the warm skin, and cold lips suckled at his throat, the boy whined as his attacker moaned. The boy could feel a hardness pressing into his thighs, as his attacker swallowed again.
Again he gasped, pushing at the muscled sides of his attacker, searing pain shooting up his right arm.
With a harsh breath, the attacker tore himself free, rising up to all fours above the child.
The pale monstrous beauty hovered, languidly above him, amber eyes gleaming beacons of ancient malicious hatred for the human blood coarsing through the boy’s veins.
The boy whimpered, the sight of blood stained lips more frightening than the inferno he had just escaped.
The devilish, ravenging angel startled out of his ecstacy at the sound, stared down at him, the molten gold of his eyes receding to amber irises, the pupil dilating frighteningly fast. With lightning speed he was gone, the heroic murderer, his saviour left him there, bleeding, near death, lingering in fear of the hell-fire, in sweet memoriam of that life-giving kiss of death…

Ley.’s head sank down to his chest, and jerking awake he smacked the book he was reading into his face, hard enough to hurt. A soft chuckle from the bed stopped the profanities falling from his lips, and looking up he was met with a weak smile, the grey eye glinting in the fading twilight.
“Pol. you’re awake! Healer! He’s awake!” Ley. shouted, jumping to his feet, waving at a House Healer across the Hall. Nervous, guilt eating away at his soul, Ley. turned back to the bed and sitting on the edge grabbed the uninjured left hand resting on the sheets.
“Pol.” he stopped short, came up empty, as the wide grey left eye stared back at him, so patient, so caring, so loving. Ley.’s heart sank and his eyes welled up with tears. He sobbed and turned away as the House Healer bent over the boy, examining him and asking some questions.
When he finished he tapped Ley. on the shoulder, telling him,
“He’ll be alright. We saved what we could, but time will tell how bad the damage is. Sit with him while I inform his family.”
Ley. nodded, clearing his throat, not daring to speak, forcing back the tears.
“Ley.? Are you alright?” the soft voice cut him through to the bone, and faking a smile Ley. turned around and answered,
“Yeah, Pol., I’m fine. I’m just happy you’re alright. You gave us quite a scare there, squirt.”
Pol. smiled crookedly, the compresses and bandages covering the right side of his face hindering the movement.
The smile froze on the boy’s lips, and his eye started scanning the room, taking a few moments to realize that there was something wrong.
Pol.’s grey eye darkened, and he tried to raise his right hand to touch his face but cried out from the pain, his left hand shooting up to the bandages.
Fear tore through the little soul as he touched his face, his neck, chest and shoulder, straining against Ley.’s soothing words to touch his right arm.
“What happened!? Ley.? What happened?” the small boy cried out, Ley. sitting on the bed, gripping his hand tightly, and soothing him.
“You don’t remember? There was a storm on the night of your initiation. A lightning hit the abbey and it burned to the ground. You barely escaped, but on your way out you got hit by some debris. You’re badly burned, Pol. The Clerics and the Healers worked the whole night and most of the day to save you. Don’t be scared, Pol., like the Healers said, you’re going to be alright.”
“But my eye, Ley., I can’t see from my right eye.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Your injuries were mostly on the right side of your face. You’re blind in that eye, Pol., but it’s alright. I’m here, and I’ll help you.”
“It’ll grow back, won’t it?” Ley.’s eyes filled with tears, the innocent hope in Pol.’s one eye threatening to kill him, how was he to explain to a five year old that it wouldn’t? Thankfully the boy’s parents came rushing to the bed, at that moment, and Ley. excused himself, waiting until he was far down the corridor to break down and cry until he was practically blind himself.

Ley. jumped to the right, barely dodging the flying porcelain wash basin, screaming at the top of his lungs Pol. reached for the water pitcher next,
“Give me a mirror! Now! I want to see!”
Ley. rolled across the floor, into a crouch on the boy’s right side, and as Pol. let the pitcher fly Ley. pounced on him, receiving an elbow on the mouth in the process, splitting open his lip, the taste of blood maddening.
The boy’s father, and the Healer were both shaking with frustration, the Healer repeating himself once again, that it was not advicable for the boy to see his reflection. Pol. doubled his screaming at those words, Ley. had to struggle to restrain the five year old. Finally Pol. went limp, resorting to tears instead of anger, to try and get his way. Ley. nodded at the two adults, telling them he’d take care of the boy.

As the two left the room, Ley. sat Pol. down on the bed, and sliding the catch on the door into place he turned to the boy.
“If I show you, will you promise me to stop this craziness?” Ley. asked, Pol. wiping his nose on his sleeve, and nodding.
The teenager slipped a small folding mirror from his robe pocket and sitting down next to Pol., he made the boy look him in the eyes.
“So, here’s the thing. Your scars are very bad, Pol.. Worse than most that I have seen. That’s why your mother fainted when they removed the bandages, and why she won’t see you now unless you wear that hood. She can’t handle it.”
“I know. I’ve noticed how everyone looks at me now. The stupid novices can’t keep it together when they’re around me. Some of them even ward me off like I’m some kind of deamon. I just want to see. I want to know what I look like now.”
“I’ll show you, if you promise not to tell anyone that I did, and if you promise to stop demanding a mirror. Deal?”
“Deal.” The five year old boy smiled, and waited expectantly for the mirror.

Ley. pulled him into his embrace, the boy’s back against his chest, and slowly opened the folding mirror.
At first only the front of Pol.’s tunic was visible, but the boy drew a deep breath and raised Ley.’s trembling hand up until his face appeared in the looking glass.
Ley. stared at his own reflection over the boy’s shoulder, as Pol.’s eyes grew in alarm and a choked cry escaped his lips. He unlaced his tunic, pulling his right arm out of it, letting it pool around his waist.
With trembling fingers Pol. touched the burn scarred face, the broken bones of his eye socket perverting the shape of his eye, the scarred skin stretched over unfamiliar shapes, on the eyeball itself a jagged line ran down the middle of the eye, where a pupil and a grey iris had been replaced by a sickly purplish shadow. A deep scar ran down from his hairline, through the eye, over his shattered cheekbone, and into the right corner of his mouth, then fading out around the middle of his chin.
On the left side of that scar his face was the same as before, beautiful, soft, rosy complexion of a five year old temple student.
On the right side the skin was burned beyond anything resembling humanity.
The burn scars ran down from his face on to his neck, spilling over the shoulder to the middle of his chest, and down most of his right arm, fading slowly down to his wrist. His right hand was alright, except for a couple of pockmarks on the back of it.
Pol. studied his scars intently in the tiny mirror, and running his left hand over his shoulder he looked Ley. in the eyes through the mirror, asking, with a shaking voice,
“How’s my back? Is it as bad as this?”
Ley. ran his fingers gently up the soft skin, over unscarred white flesh, before he touched the edges of the scar, and ran his fingers down the curve of the burns, over the boy’s shoulderblade, to his side, just above his ribs.
“This is where it lays. Most of the damage was to your face, the rest is from your nightshirt catching fire. But your ear and most of your hairline is alright. That didn’t burn. Small comfort, I know, but at least it’s something.” Ley. whispered, pressing his lips into the soft brown hair, as Pol. cried quietly. Twisting around in Ley.’s lap Pol. snuggled against the teenagers chest and cried harder than Ley. had ever heard him cry. At a loss for words, not really knowing how to react to such an uncharacteristic outburst, Ley. wrapped his arms around the boy, soothing his hair, and murmuring soft comforts into his brown hair.
Hiccupping between sobs, Pol. looked up, his face swimming in tears,
“I’m a monster, Ley. noone will ever be able to look at me again. Everyone’s afraid of me now.”
“No. You’re not a monster, Pol.. You’re still beautiful. You’re gorgeous. All I see is how beautiful you are.”
“Really?” Pol. hiccupped, brushing persistant tears out of his lashes, and Ley. pressed his forehead against the boy’s forehead, whispering back,
“Yes. I think you’re beautiful. You are my Ilithil.”
“What’s that?”
“Your secret name. Ilithil. You can never tell anyone, it’s our secret. But it means that you are beautiful. The most beautiful being in all the world.”
“More beautiful than the elves? Beautifuller than even Mama?”
“Yes. The elves are ugly, compared to you. And your Mama, well she’s only a first draft of you. You are perfect.” Ley. choked back a sob, fighting the swell of emotion inside of him, trying to stay composed for the little boy.
“What’s your secret name, Ley.? You have to have one, if I have one.”
“You tell me. I gave you a secret name, now you have to find one for me.”
The boy’s eyes darkened, his brow furrowing as he thought hard, then suddenly he looked back at the older boy, and whispered conspiratorially,
“Darangere. You’re name is Darangere.”
Ley. cringed, unsure why the boy had chosen that name, but decided against objecting to it.
They talked quietly for hours as the day dwindled outside the window, the boy nodding off soon after evening bells. Ley. tucked him into the bed, then lay beside him for a few more hours, soothing the boy when his nightmares threatened to break his mind.
Darangere, the shadow maker, that was the name the boy had given him, and he wasn’t all that displeased with it.