Built on bones

Lugh

There was nothing.

No sounds, no scents, or any other details he could latch his mind onto.

Nothing except his fragmented thoughts.

Thick fog had rolled over them like a wave, stirring the air with magic so foul it had made his skin crawl, until him, and the rest of the world, had been swallowed by this boundless, suffocating darkness that stretched into every direction that eye could see.

The tourney grounds, his husband, that mage-knight, Yrael... All of it had been veiled by this impenetrable dark, the memory of them growing only more distant the more time passed, until a flicker of something moving in the distance prompted Lugh to open his eyelids.

When had he closed them?

He flinched at the gentle sunlight, a familiar chuckle to his left quick to draw his attention. Lugh turned, smiled, and returned the somewhat silly grin as he met Mordreaux's dark, delighted eyes. Ah, he must've dozed off momentarily during their date, comfortable in the shade of the old oak tree they often retreated to during these long summer days that never came. Lugh could remember it now, his day off, their plans to hit the town later, the uncomplicated excitement of looking forward to having a whole day all to themselves.

The knight sighed, closing his eyes as he stretched his back to -

He found himself in the courtyard suddenly, Mordreaux as easy as ever to spot across it. Lugh smiled softly, allowing that fond expression to linger as Irina passed him by, waving discreetly back at her, taking a step forward to follow her and join Mord's side. A young girl of black hair ran across that all too familiar courtyard then, her clothes unlike anything he'd seen in Tyrnanov in the past. Even during the old king Magnorin's reign, none of the guests from distant lands quite matched the style of her attire.

Yet, he knew her from somewhere. Lugh was certain of it, that red ribbon of hers as familiar as the girl herself, but who -

His attention was pulled back to the present, surprised to find his beloved standing right next to him. There was much for them to do today, if Lugh could kindly offer him a hand, the princeling smirked warmly, expectantly holding out his arm for the knight.

(385)

Mordreaux

It was truly Mord who stood by him, rather than a figment of this sudden dream. He tucked Lugh's arm in his, feeling a nostalgic sun kiss his cheek that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Mordreaux had cast enough of these trapping dreams to know its structure, its threads and tangling web. He'd seen its cloying grasp in the sudden fog and braced for it, finding its offered dream....a nice reprieve.

Was it the work of some foul magic? Of course it was, Mord could taste the corruption in the fog as it washed in, all too familiar. But then, Mord himself would be a hypocrite if he condemned something like this without knowing its source. He'd figure that out the longer they lingered, but for now...

Gods, when was the last time Lugh had looked so happy? So unburdened?

Mord led them both around the courtyard talking of nothing that mattered as if their centuries of bitter strife and opposing sides had never happened at all. This was Lugh enamored with his first love, secure in his well-earned knighthood, friendship, and family who stood proud of his hand in overthrowing the old tyrant king of Tyrnanov.

Mord glanced to the end of his courtyard at that lovely detail - there, above the scaffolding, cast in an altogether different red light compared to Lugh's gentler afternoon, hung the old king alongside Mord's backstabbing mother.

Mord smiled so warmly to see it, so satisfied and happy. It was nothing but a pretty lie made to please him, but there was beauty in that he could appreciate, and he leaned his cheek against Lugh's shoulder, curling against the arm that had never been taken from him.

Here was Lugh who'd never suffered because of him, who knew no strife or unbearable despair. Mord's chest twisted to know it, and he said so softly, "I love you, Lugh," with a sudden rush of emotion clutching his throat. "So much."

(329)

Lugh

Lugh looked down at Mord, his smile outright radiant in that gentle sunlight, with only the slightest hint of concern sticking to his adoring expression for that wavering note he had heard at the end of his beloved's confession.

"As I love you," Lugh replied just as softly, feeling his face grow warmer when he leaned down for a searingly gentle kiss. He loved him with his whole heart, utterly and completely, the feeling of Mord leaning against him as comforting as the sun's warmth itself. When did he get his arm back?

That discordant thought was cast aside as soon as it occurred, so taken was he with this reality the mist had weaved for them both unbeknownst to him. The knight kept smiling in that soft way of his, content to walk together in broad daylight with his love, hand in hand, needing not to hide their adoration for one another any longer from the other courtiers with the tyrant slain.

Even Mord's weary gaze didn't break the spell for him - mature past his years - instead making Lugh's heart race as easily as it always had centuries ago.

He didn't notice the red glow above the scaffolding, the bodies, or the feathered beast watching their every step from the rooftop while Mordreaux led them both inside. Neither did he see the thing sticking closely to Mordreaux's shadow, but what he did notice, were tiny footsteps following them down the long hallway.

It was the girl from before, her dark curls tied together with a red ribbon, but Lugh caught only a glimpse of her, his gaze quickly beckoned back to Mord with a light touch on his arm.

(280)

Mordreaux

Details were already clinging to them both, promising the eventual unraveling of this dream, and seeing Dimandra here was one of them. Their beloved daughter, stolen from those they'd never met in the safe embrace of Tyrnanov, a brilliant mix of both Mord's cleverness and Lugh's steady love.

Mord hesitated, seeing the red ribbon in her hair that marked her as something of his dream, but he welcomed her close anyway, having missed the sight of her more than he realized. He played along to the dream, saying that, as their daughter (of course she was, she was never anything less), that made her a princess, didn't it?

And Lugh, Mord said with a loving glint in his eye, would be his prince. There was no question of that, only the certainty of their fingers laced together, their lives bound forever and always.

The three of them walked through the halls out of sight of that drake whose eyes lingered on Lugh's back, waiting to consume him as the corruption in the fog grew in the waking world. For now, Mord pointed to the little things, filling the air with goals and dreams of what they could've been here, and never would be.

Some of the rooms they passed were filled with those shared dreams, full of golden sunlight and Lugh's laughter. Some were stained red; one had Aristedes, bound at Mord's beck and call, his prophecies Mord's to command; one had Vilas, confident and free of all the chains that bound him - even Mord's - free to do whatever he damn well pleased, no matter how wretched or self-indulgent. Another had Lugh sitting on his own kingly throne, just as bloodstained and eternal as he, equals in every way, staring back at them in the hall with a deadly smile of ill intent.

Mord closed all of those doors when Lugh wasn't looking. He did have to put a finger to his lips when he caught their daughter staring at him for keeping secrets. Nothing made it past her and her clever gaze, that much he remembered, and he loved her for it.

But still he craved that warm, blissful look on Lugh's face, for as long as the dream would allow it.

(373)

Lugh

Lugh remained unaware of the hidden horrors and dark desires, seeing nothing but his beloved and their daughter (how could he forget about her), taking Dimandra's hand in his left with Mord gently gripping his right. He had everything he loved right here, what else could he possibly need?

At the end of the hallway, the great hall awaited them, its double doors creaking open on their own long before the trio reached them. They had danced here, he and Mordreaux, right under the king's eyes while plotting that vile man's demise. Mordreaux had looked handsome with his red black hair tied up, just as beautiful as on the night they met.

A wall of tall windows cast the hall in brilliant light, but instead of the golden sunlight, what poured in from them was ominous red.

It crept across the floor, staining it with its pungent radiance - like a growing pool of blood. His blood.

The knight's heart skipped a beat, making his warm smile falter as he stared at the unnerving sight before them, unable to move a muscle. Behind them, that lurking beast had blocked the doorway. It remained hidden from Lugh still as if destined to catch the fair man by surprise, but to the fey who had seen the truth of this place? The drake growled, low and threatening only for Mordreaux's ears to hear, its teeth bared as an unseen force kept it at bay.

It couldn't claim its host, not yet.

Lugh, on the other hand, hardly dared to breathe, his grip on Mord's hand tightening. He couldn't feel his right arm, no matter how hard he clung to his love, the warmth fleeting fast from his fingertips, his muscles, everything below his elbow long, long gone.

"How... how was the king killed?" He asked, confusion apparent in his shaky voice. He had been hanged, hadn't he? After a just trial, their hard work having paid off, the support of the court and populace both a solid proof of that with Mordreaux having been crowned as the rightful heir not long after. Why had he slit the king's throat then?

Red seeped through the front of Lugh's dark blue surcoat, slowly trickling down his chest to his waist, to his hem, and finally to the floor as bright red droplets. His wound was being cut open, much like this dream he'd so longed for.

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Mordreaux

Mord grimaced as the dream unraveled more quickly than he wanted it to, cornered by two facets neither of them could run from: Mord's deep-set pride in the brutal death of the king, and the beast that Lugh was bound to feed.

There was nowhere to go. So Mord turned to Lugh in the midst of that loss of blissful ignorance and cupped his face comfortingly. "Ssh, love, it's alright. We're dreaming, that's all." He ran his thumb across Lugh's cheek as blood ran down his love's chest in heavy droplets. "Remember? We're alive, we're together, we - we were wed," Mord chuckled, the sound strained. The dragon's first appearance had come from the wedding's aftermath, but that wasn't important now. He leaned his crowned brow against Lugh's. "I'm here. We both are."

Dimandra walked away from them both, her shoes walking over the spreading pool of the king's spilled blood to stare down at what her fathers had done with as much of an unperturbed air as she ever had. Hardly any of their sins had ever phased her, even as a child - a trait from her birth parents, perhaps.

From the doorway, the beast lurked, hungry for the waking world. They could go towards either one, but both promised to turn sour. Mord wished they could've lingered in Lugh's sweet nostalgia a while more, but dreams like this had a tendency to fall apart once a trapped mind realized there was no way out.

(245)

Lugh

The circlet felt cool against his brow, soothingly so. Lugh exhaled a wavering breath, covering his husband's hand with his own - the only one he had left. His frightened breathing slowed, calmed by their tender closeness, the look of confused fear and sorrow tempering into quiet acceptance. The knight closed his eyes momentarily, smiling ruefully as he gave Mordreaux's hand a gentle, affirming squeeze.

It'd been nothing more than a dream, this place forever beyond their reach. Only the dead could occupy these halls, lost to the fangs of time centuries ago in reality, and it was through the burning pain between his lungs that Lugh mournfully sighed, "I remember now."

He had bought them rings only hours ago, hoping to make their vows official after the long winter and its many troubles. All they had left was present, and he'd be damned to leave Mordreaux face the wave of corruption and magic alone by clinging to this beautiful, tragic fantasy.

The hall's entrance crumbled behind them, its filigree covered doors torn from their hinges as the white dragon forced itself in, meeting the knight's solemn gaze finally. It too had been born in this place, the mage whose magic fueled its rotten existence long dead. The drake circled them and Dimandra, tensing up, readying to lunge-

It leapt with great force, but not at them, or the girl, or even the dead king, its claws sinking into one of the many supporting pillars instead with its jaws snapping ferociously at the darkness clinging to the hall's ceiling, the red light having washed away every other shadow of the room except for it, that horrendous thing. It didn't belong here, its presence a foul thing the beast hated as much as it feared. It remembered the Shadow's touch, this writhing mass of malice that had tried to sink its claws into Lugh once before.

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Mordreaux

Mord's eyes widened at the dragon's chosen prey, just as startled as the Shadow began to scream as the drake tore it apart with claws and teeth. The Shadow had been a decade-long vestige of a mistake Mord had made, in hoping to cling to any semblance of connection in Lugh's long absence. It was a nightmare biding its time, whispering in Mord's dreams.

And even the worst of Lugh, his corruption made real, was trying to protect him from it. A bittersweet laugh boiled over in Mord's throat, and he kissed Lugh as the Shadow was torn to shreds.

"Wake with me, love," He said, looking up into the burdened eyes of his husband, the one who'd faced countless tragedies in countless lifetimes with him. "I'm here with you, no matter what the waking world brings."

(137)

Lugh

He weighed those words, sparing only one last lingering look at the memory of their little girl. Lugh swallowed thickly, nodding in wordless agreement right as his sternum split in two with a sickening crack, his arms wrapped tightly around Mordreaux. He could trust him, in life and death, the walking nightmare beyond this dream just another enemy to conquer together. They fell towards the floor - through it, the Shadow's wails falling silent somewhere far, far above them.

In those fading rays of red moonlight, Lugh whispered to Mord's ear with his mouth full of blood, "Stay close,"

His voice cracked, lowering to a growl that seemed to swallow them both, echoing from the very depths of the darkness growing around them,

"And I'll let no monster lay a hand on you this time, love."

His teeth sharpened, the visage of him not fully a man's any longer. But his touch, that tight embrace he had pulled Mordreaux into, spoke of nothing but ardent love, tried and strengthened by lifetimes of hardships and fragile, shared joys. He brushed a bloody kiss to Mord's cheek, and spoke without a voice.

I promise.

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