Breathe in a lie

Vilas

The mist was not letting up, but they couldn't hope to just hide at an abandoned house without any food or water for hours on end. How long had passed since he and Lasair barricaded themselves inside the hut, Vilas wasn't exactly sure, but whether a few hours or a handful, by the time he slipped through the door to fetch them something for their parched throats, it was dark outside.

The unnatural fog swirled in the air, weightless yet suffocating. He'd need to move carefully, or risk losing his sense of direction, easily tricked as it was with so little landmarks to position himself by.

Then there were the eyes, mindless but relentless, their nasty little pupils following him every step of the way. The skeletal monstrosity could be anywhere, but despite the danger, Vilas felt calm. When moving alone like this, he didn't need worry about anyone's safety but his own, and it wasn't exactly something that often made it to the top of his ever shortening list of priorities. Were it not for Lasair and her broken wrist, who knows? Maybe he would have simply laid down on that house's dusty floor and closed his eyes, just for a bit. See what would happen with the world around him brought to a stop.

He wasn't concerned for himself, but the shout from somewhere within the mist almost made him think otherwise.

A man's voice.

One that he recognized quicker than he would've liked to admit. His stomach lurched and turned, the creeping sense of fear and surprise mingling in his thoughts as he strayed from the paved path to head towards that voice, the chance of him having imagined the whole thing barely crossing his mind.

What good would seeking him out do?

There was a flash of anger, but it burnt weak, petering out quickly as he kept wading through the fog. Whatever good this would do, he certainly didn't know. Only turning around and hiding in the mist would've hurt him more, the bruises and dried blood on his face forgotten for the moment.

(341)

Mordreaux

"Lugh!" Mord's voice was hoarse by this point, his footsteps haggard. He'd had hope of finding his runaway dragon of a husband three, maybe four hours ago, before the sun had set, but the night was disturbing him more than it should. Not that his visibility was at all diminished, not with his ability to see in the dark. But the mist still swirled and the eyes still ran into his path and cutting each and every single bloody one of them down wasn't helping him find Lugh any faster.

Insidious thoughts snuck in, of ill fate and harm that could have befallen Lugh in this corrupted state. Witchfinders would see him as just another target - witchfinders like -

He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Vilas, blindly searching in his direction. Mord could see him far better than the other way around, and he felt himself take a step back, his heartrate immediately rising. Why? Why was he always running into him at the worst time? He didn't have time for the heartache rife in Vilas' thoughts the last time they'd met and he absolutely didn't have time for him now.

He knew the moment his second backstep gave him away, when he could feel Vilas become alert and come closer. The closer Vilas came, the louder his pain rose, aching and raw like a tidal wave of unanswered anguish that threatened to drown them both, and Mord caved underneath it, crying out, "Stop!" despite himself.

The thin light of the moon was barely enough to illuminate either of them, but it showed Mord well enough by his crown, his pale-faced fear, and his sword dripping in dark ichor.

(280)

Vilas

His steps had merely slowed at that sharp plea, the sight of that stained sword what finally brought him to a full stop at last.

It was him. Months later, by pure happenstance once more. Vilas barely dared to breathe as he took in the gorey visage. Mordreaux was here, but not for him.

Of course he wasn't - he had well heard the name Mord had been crying out in the fog, that of the companion who was privy to Mord's heartache where he no longer wasn't.

How very selfish of him to have ever felt hurt about the fact.

Vilas stared at the wanted mage, pale and strange in the moonlight with his dark hair and black suit of armor. The sight made him think of a ghost, of some half forgotten dream he could barely recall. It had taken place here in Mead, and in spite of the mist and its silent occupants, something kept stirring in his chest, visceral and raw. He had wept for his supposed fellow Nymenian plenty - during and since their shared night together - but what held his heart in its clawed grip wasn't longing or confused hurt like last time, but grief.

'May I be kinder next time we meet.'

Why had he ran after his voice? There was no warmth that Vilas could see, nothing that betrayed care or regret. There was only fright, appalment of some kind.

Gods, no, he shouldn't have come this way, his throat threatening to close up. There was nothing stopping Mordreaux from marionetting him again, nevermind from tampering with his mind. Vilas felt weary to the core, fear sneaking into his voice.

"You were in Faline," was all he could utter with a grave certainty, his voice raspy, threatening to fail him.

(286)

Mordreaux

His sword fell from his numb fingers as cold fear ran through him. No, he was never there - Vilas wasn't supposed to remember that  day at all. Everything he'd first wanted for Vilas was unraveling at the seams all because of his neglect, and he dropped his face into his gloved hands, overwhelmed by Vilas' screamingly loud heart. It'd only taken a year, a drop of time in Mord's scheme of things, and all he felt before him was someone drowning, echoing his own bitter words like another promise Mord still couldn't keep.

Sifting through Vilas' thoughts was like a shifting bed of thorns, pricking, stabbing, and choking, obscuring the heart of the matter before he could address it. He'd caused this, and it felt too similar to the precipice Lugh had stood on, where an unbridgeable gap had tormented them for ages, driving them both to the brink.

He needed to solve this mess, but his nerves were screaming and he could find no way out. He couldn't run, couldn't lie, couldn't charm his way out of this, with magic or not, and he had no other alternative than to hoarsely cry out, "What do you want from me?"

There were no words said aloud, not with that tangled mess of emotions - but something peeked out from behind the thorns, an aching need for Mord to care.

"I do care!" Mord shouted back, his hands dropping as his voice broke. "And more the fool am I for it, when it's led to this. If I could take this pain from you, I would, and I tried, and I failed, and you may hate me for it if you wish but -" He grimaced as a new wave of pain crashed over Vilas, spilling over, and his gasped out, "-but I never wanted this for you, any of it."

(308)

Vilas

"What then?!" Vilas cut in, desperate for some actual answers. There were the near tears again, the lamenting words he always fell for. It broke his heart to be the cause of them, even if it was apparent this time would be no different from the last.

"You messed with my head," He uttered warily as his throat grew tighter. It was a blatant understatement, the feeling evoked by said memory as nauseating as it was terrifying. "What for? Why- why do you bother? I'm just-"

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, always nothing. The end of the rope to be cut off when the weight gets too much to bear for people at the other end of it.

He was tired of being this expendable, from one person to the next.

Why had Mordreaux tried to give himself a second chance, even at the risk of being hated? The words about caring sunk into his skin like needles, inescapable yet far from comforting in the face of the other man's pain. He thought Mord understood his past. The weight of it, and the inescapable, poisonous fear of the truth ever coming out to the wrong people. To those back in Nymene he was just someone to leash and use like any other asset, and to the rest? Some mage who hated himself enough to wish he'd just disappear for good one of these days.

"Why would you care?" Vilas asked hoarsely, as ill-prepared for this confrontation as the man he would've likened to a companion of his just some months ago. A part of him wanted to turn around and flee, just like he had tried to do after Mord had seen fit to all but tear him to pieces. He returned the grimace, begging through the growing storm he wished not to face again as he sniffed, cleared his throat and finally all but wept, "Please, for gods' sake, just fucking tell me."

It wasn't all he wanted to ask, but all he could; are you hurt, why are you here, please don't hurt me all swallowed by his warring emotions.

(352)

Mordreaux

It was too much, too loud, too raw and painful, and Mord winced with gritted teeth. No hands pressed to his ears would drown out Vilas' agony, and each unsaid question twisted his heart and made him beg, "Stop - stop! You're not nothing, you're not expendable, and may Nymene burn to the bloody ground for making you think so!"

He took a hesitant step forward. "I'd rip out this loathing of yours if I could - I would spare you from all of this, and I thought I had all the time in the world to do so, to make you see that the masters you serve are poisonous and ill fitting of your loyalty." He took another step, too focused to notice anyone else sneaking about unseen in the mist, called by their shouts. "So yes, I messed with your mind, and I'd do it again if it just spared you this."

(152)

Vilas

Vilas merely scoffed harshly, taking a step back as the burning in his chest spread to his throat and cheeks. He hadn't imagined any of it, the confirmation of that grievous memory and the argument that had led to it leaving him in tears even now, months later.

"To what end? To make yourself look better in my eyes? Because you've spared me from goddamn nothing!" He couldn't stop himself from backing away the more the closer Mord got, his heart beating sickeningly fast as Mordreaux begged to be heard out. His eyes were stinging but the quickly growing fright wouldn't let him cry any louder. Much like Mord, he was deaf to the movement in the mist, unable to turn away no matter how terrible of an idea it was to remain.

As if he could've walked away anyway. Mord had made sure of that last time.

"You're no different from them," Don't come closer. He flinched as one of the eyes bumped against his shoulder and brought his conflicted retreat to a stop, leaving him to rasp, "And here I trusted you."

And some part of him still did, terrified of its absence. Beyond the half-taut noose that was that loyalty of his, all he had were these painful feelings, tattered and torn.

Were he to walk away, there'd be nothing worth all this shit to go back to.

"I really wanted to," Don't go.

(238)

Mordreaux & Lasair

Mord's feet stopped in place at Vilas' unspoken plea, unable to move forward or move back. They were both stuck in this mire, slowly sinking in. "I know - I know I've failed you, but I can fix this if you simply -"

A sword was raised out of the dark, cutting him off. It was Mord's own sword, dropped and forgotten in fright, its dark ichor glistening in the hazy moonlight.

"If he does what, exactly?" Lasair said evenly as she stepped protectively in front of Vilas. "Will you 'fix' him as you did to me, then abandon him and call it a favor?" She raised the tip of his blade underneath Mord's chin, though its threat didn't land as it should with her broken wrist held against her chest and the chain rattling between her shackled arms. Lasair had come out looking for her erstwhile companion, having dropped the title of captor some hours ago when they'd filled the silence with conversation in that little shack. She'd heard the shouting, and Fortune must be having his day to make their mutual problem-maker show up now, of all times.  "No. You'll answer his question you sidestepped, you'll tell him the truth, and you'll get down on your hands and knees and bloody well apologize for what you've done to us both!"

Mord looked from his own sword's edge to her, reading no actual malice in her demands like there used to be, before he'd wiped her slate clean. "Or what?" She wouldn't make due on violence, he could see that as clear as day.

Lasair raised a brow, then looked over her shoulder at Vilas. "Well? He's the one who wronged you, and he's the one scared of you. Or what, Vilas?"

(291)

Vilas

He stood aghast, barely understanding the question Lasair had just asked him. "I don't-" He strained to answer, staring at her unassuming, yellow eyes. Why was she here? He shot a pained look at Mord, and an old impulse reared its head momentarily, the age-old habit of biting down and demanding Lasair to step aside and leave him be, so he could set all of this aflame and leave nothing behind to be kind nor understanding towards.

But to see her care out of all people, after all he had done within this day alone, broke something in him.

It was an old thing, carried within no matter where he went, and remained unchanging regardless of what he veiled it in. An old, stupid thing that made itself known in a wavering breath, bringing back the tears from before and leaving him to drown.

Being defended was the last thing he deserved from anyone, unwanted and trouble from the start, but the hollow acknowledgement that had once brought him morbid comfort in his perpetual state of lonesomeness, now tore at his innards. He hated everything, cared for less, but most of all he hated this feeling itself.

Vilas wept, his gloved hand raised to hide his eyes as the hoarse, stifled sobs refused to stop.

It didn't matter if Mordreaux knelt or begged. His lies hadn't mattered - as much as his sin as they were the other mage's - but if anything, if anything at all, he had wished- no, wanted to have someone to rely on, no matter how worthless he would become. For years he had thought that someone would be his handler, then these dalliances - all of them ending the same.

"I told you already," He managed to utter at Mord, gesturing Lasair to put the sword away as he grit his teeth between the heaving sobs, "If you know so damn well, then tell me."

"Speak your mind like you did last time, I've got nothing left in me that-" He rubbed at his eyes, drawing in a breath to finish his words but couldn't. What comfort did promises give, when he barely had it in him to hope for anything. All had gone to hell for him long, long ago.

(373)

Mordreaux & Lasair

Both Lasair and Mord widened their eyes to see him break down so completely, unable to finish his words for the obvious pain he was in. Lasair, on her part, dropped the sword and took the obvious step to pull Vilas into a hug. This was her second time walking into a powder keg of a situation on the outside looking in, and she could see what he needed, even if that manipulative bastard couldn't.

With the shackles on, she couldn't go so far as to pet his back or anything that felt intuitive to do to someone crying so hard, but she could at least press her cheek against his shoulder and look at Mord, who was standing there in bald-faced shock.

"Well?" She demanded. "You heard him. On your knees."

Mord's mouth twitched - she had absolutely no authority here to demand anything of him, and ahe knew that - but he had no other choice. The proud mage who'd awoken countless victims without a care earlier today and had berated Ioeth for their hesitation gradually got to his knees, mulled over what to say, and closed his eyes.

If he wanted the truth, then so be it.

"....Nothing of the man I introduced myself as is true. I am son of an eldritch witch and a king, who I killed for my circlet when I was naught but your age. Lugh, the one who came back from the dead, was...my instrument to do so, back then. And it has been five centuries since."

Lasair listened flatly, keeping Vilas in her hug so he could lower his head if he needed to, and she made no reaction for him to work off of.

"I was born a liar, a manipulator, a king-killer and a wretched person. I read the minds of everyone around me and use that to my advantage. And, over time....everyone else aside from a select few ceased to matter. I toyed with others as pawns, changed their lives, and moved on."

"Like mine," Lasair added.

"Like yours. In hellfire and screaming, but for your own good in the end," Mord said, before biting back on anything more while he only received a look of disgust. "And when Lugh perished because I'd driven him to the brink, and I'd a small lifetime to lament it...you were there. It wasn't a night I'd meant to mean anything. I was to lie my way under your defenses as quickly as possible and move on, and it just...." He looked away, struggling to put it into words. "It...meant as much to me as it did to you. After centuries of seeing the worst in people, I saw you for all you were and I wanted to linger. And help. And tear you from what made you suffer. And make you promises I couldn't keep."

Still no response. He took in a shuddering breath and lowered his head. "You needn't forgive me for any of what came after. But I am sorry for what you've gone through. I never wanted to return that night you gave me here with so much pain."

(524)

Vilas

It hadn't meant to mean anything to him either. A night of infatuation and nothing more.

How it rattled him still, making him now lean into the offered hug by Lasair with the man he had yearned this from for months knelt before them as the truth slowly sank in. A year ago he hadn't dared to even entertain the idea of leaving Namarast, that ludicrous possibility of leading a life of his own somewhere beyond his masters' grasp. The thought that one of his kind had managed to do just that, while not exciting, had given him something to consider. Some hope.

To know the shared history was just another lie felt like watching a candle be snuffed out.

"<What a goddamn daft thing to lie about,>" Vilas spat in his mother tongue. It had hurt to think he hadn't mattered - it hurt to hear he did, yet had still been treated with nothing but deception and convenient half-truths, any illusion of equality and respect lost a good while ago. His words came together in bitter, sorrowful murmurs, <"How many times did I even ask, and you just stuck to this to- fuck,  what, get close? To appear like someone who would understand?>"

The immortality part barely registered. The fuck would he do about that, or somehow be affected by someone having lived for centuries before he was even born out of his father's greed? The tower was filled with people just as strange and absurd.

It was true he hated magic. Despised the way it warped and hurt people. The mist, the eyes, the monster, Lasair's sorry situation... All fuel for said distaste, but if Mordreaux really had invaded his thoughts and leafed through them, the man should've known better than to do whatever this was.

"<Reading thoughts, fucking really? Didn't occur to do something if you knew so damn well what I needed? You knew I hated them, knew that without this... this god awful magic I could've been someone else, yet you never thought to offer to take it away like you did hers? Never   thought to say that maybe, just maybe I wouldn't be hunted down like some dog if I tried to leave, thinking it was your safety I'd be endangering? What- what of this has helped me?>"

How could any of it had meant anything, if every opportunity he'd merely spent soothing Mord's worries with little care for his own, left hanging by a string? To know that it was a choice by the mage he'd felt so enamored by and nothing more, regardless of those sweet words and intentions, simply added to this ruinous heartache, the years worth of trouble and headache all bleeding together with that dam within broken.

What had he been an instrument for, then? Or was he really that different? Surely not, though he hoped to be so, so bad, but what was he meant to exactly forgive?

He couldn't have even said what either of them wanted by this point. Unable to answer, Vilas inhaled, shuddering as the sick feeling persisted, and with the last shreds of care and dignity, he shook his head and said with a broken voice, "You should go after Lugh."

(538)

Mordreaux & Lasair

Mord kept his head bowed through it all, and only started to stand at that clear dismissal at the end. Lasair, on her part, was surprised to have both understood any of that, having never heard the language before in waking memory, and that Vilas stayed in this hug for this long with the person who had been his enemy just this morning. But she kept quiet as Mord rose and responded.

"I had plans," He said quietly. "I had the intention of following through with them, for you. Then those with corruption interfered, both in my home and out of it. Lasair here was a step away from sharing Aleister's fate before I stepped in, and just like him, she would have gladly perished if it meant a mindless sort of revenge."

Lasair frowned. "Aleister's fate - what do you mean? We saw him just this morning."

"He's dead." Mord looked at her quietly, his usual flair dimmed. "This mist, this dream monster, is his corpse."

Lasair stilled against Vilas' chest. "You're.... you're lying - he's not..."

Mord gave her a flat look, then dismissed it. "The point is, I wanted to help you, Vilas. Fate thought otherwise." He looked up at him. "If you want me to go, I will. If you...want to summon me again, you know where to send a letter to."

(225)

Vilas

The name said nothing to Vilas, but the way Lasair tensed against him, told him enough alongside all the talk about fates. His brows knitted together before Mord's offer, the overflowing emotions having wrapped themselves tight around his neck, allowing him to exhale nothing more than a shivering breath at first. Despite the growing turmoil, raw and indescribable, all the rest of him was still there too, hurt and familiar.

Maybe it was what Mordreaux had picked up on.

Was the offer genuine? Was he trying to appease him, or would one more letter only postpone the pain? His voice didn't feel like his own, not even when he tried to speak. With Lasair between them, he could only stay put, his shaky hands resting on the redhead's folded wings as he weighed that simple statement.

He had wanted a lot too, and this is where it had got them.

"You'd ask me that?" Vilas sighed through his teeth, voice ragged from all the tears shed. "D-do what you will, I'm not-"

Gods, how he hated this. No matter how warranted this hurt was, or the anger and disappointment, it didn't make it any easier. Don't go. Don't come any closer.

He couldn't be alone again, but it hurt too much as is.

"Just go," Vilas pleaded in a quiet voice, feeling his fingertips grow numb as he stared at Mordreaux.

Any more of this, and he just might fade away.

(241)

Mordreaux & Lasair

Mord's mouth settled into a hard line to hear that last hopeless ache and not be able to fix it. He couldn't erase this again, couldn't come any closer, couldn't apologize any more than he already had. He'd failed Vilas, and they both had to face the consequences of that.

He wanted to do something about the matter of Vilas having arrested an essential pawn to take to Namarast, but he couldn't take Lasair with him and leave Vilas completely alone, not in this state. He simply had to trust that Aristedes was warned enough of Lasair's arrest and would solve his own family's mess.

Lasair saw him lingering and  waved her fingertips at him, just...done with him after that ill news she had to process on her own end. "On your way, then, and fuck off."

His mouth twisted, and he looked one more time at Vilas with regret before nodded and picking up his sword. There was nothing left to say as he vanished into the mist, leaving the two of them alone again.

It took a bit until Lasair slowly stepped back from the hug. "...I wanted water earlier but now I...think I want a drink. Today's been too long."

She reached for his hand. "Come on, let's -" Then she did a double-take as her fingers slipped through his, as incorporeal as they'd both been twice today. "Vilas?"

(233)

Vilas

He was called to her by his name, forced to tear his eyes away from the swirling mist. Looking down at her, at his hands, the reason for the alarmed question became immediately apparent.

Vilas huffed, hastily curling his hands into fists, tightly so, and relaxed his fingers right after, his form regained once more. "Damn thing trying to do as it pleases," He snarled weakly, any semblance of his usual haughty self feeling woefully false with his cheeks still wet from the tears. How long had it been since the last time his magic acted up on its own like this, seeking to help him hide? A decade, longer?

He sighed to his palm. He hadn't wanted Mordreaux to go. At least a part of him hadn't, but there was no way he could've let himself give in after everything, no matter how foolish he felt for having chased the man only to usher him away while whimpering and crying like a wounded dog.

Ignoring the heartache that refused to ease up, Vilas finally leveled a quiet, serious look at the one who had come to his defense. What could he even say?

In the end, he murmured, "You... are you alright? The name that he mentioned, I don't..." Fumbled a little, and whispered with that same hoarse note, "Please don't speak of this to anyone."

(227)

Lasair

"I won't," She said, properly taking his fingers onto the palm of her clawed hand. "We both cried today, it's quite alright to leave it at that."

Her thumb pressed into his solid knuckles. "...and am I alright? After hearing that the first person I've known, who took me in and accepted me, is dead?" She chuckled pathetically, looking away. "No. Of course I'm not. I want to call that bastard a liar, but...Aleister had eye familiars who watched out for him so we weren't caught, and this...memory curse regarding out regrets feels too on point for him, no matter how he tried to hide it." She gave a rueful, mirthless smile. "I was sitting next to him just this morning - I don't want to think that...that today was the last straw for him, and I wasn't there."

She looked down at Vilas' hand, mulled over that for a while, before squeezing his hand and pulling on it. "Alcohol. If there's to be more tears today, I won't be shedding them sober. And he deserves that send-off, at least."

(182)

Vilas

"Lasair, wait," He rushed to whisper, hesitating to continue. He gave her hand a light squeeze in turn, and asked quietly as he recalled the day's events with those silent watchers upon them, "Before we do that... he was the masked man, right?"

What had happened at the audience and afterwards felt so distant, tinged with regret he hadn't felt before the carriage crash, the dreams, all this weeping. Neither the grim thought of having unknowingly robbed Lasair off of her last day with this friend of hers nor the accompanying shame wouldn't loosen its grip, though.

"You ought to hate me," Vilas breathed, that lingering sorrow apparent in his voice. "I don't know what happened any more than you did, but I... something like that can't be made right, I'm-"

He bit his tongue, bowing his head, "I'm so damn sorry. For all of this."

(145)

Lasair

She opened her mouth, struggling to find words for a bit, before shaking her head. "What nonsense that would be, to blame you. You weren't the one who killed him. And he had so many regrets, most I was never privy to. I'll absolutely mourn him, but you and I weren't the cause of his death."

She sighed. The attempts to steer Aleister clear of this when she first awoke, either through ritual or through killing him, made sense if this was the fate he was charging towards. It was harrowing to think the person she used to be was on this same path before being forcibly pulled from its edge, 'in hellfire and screaming' as that bastard put it - because as she stood now, she absolutely had no desire to follow Aleister's fate, nor the fate of her horrible alluring dream.

She just wanted to live. Peacefully. But she'd never thank someone like Mordreaux for giving it to her.

"You had reason to hunt me down this morning, and now, after such a hellish day, I'm hoping you don't." She smiled faintly up at him. "Just continue to act as you are with me now. That's all I ask, and I'll return it gladly."

She wiggled their held hands, making the chain ring, trying to lighten the air somewhat. "And if you might feel inclined to remove these as we search, I wouldn't complain."

(235)

Vilas

He lowered his gaze, giving the smallest of nods, not quite sure what she had meant by that. Him coming undone like this was hardly useful, or sightly.

At the simple request, he could do little else but huff faintly. "There are worse things you could've asked. Alright, hold on-"

There was a rustle, a clink of metal, and in a moment both the key and the shackles were tucked away in the leather pouch strapped to his waist. It needn't be said that she would still be coming with him to Namarast after all was said and done, or that the shackles would have to go back on later, if only to appease any stranger that might find them eventually.

There was a moment of wariness, a silence Vilas hesitated to break, but as Lasair didn't lunge at him to claw his eyes outs even after an uncomfortably long pause, he exhaled deep, shedding some of the tension. He gave just one look at their surroundings, and with no direction striking up as overwhelmingly appealing compared to all the rest, he nodded towards the opposite of where Mordreaux had headed to, offering to drape his arm around her wings as they set out to find that drink and another hiding place while at it.

(215)

Mordreaux & Lasair

She took that offer, glad that they were on steadier, more equal ground compared to this morning, and wrapped her good arm around his shoulder as well, marching off into the mist like two companions forged in the harshest of circumstances. To that, she announced to the fog, testing out a tongue she hadn't known she even had before today, "<Today has been the absolute worst, and it's time to get terribly, terribly drunk!>"

She laughed as they wandered off together, the sound bouncing off into the mist with forced mirth and a burdened undercurrent neither of them could deny.

Further in the mist, far off, Mordreaux had given up slaying the eyes he'd come across. Pain mounted, overwhelming, crushing, and he clutched at his chest.

When Lugh had been driven to cliffs, Mord had been blind to how much despair he'd caused in his sole companion. The hopelessness, the agony of being alienated for too long with so many failed attempts for connection - how could he have repeated that again to one of the few people who mattered?

When he finally found Lugh, he had nothing left to give. He could only stare at the man cast in moonlight, staring up at its glow as if never having seen it in decades, all his dragon scales and teeth shed behind him. His heroic armor shone, framing him as everything Mordreaux didn't deserve, especially when Lugh looked behind him with those open sunkissed eyes, like he'd just awoken from a long dream.

Mord couldn't bear it. He choked and fell to his knees, openly sobbing before the person who he'd harmed and loved the most.

How terrible it was for Lugh to come close, turn his face up towards the moonlight, and receive such a sorrowful, loving smile. It was agony to be kissed so gently, and his sobs bubbled against Lugh's lips as fingers ran into his hair in the habit of centuries.

Lugh said, nothing - he didn't need to. He offered his comfort, and Mord took it, wretchedly, greedily, while mourning what he had done.

(347)