Rumination

Mordreaux and Lugh were riding far, far away from that hellscape of fog. Aleister would be proud of the level of emotional devastation today had brought him. It was a new low in a history of lows, just from this year alone.

It seemed all Mord could do lately was crawl back home to the safety of Lugh’s arms. Months of toil, of losing sleep, losing his dignity, and for what? The two of them were no closer to fulfilling that troublesome prophecy, not with the Aleister’s death interrupting pursuit of Yrael and Lasair.

Mord was tired of it all. He knew that Lugh could hear of his inner turmoil, of him turning over today's events endlessly in his head like a sore wound he couldn't stop pressing against. He leaned his head underneath Lugh’s chin as they rode away on faithful Gwynned’s back, who’d spent the day dreaming of rolling around on sunny hills, endless apples, and Mord’s hand to groom her whenever she liked. In other words, a normal day for her.  

How nice. 

He grounded himself on that dream of hers to distract himself from the pain in his chest, the horrible knowledge of what he’d done to Vilas. How lovely would it be to just be a horse. Or a hound, sleeping at someone’s feet before the fire, ignorant of everything his master suffered from. Content with a mere touch behind the ears and scraps thrown on the floor. Never would they fear navigating social waters, or death, or the looming threat of corruption like the Sword of Damocles upon all their heads.

The sheer outrage that Aristedes’ descendant would despise him from removing that Sword from over her head! Didn’t she realize how good she had it? To be without its threat, its violent influence, its lure over the edge that Aleister had succumbed to in the end – he was a fool to not consider giving it to Vilas. But the risk of condemning Vilas to a mortal’s life without a mage’s access to eternal youth that Mord and Lugh acquired had stayed his hand. Experimenting upon Lasair worried him not. But the changes wrought on her, the mistakes he’d made during the ritual, and the lack of assurance that she’d keep the bloodstained immortality she’d won, all made him hesitant to offer the same fate to Vilas.

Mord opened his eyes as they left the mist behind. 

Perhaps he should test it on others first. Perfect it. Offer it as true release. 

He knew the ritual by heart, having considered it for Lugh for ages. He didn’t need the little red book he’d pushed at Aleister anymore. And if he saw others on the verge of corruption and granted them peace, perhaps they would thank them, as Lasair had not. It could prevent another tragedy like the one today, and lessen the risk of another mage corrupting in Lugh’s vicinity, thus keeping him safe. 

It was something, at least.