Pay Your Dues, Part 10
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
The world faded in and out. Glimpses of the ground. Of the trees. Of the sand. Of the waves. Of green-dappled grey fur. His other senses came and went as well. Sometimes he was aware of the changes in temperature. Sometimes the sounds of padded feet crunching on pebbles. Sometimes the pressure of a shoulder digging into his stomach and his head nauseatingly inverted. Nothing was remotely clear, just a fuzzy awareness at the corners of darkness.
He was vaguely aware that he was back in that cave. Half-lying, half-leaning against wood and fabric. The bunks; it was one of the bunks, had to be. He faded out. Cold, itchy, heavy metal slithered around his legs and he shuddered and tried to move before the exhaustion pulled him under. When that awful itching began again around his arms, he managed to peel his eyes open and took a nip at the blurry hand so close to his face. He didn’t have the strength to bite hard; the hand was retracted with a yelp and he lost consciousness soon after. A brief moment back when the bunk creaked and something large and heavy was dragged out from under it. The trunk, he registered before slipping out once more. White hot burning pain as his foot was grabbed and yanked and twisted until it popped into place, a bloodcurdling scream following him back into the void.
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He couldn’t move, and this time it wasn’t from exhaustion. Myrn didn’t even have to bother opening his eyes to know he wasn’t going anywhere this time. The heavy chains were looped and cinched tight around his chest, arms, and thighs, back held flat against the wood post at one corner of the bunk. It itched and burned where the metal was touching his skin instead of clothes. He looked down at where the links were digging into his clavicle. Yep, the skin was starting to break out in a splotchy red-pink rash. There could be no doubt about it, the chains were iron. Pure iron. Not the best for tensile strength. Not ideal for such a damp and briny environment. Absolutely unbeatable for keeping faekin species in check, and Lycaon apparently had a lot of it.
The half-were was sitting on the bunk across from where he was stuck. Using a stiff-bristled brush to scrape flaking rust from another length of chain. Clearly he was taking no risks with Myrn being able to get loose again. Lycaon felt the eyes on him and looked up.
“I’m sorry, really. But if it hurts, I guess that’s just too bad,” Lycaon said with a half-hearted shrug. “Don’t think I didn’t see that shit on your hands. Whatever that was, I know magic when I see it.” There was a long pause, before he huffed out a heavy breath. He gestured at Myrn’s leg, which was heavily bandaged and splinted to keep it from moving.
"That feel alright?“ He asked. Myrn snorted, but gave a tired nod.
"Sure. Everything else is shit, but yeah, that’s fine.”
“This is getting ridiculous. Please, just stay still. Stop fighting. Please.” Myrn glared at him in silence. Lycaon groaned. “You’re already plotting how to escape again aren’t you?"
”…Why.“
"Well for one thing it’s—”
“No. Not why I should stop. Why are you doing this, Lycaon?” Myrn made an exasperated sound. “You said this is for Phelan’s sake. How the hell is this helping Phelan?” The werewolf hesitated for a moment, then continued scraping the rust off the chains. “Do you think we can’t keep Phelan safe?” No, he didn’t. “She’s our sister. Have a little faith……have a little faith in her, she’s not helpless.”
Lycaon couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “Oh, not like you?” he asked bitterly, waving a hand at Myrn’s predicament.
“Nothing like me,” the elf agreed in all seriousness. “I’m the weakest, most worthless thing outside the royal bloodline. Phelan is so, so strong.”
"I didn’t have a choice, alright? He said… he said to bring him the Earth Child, or he’d—he’d—“ Lycaon’s fur ruffled and he really looked like he was going to start crying. "Agondrae is a monster, and a spellcaster, and no lawman or bounty hunter has been able to stand in his way. Do you really think any of your gloriously fucked-up family could keep him away from her? This is the only way."
Myrn blinked at him. "Agondrae? that’s who— why?” He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Okay, so you made a deal with him? Why the hell would he keep his end of it?” Lycaon shook his head miserably, but the elf continued. “He’s getting exactly what he wants, right? Why wouldn’t he just take me and then take her too? He’s not going to keep his word."
"I’m not as naive as you think, Shrell. It was a bargain made and sealed in blood.”
“OoooOOOooooh, a blood-pact!” The sheer amount of condescension in his voice made the werewolf stop and pay full attention. “Those are folk-tales, pal. Ain’t really much truth to ‘em. They only work under very specific conditions, and only between those who’ve got a lot of fae in their blood. Which, last I checked, you don’t. You’ve done been played.” Well, now the werewolf was definitely crying. Silent tears that vanished into his cheek fur with each shuddering breath.
“I-I’m so sorry” Lycaon said. Whimpered, really, burying his head in his hands. “But I-I have to do this.”
Myrn softened. “I just—I just wish you would have told us. Me. Someone. Anyone. Before all of this had to happen.”
