28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Silvyr

Every part of his body ached, and moving seemed to be an impossible feat.

That's what Silvyr told himself as he clung to Brokil, refusing to let him go. Even when his fingertips burned and bled, even when his arms quaked with the effort to hold strong, and his head spun, he would not let go. Brokil only convinced him to let go so Urzul could treat his wounds by promising to keep Silvyr at his side as soon as they returned to the homestead. Reluctantly, Silvyr let him go, his fingers throbbing while Urzul cleaned and wrapped them, as well as the rest of the wounds he received.

Her touch was incredibly gentle compared to the first time she treated his wounds, but the silence was unbearable. He couldn't tell if she wasn't speaking, or if the maelstrom swirling in his head blocked out all sound around him, focusing solely on the sharp pain that came each touch.

The burn of the ointment barely registered over the constant throbbing of the wounds themselves, and for the first time in his life, Silvyr thought he might be grateful that Father had prepared him for this. Only the pain of the lash compared, so while the pain was devastating, he still endured. Even as Vakmu berated him and questioned him, Silvyr held fast, keeping his mouth shut until he was finally overwhelmed by the darkness.

He had expected to be returned to that pain when he awoke. He expected to still be in the darkness with the blade against his skin while Vakmu demanded answers. Demanded that he tell him everything he knew about Athowen's defenses, Father's weaknesses, the hidden presence of Father's forces through the realm. When Silvyr said nothing and Vakmu's prodding turned to Brokil, Silvyr allowed himself to speak, but even then, it was only to curse Vakmu's name.

"What are these, Little Flower?" Vakmu mocked, pressing the blade against Silvyr's bruised hips. The petals that Brokil left on him, the marks and reminders of their coupling. "How long have you been the chief's toy?"

Silvyr said nothing, only glaring at Vakmu and meeting his gaze despite how hard his heart hammered in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Vakmu could hear it. Even still, Silvyr kept his lips tight, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron as the blade kissed his skin, dragging from bruise to bruise, rivulets of blood sliding down his leg as Silvyr pulled against the restraints keeping him upright.

"Still nothing to say? Tell me, how often did the Chief fuck you to earn good favor with Athowen?"

"Go to the Hells," Silvyr spat. Blood dribbled down his chin and he yanked his head away when Vakmu moved to wipe it away, earning a harsh strike with a closed fist.

"Come then," Brokil said, breaking Silvyr out of his memory, lifting him off the floor after wrapping the blanket around him once again. Brokil tried to be gentle, Silvyr could see it in the furrow of his brows, but the blanket felt like steel nails against his flesh no matter how soft his touch.

Though his arms were restrained again and he wanted nothing more than to hold on to Brokil and never let him go, Silvyr forced himself to be still and let Brokil carry him. He knew that too much moving would hurt him more, but he didn't care. He wanted to hold onto the orc and keep him from disappearing.

Brokil seemed to see this and pressed Silvyr's head against his chest, and he willingly followed. Silvyr looked over to Urzul and tried to smile, though the movement felt hollow and his lips heavy.

"Thank you," he mumbled, throat burning with each word.

"Go rest," Urzul said, her words settling in his chest like a warm mug of tea.

Back in Brokil's home, Silvyr was brought to the bed, whimpering at the way his body protested the movement of being laid down. Adjusting the pillows beneath him, Brokil lifted Silvyr to sit upright, letting his fingers linger on his bare skin whenever he touched it. When Brokil took a step away from the bed, Silvyr reached out from the blanket to grab his bracer, sucking in a breath when his fingers stung.

"Don't leave," he begged.

"I'm not." Brokil turned back to him, kneeling at the bedside. The orc ran his fingers through Silvyr's hair and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into that touch, craving nothing but the safety that was Brokil. "I'm going to get you something to wear and some water. I'll be right back. Can you handle that?"

Silvyr stared into his eyes, unsure if he could. Every moment Brokil was away from him, he feared that he would wake up and return to that dungeon where only pain existed.

"Promise?" he asked. He knew just how pathetic he sounded, but he didn't care. Not with Brokil.

"I promise," Brokil said, and Silvyr slowly let go of Brokil's leathers. Standing up, Brokil moved to his wardrobe, pulling out a single linen shirt. Far too big for Silvyr, but he wouldn't complain. In fact, he preferred it.

Silvyr bit back a groan as Brokil helped him into the shirt. It was painful, but worth it, as the soft scent of freshly washed linens, mixed with the deep musk of Brokil, engulfed his senses. He let himself fall into the warmth as Brokil pulled the hem down to Silvyr's knees and helped lay him back in bed, covering him with a pile of blankets and quilts. As warm and comfortable as he could possibly be, Silvyr could feel his eyelids drooping, even as he tried to fight them.

Gods, he was so tired, but he knew he couldn't sleep. He feared if he did, he might wake back up in that dungeon and realize his rescue had all been a dream. Because surely Brokil asking him to stay with him was a dream. Brokil caring for him, caressing him, kissing him, everything had to be a dream, and once he woke up, he would be thrown back into that torture, and he didn't think he could take any more of it. If Brokil wasn't real, he couldn't survive it.

"I'm going to get you water, I'll be right back," Brokil told him, and Silvyr could only nod, watching him leave the room.

In the silence, Silvyr tried to keep his eyes open, struggling against sleep. Please, he begged himself, fighting against his own will and body to at least wait until Brokil's arms were around him. Thankfully Brokil did not take long, returning with a jug and stone cup, pouring the liquid as he stepped through the doorway.

Shifting to sit up straighter, Silvyr fought against every ache to take the cup, swallowing the water as though he'd never drank in his life, soothing the burning in his throat. Brokil refilled the cup again when he finished, and this time Silvyr focused on drinking slowly, savoring the cooling sensation.

Still kneeling by the bed, Brokil began to remove his armor, dropping his bracers to the floor, followed by his breastplate and furs, tossing them haphazardly away. Silvyr found it odd. Brokil was so tidy, it didn't seem right that he carelessly tossed his armor around instead of putting it in the proper place.

"I'm going to get my night clothes," Brokil told him while Silvyr took another sip of his water.

"You'll come to bed after?" Silvyr asked, setting his cup on the bedside table.

"Yes."

Watching as Brokil stood, removing the rest of his clothing, Silvyr let himself take him in. If this was a dream, if he was to wake up and return to that dungeon and be subject to Vakmu's endless cruelties, he would ensure that he remembered this. The curve of Brokil's muscles and the hard lines across his body, Silvyr would remember it all. If nothing else could provide him comfort, this memory would.

Dressed in his night linens, Brokil slipped into bed beside Silvyr, careful not to touch him as he pulled the blankets over himself. He knew Brokil didn't want to hurt him further, but Silvyr didn't care, he needed to be enveloped and wrapped up in Brokil's tight embrace. Turning over to his side, Silvyr pressed himself as close as he could to the orc, digging his face into Brokil's shoulder.

"Hold me," he pleaded through the incoming wave of exhaustion that forced the words to come out slow and slurred.

His heart fluttered when he heard Brokil's low chuckle deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around Silvyr. Brokil's hold was weaker than Silvyr expected, but it still aggravated each slice and cut his arms touched. Though the pain refused to leave, even with Urzul's soothing ointments and salves, Silvyr clung to Brokil.

He wouldn't be parted.

"Always making demands," Brokil whispered, his fingers gently pushing Silvyr's hair from his face. Silvyr opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell away when Brokil's lips pressed against his forehead. "Sleep now. You're safe."

With the battle against sleep lost, and Brokil's arms around him, Silvyr let himself close his eyes, enveloped in Brokil's warmth and his scent. Sleep would take him and he prayed that when morning came, he would still be in Brokil's arms.

Brokil had asked Silvyr to stay with him, and Silvyr wouldn't break his promise.

???

Silvyr woke to darkness, muscles throbbing and lungs tight. Whimpering softly, he rolled to meet the empty space beside him, and his heart sank. Brokil was gone. He was alone. Perhaps he'd been alone the whole time, perhaps it really had all been a dream. He wondered when Vakmu would return. Or if he would return. Maybe if Silvyr stopped moving, he would believe him to be dead and leave Silvyr alone.

Only when he gripped the quilts at his fingertips did he let himself breathe again. He wasn't in that dungeon. He was still in Brokil's home, surrounded by warmth and familiar musk. He was still in a shirt too large for his frame, still dotted with dried salve. He was safe, and Brokil would return soon. He just had to believe that.

Turning his head toward the closed door, the flickering firelight beneath it caught his eye. Then the muffled voices. Brokil and Salthu.

"Bravrith is going to elect a new chief in the coming days. They're requesting your presence as they cast the vote, as a show of good will," Salthu said, and Silvyr's ear twitched with interest, straining to hear more. Knowing that Vakmu was no longer in charge of Bravrith calmed him in a way he didn't expect, but welcomed regardless.

"What day are they casting their vote?" Brokil asked her, his voice sounding short and strained.

"Three days from now."

The silence that followed was nearly unbearable, and Silvyr wondered if they were still speaking at all.

"I don't think I can leave him," Brokil said, and Silvyr's stomach flipped.

"You must. It will only be a day and he will be fine. We'll ensure he remains here," Salthu told him.

Silvyr considered another day without Brokil. Would he truly be safe? He would probably be kept in Brokil's home until he returned, and for the first time, he didn't mind the idea of being locked away here.

Though he preferred Brokil here with him, it was foolish to think that Silvyr would be able to make Brokil stay by his side when his duties required him. Silvyr knew he couldn't force Brokil to neglect his responsibilities as chief, even if he craved it more than anything. It was selfish and childish.

"Salthu, is what Murzush said true? Was this my fault?" Brokil asked, his voice sounding weaker than Silvyr had ever heard. If he were braver, Silvyr would jump out of bed, slam the door open and reprimand the orc for his foolishness in even asking the question.

Even if he was braver, he didn't think he could move right now.

"Murzush lost her way," Salthu said, and Silvyr thanked all the gods that she would tell Brokil the truth as she knew it. It might be the only thing they agreed on, but Silvyr would take it, and he would thank her until he could no longer breathe for it. "You did everything right, Brokil. I didn't see it at first, but you are right in this. Your father would be proud."

"Do you believe that, or are you trying to make me feel better?" Brokil's voice carried an air of lightness that twitched Silvyr's lips into a small smile.

"I'm not a liar, chief," Salthu told him, her own voice matching Brokil's tone. "Vakmu's methods were unnecessary, and his disruption will make our negotiations with the Tyrant King harder. Let's hope that the prince heals before he's returned home."

"Perhaps our saving him from Bravrith will help," Brokil said. "Thank you, Salthu. I need to retire for the night. I will see you in the Council Chamber tomorrow. There will be much to discuss after this. Are you okay though? I know you and Murzush were–"

"No, we're not talking about that. You'll get little sleep in the coming days. Get it while you still can." There was something tense in Salthu's voice. It was almost alien, but it made Silvyr's stomach pitch. Part of him wished he could see what a woman always at war looked like when she was at ease.

Shuffling in the room signaled the ending of their impromptu meeting. The opening and closing of the front door was followed by Brokil's footsteps. Bit by bit, the flickering light beneath the door frame dimmed until it was gone altogether.

When the door opened, Brokil's eyes fell on Silvyr. "You're awake," he whispered, closing the door behind himself.

Silvyr scooted back toward the wall to make room for him, ignoring the sharp pains shooting down each limb when he moved. "Come lay down."

In the moonlight streaming through the window, he could see the fatigue that settled into Brokil's face, the exhaustion weighing down his shoulders. It made Silvyr's heart ache, and he yearned to bring the man closer to him, to wrap around him and protect him as he protected Silvyr.

Brokil didn't argue and slipped into bed, letting an arm rest over Silvyr. "Did I wake you? Are you in pain?" he asked, and Silvyr shook his head.

"No, I woke on my own," he answered, lifting his own hand to rest on Brokil's cheek. "I heard your conversation after I woke." Silvyr didn't think he needed to tell Brokil that he heard what was said, but not telling him felt wrong. Not telling Brokil everything on his mind felt like a betrayal that Silvyr wasn't willing to commit.

"And the pain?"

"It hasn't stopped," Silvyr admitted, chest aching at the frown that settled onto Brokil's lips. When Brokil moved to get out of bed again, Silvyr gripped his linen tighter, sucking in a breath when his fingertips screamed for relief. "No—"

"I need to get you more ointment." Brokil set his hand over Silvyr's, gently squeezing until Silvyr forced his fingers to relax. "I'm not leaving you, Silvyr."

"I don't need the ointment."

"Absolutely not, you're not being stubborn right now. Not with this." Silvyr could see the orc fighting to hold back a smile. "Stay in bed, I'll be right back."

Silvyr couldn't argue with him and let go of his linens completely. The moment he was able, Brokil slipped out of the bed and snatched up the jar of ointment from his desk, then a sack that sat beside it. In silence, he took a seat on the edge of the bed and opened the jar.

Slowly, carefully, he unwrapped each bandage to apply the ointment. Though his touch was gentle, far more than he was with the boar wound, Silvyr still fought to hold in his whines and whimpers. Thankfully, mercifully, Brokil was finished quickly, rewrapping Silvyr's wounds with clean bandages from the sack.

After setting the bag and ointment back on the desk, Brokil returned to bed. By that time, Silvyr could feel the ointment beginning its work, slowly numbing him to the pain. It was a lovely relief and made it far easier for him to press right up against Brokil the moment he pulled the blankets over the both of them.

Nudging Silvyr's forehead with his own, Brokil took in a long breath. "I'll have to go to meet with the Elders tomorrow," Brokil said, his face creased with regret and hurt.

"I know," Silvyr whispered, leaning over to kiss Brokil's cheek, letting himself linger as Brokil's hold on him tightened. He understood Brokil's responsibilities, understood his own position in Ghizol and had accepted it. He could last a day, as long as Brokil returned to him. "I'll be okay when you go."

Brokil's fingers grazed Silvyr's back, running up and down and sending light shivers through him. "You will be, but I don't want to leave you alone, Silvyr," Brokil admitted, curling his fingers in Silvyr's linens.

"You'll come back, right?" Silvyr asked, running the pad of his thumb over Brokil's cheek.

Leaning into his touch, Brokil nodded. "I'll always come back to you, Silvyr."

"Then I'll be okay," Silvyr said, heart soaring when Brokil leaned in and pressed his lips against Silvyr's. He smiled against the orc's lips. "Just keep coming back to me."

Closing his eyes, Silvyr let himself fall into Brokil, shifting to press closer, slipping his leg between Brokil's. He slid his arm around Brokil's neck, drawing him in, desperate to keep Brokil's lips on his. Silvyr imagined that if heaven existed, if there was a place where only good could exist, this is what it would feel like. Tusks against his cheeks and all.

"You need to sleep," Brokil told him when he pulled away.

"So do you," Silvyr replied. When Brokil's lips twitched into a small smile, Silvyr let himself grin as well, his heart warming at the sight of Brokil's tusks pressing into his upper lip. Making a decision, he shifted up the bed a bit, groaning softly with the effort.

"What are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself," Brokil protested, his hand grabbing Silvyr's hip to stop him only to be swatted away with a huff.

"Let me do this," Silvyr said, earning a low chuckle that settled pleasantly in his belly. When he finally came to rest, Silvyr wrapped Brokil's shoulders and head in his arms, pressing the orc's face against his own chest.

Brokil's muscles relaxed under his touch, and the orc drew in a long, calming breath. "Demanding little shit," he grumbled, so fond and soft that Silvyr couldn't stop the small giggle from passing his lips. Brokil's arms wrapped around his middle, keeping Silvyr close.

"Stubborn ass," Silvyr whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Brokil's head as he closed his eyes. With his nose tucked into the orc's dark curls, Silvyr let the comforting scent and the heavy weight on his chest lull him back to sleep.