29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Silvyr

Blade met skin, tearing him apart piece by piece, pulling his essence away.

Grinding his teeth, Silvyr refused to cry out and show weakness. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing how the pain affected him. With every cut and demand, his vision blurred and the tears fell. Silent.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Vakmu's voice echoed behind him, beside him, in front of him, all around him. "All you have to do is start talking. Start talking, and I'll stop cutting. It's an easy trade off."

Staring into those hate-filled eyes only reaffirmed Silvyr's determination to say nothing. It may have been easier to speak, to spill out every secret Vakmu tried to cut out of him, but each time Vakmu asked him to betray Athowen, betray Ghizol, Silvyr trapped his words behind tight lips.

"I won't," Silvyr said, allowing himself to speak only to make sure this man knew Silvyr would not bend.

"For now," Vakmu said, his grin twisting as he pulled a pair of pliers from his hip pouch. "Now give me your hand, I'm going to send your father a little gift."

Vakmu didn't wait for Silvyr before snatching up his hand, his grip too tight, too powerful. Silvyr desperately clawed at Vakmu's arm with his free hand, helpless and unable to stop him as the pliers gripped his fingernail.

And Silvyr screamed.

"Silvyr. Silvyr!" A deep voice pulled him from the dream with a choking gasp, his lungs strangled and burning. Arms pulled him in, pressing him tight against a burly chest as he sat up in the bed.

"Stop! Please!" Silvyr wheezed through his desperate attempts for air, pulling his hand tight against his chest, pushing himself back against the hold around him, trying to keep the pain from returning.

It was too late. The pain flared through him. Every cut, every scrape, every bruise and slash, burned. He was back in that dungeon where only pain and darkness enclosed him, a knife pressed against his flesh, pliers digging into his fingers.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Silvyr bit the inside of his cheek, still swollen from the abuse of the previous day's events, and braced himself for the pain to come. His heart hammered so hard that his head spun, and he feared he would be sick.

Large hands cupped his face, and Silvyr let a whimper pass his lips, cheeks flaring when he realized just how weak he sounded. The voice that called to him was low, gentle. Familiar. "Silvyr, open your eyes. It's me."

Obeying the order given, Silvyr let himself open his eyes, praying it wasn't a trick. He was greeted by Brokil's face, creased with concern, lit by the morning sunlight that streamed through the window.

Silvyr let out a shuddering whimper. He was safe. He wasn't in that dungeon. He was in Brokil's bed, where he would be safe no matter what was going on in the world around them.

Heat returned to his cheeks when he realized what had happened. When he realized he had woken up screaming and thrashing, believing he was trapped, and surely waking Brokil. Gods, Brokil must think so poorly of him now, must think him so weak.

Still gripping his injured hand, Silvyr swallowed hard, dropping his forehead to rest against Brokil's chest. He couldn't stop his body from trembling as the nightmare's effects rippled through him. Even after slowly catching his breath, his muscles still quivered beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry." Silvyr didn't know what else he could say. Nothing else seemed appropriate for what he had done, for how he reacted to a dream. It wasn't real, and here he was, heart thundering in his ears as though it were.

Again, those strong arms wrapped around him, completely enveloping him, and he let himself curl into that cocoon. "I've got you. You're safe, it was just a dream," Brokil whispered into his hair. His voice was a deep rumble where Silvyr had his cheek pressed to the man's chest, and despite how Silvyr's body ached, aggravated by Brokil's hold, he didn't want to pull away.

Silvyr nearly had to pry his hands away from his own chest, wrapping them around Brokil and gripping the back of his linens, ignoring how his fingers burned. Brokil was there. Silvyr was safe. Vakmu wouldn't be able to take a knife to his flesh again. He wouldn't be able to pull blood from Silvyr again, or taunt him, or force him to scream when he refused to speak.

"He hurt me," Silvyr whimpered. It was obvious, of course. Brokil knew, he'd seen. The cuts and scrapes and bruises didn't appear from thin air. Purposefully placed, each one serving as a reminder of every question he refused to answer and every taunt he refused to fall for. He might have laughed at the stupidity of the statement if he had the air in his lungs to do so.

Brokil gripped Silvyr tighter, and he could have sworn he heard a low growl from deep in the orc's throat. "No one will hurt you again," Brokil said, voice tight as he spoke through his teeth. "I'll kill them if they try."

There was no reason Silvyr shouldn't believe him. He knew that had Brokil been with him in the meadows, Vakmu never would have been able to take him and hurt him the way that he did. Closing his eyes again, Silvyr shifted to straddle Brokil's lap, trying to be closer, to soak up any bit of comfort that Brokil could provide.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, and he didn't care. All he cared about was the warmth radiating from the orc. About was the way Brokil's fingers ran through his hair to untangle the knots, or how they trailed up and down his back, leaving tingles in their wake. All he cared about was the steady beating of Brokil's heart that soothed Silvyr as he pressed his face against his chest. The way Brokil pressed a small kiss on the top of his head every few moments, and the way his tusks would catch a few strands of his hair, forcing Brokil to release one hand to fix it.

Once his heart had calmed and his breathing felt steady, Silvyr lifted his head and summoned the courage to look Brokil in the eyes again. "Can I come with you today?" he asked.

He knew Brokil would leave in a few days, but now, today, the thought of being alone still terrified him. What if he was taken again? What if he dozed off and returned to that dungeon without Brokil to rescue him again? What would he do to occupy his time while his head swirled and refused to give him any sort of peace?

Brokil took a breath, considering the question only for a moment. "Yes. I'll take you with me," he said, much to Silvyr's relief. It must have shown on his face because Brokil's lips pressed against his forehead. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Silvyr told him honestly, "but I'm going to try to be." As long as he remained by Brokil, he would find a way to be okay. As long as Brokil continued to show him that he was safe, he would learn how.

"Let me get the ointment for you, and we can get ready to leave."

Silvyr fought against the urge to grab and hold on as Brokil moved out of the bed and grabbed the ointment and bandages. The orc took his time, applying salve to each of Silvyr's wounds, his touch just as gentle as the night before. There wasn't much that could be done about the burn of the medicine, but Silvyr bit his lip and breathed deep through each new stinging sensation. When he came to the slashes on his hips, accentuating the bruises Brokil gave him before he'd been taken, the orc paused, his face contorted in a brief moment of rage before he continued.

"I didn't tell him anything," Silvyr mumbled, catching Brokil's eye when he glanced up at him. He could swear he caught the faint threat of a smile, but Brokil didn't interrupt as he closed the salve and moved on to wrapping the bandages. "He wanted to know about Ghizol, about you. But I didn't say anything, I swear it."

"You're strong, Silvyr," Brokil said, setting the old bandages and the salve aside before pulling Silvyr back into his lap, arms tight around him. "Fucking strong, you hear me?"

"I hear you," Silvyr replied, though he didn't know if he believed it.

He wouldn't argue with Brokil though. If Brokil truly felt that Silvyr was strong, he would take it. He would use it to forge his armor to be stronger in the future. If he ever returned to Athowen, he knew he would need whatever strength he could salvage.

"Good," Brokil said, tilting Silvyr's head up to look at him.

Taking it as an invitation, Silvyr wrapped his arms around Brokil's shoulders and lifted himself on his knees to press their lips together, unable to keep from smiling when the orc eagerly returned the gesture. Though he wanted nothing more than to pull Brokil down with him and remain in bed for the entire day, Silvyr pulled back.

"We need to get ready to leave," Silvyr said, cupping a hand to Brokil's cheek.

The internal debate in Brokil's face was clear as day, and Silvyr suppressed a giggle at the sight. After a moment, Brokil conceded. "You're right. Come, Little Flower."

Brokil slipped out of the bed and held Silvyr's hand as he guided him to his feet. Stepping on the floor with shaking legs, Silvyr's body protested the movement, but he wouldn't let it deter him. The more he moved, the sooner his body would heal. He had learned that from his experiences with the lash. So long as he pushed through the pain, it would pass quickly.

They dressed in silence, though Brokil did take it upon himself to help Silvyr with his clothing, taking care with each piece to avoid hurting him further. Silvyr could dress himself, but he wasn't going to stop him. The sight of the orc chief on his knees before Silvyr, tying off his trousers, made his stomach flutter, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to stroke the man's cheek, earning him a playful smile in return.

When they finished dressing, Brokil led them outside, placing his hand on Silvyr's shoulder to keep him close. The security of being near Brokil was undeniable as they moved through Ghizol, Brokil slowing his gait to keep pace with Silvyr. The sunlight against his skin set him at ease, and the light breeze made him step closer to Brokil to absorb his warmth.

As they neared the Council Chamber, Silvyr caught sight of a few men running toward the barracks at a leisurely jog. There was no sense of urgency or panic, but even so, it set Silvyr's nerves alight, and he reached out to tug at Brokil's linens.

"What's going on over there?" Silvyr asked.

Looking over, Brokil eyed the men before turning to Silvyr. "Urzul is taking care of the wounded in the barracks. They're probably grabbing supplies for her."

"The wounded?" Silvyr turned to look at Brokil.

"Right, you weren't awake." Brokil took a breath, the corner of his jaw ticking as he clenched it. "We fought with the Bravrith orcs in order to retrieve you."

Silvyr turned back to the barracks. "They got hurt because of me," he mumbled, and Brokil's hand on his shoulder tightened.

"No," Brokil insisted, "they were injured because Vakmu was a fool."

Fool Vakmu may be, but it still wouldn't have happened if Silvyr wasn't in Ghizol. Or if he'd been where he was supposed to be, rather than wallowing in his own pity amongst the flowers. "Would Urzul let me help?" Silvyr asked.

If he could do nothing else, he could help with this. He knew medicine, he knew enough to be useful, and he knew enough to make up for what his presence had caused. Brokil may put the blame on Vakmu, but if Silvyr wasn't in Ghizol, those soldiers wouldn't be injured. Vakmu or not, Silvyr was the cause and he could make up for it.

Brokil hesitated. "You're still hurt yourself."

"I can still help," Silvyr said, gripping Brokil's linen tighter in his fist. He had to help. "My injuries didn't ruin what I know or what I can do. I swear I will take it easy, and Urzul will be there to watch me."

Brokil stared at him for a few moments, clearly weighing his options, but Silvyr wouldn't relent. Not from this. Not from the opportunity to prove himself. Not just to the orcs of Ghizol, but to himself.

"Come then. I'll be late to meet with the Elders if I continue arguing with you," Brokil conceded with a low chuckle, turning toward the barracks and nudging Silvyr along.

"Thank you."

While the men outside hadn't been particularly frenzied, inside the barracks was a maelstrom of activity. Men and women moved throughout the building, some tending wounds and others carrying supplies, and in the back, Urzul and Solaro treated the line of wounded. Most of them had already received treatment, but they looked to be checking on the wounds and repairing what had been done the day before when there was little time for accuracy.

As Brokil led Silvyr toward them, the warriors stepped aside and made room, their eyes falling on Silvyr with a mix of confusion and trepidation. Holding his head high, Silvyr wouldn't let them see the weakness in him. Even if he needed to pretend, he would show them that he could do this, show them he could be useful to them. That he cared about them.

"Urzul," Brokil announced himself, keeping his hand on the small of Silvyr's back.

"I'm busy right now." Urzul didn't look at them, keeping her focus on adjusting the stitches in a man's leg while he bit down on leather and gripped the bench he sat on.

"I brought you an extra set of hands," Brokil said, and Urzul paused to look up at them, her eyes falling to Silvyr almost immediately.

Determined not to waver, Silvyr nodded at Brokil's statement. "I stitched Chief Brokil before. Solaro said it was good work. I can help," he insisted, taking a single step forward and standing tall. "Please, I want to help."

Urzul's smile could have made Silvyr fly. "Come then," she said, motioning to the open space beside her. She set her basket of supplies between them when he knelt down, inviting Silvyr to make use of them.

"I'll be back when the meeting is finished," Brokil told him. He waited just a moment, as though trying to be sure that Silvyr would be okay on his own, before turning and leaving the building.

Silvyr was grateful for the trust. Both in Brokil trusting him to be okay, and in Urzul for trusting him to help. It made him all the more determined to prove himself here, to show them that he was strong, as Brokil claimed him to be.

As the first warrior sat before him, confusion written across his face when he looked at Silvyr, the elf set to work removing the bandages from his arm. The stitches he must have received in Bravrith were quickly done and uneven. They would need to be redone to ensure proper healing.

Taking the smallest shears from the basket, Silvyr carefully cut away the thread, pulling them out and setting them in a small pile beside himself. The more he worked, the less the activity around him registered to him. He cleaned the wound, applied the ointment and carefully stitched it shut, tight and even. When he finished, he caught Urzul from the corner of his eye examining his work, another smile on her face.

She said nothing, but as Silvyr wrapped the wound to keep it clean, pride swelled in his chest.

???

With each person Silvyr worked on, he found himself falling into the motions with ease. It no longer mattered that his body ached or that his fingers burned with the precise stitching movements. He paused only once when his fingers bled through the bandages and needed to be rewrapped. Urzul insisted he apply another layer of ointment, which he didn't argue with, and soon he was back to work without complaint.

Focusing on helping everyone who sat before him helped with the pain. It was easy to forget his own wounds when he was applying salves and stitching together much larger ones. Though his hands ached and fingers screamed for relief, the rest of his body fell into blissful numbness.

Every orc that sat in front of him stared at him with disbelief, as though the idea of an elf being kind, or providing them any sort of help, was a trick in itself.

Silvyr would prove them wrong.

He didn't speak, and instead let his actions speak for him, working with the gentle care he knew he could do. Urzul stopped glancing over to check his work after the first few people, and Silvyr was confident it was because she at least trusted and believed in his abilities. Only a few times did she take his hands to examine his own bandages, asking how he felt.

He felt stronger than ever before.

As the warriors continued to pass through, the wounds became less severe, and Silvyr could see that they had started with the worst and were now working through the less injured. Just like his books recommended. First aid and triage required the worst injuries to be treated as quickly as possible to ensure the most survivors. Though, Silvyr felt he didn't need a book to tell him that. The thought made him smile as he applied ointment to a few scrapes on the woman before him.

"Are you almost finished here?"

Silvyr turned to look at Brokil over his shoulder, the chief leaning against one of the bunks with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes firmly set on Silvyr.

"Yes, we're finished," Urzul answered before Silvyr had a chance. "I'll be back tomorrow to check on the worst of them." She packed her things into her basket before taking one of the larger supply tins and placing it in Silvyr's lap.

His heart soared as he picked it up, hugging it to his chest. "Do you need help?" he asked, hoping she would say yes.

"If you're offering, then I am accepting," Urzul said, standing up and turning to her son. "Is that acceptable, chief? I'll need him at noon."

Brokil hummed, watching Silvyr stand with a playfully critical eye, as though making a show of carefully considering the request. "I'll allow it," he finally said and Silvyr couldn't stop himself from smiling. When they returned to the home, Silvyr would kiss him senseless to show his thanks for this.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow then," Urzul said. She turned her intense gaze back to Silvyr. "Get some rest. You will need to rest your hands tonight, or you will be no help to me tomorrow. Do you hear me, Brokil? You let the elf rest."

Silvyr bit on his lower lip to contain the laugh that threatened to erupt when Brokil rolled his eyes.

"I'll make sure he gets his rest. He's not good at following directions, but I will do my best." Brokil glanced at Silvyr, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. A challenge mixed into a promise.

"What did I tell you about blaming him when he's injured?" Urzul chided. "Go on now. The sooner he can rest, the better."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Urzul," Silvyr said, waving his fingers as Brokil turned them around.

Leading the way out of the barracks, Brokil's hand came to rest on the small of Silvyr's back once again, the touch light but steady. Still hugging the medical tin to his chest, Silvyr found himself moving with ease, as though his injuries never happened, as though his body were ten feet in the air and dancing amongst the clouds. He knew the high would fall away and the pain would return in full force soon, but for now, he would enjoy it while he could.

Back in the sunlight, Silvyr took a long breath, letting himself reach up with his free hand to grab Brokil's linens, if for no other reason than to be close. The strong hand at his back slid to his shoulder, tugging him closer until they were walking pressed side by side. Silvyr decided that if he could keep even a sliver of this feeling, all the pain in his life would have been worth it.

"Chief," Salthu's voice called from behind them. They turned to look at her, Silvyr surprised to see an almost hesitant look on her face. "Does the boy have time for one more?"

Silvyr stepped toward her and out of Brokil's hold, whatever fear he might have once held for this woman pushed aside instantly. "Yes," he said, "where are you hurt?"

Salthu lifted her sleeve to show a large, untreated gash over her bicep, not even a grimace crossing her face as the fabric peeled away from the bloody wound. As Silvyr knelt down, Salthu followed, sitting flat on her rear so he could easily work on her arm.

"It's nothing major," she said, and Silvyr could feel Brokil looming above him, no doubt thinking it the absolute understatement of the day. He was certainly thinking it as he opened the medical tin and got to work.

"Why didn't you get this treated sooner?" Silvyr asked, removing the rag and dampening it with disinfectant. The sour smell made him crinkle his nose, but he didn't hesitate to start wiping at the wound.

Through her teeth, Salthu chuckled. "The others needed to be treated first."

Silvyr nearly rolled his eyes. "I've heard that before," he said, sparing Brokil a look over his shoulder before focusing all his attention on Salthu and her wound.

It could have been worse. The cut was not to the bone, and the muscle would heal, and it wasn't the worst he'd seen today. It would leave a large scar because she waited so long, but Silvyr would do what he could to help with that.

He caught her eye after applying a healing salve, pausing under the intense look she leveled at him. It wasn't the hateful and distrusting one he'd grown so used to from her, but it was no less unnerving. Like she was trying to peer into his soul, prying him open and searching as thoroughly as she could. For what, he couldn't be sure, but he let her dig. Let her see that he only wanted to help, that he cared for the people of Ghizol and wanted to show them that.

Finally, she must have found what she was looking for, because the heavy gaze lightened, and Silvyr went back to his work.

He threaded the curved needle and pinched the wound shut with his fingers, eyes focused as he pierced the needle through her skin. Gentle as he could, but there was only so much he could do on that front.

"Are you holding up?" Silvyr asked after the first handful of stitches.

"Yes. You're fast.".

"You're not the first I've stitched today. I've gotten a lot of practice," Silvyr said with a smile. Behind him he could hear Brokil's low laugh as well. "There, done."

Leaning back, Silvyr watched Salthu examine her arm, flexing her bicep until the thread tugged, then relaxing. "It feels tight," she said, standing up. Perhaps as close to a compliment as Silvyr would get from her.

"Good." Silvyr set his supplies carefully back into the tin and lifted himself to his feet, Brokil already at his side. "Do you have any other injuries?"

"None worth worrying about," Salthu replied, lips almost twitching into a smirk when Silvyr huffed at her.

He pulled the jar of salve from the tin once more, nearly empty but enough to be useful, and held it out to her. "Just put that on anything else you have. And make sure you wash them well before you do," Silvyr instructed as Salthu took the offered jar. Brokil's hand rested on his shoulder, though from thanks or to urge him on, Silvyr wasn't sure. "Come by the barracks tomorrow so I can check on your stitches please."

"Fine, I'll be there tomorrow," Salthu agreed. The look on her face was unfamiliar to Silvyr, but he didn't mind it. It didn't look threatening or distrusting at all, completely different from the way Salthu first looked at him. Whatever she was feeling, Silvyr would take it and continue to work until he saw her smile.

"Come then, Silvyr. We need to reapply the ointment to your injuries too," Brokil nudged.

Salthu didn't say another word and left them, letting Brokil lead Silvyr back toward his home, keeping the elf pressed against his side.

It was a dangerous thought, but Silvyr could see himself getting used to this. Used to helping people, to healing them. Princes weren't meant for medicine, they were meant for war and rule. But for a little while, for as long as he could, Silvyr could pretend that's what he could be, what he was. A healer.