30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Silvyr

For the first time, dreams did not plague him.

Trying to hide from the morning rays of sun, Silvyr pressed his face against the crook of Brokil's neck, taking in a deep breath. Brokil's early morning musk nearly sent Silvyr back to restful sleep, but the arms tightening around him brought a small smile to his face even through the sharp pains. The chill of morning might as well not exist when he was enveloped in the warmth and security of Brokil.

The day before had been more exhausting than Silvyr gave it credit for. By the time they returned to Brokil's home and reapplied his ointment, Silvyr's eyelids were heavy and drooping, his yawns getting bigger by the minute. He barely made it through dinner before Brokil started insisting he go to sleep. Silvyr resisted, of course, saying he'd only go if Brokil would join him, to which he received a fond grumble about being a stubborn brat.

Instead, Silvyr settled in front of the fireplace with his head in Brokil's lap, letting the quiet shifting of parchment as Brokil went through his meeting notes lull him to sleep, kept there by the gentle fingers threading rhythmically through his hair. He woke momentarily when Brokil lifted him off the ground and took him to bed, but only long enough to kiss him and let the orc tend his wounds once more before sleep stole him back.

Now, pressed against Brokil, he imagined this is what a life fulfilled must feel like. Tucked up in Brokil's arms, soaking up his warmth, it felt a bit like happiness. True happiness. Silvyr couldn't help but wrap his arms around Brokil's middle and nuzzle even closer, letting himself fall into the comfort of the man around him. The movement seemed enough to jostle the orc, however, as Brokil blinked his eyes open and grunted at the sun's morning assault on his face. Silvyr giggled, and Brokil's arms tightened around him until they were flush together.

"Morning," Silvyr whispered, pressing a kiss against Brokil's throat, his lips twitching when he felt the vibrations of the orc's hum.

"You didn't have a nightmare," Brokil murmured, pulling back just enough to look down at him.

Silvyr whined at the loss of contact, but he was quickly silenced when Brokil's lips met his, replacing his whine with a small, pleased hum. If he could just stay like this for the rest of his life, Silvyr would die a happy man. With Brokil's hands threading through his hair, gently pulling apart the knots, Silvyr thought his heart might finally be ready to break free from its confines, ready to accept the affection as something he could have.

"We must get out of bed soon," Silvyr said against Brokil's lips, but he couldn't stop himself from kissing him again and again, grinning when Brokil returned each kiss with enthusiasm.

"We have time," Brokil told him, his lips moving down to press against Silvyr's throat. With a smile, Silvyr let his head fall back, running his fingers through Brokil's hair as he trailed kisses all the way down to his chest.

Silvyr would not argue about getting out of bed now. Not when Brokil caressed and kissed his bare flesh with a tenderness that was utterly new, but certainly welcome. While he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the intensity of their earlier encounters, this new softness made his stomach flutter with delight. If he could drown in this, he would willingly jump into that pool and vanish below its depths for the mere promise of the orc's touch.

Brokil's hands drew down Silvyr's frame, down to his hips where he paused to nudge Silvyr onto his back. "You'll make us late," Silvyr protested, though the soft giggle that followed made the argument weak.

"I won't." Brokil grinned, running his open palm against Silvyr's heat, already sensitive and damp, and forcing a small gasp from him. "I just want to touch you."

Silvyr glanced down his body at Brokil, eyes finding his very obvious arousal. "What about you?" he asked.

"You need to heal, then I will do more," Brokil told him, stroking his fingers along Silvyr's slit, his grinning turning devious when it drew a gasp from the elf. "Until then, will you let me take care of you like this?"

Heart pounding, Silvyr nodded. "Please, don't stop," he whispered, bringing his hand to Brokil's face, stroking the apple of his cheek with his thumb. Each stroke of Brokil's hand brought forth another soft sigh and moan, lulling him into a sense of lazy pleasure, the same way those fingers lulled him into a dreamless sleep the night before.

Pressing the first finger into him, pumping in and out, slow and steady, Brokil returned his lips to Silvyr's neck. Silvyr rocked his hips up, trying to chase the sensation and whining when Brokil used his free hand to press him back down.

The orc had a look in his eye that Silvyr didn't recognize, something as soft as flower petals and just as lovely. "Sunlight suits you. You glow in it," Brokil told him, and Silvyr felt his cheeks flush a bright pink.

"You suddenly have so many sweet words," Silvyr whispered, licking his lips.

"I have reason to use them now."

Silvyr's eyes fluttered shut, and he let his head fall back onto the pillow, savoring the sensation of Brokil teasing his pussy. His stomach twisted, and he couldn't tell if it was from Brokil's teasing, or the words he whispered so sweetly in Silvyr's ear, but he found he didn't care. Each stroke inside him sent fire licking through his veins. Each brush of his tongue, rough and wet, left trails of heat in its wake. Each lick and teasing bite to his nipples sent shockwaves across his skin. Silvyr never imagined that the feeling of tusks grazing against him would make him quake and quiver, ready and willing to beg for more, yet here he was.

A second finger joined the first, slipping in and out of his wet folds, pressing against the spot inside him that made his legs tremble and his hips jerk with each pass. The warmth of his pleasure spread through his entire body, slow and gentle, easing him into the edges of bliss where only Brokil could take him.

"Good, so good," Silvyr breathed on a shuddering whimper.

"I love making you feel good," Brokil purred before running the length of his tongue over the scars beneath Silvyr's breast, drawing forth another mewl.

Brokil's thumb lazily circled Silvyr's clit, and his thighs tensed so hard he might have buckled completely if he weren't already on his back. How did Brokil know exactly how to touch him? How to make him see stars and sunlight all at once? How could his fingers alone, dragging in and out of Silvyr's slick pussy, make him shake and quiver like he'd never been touched before?

"I'm close," Silvyr whimpered, bringing his hands to his pillow, grasping at the plush cushion as heat pooled in his belly. Though his fingertips ached, it was nothing compared to the pleasure Brokil gave him. "Can I please—"

"Don't ask, just let yourself go, Silvyr," Brokil whispered, and Silvyr opened his eyes just in time to see Brokil descend on him, taking his lips once more.

And Silvyr did as he was bid, letting himself enjoy every sensation that ran through him, grasping at the orc's hair, keeping him close. Each moan and whimper was swallowed by Brokil's hungry mouth as his tongue parted Silvyr's lips, each tug of dark hair met with a low grunt and groan in return.

Rocking his hips, Silvyr mewled against Brokil as he hooked his fingers to rapidly fuck in and out of Silvyr's pussy, using his free hand to circle his clit in time with his thrusts. Unable to stop himself, Silvyr met each push and pull with one of his own, fucking himself on Brokil's fingers, desperately chasing the throbbing pleasure until he pitched over the edge.

A sudden torrent of hot squirt bowed his back, the pain mixing with pleasure until Silvyr's vision grew hazy at the edges. Brokil swallowed Silvyr's loud moan with a deep kiss, his soaked hand not stopping even as Silvyr's body twitched and shuddered. Silvyr ground down on his fingers as he rode out his orgasm, clit aching and hands tight in Brokil's hair when he finally found solid ground again.

"Gods," Silvyr gasped against Brokil's lips as the man finally pulled his fingers from Silvyr's pussy.

"That's my good boy." Brokil grinned into another kiss, drawing a small laugh from Silvyr as his heart soared.

Taking deep breaths, Silvyr watched lazily as Brokil reached for his discarded shirt, using it to clean his hand and Silvyr's mess. Brokil took his time kissing along Silvyr's shoulders and collar to distract him from the sensitivity as he wiped him off. It was nice, laying there in post-orgasmic bliss and letting Brokil take care of him.

None of his lovers had done this for him, and he'd never asked them to. Granted, none of them really needed to clean Silvyr as much as Brokil did, a thought that made Silvyr's cheeks flush hot, but still, the fact remained true. Silvyr was capable, and he preferred to clean himself after each tryst and encounter. Yet with Brokil's hands caressing him with such gentle care, Silvyr couldn't imagine anything else. How would he ever go back to what he had before this man? Could he?

He let the thought be carried away with the shirt as Brokil tossed it away, sitting up straight and running his fingers over Silvyr's chest.

"Now we really must get out of bed, or we may never leave it," Silvyr told him, trying and failing to hide the smile on his lips. Brokil stared down at him with a gaze that was a mix of predatory and absolutely adoring, and Silvyr thrived underneath it.

"Urzul will have my head if I am the cause of you being late," Brokil conceded with a low chuckle. "I also must go for the day."

Silvyr rolled to his side, propping up his head in his hand. "What must you do today?" he asked, resting his free hand on Brokil's thigh, swirling random patterns into the coarse hair with his fingertip.

"A hunt to celebrate our victory in Bravrith," Brokil told him, reaching out to run his fingers through Silvyr's hair, pushing it out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. "It's customary to feast afterward, but it is always started with a hunt."

Silvyr nodded. "I see. I would imagine your hunters would not be pleased if you were late for that too," Silvyr said, smiling when Brokil shook his head. "Does that mean you'll be lighting the pyre tonight too?"

"Yes, we will," Brokil answered.

"When will you be back?"

Even with Brokil's promise to keep him, Silvyr knew it would be foolish to assume that he would be invited to the pyre. It was for Ghizol's victory, not his. It was for Brokil's people to connect and celebrate. As much as he wanted to, and as much as he believed that he might one day, he knew he didn't belong there. Not yet. Soon, maybe. But for now, Silvyr could be content with belonging only to Brokil and imagining what his future in Ghizol might hold.

"I'll be back shortly. Will you be here waiting for me?" Brokil asked him, running the back of his knuckles over Silvyr's cheek.

"I will. Every day," Silvyr said, turning his head to kiss Brokil's hand.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Brokil descended on him again, taking his lips. "We still have time," he said, and Silvyr found no reason to argue as he wrapped his arms around him and lost himself in the kiss.

???

Setting aside another jar, Silvyr filled his basket with the supplies he would need to meet with Urzul. Brokil had already left for the hunt, but not before kissing Silvyr again, long and slow. Lingering until Silvyr had to all but shove him out the door so he wouldn't be late, because if they kissed any longer Silvyr would have pulled him right back to bed. Their bed.

A smile drew across his lips as he set another jar into his basket. It seemed that Father had forgotten him, but Silvyr no longer cared. Let Father forget. Let him say that his first-born son died, and his new heir would take over in his stead. Brokil could handle the Elders in Ghizol, and they would find a way to thrive without Father accepting their terms.

Ghizol would be better than before. They didn't have to bend to Father's will, they could find another way around it. Even with Father's rage, he wouldn't set Ghizol aflame while Silvyr was there, and Silvyr would help find a way to get Ghizol what they deserved and needed.

Fanciful as his imaginings were, he let himself believe it.

He let himself believe that the Elders would listen to Brokil when he told them Silvyr would stay in Ghizol forever. He would believe that they could find another way to get Father and his obsession with conquest far away from Ghizol and Amesisle entirely. He had to believe it. He had to believe his future in Ghizol could be perfect. Would be perfect.

By now the other orcs were beginning to trust him. Silvyr had seen it for himself when he helped Urzul the day before. After treating their wounds, the warriors were smiling and talking to him like one of their own. The thought alone brought a smile to his lips. He couldn't recall another time he'd felt this happy. This at home. He just needed more time, and he would prove himself to everyone. Prove that he belonged here, that he deserved to stay, that he would be good.

He was worth Brokil's affections. He was worth more than what Father said. He just had to prove it.

Finally, Silvyr set a few rags over the jars and lifted the basket, ready to go to the town center to meet with Urzul. The sooner they started, the quicker the injured could heal. Ghizol was lucky that not many lives were lost in the battle, but those with the worst injuries could quickly turn if they were not monitored properly. Something Silvyr was ready and willing to commit himself to. He refused to be useless here.

When the door opened, Silvyr spun around to see Urzul standing in the doorway, a warm smile on her face. "Urzul. Oh, am I late?" Silvyr asked, peeking out the window to check the sun. He could have sworn he had enough time.

Urzul's laughter set him at ease and she let herself in, closing the door behind herself. "Not at all, but I wanted to make sure the Chief wasn't going to make you so," she said, and the look on her face brought a light blush to his cheeks. Of course, she knew about him and Brokil. She was his mother, and wise beyond her years besides that.

"He's gone on the hunt already," Silvyr said, Urzul's infectious laughter drawing his own chuckle from his throat. "I did have to push him out the door though." He moved into the kitchen, grabbing one of Brokil's stools to bring over to the living space. If Urzul had made the journey here, he suspected she had something else to speak of aside from Silvyr's narrowly avoided tardiness. "Please, sit."

Urzul didn't argue and took the seat offered, letting Silvyr take her basket and set it beside his own. "I have a question for you," Urzul said, her eyes locked on his, as if searching for something.

"Go ahead," he said, pulling up a stool for himself to sit on.

Something playful glimmered in her eyes as she watched him, and Silvyr tried not to fidget beneath the gaze. "Do you plan to remain in Ghizol?"

Silvyr smiled and nodded, almost before she even finished her question. "I would like to. Very much," he said. He knew there was no reason to hide anything with Urzul. Like her son, Urzul could see the lies in people, their intentions and their truths. She was kind, and good. If there was anyone other than Brokil that Silvyr could trust, it was Urzul. "I didn't see it at first, but Ghizol is special. I like it here, and I want to stay."

The smile that creased Urzul's lovely wrinkles told him she must have known that. "You're not anything like the Tyrant King. How is that?" she asked, setting her chin in her palm.

"I don't know, but I don't think I want to either," Silvyr admitted to her, unable to hide the joy he felt from Urzul's words. He wasn't Father, he was someone else. Someone completely separate and unique. He could have hugged Urzul for seeing that in him. "I just want to be me."

"That much is clear," she said with a smile, and it must have been the answer she was looking for, because a moment later, Urzul patted her thighs and was on her feet. Silvyr jumped to follow, grabbing both of their baskets as Urzul straightened her linens. "Come, let's go. The warriors will get cranky if we're late, and if you're going to stay, they'll be the first you need to make a good impression on. I would say our farmers, but you've done that already."

"Did I?" Silvyr perked up.

"Oh yes." Urzul reached out to put a hand on Silvyr's shoulder. It felt parental in a way he'd never known before, proud in a way he'd only ever yearned for but could never reach. It made his heart ache and his chest feel as light as air. "As it happens, when you save a child from unnecessary death, the farmers come to like you. And they tell their neighbors, who in turn tell theirs."

"I'm not going to argue with that," Silvyr chuckled, shaking his head. "Though, I hope they don't expect me to keep jumping in boar pens."

Urzul let out an airy laugh, and a gentle heat filled Silvyr's cheeks. "I certainly hope not. It will make the chief insufferable. He is already—"

The door slammed open so violently, crashing loudly into the wall beside it, that Silvyr nearly dropped his baskets in his haste to spin around. For a moment, just a single moment, he feared Vakmu was back for him. Feared Brokil had been wrong, that he hadn't killed the man after all. His heart raced in his chest at the thought, but the figure in the doorway wasn't Vakmu. It was too small, too thin. It took him a moment to place the dark hair and pointed ears, but when he did, his breathing nearly stopped completely.

"Ascal?" Silvyr breathed, unsure if he was elated or devastated to see her. He almost couldn't believe it, yet there she stood in her battle leathers, sword in hand, eying the space with suspicion as she stepped inside. "He's not here," Silvyr told her, taking a slow step in front of Urzul. He couldn't block her of course, she towered over him, but he could show that she meant no harm. That he trusted her.

"That brute left you alone?" Ascal asked, and Silvyr barely managed not to snap at her to watch her tongue. Her eyes landed on Urzul behind him, and Silvyr held fast, every muscle tense as he tried to predict her plan. Thank the gods, Urzul remained still and kept back. He could only imagine what would happen if Ascal viewed her as any kind of threat. Really, Ascal's appearance couldn't have been timed worse.

"He's out hunting," Silvyr said. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't that obvious? You're coming with me," Ascal said, only chancing a brief look at Silvyr before she returned her gaze to Urzul.

Only a couple months ago, Silvyr would have jumped at the chance to return home with Ascal. But now? After yesterday, after this morning, Silvyr couldn't imagine leaving Ghizol behind and returning to Father, to Athowen. How could he possibly begin to explain that to Ascal? She wouldn't understand. How could she? Silvyr himself barely understood it.

And what of Brokil? Silvyr promised he would be here when the man returned from his hunt. Already he was breaking promises that he had meant to keep, and this one meant more to him than any other before it. Would Brokil see this as a betrayal? Would he think Silvyr left willingly? That he didn't wish to stay? How could Silvyr leave without assuring that Brokil knew this wasn't his choice?

"Go," Urzul told him, and Silvyr spun around to face her, jaw dropping.

"Urzul, I—"

"Don't explain anything. I will tell him," she said, placing her hand on Silvyr's shoulder again. That same pride as before weighed heavy in her touch, and he could have burst into tears at the comfort it brought him. She nodded once, and he knew that she would tell Brokil what he needed to know.

"Hurry up, we don't have much time," Ascal pressed, glancing outside. Silvyr handed the baskets to Urzul, realizing only when Urzul placed her hands over his that he was shaking.

"Before you go," Urzul said, her voice low as she lifted two jars from the basket, handing them to Silvyr.

The azalea salve and tea leaves Silvyr made felt like lead in his hands, and he swallowed hard. Though he initially made the salve for his return home, he had hoped he wouldn't need it, hoped he could use it to serve the warriors of Ghizol instead.

"Silvyr," Ascal hissed, "now."

Silvyr moved toward the door as if he were a marionette on strings, his steps feeling clumsy and uneven. He didn't look back at Urzul, couldn't look back, for fear of breaking down completely. He knew this was it, knew that he may never see her again, may never see Ghizol or Brokil again. His vision blurred, but he forced back whatever tears threatened to fall.

Grabbing his arm as soon as he drew close enough, sending waves of pain shooting through him, Ascal pulled Silvyr outside and toward the steed she rode in on. The township was unusually quiet, and Silvyr looked around as he mounted the horse, Ascal climbing up behind him.

He couldn't see any other orcs nearby. Ascal must have done something to distract them, yet Silvyr couldn't open his mouth to ask her. He knew that if he did, the only thing that would come out would be wretched sobs and pleas to stay in Ghizol.

Ascal kicked the horse, sending it racing off toward the outskirts of the city. Toward Athowen and away from home.

Because that's what it was now. Ghizol had wormed her way into his heart and bloomed there, sprouting fields of azaleas and hyacinths between the ventricles, curling roots around his ribs and stretching branches into his lungs. Athowen was a stranger to him in comparison, an old memory coated in layers of dust and tucked in the dark corner of the closet. It was the cliff on the horizon, threatening to drag him down until he broke on the ground below.

But what could he do? If he called for Brokil, would he hear him? Would he come save Silvyr from his own personal guard? If she fought back, if she died by Brokil's hand, protecting him, could Silvyr ever forgive himself?

They passed the city border in a sprint, and when Silvyr glanced back one last time, watching his home fade from view, he finally lost the battle with his tears. Ghizol was gone, and Athowen would soon approach

How could he be happy there, when he knew happiness grew in Ghizol?