Lullaby

Chesta sang sweetly and quietly, stroking Dilandau's hair and holding his shaking frame as he lay next to him, clinging desperately, his face buried in Chesta's shirt, and just barely holding back tears. The barriers in his mind gave easily at Chesta's touch, as accustomed to his presence as his own thoughts. With practiced ease, but no less care than was ever given to the task, Chesta gently cajoled Dilandau into sleep.

His erratic breathing abruptly began to slow and even and the shaking faded from his body as the chaotic clamor of his mind soothed into slow, rolling delta waves and settled into something like the sea on a calm, clear night. Chesta paused to catch his breath a moment before trekking deeper.

He followed the horizon where the retreating strands of thought had gone into Dilandau's memory and searched for the new open wound upon it. It was difficult to gather the energy to sing and work, particularly lying down with his diaphragm pressed awkwardly from one side, but he couldn't have been precise enough for this chore without the tune.

With softest caress he wove a muffling blanket over the last hour. He was vaguely aware of Sora checking to see what he was doing; she could feel every time he used his powers in the castle. She disapproved of this. She was probably right when she said that spreading the hazes over Dilandau's painful memories would only handicap him and dissolve his ability to cope with emotion. She was usually right. Normally he trusted her on everything and did as she advised, but he just couldn't stand to see Dilandau writhing with the emotional torture. He looked so gaunt and ashen today when he came begging Chesta to make it go away. He couldn't just watch when he was able to ease that pain.

Chesta had asked once why Sora didn't make Folken not crazy. She had shaken her head with the same vaguely mournful expression she usually wore and said that she could not change who a person was. Chesta didn't change who Dilandau was. He just helped to keep him from sliding down into terrifying, self-destructive madness. Sora had said that if he censored Dilandau's mind, he denied him growth. Maybe he did. But he couldn't let him grow into a horrible, insane monster like Folken, or to withdraw into a sickly, compliant and emotionless waif. It wasn't right.

He could barely understand how Sora thought at all. She must be entirely unfathomable to one who couldn't speak with her directly. She said it was because he thought like a human. He was glad of that blood if it was. Sora, at times, seemed utterly soulless and apathetic to the world, letting terrible things happen without any effort to stop them.

He finished bandaging the latest round of abuse upon Dilandau and withdrew slowly from his mind. He panted slightly, relaxing and sinking into his pillow. He felt the tingling, open feel of his forehead waning as his Eye faded back and shut. Dilandau went on sleeping peacefully, his arms wrapped around Chesta and head resting against his shoulder and Chesta let himself drift into exhausted slumber.

A vague, shimmering call from Sora awoke him later. Folken was looking for Dilandau. That he was coming to fetch him himself rather than send a servant meant that he was looking to catch Dilandau at something. Like seeking comfort from Chesta.

Chesta was a lesser being, after all. He wasn't a Dragon and that automatically put him a rung down but that he was a half-breed sunk him lower than scum. Social order didn't matter with scum, but Dilandau was a Dragon and so Folken inflicted his ethics on him. Folken wouldn't touch anything less than another Dragon.

However innocent they're relationship may have been, they were incriminatingly lying together in Chesta's bunk. Folken would disapprove of much in the way of emotional ties too, anyway. Dilandau was meant to be self reliant and strong, not needing the luxury of friends. And he belonged to no one but Folken.

'Dilandau,' Chesta whispered, combing the hair out of his eyes. Dilandau replied with a vague, muttering snort. Chesta shook his shoulder slightly and called him again, louder. 'Dilandau, wake up. Lord Folken is coming.'

Dilandau came quickly to full consciousness, sitting up so fast that he swooned for a moment and then faltering in confused panic and finally crawling to the foot of Chesta's bed and sitting cross-legged there. Chesta snatched the deck of cards from the shelf and quickly dealt them out.

When the bolt slid back without a key and the door slammed open, Chesta and Dilandau looked up in feined surprise and quickly dropped their hands of cards and fell to the floor, kneeling before their master.

Glaring with disappointment that he'd found nothing to punish, Folken snapped, 'The damn peons in Siorenya are revolting again. Get down there and fix it.'

'Yes, my lord,' Dilandau replied crisply. 'When should I make preparations to depart?'

'You will be there at dawn tomorrow,' Folken commanded, then turned and left.

'Yes, my lord,' Dilandau's reply followed him out the door.

The door closed again; by the softness, Chesta guessed that Dilandau had shut it. Chesta climbed back to his feet and swept the cards into a pile, stacking them back on the shelf and sat back on the edge of his bed. Dilandau crawled up next to him and pressed him back, laying his head on Chesta's shoulder and curling and arm around him.

The contact wasn't forced, as it once had been, not stiff and hesitant with occasional tremors of panic as Dilandau compelled himself to be near Chesta, trying to please him. Chesta sighed softly and stroked his hair, elated in a calm and contented way by Dilandau's trust, both conscious and habitual now.