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Elian. His name was Elian and he was beautiful. I took him because he was beautiful and when he first told me his name, it sounded like music. Elian. Just try and say it, try and taste it as it flows down your tongue like ice, melting. Ice becomes water, water turns into steam that rises into the heavens and there it is – gone.
So is he. Elian. I tell myself that I set him free but I know that I killed him.
I only meant to have him, never love him. There is no such word in my language. We possess others, we take and have them, cast them aside when we no longer desire, but we do not love. Love is his word and once he asked me if I do and I told him that it was nonsense, that I knew no such emotion.
It was both lie and truth. I did not know the word or the meaning of it, not before I saw my Elian, desired him and took him, had him – but I never cast him aside.
But let me tell you how this came to be, so that you might learn from it and never take up such a foolish course in life. The moment you fall in love, you meet the beginning of your doom.

Elian.
He was a warlord in his own land, son to a great chief of a great tribe or so he told me once he spoke our language fluently enough to explain these things to me. He always took pride in this but never fell into vanity.
He held his head high and never surrendered. They would have killed him had I not claimed him for myself, but this is not the start of us, so let me take you to the true beginning.

There was hunger in my house. There was hunger in me and I was less with each day passing by. I remember that every morning Iasan and Ichon, my eldest and most trustworthy kinsmen would come to my room and then say something silly, because in real they had come to check if I was yet alive. They would bring me broth and even fruits, but these were poor nourishment.

Our raids had been in vain, the camps nearby the border between the Dying Land and Fire Red Land had been emptied, leaving but some rags of tents and sand. There were no firewolves and although we pressed deeper into their land, we could not go much further – the sands were too hot, the sun burning and resistance more ferocious than ever. Only the biggest and mightiest Houses could afford to go on these raids and bring back a scarce number of slaves. And of course, those who already had a fair amount of firewolves held tight to them and made sure they were properly claimed so that none could try and steal any. Some still tried, of course, lords of the lesser houses, blinded and numb from hunger, but they were tracked down and punished. Death would have been mercy, but there was no death.

I lie awake through nights, the beast in me too rampant to allow me the mercy of sleep and my might too weary to rise and do anything about it. So I lie in my bed, cold and starving, listening to the high howls of my orm high up in the tower. I lacked the strength to climb all those stairs and go to him, so the poor beast could only trumpet his longing for me, all in vain.

Finally it came to a morning when I could no longer rise and when Iasan and Ichon came they found their lord in bed, eyes opened yet body still. I sensed fright in them – what would become of the House and them was I to die? For centuries there had been no tumult under the house, no new lord rising from the cold eternal waters with a tiger pup by their side. No, there was but one tiger and he was mine – Deseman, my white blind mate with a fatal name. Ice drop. Even ice shed tears as the land died and so did we.

They would not suffer me die, no, they said, my loyal ones. I must drink of their blood now to gain the little nourishment I could, and then we must all go to a raid. There had been news of some camps being built up again and war parties moving around between the gates. I laughed, but they would not listen and I lacked the might to make them hark. I no longer cared, you see. So when they bent their necks before me and the salty cold skin touched my lips, I bit deep, trying to pull at their life and power. It would give me so little, not much more than a broth, but it was still blood and it would have to give me the strength to rise from my death bed. I despised being weak and pathetic, and yet I knew I was all that and more.

When I finally rose, Icedrop came to me, sniffing all over my fingerless hand. I rubbed his head and smiled at him. There was no need for words. We were one.

And so we went, all but the boys of my House. I still played I was the leader but we all knew that I had to regain much strength to be the elder in anything other than the name. Had I had a household less loyal than I was lucky to have, perhaps a rebellion would have broken out for new leadership, but they were true to me, my men, and with Iasan and Ichon by my side, we rode to seek a battle. I knew that should we fail I would not return to my home again, not as its lord and most likely not alive, either. Unless we prevailed and I found some true nourishment I would cease to be, and Deseman along with me. He knew his fate as well as mine, the true beast, as he lay by my side. We both sat in a carriage, pulled by some old jithers. In times of old Deseman would have ran by my side, but now that I was too weary to lend him eyes... my mate suffered because of me.

Once we crossed the border we noticed tracks. I saw them and Icedrop could feel and smell them. Firewolves and a bunch of them. No campers who could be easily raided, no, these were warriors. There was something wrong with the Gates, or so we had heard. Some evil, it was spoken, gates open, but nay, this had to be a rumour, because such things as gates could not be opened, not after all these hundreds of years and becoming a myth.

I learned later that these troops whose footprints we saw on the sand were warriors sent to aid the Guardians in their battle and by offending and weakening them we brought demolition upon us all. But as said, that was...later. And then there was nothing we could do about it.

Now, usually I would have led a raiding party, storming into the battle with my tiger, but I could hardly stand and my mate was blindly by my side. I dug fingers deep into his fur and told my men to go without me.  They understood, and yet I had lost something. They knew no hunger of their own, and so they could never fully grasp its terrible meaning. But they needed me, perhaps some even... loved me, so on they went and I was left behind with a bunch of youngsters, fit to guard an old dying lord yet not take on a maraud.

And so, we waited. The young ones gathered around the carriage and spoke with hushed voices, trying to sound light hearted and never mention my name or the situation which had brought us here. I listened to their childish voices and couldn’t help but smile – how innocent they were, how bold and lustful, dreaming of all sorts of things, imagining beautiful young firewolves to have and possess. I, too, dreamed, but it was not of sex but life. My life. My might. I suppose each being is selfish when he meets his end, and I was roaming on the edge of mine. I dreaded the fall because my faith had deceased quite some time ago. I saw no honour in joining the Eldest. I hardly believed they were there. Did it matter if they did nothing to save us?

I kissed Icedrop between his ears and we waited. It was something I was good at. All nahese are good at it, at least the old ones. I suppose when one has so many years to spend, waiting becomes natural. We can afford it.

I even had time to begin consider if my men were to return at all – after all, they had never gone to any battle without my advisory and leadership. I feared they would leave me waiting, and finally I could only go back, followed by these younglings who knew nothing about anything. They were unworthy – yet. However, my concerns were in vain, because after a few hours, before the sun could rise, they returned, lead by my trustees Iasan and Ichon. Icedrop lifted his head, sniffed the air and poked my mind, wishing to see what was happening, had they brought food for us? And so I gathered what little power I had yet left and let him see.

It was indeed a sight much worthy to behold.
A dozen slaves. A dozen full grown young healthy beautiful firewolves.

“Twelve slaves, my lord,” and Iasan knelt before the carriage and me. “We have battled in your name for the House of Deseman and returned with victory.”

“So you have,” I nodded and slipped eyes over each and every bound and defeated warrior. They were all very fine, bearing marks of a heated battle, but they would recover. I would have my household and healers see to it. We always took good care of our slaves and they lived a peaceful, even prosperous life, just that their span of life was so damnably short...

And then my eyes befell on the thirteenth. Two of my men were holding on to his chains, and he still battled and struggled, despite of his numerous wounds. I could smell his blood before I could even see his face and when I did...

He was a dark one, darkest of them all, his fur and hair the colour of night sky and his skin golden. He seemed older than the others and by the looks they cast towards him I could say he was their leader. Had been. Now he was a slave just like the rest of them, was he not?  They had split his lip and taken a chunk from his shoulder but they had not mentioned him.

“Why,” I asked my chieftains. “There is a thirteenth and yet you have not mentioned him to me, counting the slaves as twelve.”

“My lord,” Ichon knelt and looked up to me, the old warrior, blood dripping from his scorched cheek. “We would not count him as a slave because he would never make one. He is their leader, a most stubborn and violent beast. Before we could tear him down he managed to slay three amongst us and wound several others. We would have finished him off, had we not considered that you could perhaps feed from him once and gain much strength which he undoubtedly possesses.”

I looked at the one that was spoken of and given such credit. I met his eyes. I have never seen a pair so cold or clear, for that matter, but it was his open glance at me which struck me most.  He was doing nothing less than staring at me while shrugging his shoulders and body, as if he could just cast aside his chains with a simple brush of hand. He could not, but for a moment I imagined him doing so and then caught myself at such weird imagination.

“What is his name,” I asked Ichon. Both my old chiefs and I had spent enough time with firewolves to learn a bundle of simpler sentences and a good selection of their most common words as well. As to why I asked for the name, I know not. The prisoner had struck me and there I was, concerning myself with such trivial things.

“I know not, my lord,” the old warrior shrugged. If he was bewildered by my queer interest, he never showed, instead he rose and walked up to the thirteenth prisoner. Now, a normal behaviour would have meant changing the source of interest and casting eyes upon the approaching warrior, but this the thirteenth never did. All this while I had been studying his posture and looks. He was beautiful – no pup but a full grown male. Without even knowing his name I wished to have him in my possession, cast the last rags of robe aside from his body and explore its splendour.

I heard Ichon asking the firewolf for his name. And he was still looking at me and I at him, even Icedrop was inhaling his scent and so it roamed in my mind, too, the full and heady smell of fur and blood and courage.

I watched the dark red lips move as Ichon received his reply.

“Elian.”
It was music. I knew then that I would have him, and have him there and then, without taking him anywhere. I would see him and drink his blood and I would take him back to my House. I would make him mine despite of what I had been told about him and the mission impossible. I wanted him, this proud and bloody warrior who spoke his name into my eyes as an assault.

“Bring him to me,” I commanded and my warriors heeded to my order immediately, but they feared him, I could see it, even Ichon and Iasan held some reverence towards him and I fiercely liked that they did. I never wanted any squeaking pup to beg my mercy and shiver in my bed. From all my frozen heart I loved playing with fire and this was how I pictured Elian – fire.

They tried to pull him up from the awkward kneeling position he’d been pushed into, but he shrugged them off as a wild beast would do with some annoying flies. I realized, with some surprise, that he was trying to make his way to me unless they stopped him.

“Let him come,” I said, my voice more a whisper than I had hoped.
I even stood up for him, hoping I could stand taller, but dammit, once he stood at my level before the carriage I saw that he was both taller and heavier than I. Of course, I was no boy, either, but currently I was the smaller and weaker one. I loathed it and yet I could not help but admire him.

“I am Tiach Deseman of the House of Deseman, and I am your lord now,” I told him as the custom was. Of course, our names couldn’t have meant anything to him, especially as I was completely unable to translate “deseman” or “tiach” into his language, failing then and even now, since there are no such words in the language of the children of the Greatest Fire. They need them not, and yet we take them and make them a part of our dying land of ice, snow and inexplicable words.

“No,” he said.
I know that I thought he must have misunderstood me, so I proceeded, simply.

“Bow to me,” I ordered him. But he shook his beautiful head and once again said: “No.”

“My lord,” Iasan spoke quietly. “He is no good, we have seen this from the beginning. He is not fit to be your slave. Drink of him only, if you please, or cast him aside and we see that he meets with his maker.”

And once again the prisoner  moved his lips, only to say again: “No.”
I gazed at him, then, confused and hungry, my mind battling with my thirst for him. A voice told me to cast him aside, take another to drink from, but I disregarded such advice. I was hungry. He was here. He was everything I had never dreamed of and he would be mine. Elian.

“You will be mine,” I told him, putting even a little of my might into those words so that he would submit under them and me, and once again I heard that syllable.

“No.”

My kinsmen were already upset, Iasan and Ichon surely wished to punish the prisoner for his obstinance, I was tired, frustrated that the firewolf before me was managing to confuse me so much whereas all I wanted was to strip him and sink my teeth into his neck or any other part, for that matter. He had openly refused to submit to me and for some reason I just couldn’t let go of the thought that I had been rejected and my would-be slave didn’t even fear me.

“Tie him inside the carriage,” I ordered my kinsmen. “I will feed upon him as we head back home. You have been victorious, I congratulate you, brave warriors of Deseman.”

Some genuine cheering broke, and then it was over and everyone got busy filling my orders. I must say with some pride that it took four of my men to get Elian into the carriage and chain him down to the bottom. I watched them do it while I imagined myself stripping the cloth from his hips to fully see him in his nakedness. For some reason, I also wished to see his member. But above all, I longed for his blood and I had no intentions of killing him and casting him aside. No one knew, but I had already made up my mind to take him with me. I would tame him and this wild beast would become my prime blood slave.

As the other slaves were tied behind the carriage and caravan gathered to move on, I, too, slid back inside with Icedrop always brushing against my hip. I saw a pair of gleaming eyes in the twilight of morning and crept closer.

Thus began our journey back to the Dying Land and the Greater House of Deseman.

Next Chapter

Description
Elian. His name was Elian and he was beautiful. I took him because he was beautiful and when he first told me his name, it sounded like music. Elian. Just try and say it, try and taste it as it flows down your tongue like ice, melting. Ice becomes water, water turns into steam that rises into the heavens and there it is – gone.
So is he. Elian. I tell myself that I set him free but I know that I killed him.
I only meant to have him, never love him. There is no such word in my language. We possess others, we take and have them, cast them aside when we no longer desire, but we do not love. Love is his word and once he asked me if I do and I told him that it was nonsense, that I knew no such emotion.
It was both lie and truth. I did not know the word or the meaning of it, not before I saw my Elian, desired him and took him, had him – but I never cast him aside.
But let me tell you how this came to be, so that you might learn from it and never take up such a foolish course in life. The moment you fall in love, you meet the beginning of your doom.

Elian.
He was a warlord in his own land, son to a great chief of a great tribe or so he told me once he spoke our language fluently enough to explain these things to me. He always took pride in this but never fell into vanity.
He held his head high and never surrendered. They would have killed him had I not claimed him for myself, but this is not the start of us, so let me take you to the true beginning.

There was hunger in my house. There was hunger in me and I was less with each day passing by. I remember that every morning Iasan and Ichon, my eldest and most trustworthy kinsmen would come to my room and then say something silly, because in real they had come to check if I was yet alive. They would bring me broth and even fruits, but these were poor nourishment.

Our raids had been in vain, the camps nearby the border between the Dying Land and Fire Red Land had been emptied, leaving but some rags of tents and sand. There were no firewolves and although we pressed deeper into their land, we could not go much further – the sands were too hot, the sun burning and resistance more ferocious than ever. Only the biggest and mightiest Houses could afford to go on these raids and bring back a scarce number of slaves. And of course, those who already had a fair amount of firewolves held tight to them and made sure they were properly claimed so that none could try and steal any. Some still tried, of course, lords of the lesser houses, blinded and numb from hunger, but they were tracked down and punished. Death would have been mercy, but there was no death.

I lie awake through nights, the beast in me too rampant to allow me the mercy of sleep and my might too weary to rise and do anything about it. So I lie in my bed, cold and starving, listening to the high howls of my orm high up in the tower. I lacked the strength to climb all those stairs and go to him, so the poor beast could only trumpet his longing for me, all in vain.

Finally it came to a morning when I could no longer rise and when Iasan and Ichon came they found their lord in bed, eyes opened yet body still. I sensed fright in them – what would become of the House and them was I to die? For centuries there had been no tumult under the house, no new lord rising from the cold eternal waters with a tiger pup by their side. No, there was but one tiger and he was mine – Deseman, my white blind mate with a fatal name. Ice drop. Even ice shed tears as the land died and so did we.

They would not suffer me die, no, they said, my loyal ones. I must drink of their blood now to gain the little nourishment I could, and then we must all go to a raid. There had been news of some camps being built up again and war parties moving around between the gates. I laughed, but they would not listen and I lacked the might to make them hark. I no longer cared, you see. So when they bent their necks before me and the salty cold skin touched my lips, I bit deep, trying to pull at their life and power. It would give me so little, not much more than a broth, but it was still blood and it would have to give me the strength to rise from my death bed. I despised being weak and pathetic, and yet I knew I was all that and more.

When I finally rose, Icedrop came to me, sniffing all over my fingerless hand. I rubbed his head and smiled at him. There was no need for words. We were one.

And so we went, all but the boys of my House. I still played I was the leader but we all knew that I had to regain much strength to be the elder in anything other than the name. Had I had a household less loyal than I was lucky to have, perhaps a rebellion would have broken out for new leadership, but they were true to me, my men, and with Iasan and Ichon by my side, we rode to seek a battle. I knew that should we fail I would not return to my home again, not as its lord and most likely not alive, either. Unless we prevailed and I found some true nourishment I would cease to be, and Deseman along with me. He knew his fate as well as mine, the true beast, as he lay by my side. We both sat in a carriage, pulled by some old jithers. In times of old Deseman would have ran by my side, but now that I was too weary to lend him eyes... my mate suffered because of me.

Once we crossed the border we noticed tracks. I saw them and Icedrop could feel and smell them. Firewolves and a bunch of them. No campers who could be easily raided, no, these were warriors. There was something wrong with the Gates, or so we had heard. Some evil, it was spoken, gates open, but nay, this had to be a rumour, because such things as gates could not be opened, not after all these hundreds of years and becoming a myth.

I learned later that these troops whose footprints we saw on the sand were warriors sent to aid the Guardians in their battle and by offending and weakening them we brought demolition upon us all. But as said, that was...later. And then there was nothing we could do about it.

Now, usually I would have led a raiding party, storming into the battle with my tiger, but I could hardly stand and my mate was blindly by my side. I dug fingers deep into his fur and told my men to go without me.  They understood, and yet I had lost something. They knew no hunger of their own, and so they could never fully grasp its terrible meaning. But they needed me, perhaps some even... loved me, so on they went and I was left behind with a bunch of youngsters, fit to guard an old dying lord yet not take on a maraud.

And so, we waited. The young ones gathered around the carriage and spoke with hushed voices, trying to sound light hearted and never mention my name or the situation which had brought us here. I listened to their childish voices and couldn’t help but smile – how innocent they were, how bold and lustful, dreaming of all sorts of things, imagining beautiful young firewolves to have and possess. I, too, dreamed, but it was not of sex but life. My life. My might. I suppose each being is selfish when he meets his end, and I was roaming on the edge of mine. I dreaded the fall because my faith had deceased quite some time ago. I saw no honour in joining the Eldest. I hardly believed they were there. Did it matter if they did nothing to save us?

I kissed Icedrop between his ears and we waited. It was something I was good at. All nahese are good at it, at least the old ones. I suppose when one has so many years to spend, waiting becomes natural. We can afford it.

I even had time to begin consider if my men were to return at all – after all, they had never gone to any battle without my advisory and leadership. I feared they would leave me waiting, and finally I could only go back, followed by these younglings who knew nothing about anything. They were unworthy – yet. However, my concerns were in vain, because after a few hours, before the sun could rise, they returned, lead by my trustees Iasan and Ichon. Icedrop lifted his head, sniffed the air and poked my mind, wishing to see what was happening, had they brought food for us? And so I gathered what little power I had yet left and let him see.

It was indeed a sight much worthy to behold.
A dozen slaves. A dozen full grown young healthy beautiful firewolves.

“Twelve slaves, my lord,” and Iasan knelt before the carriage and me. “We have battled in your name for the House of Deseman and returned with victory.”

“So you have,” I nodded and slipped eyes over each and every bound and defeated warrior. They were all very fine, bearing marks of a heated battle, but they would recover. I would have my household and healers see to it. We always took good care of our slaves and they lived a peaceful, even prosperous life, just that their span of life was so damnably short...

And then my eyes befell on the thirteenth. Two of my men were holding on to his chains, and he still battled and struggled, despite of his numerous wounds. I could smell his blood before I could even see his face and when I did...

He was a dark one, darkest of them all, his fur and hair the colour of night sky and his skin golden. He seemed older than the others and by the looks they cast towards him I could say he was their leader. Had been. Now he was a slave just like the rest of them, was he not?  They had split his lip and taken a chunk from his shoulder but they had not mentioned him.

“Why,” I asked my chieftains. “There is a thirteenth and yet you have not mentioned him to me, counting the slaves as twelve.”

“My lord,” Ichon knelt and looked up to me, the old warrior, blood dripping from his scorched cheek. “We would not count him as a slave because he would never make one. He is their leader, a most stubborn and violent beast. Before we could tear him down he managed to slay three amongst us and wound several others. We would have finished him off, had we not considered that you could perhaps feed from him once and gain much strength which he undoubtedly possesses.”

I looked at the one that was spoken of and given such credit. I met his eyes. I have never seen a pair so cold or clear, for that matter, but it was his open glance at me which struck me most.  He was doing nothing less than staring at me while shrugging his shoulders and body, as if he could just cast aside his chains with a simple brush of hand. He could not, but for a moment I imagined him doing so and then caught myself at such weird imagination.

“What is his name,” I asked Ichon. Both my old chiefs and I had spent enough time with firewolves to learn a bundle of simpler sentences and a good selection of their most common words as well. As to why I asked for the name, I know not. The prisoner had struck me and there I was, concerning myself with such trivial things.

“I know not, my lord,” the old warrior shrugged. If he was bewildered by my queer interest, he never showed, instead he rose and walked up to the thirteenth prisoner. Now, a normal behaviour would have meant changing the source of interest and casting eyes upon the approaching warrior, but this the thirteenth never did. All this while I had been studying his posture and looks. He was beautiful – no pup but a full grown male. Without even knowing his name I wished to have him in my possession, cast the last rags of robe aside from his body and explore its splendour.

I heard Ichon asking the firewolf for his name. And he was still looking at me and I at him, even Icedrop was inhaling his scent and so it roamed in my mind, too, the full and heady smell of fur and blood and courage.

I watched the dark red lips move as Ichon received his reply.

“Elian.”
It was music. I knew then that I would have him, and have him there and then, without taking him anywhere. I would see him and drink his blood and I would take him back to my House. I would make him mine despite of what I had been told about him and the mission impossible. I wanted him, this proud and bloody warrior who spoke his name into my eyes as an assault.

“Bring him to me,” I commanded and my warriors heeded to my order immediately, but they feared him, I could see it, even Ichon and Iasan held some reverence towards him and I fiercely liked that they did. I never wanted any squeaking pup to beg my mercy and shiver in my bed. From all my frozen heart I loved playing with fire and this was how I pictured Elian – fire.

They tried to pull him up from the awkward kneeling position he’d been pushed into, but he shrugged them off as a wild beast would do with some annoying flies. I realized, with some surprise, that he was trying to make his way to me unless they stopped him.

“Let him come,” I said, my voice more a whisper than I had hoped.
I even stood up for him, hoping I could stand taller, but dammit, once he stood at my level before the carriage I saw that he was both taller and heavier than I. Of course, I was no boy, either, but currently I was the smaller and weaker one. I loathed it and yet I could not help but admire him.

“I am Tiach Deseman of the House of Deseman, and I am your lord now,” I told him as the custom was. Of course, our names couldn’t have meant anything to him, especially as I was completely unable to translate “deseman” or “tiach” into his language, failing then and even now, since there are no such words in the language of the children of the Greatest Fire. They need them not, and yet we take them and make them a part of our dying land of ice, snow and inexplicable words.

“No,” he said.
I know that I thought he must have misunderstood me, so I proceeded, simply.

“Bow to me,” I ordered him. But he shook his beautiful head and once again said: “No.”

“My lord,” Iasan spoke quietly. “He is no good, we have seen this from the beginning. He is not fit to be your slave. Drink of him only, if you please, or cast him aside and we see that he meets with his maker.”

And once again the prisoner  moved his lips, only to say again: “No.”
I gazed at him, then, confused and hungry, my mind battling with my thirst for him. A voice told me to cast him aside, take another to drink from, but I disregarded such advice. I was hungry. He was here. He was everything I had never dreamed of and he would be mine. Elian.

“You will be mine,” I told him, putting even a little of my might into those words so that he would submit under them and me, and once again I heard that syllable.

“No.”

My kinsmen were already upset, Iasan and Ichon surely wished to punish the prisoner for his obstinance, I was tired, frustrated that the firewolf before me was managing to confuse me so much whereas all I wanted was to strip him and sink my teeth into his neck or any other part, for that matter. He had openly refused to submit to me and for some reason I just couldn’t let go of the thought that I had been rejected and my would-be slave didn’t even fear me.

“Tie him inside the carriage,” I ordered my kinsmen. “I will feed upon him as we head back home. You have been victorious, I congratulate you, brave warriors of Deseman.”

Some genuine cheering broke, and then it was over and everyone got busy filling my orders. I must say with some pride that it took four of my men to get Elian into the carriage and chain him down to the bottom. I watched them do it while I imagined myself stripping the cloth from his hips to fully see him in his nakedness. For some reason, I also wished to see his member. But above all, I longed for his blood and I had no intentions of killing him and casting him aside. No one knew, but I had already made up my mind to take him with me. I would tame him and this wild beast would become my prime blood slave.

As the other slaves were tied behind the carriage and caravan gathered to move on, I, too, slid back inside with Icedrop always brushing against my hip. I saw a pair of gleaming eyes in the twilight of morning and crept closer.

Thus began our journey back to the Dying Land and the Greater House of Deseman.

Next Chapter