Page 69 of Boundless
Len tightened his arm around Fenris' shoulder, making a sad little sound. "Please, Iha-hateseeing you in so much pain." Len swallowed, giving him a crooked smile. "I've beensow-worried since I stopped hearing from you. Please—please let me do this."
Fenris loosed a shuddering breath, then gave a single nod.
Len gathered up aether, feeding it into Fenris. He almost choked at what he found, a miserable little sound making its way past his lips despite his best efforts. There wasn't a single part of the other elf's body that wasn't damaged: he had a broken nose that was healing crookedly, a crack in the eye socket of the side that was swollen shut, bruises, cracked ribs, several breaks in the hand he was favoring, and a hairline fracture in one of his legs. Len sucked in a sharp breath when he also realized that Fenris was missing a couple of toes, the stumps inflamed and on the verge of infection and paining him badly. He was also missing fingernails and even a few teeth. He was malnourished and dehydrated on top of all that, making the organs struggling from being injured work even harder. "F-fuck, Fenris," he breathed, so overwhelmed by the other man's hurts he didn't have any idea where to begin. "Do—do they not feed you?"
"Not every day," he admitted softly.
That would greatly impair Len's ability to heal him; his magic was largely just encouraging Fenris' body to do the things it would already be trying to do, and then using aether to speed those processes along. But if he was this nutritionally depleted...
Len bit back a sob, the urge to give up and start bawling his eyes out near overwhelming. Therehadto be something they could do. At the very least Len could clean his wounds and try and bind the breaks. He took a deep breath and winced when his painful, milk-swollen breasts rubbed against the stiff fabric of his ruined shirt.
Oh bloody gods...
He resisted so much as thinking the thought, fighting his mind's solution to their predicament. Because surely there wasn't any way that the situation was so dire asthat.Surelythere was another way.
He got to his feet, feeling unsteady, his head swimming, and proceeded to inspect their small cell, kicking at piles of straw and rags, scaring off vermin, poking and prodding at every inch of the small bare room by the weak light of a distant torch, but found nothing but rats and spiders, neither of which would provide nearly as much nourishment as...well. He couldn't even catch the rats, and the spiders may have been unsafe to eat, even if he'd been willing to try it.
Len groaned, burying his face in his hands, and kept his back to Fenris, who'd slipped into a kind of doze when Len had begun his inspection.
"While y-you were gone we had the baby," he began, crossing his arms. "Daega had some trouble with...with the milk. And r-rather than get a wet nurse I—" Fuck, he really didn't want to have to keep going.
He turned to face Fenris, pulling his loose tunic tighter against his body. "I…have milk."
Fenris blinked at him, brow low. "I...what?"
Len sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I have milk. And n-no baby to give it to, s-so..."
He kept his eyes closed, his hands covering his boiling-hot face. It was long minutes before Fenris gave any sort of response, and when he did it was to give the driest, raspiest laugh.
"Oh, fuck, Len," he groaned, drawing a sharp breath when his laughter no doubt hurt his ribs. "You want me to nurse at your teat."
Len sputtered, loathe to admit it when the other elf put it like that. "I-I-I'm merely s-saying it's anoption, Fenris." He sank onto the thin cot he'd woken up on with a miserable groan. "I have to relieve the p-pressure no matter what, and you need to be more nourished if I’m to heal you."
“So then don’t feed me. I told you, I don’t—”
“Fenris,” Len interrupted, softening his voice. “If I don’t—y-you’re in a bad way. I kn-know you think you don’t deserve to live, but w-wedo.Ido.” After a moment Len sighed, creeping closer but keeping distance between them. “Ravost does. H-he asks after you. Every s-single day. He seems…lost. Sad.”
Tears fell rapidly from Fenris’ dark eye, his chin wobbling. But then he sighed, seeming to decide something. "Salerah's fires, I can't believe I'm saying this but I—I'm actually considering it." He lapsed into silence, his expression shuttered when Len risked a glance.
"Is there something we could use as a cup?" Len asked softly, so flushed with embarrassment he felt faint.
Fenris sighed, shifting and reaching against his side until he pried a rough tin cup loose. "They forgot to check I'd put back the water cup once. I was going to try and sharpen it into a weapon, but...fuck."
He choked on another laugh, his head falling back against the pale damp stone. "If I drink it, will that be enough to heal me?" The larger elf's voice was so small, so helpless and desperate, breaking Len's heart.
"Not all the way. B-but a lot. And I'll be able to—to take a lot of the p-pain. But right now you're t-too m-malnourished." He paused, then blundered on, figuring he might as well dig his own grave to completion. "We n-never speak of this again. To—toanyone."
"No worries there, my prince," Fenris croaked wryly. "Fuck—yeah, alright. I'll...I'll take it."
Len stood, taking the battered little cup and retreating to his cot. He kept his back to Fenris as he unbuttoned his shirt and got to work.
The relief was so staggering that he couldn't hold back the moan when he started massaging himself, coaxing the milk to spatter into the cup in horrifically loud squirts that felt like they echoed all over the dank dungeon. He prayed to every god in all the realms that none of the guards would come along just now to see what he was doing. He also felt strangely guilty, knowing this milk should have been feeding Drokas, nourishing his precious child rather than a full-grown man...but Fenris was hanging on by a thread, and his family was miles away, anyway. If he didn't give it to Fenris, itwouldjust go to waste.
Once the cup was full he took a moment to "shut off" the milk production process; he'd need those calories and nutrients in the coming days, it would seem, and with Drokas weaning anyway—
His breath stuttered in his throat when he realized he might not see his family again. It was all too possible that he'd die here, that Drokas would grow up without a father, with the war between the elves and the Istarii Drakan rekindled and raging. His new family would try and get him back, he knew, but there was no guarantee they'd succeed. Or that they'd make it here before something happened to him.
He loosed his breath shakily, letting the tears burning up the back of his throat to spill. He was already humiliated; what was a little more? But he squared his shoulders and buttoned his shirt back up, then turned back to Fenris and handed him the cup, careful not to spill any. "Here," he said unnecessarily, the other elf's long pale fingers already wrapping around the cup to take it.
