Shartelane laughed softly as she toyed with the wizard standing across the room from her, laughing at his pathetic attempts to defend himself. He really ought to know by now not to mess with Godborn! She shook her head, and launched another volley of magic missiles at him, a low level spell made powerful by her ability, and a subtle insult.

Ghedron stared at the slender young elfmaiden lanching spell after spell at him as if she were merely tossing stones in a child's game. To his horror, it did not take him long to realize who she was, or how much power she really had. Shartelane Sheldonarr, the thrice damned daughter of two gods, but born mortal for some unknown reason. There were whispers about it, of course, but no one really knew what had happened. It did explain her presence in his tower.

Suddenly his pale blue eyes lit up. He knew a way out! A peace offering...

"Wait!" he called to her. "Before you kill me, look here... in the scrying pool... I have a gift in exchange for my life..."

Shari cocked her head, curious. She moved to the pool, and gasped in mingled shock and horror. Eyes glowing brililantly with green fire met his, and in them he saw his doom...

"It has to be you, love," Shari was saying as she struggled with her long fiery hair. "He is dark elven, he will only fear me as much as Ghedron at this point..."

One of her favorite three consorts, Micah, just stared at her with something close to affectionate exasperation. "I will go get him, and try to care for him. But I still say you are so much better at emotional reconstruction than I am."

She smiled at him in the mirror, and nodded. "Take care of him, Micah. He needs it."

Micah left.

Micah easily bypassed the spell-locked door that held the young drow Shari was so concerned for, and cautiously entered the room. There was very little as dangerous as one of his kind cornered, after all...

He pauses a moment to let his vision slip out of infrared to the visible spectrum to accomodate the admittedly dim light in the cell. Water dripped along the walls in a jarring rhythm, and the air was chilling to the flesh. There were not windows, and the scents of stale hopelessness and dying prisoners assaulted his sensitive senses. Sparse, dirty straw sporadically covered the hard floor he stood upon.

Then he saw him.

The other dark elf was lying at an awkward angle halfway on his side and halfway on his...wings? Yes, wings. Bent out at what had to be a painful angle, cramped rather snugly between him and the rough brick walls, were a pair of black, leathery wings. Micah cold just make out the tangled white hair above them. The other elf's eyes were closed, his breathing light and shallow.

Micah neared him slowly, watching for any reactions. There were none. The drow just lay there, oblivious to anything around him. Micah knelt next to him, genlty brushing the tangled mane off of his face, his cool fingers brushing against the hot skin...

Gods, he was burning up. "Damn," Micah muttered, detecting a faint rattle in the soft breath under his hand. Not surprising, in these conditions, but stilll....

Micah's heart ached for his fellow drow. There, but for the grace of fate, go I, he thought to himself. This close, Micah noticed that he was very young, Micah estimated somewhere between 90 and 110 years, and his anger grew. If Shatelane hadn't shredded Ghedron into tiny bits of dragon bait, he would have himself after seeing this...

Quickly he loosened the bonds, always keeping a careful eye on the prone male for tricks. None came, and he soon had the elf loose and in his arms, that dangerous heat burning into his chest. Without a word, Micah activated the gate Shari had given him and got them both out of that nightmare dungeon.

Vizzail woke slowly, confused. He was...warm? He tried to lift his head to assess his new situation, but found himiself lacking the strength even for that simple action. Wearily he lay deeper into the surprisingly soft bed, not bothering to fight, to question... it didn't really matter anymore where he was, or what would happen next. Slowly he drifted back off to sleep, lulled by the softness around him and the warmth...

Micah just stared at his charge, carefully noting the weakness and lack of struggle in the younger male. Cold fury rocked him as he gently pulled the covers back into place around the sleeping form.

"How is he?"

Micah nearly jumped at the sound of Shari's voice, as she and Malakkar quietly slipped into the room.

"He's really sick," Micha informed them both. "I think Nazarron should look at him."

Shari nodded, volunteering to go get her other consort as Malakkar joined Micah in studying the newcomer.

"Wings?" Malakkar said softly.

"Yeah, they seem functional, too," Micah informed his brother-husband. He leaned his head on the taller drows shoulder for a moment, allowing the horror he felt to drain away under Malakkar's gentle fingers in his hair.

"Shari is going to love this, if he lives. Flying drow," Mala said softly.

Micah giggled. "You think she'll figure out how Ghedron did it?"

"Most assuredly, then she will figure out how to make it painless, and offer it to any who care to fly. Sometimes our little mate makes life interesting."

"Only sometimes?" Micah teased.

Shari and Nazarron entered at that moment, the drow-lich turned good grumbling about being a lich, not a healer, while Shari coaxed him into it.

"Pnuemonia," Nazarron said finally, looking at his two fellow Consorts. "If you brew him these herbs into a tea every hour, keep him warm and dry, and apply hot cloths to his chest, he should recover, it is not set too deeply. Also, if he has trouble breathing, steam these herbes over some rocks and make him breath it."

Micah nodded and took the proffered medicine, smiling as he caught Shari carefully, and gently, examining the wings. It was going to be an interesting time.

Vizzail woke groggily to find himself wrapped in someone's arms, being propped up. "You must drink this," a soft, unfamiliar voice was saying in his ear.

He started slightly, only to find that the hold on him was secure, if gentle, and he resignedly stopped fighting. He felt the warmth of the liquid in the cup held to his lips, and he drank it down submissively.

Glancing up he was startled to find one of his own people gazing back at him. Silky white hair fell in soft waves to the other's waist, and surprisingly gentle red eyes gazed down into his own without hostility. The others skin was night black, unlike his own midnight blue, but felt soft and warm against him.

"What is your name?"

"Vizzail..." he replied, already fuzzy from exhaustion.

Vizzail. The name echoed over and over in Micah's mind as he tidied the room the ill drow was being kept in. Those delicate, beautiful red eyes haunted him with the distrust and resigned fear. Frowning, he turned to look at Vizzail, and wondered...

"Shari, what was it like when you first realized you liked Leantara?" Micah asked his Consort later at dinner. Startled, she looked up at him, then narrowed her eyes thoguhtfully.

"So, you are attracted to your charge," she said slowly.

Micah nodded, toying with his food, wondering if the infamously unpredictable half drow was going to react. Or how she would react. Sometimes she could get very possesive of her consorts... others, she couldn't care less whose bed they were in...

Shari smiled slightly as she studied her youngest consort. She and Micah had married out of friendship and politcal reasons, and she knew he did love her, but he needed someone to make his blood run like fire. She herself had Malakkar, her first and Chosen mate, and had realized upon seeing Vizzail that this one would be good for her Micah...

"I found it starnge, no one had yet taught me that you could feel for your own gender," she replied softly. "But you know that, you have been with both of the other consorts, among others, and have that advantage over me. He needs affection, I think."

Micah smiled slowly, nodding.

Vizzail finally woke somewhat coherently, startled to realize he was no longer in his cell, but in a well furnished and somewhat cozy room... Confused, he sat up groggily and noticed the other man in the room.

It was another of his kind, only more beautiful than any of the others Vizzail had known. He was a little taller than Vizzail was used to, but had the normal slender build. Silky white hair fell to his waist in shining waves, well cared for, unlike his own tangled mess.

"Good morning, Vizzail," the man said softly.

Vizzail just stared silently back, uncertain how to react.

"My name is Micah, this is my home. My Consort, Shartelane, has killed Ghedron, and we found you too ill to go your own way, so brought you here. You are recovering, but slowly. Please, remain with us at least until you are well again.."

Vizzail stared at him suspiciously, wondering where the trap lay. Not that he really had a choice, where else would he go?

Micah walked silently around the room gently snuffing all the candles, leaving only the soft glow from the firepit for light. He carefully made sure that Vizzail was tucked neatly into the covers, checking his forehead. Pleased, he noted that Nazarron's herbs must be beginning to take effect as the winged drow's temperature was not quite so hot now. Still, it was high.

He cursed again under his breath at all wizards who took their power for granted. He had seen a great deal of misery from thier "Great Works". Even his young Consort Shartelane had once suffered incredibly under Nazarron's hands before winning the cold lich's love. That had been an interesting time, Micah thought, smiling fondly. Well, he was sure the countryside was pretty glad things had changed. Not only did that mean less undead running around in Nazarron's evil plans, but it also meant that he and Shari were no longer razing entire kingdoms in their spell battles. Although he had to admit it had been a spectacular sight!

Vizzail moaned softly, startling him out of his memories. He quietly slipped into the warm cacoon he made for his charge, pulling Vizzail comfortingly into his arms, settling the shorter male's head on his shoulder. It took a bit of time to find a comfortable area to hold him around the wings... but they fascinated him.

Lulled by the warmth of the body next to his and the quiet serenity of the tower, Micah drifted off to sleep.

Vizzail woke with a start, screaming from his dreams and the nightmare images of Ghedron torturing him. Gentle hands held him firmly, soft lips traveled across his brow, and quiet murmurs fell soothingly on his ears... it was that other drow, the clean one, healthy and whole.... savior...

Vizzail looked up at the elf holding him in the dim light, fragile hope tentatively coming to life in his heart. Soft red eyes looked back.

"It's all right, Little One. I have you now, and no one will hurt you. You are free again, I will care for you until you are better. Then you may choose your fate," Micah told him gravely.

Vizzail's eyes widened at the thought. Power over his own destiny? What would he do with it? Deciding to worry about it later, he just snuggled gingerly against the beautiful elf.

Micah's heart nearly broke at the hesitant gesture, and he pulled him even closer, a single tear slipping unnoticed into Vizzail's tangled white mane. Together they slept again.

Micah tested the waters in the bathing chamber to make sure they were warm enough, as the last thing Vizzail needed was a chill. The winged one seemed much more coherent today.

He lifted the unusually light drow, thinking that Ghedron must have not only given him wings, but also the hollow bones to ease his weight and strain on them. At least if this had to happen to him, it seemed to be well thought out. He lifted Vizzail carefully, laughing softly as it took several tries for him to get a secure hold around those wings!

Vizzail said nothing, merely allowed Micah to cradle him against his chest like a child and be carried. His eyes did widen when he saw the bath.

"It's time to get you cleaned up," Micah announced cheerfully, loweing Vizzail into the bathing pool Shari had had specially built. It was the size of a good size pond, complete with fish and a waterfall. Water was fed in from a stream that also ran throught the kitchen a few yards upstream and was filtered in a permanent water purification spell as it left the bath to flow on it's way along the forest floor. There were rocks with heating spells on them that you placed in a basin at the top of the waterfall to adjust the temperature. It was an amazingly clever setup altogether.

Vizzail stared around him in openmouthed wonder, never having seen anything like it while Micah stripped to join him. Vizzail peeked surreptitiously at Micah under his tangled hair, admiring the smoothly muscled body of the taller elf. Micah was absolutely beautiful, he thought a little wistfully. He would never look at me... and that woman he kissed in the hallway... he had her...

Micah was also trying hard to hide the fact that he was gazing at Vizzail, thinking the last thing the poor drow needed was to have to deal with his lust on top of everything else. He slipped into the warm water and pulled Vizzail a bit deeper where he could more easily work on the tangled hair. He gently worked in the cleaning herbs that Shari used on her own hard to deal with mane, and lathered them generously through the tangled hair. Even as unkempt as it was, it was incredibly soft, and felt good in his hands....

Vizzail tensed when he first felt the fingers in his hair, but couldn't help relaxing into that gently massasing touch, tingles running from his scalp along his spine directly to his groin... it was the most incredible sensation...

Micah rinsed the soap away, and methodically began the process again. It took four washings, but he was finally satisfied that he got out all of the dirt and pulled out the comb he had stuck in his own hair for safekeeping and slowly began untangling it. It took a little over three hours, since he refused to pull or yank on Vizzail's scalp.

Vizzail for the meantime floated on a cloud of sensation, unsure why the soft touches were affecting him this much, but unwilling for it to end. He was unconsciously rubbing himself against Micah, who smiled as he worked. Finally it stopped, and Vizzail unconsciously voiced a litttle moan in protest.

Micah snaked his arms around Vizzail to turn him to face him, opening a different skin of herbs and began to lather it across Vizzail's shoulders, his touch teasingly light and lingering on the amazingly soft blue skin.

"I... I don't know your name..." Vizzail murmured tentatively, trying hard to focus his mind away from that torturously pleasant feeling of flesh against his own...

"Micah," came the soft answer. I am Micah Shiatta'na."

Vizzail nodded, unaware that he was leaning into Micah's touch eagerly.

Micah ran his hands down Vizzail's chest, gently lathering, but taking the oppurtunity to tease Vizzail's nipples a bit, rubbing them slowly until they turned hard under his touch. Vizzail moaned again, and gave up pretending to be unafftected and startled them both by pressing close to Micah, his erection hot and hard against Micah's own. Vizzail's eyes flew open when he realized Micah was also affected, but closed again when Micah's hands drifted down his stomach, and lower... lower....there! Michah was touching him, rubbing his leangth firmly and gently, and Vizzail cried out, thrusting against that tormenting touch while the warm water swirled all around him... nothing existed but the water and Micah, and he liked it that way, wanted it to last forever even as the intense pleasure built...

Micah smiled as he realized how sensitive Vizzail was to the slightest touch. He reasoned that he was probably not used to being touched in any manner, let alone intimatlely, and he smiled at the look of abandon on his new lover's face. He had not meant to trouble him with his want... but he was not fool enough to turn him away either. Vizzail cried out then, the look on his face absolutley beautiful as he spilled his seed into the water through Micah's hands. Micah leaned over and kissed him gently.

Vizzail startled him by wrapping both is arms and his wings around him, pressing his body against his tightly, returning the kiss fiercely. Vizzail's toungue slipped questioningly into Micah's mouth to taste him, to explore this elf that was so different from any he's known...

Micah held onto Vizzail as the other elf rubbed his body against his own, teasing him icredibly, but it felt so good.. Micah could only kiss him wildly back, unable to think, only feel...

'He wants me!' Vizzail thought in wonder. 'He truly does!' With that in mind, Vizzail reached down and touched Micah, reveling in his newfound ability to make the powerful taller male moan and press tighter against him. After a moment he realized that Micah was not going to ask for anything, but was going to let Vizzail merely touch him, to decide what he would do... And Vizzail did indeed decide what to do. He carefully positioned Micah againt his opening, the one thing he had never given anyone else. The one part of him that was clean and pure, and his to give... and thrust himself onto Micah in one smooth motion. Vizzail hissed in both pain, as he was stretched out, and pleasure, as his hard again member rubbed against the soft skin of Micah's stomach... It was incredible...

"Are you sure?" Micah gasped, stilling for a moment.

"I've never... given this... always kept this to myself," Vizzail gasped back. "But I want to give it to you now... to give you myself... Micah..."

There was something in the way Vizzail said his name, a wealth of emotion in his voice, it drove any other thoughts from Micah's mind. All he knew was the sensation of the warm and wet body around him, the kisses, the body in his arms, and he began to move wildly, driving them both insane with need, then to the ultimate pleasures together.

Micah carefully dried Vizzail off as they got out of the pool, taking the time to adore his lover's body in another way, gently, sweetly. Vizzail nearly fell when Micah, who had been kneeling to dry his legs, took him in his mouth out of nowhere, and suckled gently. Vizzail merely threw his head back and clung ot the nearby wall and let his mind go under the intense pleasure...

Micah laughed softly at the dazed expression on Vizzai's face as he stood again and kissed him sweetly on the lips. Vizzail smiled for the first time, shyly, tentatively.

Micah thought his heart might explode at the sight.

At that moment he understood so much that had slipped beyond him before, about his life, and those that he loved. Vizzail would be his, he knew this, his soul's own mate. Shari would encourage this, and let him go freely without ill will. Something insdie him wept a bit at that thought, but it was comforted by the guileless trust in the eyes of the other drow who was now toweling him dry.

He reached out and took Vizzail's chin in his hands, making him look at him.

"I love you," he informed the winged elf as he bent to kiss him deeply.

He reached out and plucked on of Malakkar's favored purple orchids and set it in the newly straitened hair, thinking that it suited his gorgeous lover. Vizzail blushed deeply, one hand lightly touching the flower, the other tangling it's fingers shyly with Micah's own. The hopeless look was gone, replaced by contentment.

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