the matchmaker
Posted: Mon May 30, 2022 11:17 pm
T A L O N
92 Glade 122 AoS
???
It had been exactly seven days since Aoren had broken. Seven days since he had felt his husband’s will to resist their torture crumble. He knew because on the morning of the first day following the gaping hole that appeared in his soul and heart, the broadcasts stopped. There had not been a single one since that day. There had also been nothing but stone cold silence from the Bond. It was not gone. He could still feel its presence, but it felt as though there were something cold and hard blocking it.
He was meditating when the door opened. Opening his eyes he watched detachedly at first as he saw the slender figure of the archbishop meander into the chamber. His focus shifted however, when he saw who else had walked in. He recognized the broad sweeping raven wings. The steady gait. Finally, the markings upon his bare arms. His eyes at first lit up at the sight of his bondmate but then he saw the subdued way in which he carried himself. Combined with the black collar with electric blue runes etched into its surface around his neck, he immediately knew what had happened. When their eyes met, he felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. Gone was the passionate fire of the man he loved. Gone was the spark that so clearly shone in Aoren’s eyes.
He was on his feet. Straining against the bindings that held him. Anger rose up in him, a burning fury that nearly blinded him. As soon as it rose up however, he felt it pushed down and quelled with a startling swiftness that had him jerking back in shock. His eyes went wide as he realized the fullness of what had just happened. That was when he felt it. The hard, cold emptiness that had filled him was no longer there. In its place was a nauseating feeling that felt like a flame sputtering in the dark. In his minds eye he thought he could see the fire that had always represented Aoren to him. It was small and dampened by shadows that he could not pierce and a tendril of that inky blackness was coiling itself into his own chest. It felt sick. It felt wrong.
“Aoren?” His voice was hoarse. It came out as a soft, desperate plea. His husband stared back at him, unblinking, unmoved. Tears sprung up into his eyes. He looked to the archbishop then.
“You bastards!” Rage boiled up inside of him once more. “You absolute fucking monsters! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!”
With an anguished cry, he felt his anger pushed down again. He felt the touch of his bondmate, his core soulmate, wrap around his emotions and brush them aside. He shed his tears of rage, frustration and betrayal freely. He could do nothing else. They had broken his bondmate. His Core Bondmate. They had collared him and shackled him to their will. They could manipulate him through Aoren now and short of death, he was powerless to stop it. He fell to his knees, his gaze falling to the floor.
“Give him back to me…please…” The sound of clacking heels echoed in the chamber.
“Come now, my dear archbishop. This is hardly necessary.” A woman’s voice broke through the haze of despair that felt like it was going to crush him.
“Many things are necessary, my dear. This--” The woman interrupted archbishop Franz Kircher. He did not need to look up to sense the severe displeasure that crossed his face at such an act.
“Is not.” He heard a snap of fingers. As soon as it sounded, he felt as though a lead weight was lifted from his chest. The sound of a gasp drew his attention and had his head snapping up. Aoren stumbled and shook his head as though he were waking up from a dream. He pressed a hand to his brow and he watched as clarity returned to those fire-kissed eyes. Aoren’s hand immediately went to the collar around his neck. His head then shot up and he locked eyes with him.
“Talon?” There was hurt. There was longing. There was rage. There was love. There were so many emotions that flitted across his husband’s face that he could not possibly have named all of them. But it did not matter. He felt warmth fill his chest and in the span of a breath, Aoren was stumbling forward and he felt sturdy arms wrap around him. Desperately, he clung to his bondmate. He buried his face in Aoren’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and he reached for him across the Bond. Aoren reached back. The touch of souls was barred however, as between them lingered what felt like a thin pane of glass. Aoren leaned back, cupping his face in his hands.
“I…I thought…when I…” He closed his mouth. His jaw flexing as he struggled to find words. He knew to what his bondmate was referring to. The control was forced upon him. The manipulation of his bondmate’s emotions. It was the height of sacrilege against the Bond. Aoren pressed their brows together and he basked in his husband’s presence. More tears welled up in his eyes. He let them fall, not caring that they would be seen by his captors. Before that moment, he would not have said that he was close to breaking. Now? There in the ring of his husband’s arms, feeling even just a shred of his warmth, feeling his hands upon him, seeing the fire of life in his eyes again after months of nothing but hearing his screams? He realized just how precariously close he had been.
He did not know if he could go back to that.
He heard the archbishop give a sniff of disapproval. It was followed by the woman sighing fondly.
“Ah, you see? Love is such a beautiful thing.” Another snap of fingers. He gasped as he felt Aoren’s warmth evaporate. The vibrancy of the Bond went cold and dark once more. His husband’s arms went stiff and he felt his muscles flex. Meeting Aoren’s gaze, he saw the clear attempt to resist, to fight, to shrug off the control, evident in those fiery eyes.
And then the fire went out.
Aoren’s arms went limp and he was pulling away from him.
“W-wait. Aoren? Wait! Please!” He moved to grab his husband but the chains binding him suddenly yanked him back and away from Aoren. He strained against them, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Aoren stood up and stepped back, assuming a subdued posture. A frustrated cry escaped his lips as his anger rose up once again. The black of the cathedralesque chamber became a stark white. He roared in fury. The chains holding him groaned with the effort to restrain him. Smoke rose up from his body as his inscriptions began to burn away beneath the onslaught of his anger. He felt that nauseating influence coil its way back into his chest, the work of Aoren being forced to control him as he, himself was being controlled. Again, his anger was pushed down. The wrath he would have unleashed was dampened and the effort he put into struggling against his restraints was drained away from him like water through a sieve.
He gasped, his legs shaking as he fell back to his knees and was left panting.
“Exquisite. Truly exquisite, archbishop. Now I see why you have been keeping him here all to yourself. You sultry minx.” The woman let out an amused, playful laugh and he finally looked up at her. She was a woman that was perhaps middling in her years though he could not truly tell. She wore a lavish gown with a shawl draped around her shoulders. Long black hair fell down her bare shoulders in curls. A pair of dark brown eyes stared at him with a sparkling intelligence that held a predatory edge. There was a smile tugging at her lips as she met his gaze.
“And those eyes! Beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Such a magnificent specimen.” He watched her, glaring at her as she began to pace around the circle that caged him. “Remarkable. Silver wings. Stunning physique. The strength of at least a dozen Kathar. My goodness, how many masters had to forge these chains?”
“Too many.” The archbishop’s tone was less clipped than before. For what reason? He did not care to find out. He had a feeling he would know why soon, though.
“And that skin? Those markings? He is a half-elf?” The archbishop nodded. “I read the lineage report but I daresay, they do not do him justice.”
The woman circled back around so that she stood squarely within his field of view.
“Who are you?” His question came out as a growl and she brought a hand up to fan herself.
“My, my, that voice too. Ha!” She adjusted her shawl and gave a soft purr of delight. “I can just imagine…”
“Enough.” The archbishop narrowed his eyes at the woman. She eyed the old man before turning her attention back to him.
“My dear, where are my manners? I do so get carried away sometimes. Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Countess Jacqueline d’Honaire. And I, Your Highness...” She gave an elegant dip with a bow of her head.
“Am the Matchmaker.”
???
It had been exactly seven days since Aoren had broken. Seven days since he had felt his husband’s will to resist their torture crumble. He knew because on the morning of the first day following the gaping hole that appeared in his soul and heart, the broadcasts stopped. There had not been a single one since that day. There had also been nothing but stone cold silence from the Bond. It was not gone. He could still feel its presence, but it felt as though there were something cold and hard blocking it.
He was meditating when the door opened. Opening his eyes he watched detachedly at first as he saw the slender figure of the archbishop meander into the chamber. His focus shifted however, when he saw who else had walked in. He recognized the broad sweeping raven wings. The steady gait. Finally, the markings upon his bare arms. His eyes at first lit up at the sight of his bondmate but then he saw the subdued way in which he carried himself. Combined with the black collar with electric blue runes etched into its surface around his neck, he immediately knew what had happened. When their eyes met, he felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. Gone was the passionate fire of the man he loved. Gone was the spark that so clearly shone in Aoren’s eyes.
He was on his feet. Straining against the bindings that held him. Anger rose up in him, a burning fury that nearly blinded him. As soon as it rose up however, he felt it pushed down and quelled with a startling swiftness that had him jerking back in shock. His eyes went wide as he realized the fullness of what had just happened. That was when he felt it. The hard, cold emptiness that had filled him was no longer there. In its place was a nauseating feeling that felt like a flame sputtering in the dark. In his minds eye he thought he could see the fire that had always represented Aoren to him. It was small and dampened by shadows that he could not pierce and a tendril of that inky blackness was coiling itself into his own chest. It felt sick. It felt wrong.
“Aoren?” His voice was hoarse. It came out as a soft, desperate plea. His husband stared back at him, unblinking, unmoved. Tears sprung up into his eyes. He looked to the archbishop then.
“You bastards!” Rage boiled up inside of him once more. “You absolute fucking monsters! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!”
With an anguished cry, he felt his anger pushed down again. He felt the touch of his bondmate, his core soulmate, wrap around his emotions and brush them aside. He shed his tears of rage, frustration and betrayal freely. He could do nothing else. They had broken his bondmate. His Core Bondmate. They had collared him and shackled him to their will. They could manipulate him through Aoren now and short of death, he was powerless to stop it. He fell to his knees, his gaze falling to the floor.
“Give him back to me…please…” The sound of clacking heels echoed in the chamber.
“Come now, my dear archbishop. This is hardly necessary.” A woman’s voice broke through the haze of despair that felt like it was going to crush him.
“Many things are necessary, my dear. This--” The woman interrupted archbishop Franz Kircher. He did not need to look up to sense the severe displeasure that crossed his face at such an act.
“Is not.” He heard a snap of fingers. As soon as it sounded, he felt as though a lead weight was lifted from his chest. The sound of a gasp drew his attention and had his head snapping up. Aoren stumbled and shook his head as though he were waking up from a dream. He pressed a hand to his brow and he watched as clarity returned to those fire-kissed eyes. Aoren’s hand immediately went to the collar around his neck. His head then shot up and he locked eyes with him.
“Talon?” There was hurt. There was longing. There was rage. There was love. There were so many emotions that flitted across his husband’s face that he could not possibly have named all of them. But it did not matter. He felt warmth fill his chest and in the span of a breath, Aoren was stumbling forward and he felt sturdy arms wrap around him. Desperately, he clung to his bondmate. He buried his face in Aoren’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and he reached for him across the Bond. Aoren reached back. The touch of souls was barred however, as between them lingered what felt like a thin pane of glass. Aoren leaned back, cupping his face in his hands.
“I…I thought…when I…” He closed his mouth. His jaw flexing as he struggled to find words. He knew to what his bondmate was referring to. The control was forced upon him. The manipulation of his bondmate’s emotions. It was the height of sacrilege against the Bond. Aoren pressed their brows together and he basked in his husband’s presence. More tears welled up in his eyes. He let them fall, not caring that they would be seen by his captors. Before that moment, he would not have said that he was close to breaking. Now? There in the ring of his husband’s arms, feeling even just a shred of his warmth, feeling his hands upon him, seeing the fire of life in his eyes again after months of nothing but hearing his screams? He realized just how precariously close he had been.
He did not know if he could go back to that.
He heard the archbishop give a sniff of disapproval. It was followed by the woman sighing fondly.
“Ah, you see? Love is such a beautiful thing.” Another snap of fingers. He gasped as he felt Aoren’s warmth evaporate. The vibrancy of the Bond went cold and dark once more. His husband’s arms went stiff and he felt his muscles flex. Meeting Aoren’s gaze, he saw the clear attempt to resist, to fight, to shrug off the control, evident in those fiery eyes.
And then the fire went out.
Aoren’s arms went limp and he was pulling away from him.
“W-wait. Aoren? Wait! Please!” He moved to grab his husband but the chains binding him suddenly yanked him back and away from Aoren. He strained against them, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Aoren stood up and stepped back, assuming a subdued posture. A frustrated cry escaped his lips as his anger rose up once again. The black of the cathedralesque chamber became a stark white. He roared in fury. The chains holding him groaned with the effort to restrain him. Smoke rose up from his body as his inscriptions began to burn away beneath the onslaught of his anger. He felt that nauseating influence coil its way back into his chest, the work of Aoren being forced to control him as he, himself was being controlled. Again, his anger was pushed down. The wrath he would have unleashed was dampened and the effort he put into struggling against his restraints was drained away from him like water through a sieve.
He gasped, his legs shaking as he fell back to his knees and was left panting.
“Exquisite. Truly exquisite, archbishop. Now I see why you have been keeping him here all to yourself. You sultry minx.” The woman let out an amused, playful laugh and he finally looked up at her. She was a woman that was perhaps middling in her years though he could not truly tell. She wore a lavish gown with a shawl draped around her shoulders. Long black hair fell down her bare shoulders in curls. A pair of dark brown eyes stared at him with a sparkling intelligence that held a predatory edge. There was a smile tugging at her lips as she met his gaze.
“And those eyes! Beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Such a magnificent specimen.” He watched her, glaring at her as she began to pace around the circle that caged him. “Remarkable. Silver wings. Stunning physique. The strength of at least a dozen Kathar. My goodness, how many masters had to forge these chains?”
“Too many.” The archbishop’s tone was less clipped than before. For what reason? He did not care to find out. He had a feeling he would know why soon, though.
“And that skin? Those markings? He is a half-elf?” The archbishop nodded. “I read the lineage report but I daresay, they do not do him justice.”
The woman circled back around so that she stood squarely within his field of view.
“Who are you?” His question came out as a growl and she brought a hand up to fan herself.
“My, my, that voice too. Ha!” She adjusted her shawl and gave a soft purr of delight. “I can just imagine…”
“Enough.” The archbishop narrowed his eyes at the woman. She eyed the old man before turning her attention back to him.
“My dear, where are my manners? I do so get carried away sometimes. Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Countess Jacqueline d’Honaire. And I, Your Highness...” She gave an elegant dip with a bow of her head.
“Am the Matchmaker.”