by M. D. Grimm
The beauty of this place was unlike anything he’d ever known, anything he could have imagined, even in his wildest fantasies.
Certainly, not all planets in the Middle Realm were like this. This one was unique and perfect for a variety of life, the place where both the angels and the demons cultivated their food stuffs. Others were equally unique but more hostile. Asagoroth swept past them, and Trystan only caught glimpses of the swirls of color and gasses. That was fine. They had time to explore.
He sat on Asagoroth’s head, leaning this way and that, whipping around, unwilling to let a single sight pass him by. Overwhelmed with wonder, grief, and exhaustion, he let himself be enthralled by what he heard, felt, saw, and smelled. He didn’t want to think yet. He didn’t want to rest. If he rested, he would think, and if he slept, he would dream. He didn’t want to dream. He would only relive that one image again and again.
His father’s headless body falling into the black.
Shaking himself, Trystan refocused and realized they were descending toward one of those sandy beaches. The sky was so blue, with puffy white clouds, the color reminding Trystan of Asagoroth’s eyes.
Asagoroth’s long body, unshielded and exposed to the light, glistened and gleamed under the rays, and flocks of birds darted away in terror, or perhaps a well-placed sense of survival.
Then Trystan did a double-take and gaped at the change in Asagoroth’s scales. While still black, somehow the combination of his inner flames and the yellow sun caused a rainbow of color to shimmer and shine differently on each scale. Every time he moved, every time the light changed, a different shade of color would flash. Purples and blues, greens and reds, yellows and oranges, and more. Colors Trystan had never seen before. His dragon shifted from the black of the Beyond to containing all the colors in the cosmos.
The sand was warm under Trystan’s bare feet, and he took a moment to flex his toes, the sensation so odd but nice. He turned and took a deep breath, his nose filling with scents he couldn’t begin to describe or identify. He didn’t bother trying.
“Amazing.” His voice was barely more than a murmur.
“It is,” Asagoroth said, voice rumbling out. He set his rump on the sand, folding his mighty wings behind his back. Lifting his horned head to the sky, he closed his eyes. “This is truly the greatest of the Light Bringer’s creations.”
Trystan nodded in agreement. Then there was silence between them as Asagoroth stayed sitting and Trystan walked the length of the small beach. He noticed the odd creatures scuttling across the sands and avoided them while still staring with fascination. He picked up shells and found their beauty priceless. He still refused to think as he observed and explored, yet he knew he couldn’t hold it off forever. But there was no reason to rush this dream come true. He was here in the Middle Realm, where the Center Garden had come from, where order was overrated and chaos held back by the simple balance of everything. Everything had its place, but didn’t mind overlapping into another’s space.
Angels would hate it here. All but him.
He walked back to Asagoroth, whom he realized was watching him the entire time. Strange, he hadn’t felt pressure inside his head nor felt his gaze. Asagoroth was giving him time and privacy. Love for him welled up inside, and Trystan quickened his pace.
Still sitting in the same place, Asagoroth lowered his massive head, tilting it to the side so one big blue eye regarded Trystan warily. That brought Trystan up short. Asagoroth was wary of him?
Wary you might run away, said a little voice inside his head, one that was certainly not Asagoroth. Or worse, hate him.
Swallowing hard, Trystan stepped up to Asagoroth’s large snout, and without speaking, wrapped his arms as far around that muzzle as he could, which wasn’t far. He pressed his cheek against those warm scales and closed his eyes, letting his actions speak for themselves. A rumbling sigh of relief came from Asagoroth, and he lowered the rest of his body to the sand, now relaxed.
Smiling, Trystan opened his eyes and kissed one of the scales, currently a serene blue. Asagoroth shivered. Walking to one of Asagoroth’s eyes, Trystan stared into it, seeing his entire body reflected in the pupil.
“I don’t blame you,” Trystan whispered, but then it all broke loose. Releasing a sob, Trystan fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. His eyes and throat burned with his tears, and he wished he could hold them in. He was embarrassed Asagoroth saw them.
But Asagoroth let out a low, soothing purr and cupped one mighty claw around Trystan, pushing him gently to Asagoroth’s face, beside his eye. Trystan set his palms against the scales, the heat seeping into his skin, touching his bones. Surrounded by that heat, the comfort, and the love, he allowed himself to let go.
It was evening and the sun was nearly touching the horizon when Asagoroth convinced Trystan to swim with him. Not being able to swim, Trystan was hesitant, but the water looked so peaceful and calm and soothing that he let Asagoroth convince him. Sitting naked on Asagoroth’s head, Asagoroth walked into the water and was soon paddling far from shore, the water lapping around his sides, his legs hidden beneath the surface. Heart pounding, Trystan grinned widely. Land disappeared behind them, leaving nothing but water all around.
“The Middle Realm allows us to adapt,” Asagoroth said. “There will be no need to hold your breath under the water. Simply trust that you can breathe.”
Trystan frowned but nodded. Asagoroth dove below the surface, and despite the burning, Trystan kept his eyes open, and he suddenly felt a sharp, fiery sensation along his neck. Slapping his hand on his skin, he realized strange slits had appeared, and when he tried to breathe, he received air through them. Shocked, Trystan laughed, bubbles issuing from his mouth. But when he focused his attention on the wonder that lay before him, he forgot about the strange slits on his neck. Asagoroth dove deeper and peculiar structures came into view, and it took a moment for Trystan to realize they were outstretches of land with odd creatures living in them. The water was clear enough for him to see unknown plants, slithering beasts, and fish that darted quickly away from their arrival.
Trystan laughed in sheer joy, more bubbles billowing out of his mouth.
Asagoroth cut smoothly through the water, as graceful as any of the creatures naturally born in the element. It was entirely unfair how good he was at everything.
They spent a long, joyful time under the water, observing such bizarre creatures and amazing natural structures. Nothing was as big as Asagoroth, and Trystan never felt a moment of fear, despite some of the truly monstrous sea life.
Rising to the surface, Trystan pushed his hair out of his face, determined to lock everything he’d seen in his memory. Another sharp sting came from his neck, and Trystan touched the slits to find them gone, and he breathed through his nose once more.
“We should head back to shore. The sun has nearly set.” Asagoroth turned around.
The colors of sunset were breathtaking: oranges, pinks, yellows, and some grays, all painted together in perfect harmony. The Upper Realm didn’t have that.
Trystan wasn’t ready to retire just yet. His wings became visible, and he leapt off Asagoroth’s head. Asagoroth jerked his head back in surprise.
Trystan laughed again, thrilled he still could. “Catch me if you can, dragon!” Flapping hard, he flew high into the sky, bathed in the last of the sun’s rays. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes briefly to bask in the gentle heat. He felt… free.
But then he sensed and heard movement underneath him and looked down in time to see Asagoroth shooting right for him. Asagoroth didn’t have to put much effort in reaching Trystan’s position since every one flap of his wings was about one hundred of Trystan’s. Asagoroth barely missed him, and his wake sent Trystan into a tumble.
Flapping his wings to steady himself, Trystan scowled, but it was halfhearted.
“Very funny, demon!”
A loud rumbling of laughter sounded from Asagoroth. But when Asagoroth paused to hover in the ai
r, Trystan’s breath was momentarily taken away. He doubted he would ever lose his awe of Asagoroth. Dominator of the sky and all he surveyed was what and who Asagoroth was. There was no denying it, especially not when looking at him in all his glory.
Shaking himself, Trystan started a game of chase. In a conventional chase, though, Trystan knew he couldn’t outrun Asagoroth, so he ended up dodging around his body, slipping just close enough to touch but avoiding a grab. He teased Asagoroth, lingering within reach or eye level before darting off again, laughing all the way. Slipping under legs, between wings, Trystan kept from being caught—he was impressed by his own skill.
The sun finally set and darkness fell swiftly. The flames between Asagoroth’s scales only became brighter, the red and orange and occasional blue and white peeking through with every movement. The rainbow faded from his scales, returning them to their original, unforgiving black. Finally exhausted, Trystan let himself be caught. A massive claw enclosed him, and Trystan curled up with trust and a feeling of safety.
With Asagoroth, a demon, he was the safest he had ever been.
And yet as Trystan began to think, he relived that moment of his father’s death. He remembered acutely what Asagoroth had said and the way he said it. Trystan’s bowels clenched with the mere memory of the evil in his dragon’s voice. Asagoroth didn’t feel remorse for the killing, but did he feel glad for it? Trystan hoped the Light he didn’t.
An angel and a demon… could they really work? It hadn’t ended so well before.
As Asagoroth laid Trystan on the now-cool sand and shifted into his other form, Trystan wondered about Roland again. He wondered about Asagoroth and Roland. What did Asagoroth want from Trystan? Happiness, he said. But—
Asagoroth’s kiss stilled Trystan’s thoughts. Sensation ruled as Trystan opened for him and Asagoroth took full advantage. There wasn’t much foreplay this time. Asagoroth readied him quickly, licking and probing his entrance, stroking his shaft vigorously. Whimpering, Trystan squirmed, overwhelmed by the speed and force of the claiming.
“Asa,” he moaned.
“Trystan,” Asagoroth rumbled. “Roland.”
Trystan’s eyes popped open as his heart stopped, but he could say nothing as Asagoroth pushed inside him. He cried out as Asagoroth pounded into him harder than ever before. Wrapping his legs around Asagoroth’s waist, Trystan could only hold on as his body was invaded and claimed. Asagoroth never stopped kissing him with his hot mouth—Trystan’s lips, his cheeks, his eyes. There was so much emotion in the gesture, and his hands were never still; he threaded them through Trystan’s hair, caressed his neck, tweaked his nipples. Trystan gripped Asagoroth’s horns, and Asagoroth growled, eyes glowing like flame in the darkness.
“Mate,” Asagoroth grunted. “Mine. Mate. Love.”
“Asa.”
But he called me Roland.
Trystan’s orgasm was quick and violent. Asagoroth actually cried out with his own, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of letting Trystan go.
Exhausted, overwhelmed, and sated, Trystan held Asagoroth loosely around the neck as sleep crept up to claim him.
Trystan stood there, staring at the beautiful tall angel in front of him. Muscled, a warrior’s build despite the absence of scars, he was obviously in his prime, and his hair was glossy and black, as were his wings. Striking eyes the shade of violet were set in a face that was finely shaped, masculine, yet gentle about it. Even though he was frowning, his eyes slightly narrowed, the angel was remarkably handsome.
And horribly familiar.
“Trystan,” he said, his voice deep. “We need to talk.”
Trystan gaped. He couldn’t help it. He knew this was a dream—it had to be. He could see himself off to the left, curled up asleep in one of Asagoroth’s massive paws. So how could he be standing here, talking to an angel he swore he knew?
“I… you….”
The angel gave a huff of frustration. “Never mind that. Yes, I’m Roland. We need to talk.”
“How can… you’re dead!”
Roland made a noise of impatience and cut his hand through the air. “It would take too much time to explain it, Trystan. I am you. You are me. And we need to talk about him.” Roland pointed at Asagoroth. “More importantly we need to talk about the two of you. Why do you keep doubting yourself and his love for you? Hasn’t he proven his devotion many times over?”
Trystan opened his mouth. Shut it. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “He killed my father.”
“Your father brought it upon himself.”
Trystan shook his head, but there was no point in denying it.
“Asagoroth said, quite clearly, what would happen if the angels pursued you,” Roland said. “He never bluffs, Trystan. He never lies. He always tells the truth. I honestly don’t think he has it in him to lie. I mean, what’s the point? Look at him!”
Trystan did. Asagoroth was a force beyond the natural world. What had he to fear that he would need to lie about?
“If we looked the same, I would have sympathy for your doubt,” Roland said, obviously ruffled. His wings twitched back and forth as he emphasized his distress with his hands. “But we look nothing alike. He loves you, Trystan. Why is that so hard to accept?”
Returning his gaze to the other angel, Trystan’s throat threatened to close. “He called me by your name.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “Your name, my name. We’re the same essence. He now knows us by both names, but he still loves us. Me, you, whatever form we take, he wants what only we can give him. Names mean little in the larger scheme of things, especially for something like him.”
It was hard to wrap his head around but Trystan had something else holding him back, causing him to doubt Asagoroth’s acceptance, even though he had every reason to believe wholeheartedly.
“I’m unchosen, Roland. For my entire life, I’ve been told I’m unworthy and unwanted. A burden and a shame to my family. My people tell me I’m nothing. Then he tells me I’m everything.” Trystan gestured to Asagoroth. “Which do you think is easier to believe?”
The impatience and frustration left Roland’s eyes. Understanding replaced them.
“I see,” he murmured. “Yes, I see. I never considered—” He sighed. “I owe you an apology, Trystan.”
Trystan frowned. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You weren’t born unchosen by chance.”
Trystan blinked.
Roland nodded. “After my fellow angels captured me and threw me into the dungeon, I knew I was dead. I knew Asagoroth wouldn’t find me in time. Before I was executed, I managed to speak to an angel I could still call friend. He taught me a spell. My energy would disperse as usual upon death, but I made sure I would coalesce into another being. I made damn sure I would live again, and be born unchosen.” Roland met Trystan’s eyes. “I became you.”
Trystan shook his head in shock. “But why? Why would you want to be unchosen? You were an artist. You were wanted. Chosen.”
“Precisely.”
Trystan rubbed his fingers against his temple. “I don’t understand.”
Roland sighed softly and stepped closer. He was noticeably taller than Trystan, and Trystan had to crane his neck back to keep looking at his face.
“My life and my purpose were set the moment I was born. I was an artist. That was it. That was all. There was no choice and no negotiation. I liked being an artist and I was good at it. I was content.” Roland looked at Asagoroth. “But I wasn’t happy. He made me happy. He gave me the passion I so desperately wanted.” He turned back to Trystan. “As he makes you happy. He give you that same passion.”
Trystan looked at Asagoroth as well and nodded.
“It made it more difficult when I realized I had desire for him,” Roland said softly. “I was so sure I was betraying my people and my purpose. I tried to fight it, but in the end, he made me his.” Roland gently touched Trystan’s shoulder. “He freed me, Trystan, and I lik
e to think I freed him.”
“Why?” Trystan whispered. “Why did you fall in love with him?”
Roland smiled wide. “Well, I’ll be honest, at first it was shallow. He’s beautiful: dark, dangerous, and powerful, with near all-knowing intelligence, and delightfully arrogant. I was intrigued, the artist inside me just itching to draw or paint his likeness. I tried, but there was little hope I could reproduce even a fragment of his grandness.”
Trystan had to agree.
“Then it became something deeper.” Roland squinted in thought. “We understood each other. Without speaking we understood. I was his captive, remember. He guarded me and a few other angels personally. One of them was my sister. I made a point to speak with him.”
“I’m surprised you had such courage.”
Roland snorted. “You have that courage as well. You are me, after all.”
Trystan felt pain spike in his heart. “No, I’m nothing like you.”
Roland squeezed Trystan’s shoulder and shook him slightly. “No, that’s the others talking, the ones who told you that you were nothing. Don’t listen to them, Trystan, even in your head. Replace their voices with Asagoroth’s. He has much kinder things to say.”
Trystan smiled slightly.
“We grew close, he and I. It was he who said he would stop his campaign if I would become his. He released the other angels and simply abandoned his forces.”
Warmth and amazement came into those remarkable violet eyes, and Trystan suddenly wished he could have those memories.
Roland’s gaze sharpened, and he raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure, Trystan? They’re not all happy.”