Disclaimer:
The characters represented in this fan fiction belong to TPTB. This is for entertainment only; there is no profit involved.
Dragonslayer by LahoffyCDC
He leaned against the doorjamb, hands clenched into light fists that he stuffed into his front pockets, so she wouldn't see. He'd been avoiding her and not speaking to her for the past few days, his emotions riding too high to allow for civilized conversation. Had he attempted contact, he knew he wouldn't have been able to control the anger and would have spewed it onto the one least deserving of it. No, the silence had been the better option, even if she didn't understand.
He watched her turn the pages of the magazine apathetically, as if nothing mattered to her any longer. Again, the anger arose in him and he fought himself, barely succeeding in containing it once again. It baffled him, that he who tried so hard to remain detached from mortal concerns and feelings, had allowed this little feisty snip of a woman to ensnare him so deeply. After all, his appearance in her life had begun as a lark, as a means to antagonize those Highlanders that she adored so much. He'd simply thought to tease and torment her for a bit and then move on to the next willing victim.
But it hadn't turned out that way.
From the beginning, she'd teased and tormented him back, never backing down from anything he threw her way, standing up to him even when he allowed his darker side to come out. She laughed in the face of "Death" and it intrigued him, he wanted, no, needed to learn more about her.
And he had.
The more he found out, the deeper he fell under her spell. Feisty, fun loving, strong, and unwilling to take shit off anyone--oh yes, she was quite the package. And he wanted her. Wanted her completely, totally, utterly. There was an indefinable connection between them; they'd been more alike than either had thought. With that in mind, he'd set out to claim her, make her his. To win.
He'd won. He always did.
But having won the battle, he'd lost the war. Lost his heart, and lost his detachment from life. From mortal concerns. She'd made him care again, made him feel more alive than he'd felt in several centuries. And because she'd done that for him, he would do anything for her, if she'd just let him.
"You going to just stand there staring at me all day or have you finally decided you can speak to me again?" she asked impassively, not even bothering to look up at him.
He bit back his sharp retort--he'd heard the underlying hurt in her voice and knew that while he wasn't the sole cause of the pain, he had played a part in it by his silence. "I never meant to hurt you," he said softly.
"Pfft, who said I was hurt? I'm fine. So what if you ignored me? It gave me a bit of peace and quiet from your incessant chatter."
"You can't lie to me, I know you. Know you better than you know yourself. Maybe others will buy your act, but I don't. I caused you more pain by my silence, for that I'm sorry, but--"
"Ha! You? Sorry? What happened to the 'I lost my conscience years ago' guy? Leave it be, would ya? I'm fine." She kept her gaze stubbornly on the magazine, afraid to look up at him, afraid for him to see just how deep this latest wound went. Somewhere in the past week she'd lost a part of herself, had her confidence shaken, her world turned upside down and his anger and silence hadn't helped. Damn it, she'd needed him and he'd abandoned her and left her floundering in a sea of doubt and hurt and guilt.
She was tired. Tired in body and tired in spirit. Tired of being the strong one, tired of keeping a stiff upper lip. All she wanted was five minutes to break down, have a good cry, and have someone there to hold her and be the strong one for a change. Too much to ask for, she thought.
"I was silent for a reason. I was angry and I didn't trust myself not to vent it on you. None of this was your fault, you know."
"Wasn't it?" she asked bitterly. "I should have never left, never thought I could take some time for myself and expect other people to be strong and responsible."
His hands clenched tighter. Damn, but he'd love to hurt the ones who'd done this to her, taken away her laughter and battered her spirit until she was nearly unrecognizable to him. He wanted his stubborn, feisty, devil-may-care woman back.
He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her chin and forcing her to look at him. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated. His heart ached at the fleeting glimpse of hurt that shadowed her eyes before she blinked and it was gone.
"Please," she whispered, "just leave it be."
"I can't do that. Not while you're like this. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want."
"I'm the strong one, remember? I don't need anything."
He knew better. If she continued to let this eat away at her, she might never recover, never be the woman he knew so well again. That was something he wouldn't allow to happen. A brief smile crossed his face as an idea occurred to him. "I would slay your dragons for you, my lady."
It worked. She laughed. For a moment. "Slay my dragons? This from the man who, and I quote, 'was born long before the age of chivalry', unquote?"
"Nevertheless, I would."
"I have no dragons to slay."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before she closed hers, unwilling to meet his gaze. "Don't you?" he murmured.
She sighed. "None that I can't handle myself."
He rose, settling onto the couch beside her, pulling her resisting body into his strong arms before trying again. "Let me slay them."
For a moment, she stiffened, her eyes meeting his with the barest spark of her normal self before the tears welled up and spilled out. "Slay them then, be strong for me--let me be weak for a little bit because I just can't anymore," she sobbed.
He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head against his shoulder and holding her tightly as the tears fell. It hurt, hearing her heartrending sobs, but he endured, taking her pain into himself, being what she needed at the moment. Her rock, her strength, her support.
Her dragon slayer.
lahoffyCDC
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