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“I’m the Guardian. Me! Not you. Not yet.”
“Guardian, I was just trying to help!”
Khadgar swallowed fearfully as his research went up in flames. Light, what have I done?
Medivh advanced closer, driving Khadgar back against the wall, unable to retreat any further. He fought panic rising in his chest. Is Medivh going to kill me? Or just set me on fire?
“So. The fugitive Guardian Novitiate is ‘researching’. Trying to ‘help’ me. Hmmm.” The Guardian’s voice was low and silky. With a jolt of dismay, Khadgar realized that he could no longer move, couldn’t speak. “There was a time when novitiates lived with the Guardian to learn the ways of the arcane. Did you know?” He hadn’t even seen Medivh weave the spell that bound him in place. He could barely breathe. Don’t panic, don’t panic. Medivh was definitely going to kill him. He focused on forcing his chest up and down, staring wide-eyed at the mage.
Medivh began to circle around the boy, languid and deliberate. “Would you like that? Living with me in Karazhan? You certainly made yourself at home rather quickly.” His smile was dangerous. “Oh, the things that you could learn as my apprentice.” He leaned close, inhaling deeply. Lips nearly against Khadgar’s cheek, sending hot breath curling around his ear. “You reek of power, boy. So…pure. Untouched.” His tone dripped with contempt…and desire. “Unbridled. You should never have left your training.” The invisible restraints gripped the younger mage chokingly. Breathe in. Breathe out. He just wants to scare you. You’re a mage, Khadgar. Don’t show him fear. Breathe in. Breathe out. “But perhaps it’s not too late for you.” Medivh waved a disgusted hand towards the wall where Khadgar’s research had been pinned before being obliterated by the Guardian’s magic. “You seem to be…an eager student.”
Please, Guardian, I only wanted to help. Oh Light, why is he doing this? Please…
Hands unfastened the front of Khadgar’s pants, slowly rolling the cloth back to expose his lower abdomen and soft, dark hairs. “Did you know that novitiates do not have the right of refusal with their Guardian?” Khadgar shuddered involuntarily as the mage began to slowly trace long fingernails across the soft part of his belly. “Is that surprising? Actually, I expect there is a lot that you don’t know.” Time seemed to crawl, each moment struggling to advance through deep water. Khadgar strained against the holding spell, eyes wide with denial. Relinquish the right of refusal? No, it cannot be. The Kirin Tor would never allow that. Despite his resolve to show no reaction, panic now ruled, a river of helplessness threatening to overwhelm his being.
“Oh, it’s true, young one. There are magics that can only be imparted by physical contact.” A twisted smile. “Yes, the things that I could teach you.” Two fingers probed lower in his pants, reaching the base of his cock and beginning to press rhythmically at his pubic bone. “All this…could have been mine.” The man spoke mockingly. Khadgar was trembling violently now, betrayed by wetness tracking down his cheeks.
With a flash of his hand, Medivh initiated the fire spell that had burned most of Khadgar’s research minutes before, this time annihilating the clothing on his body. Stepping back, the mage surveyed the youth. “You’re quivering for me.” The voice was matter-of-fact. “You want this.” No, please, no. Although Medivh didn’t move, Khadgar began to feel something touching him. Stroking up and down his body, probing his intimate parts. Moving inside him. He gasped as the arcane forces penetrated his body, thrusting and pulsating.
The Guardian moaned, a guttural sound, eyes never leaving the boy. An erection strained at his waist, slight movements of his hips mirroring the arcane thrusts. Blackness seemed to fall, roaring filling Khadgar’s ears. Dimly, he was aware that Medivh was still talking, but he was disconnected. Heedless. Destroyed. Despite the pain, he felt his body responding to the touch, and shame began washing over him in thick, red, waves. No, he thought, please no, I’m sorry, please no…
A sharp slap across his face, and then another, brought him back to Medivh. “Look at me. LOOK. AT. ME.” Hard eyes raked over him, filled completely black, as if the mage were being consumed by the dark magic he wielded. Khadgar whimpered involuntarily from the pain, from the invasion into his body, from the helplessness. The Guardian stood inches from his face. His soft growl seared Khadgar’s ears. “Don’t presume you can aid me, whelp. You have no idea the forces I contend with.” With a blast of arcane, Medivh flung him onto the bed, hissing with anger. Khadgar was sobbing, silent heaves that threatened to choke, straining against the relentless binding spell. Eyes screwed tightly shut, he braced for the assault.
He was released with the same suddenness with which he had been bound. Freed, he threw himself violently backward on the bed, scrabbling to get as far away from Medivh as possible, before noticing.
The Guardian was no longer in the room.
He was fully clothed again.
Khadgar blinked, still choking back sobs, repulsed by the sensations lingering in his body. What? What happened? Where did he…? An illusion…? But no. His research was still gone, burned, and gone too was the book that he had “borrowed” from Karazhan. Reaching up, fingertips explored his swollen cheek, still stinging from the blows. The taste of blood in his mouth. He curled on the bed, childlike, feeling a vast chasm expanding in his chest.
What am I going to do? Who would believe me?
He was cold, so cold.
-----
Medivh woke in a haze, finding himself lying in the font at Karazhan. Moroes hovered over him worriedly. “Guardian – are you alright? You ported here and collapsed. You’ve been unconscious.”
“I’m alright.” His voice was a croak, harsh and unpleasant. “Moroes…no. No, I’m not well.” He stood, staggering slightly. Wetness was spreading in the front of his robes, as if he’d… Rancid bile rose in his throat, and he fought the urge to vomit. “Something…happened.” For a fleeting moment, he felt as though he had hurt someone, the act lingering on the edges of his consciousness but evaporating even as he reached for remembrance. It was gone. “What…have I done?”
“Was it the fel?”
He was exhausted, yet…satiated. “I don’t remember.”
“Come, Guardian. You need to rest.” Moroes offered a steady hand, leading him toward the sleeping chamber. “You’ll need to gather your strength to fight the evil another day.”
“Yes. Another day.” Medivh accepted the proffered hand, weariness seeping from his bones.
The thought burned within him. Why can’t I remember?
But part of him did remember.
Fire flashing. Desire, twisted by something dark. Whimpering. Enormous brown eyes, filled with fear.
No, he thought violently, I DON’T REMEMBER!
And I don’t want to.