#rhadaphid

[oopsbirdficced]

kingofthewilds asked: Aight, so! Prompt time! :D Perhaps an Aiacos/Shion 25 and 14; and maybe a Rhada/Sylphide 17 and 21? :O Thanks so much, Bird!! :D

So this is set pre Lost Canvas, during some Holy War before Rhadamanthys goes completely cuckoo and starts killing his own subordinates. :) I guess, be advised for very possessive behavior? It's welcomed, if that helps. Also, tw for suggested euthanasia, and murder and blood and stuff.

17. One is recovering from a wound/illness

21. “They’re wrong about you.”

---

Rhadamanthys stares broodingly at the still, unnaturally quiet form of Sylphid in his bed. He's asleep, and it's strange to see him like that, without the ferocity and animation that characterizes his waking self. He seems vulnerable, and the possessive aspect of Rhadamanthys's soul, the wyvern within him, is both pleased to see that vulnerability and angry about it.

Pleased to see that Sylphid is comfortable enough to sleep, deep and peaceful, in his presence. That he trusts Rhadamanthys to keep him safe.

Angry- nay, enraged- at what landed his Basilisk here, in his care. That some lousy Gold Saint had dared lay hands on that which belongs to Rhadamanthys. Sylphid's lower left leg is broken in three places, but he'd killed the Gold Saint and escaped with the knowledge he'd been sent to procure.

Their Dryad had advised, clinical and emotionless as always, that it might just be easier to kill Sylphid and have him retrieved from the Hall of Awakening. Sylphid had been forced to fight on the broken leg, and the bones had ground and splintered against each other, shredding his muscle within his skin. This Dryad prefers not to waste his healing Cosmo spells on injuries that will take so much time and effort to heal.

They will need a new Dryad come the next Holy War, for Rhadamanthys had torn out his throat and consigned his soul to the Cocytus for suggesting such a treatment. Aiacos will be vexed with him, Dryad is one of his division, but Rhadamanthys doesn't care.

Rhadamanthys calls Cosmo to his hands. He's not the best of healers, but he has had a long time to practice. Still, he's going very slowly with the process. He doesn't want to cripple one of his own. It takes him a while to cudgel his energies into the soothing flow of healing, and then he finally lowers his hands to Sylphid's carefully splinted leg. It takes immense effort and concentration to realign all the tiny splinters of bone, and he's only halfway through the process after a full two hours' session already. Time to try again.

Sweat drips from his brow when he finally surfaces from the trance, bone finally fully set, and Cosmo spurring Sylphid's natural healing at a faster rate. Rhadamanthys's throat is bone dry, and when he looks, a full two candlemarks and half of a third have burned away.

He steps away and cleans himself up, pouring a cup of juice from the pitcher he's had nearby.

Then he realizes Sylphid's eyes are open, watching him through half-lidded eyes. He hastily pours a second cup of juice, and carries it over to Sylphid.

“You should drink,” he says roughly, and Sylphid nods weakly. Rhadamanthys sets the cup down, and slides behind Sylphid, propping him up against his own body, careful not to jostle his leg. Then he takes the cup and holds it gently to Sylphid's lips. Sylphid uses his own shaky hand to guide Rhadamanthys in helping him drink, and once the juice is gone Rhadamanthys cradles him against his chest. Sylphid smiles shakily up at him, the healing leaving him weak as Rhadamanthys's Cosmo within him channels Sylphid's own Cosmo into repairing bone and muscle and flushing toxins from his system.

“You know,” he rasps, and then coughs a bit. Rhadamanthys holds him steady. “They’re wrong about you.” Sylphid says, voice hoarse. Rhadamanthys frowns a little.

“How so?” He asks softly, shifting a lock of sweat-damp white hair from Sylphid's face.

“They say you care the least of all the Generals. But it's the opposite. You care so deeply you can only care for your own division, and no one else.” Sylphid explains.

“I… care for my brothers,” Rhadamanthys objects, but in his heart he knows Sylphid speaks the truth. Minos and Aiacos are the exceptions, not the rule. Sylphid just smiles at him, smugly knowing. Rhadamanthys rolls his eyes, and where he would usually gently cuff Sylphid's ear, he instead eases him back down onto the bed. “Sleep, my Basilisk,” he orders, and Sylphid nods, reaching out to take Rhadamanthys's hand, reining their fingers together. Rhadamanthys nods silently, settling in beside him to guard the currently most vulnerable of his treasures.

[dreamychaos]

Thanks for the request! Sorry for the wait!!

Okay I got it. So romantic Rhada/Syl Capricorn Wild, and maybe perhaps a relationship of your choice of Cheshire/Myu and Virgo Remnants? :O

Capricorn: There used to be a church here. The old graveyard still stands. The lost and unclaimed always find a home here. This is a kind place.

Sylphid shifts in the tall grass, soft against his cool scales as he suns himself among the headstones. He can hear something, faintly, like wingbeats, quiet and frantic. He levers himself up on his elbows, the crest of purple feathers along his spine ruffling. Can’t a basilisk catch a break?

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[oopsbirdficced]

Okay I got it. So romantic Rhada/Syl Capricorn Wild, and maybe perhaps a relationship of your choice of Cheshire/Myu and Virgo Remnants? :O

Capricorn: There used to be a church here. The old graveyard still stands. The lost and unclaimed always find a home here. This is a kind place.

Sylphid shifts in the tall grass, soft against his cool scales as he suns himself among the headstones. He can hear something, faintly, like wingbeats, quiet and frantic. He levers himself up on his elbows, the crest of purple feathers along his spine ruffling. Can't a basilisk catch a break?

Then again, he has caught a break here, away from all the pain that his life has given him- a basilisk hatched to naga, especially with his coloration- he's either cursed or royal, obviously. Most had gone with cursed.

(Where had his parents gone wrong? Though it was clearly obvious that his mother had had some kind of affair- the gossip had been so wretched that his mother had stopped her protests of albinism, of leucism, and just quietly accepted that no one would believe her. About the same time that she seemed to just… stop loving Sylphid.)

It's a quiet place, a kind place. A place he hasn't had to worry about gossip ruining his life, or having things thrown at him. He's been able to grow into himself here.

Needless to say, he isn't wild about the idea of company.

There's a flash of gold, and something lands heavily beyond the ruined remains of what was probably a church. Sylphid sighs to himself, and gently untangles his coils from the gravestones, careful not to damage them.

Slipping silently through the wild grasses, he peers around the stones of the church, investigating the newcomer. He keeps himself low to the ground, relying on the purple wildflowers to disguise his feathers.

It's a dragon, of some kind, he's sure of it. The other is wearing a humanoid form, but he knows dragons are capable of shapeshifting, unlike naga. The other gleams white-gold in the sun, though parts of them are limned in a more sunny color, including a strong brow. They're collapsed on the ground, wings laying almost haphazardly around them, and they look… strangely exhausted.

Sylphid is uncomfortably reminded of running away from home.

Also, they're… deeply attractive, wow. He waffles for a few moments, before finally, cautiously poking his head above the grass, keeping his head-feathers flat, so he doesn't tip the other off to his unseemly heritage just yet. At the rustle of movement, the dragon whips around to face him, wings drawing in tight.

"…hi." Sylphid says awkwardly. His eyes itch faintly at the intensity of the dragon's molten-gold gaze, but he's had a long time to control the killing magic of his gaze. One good thing, he supposes, about having spent most of his childhood blindfolded. The dragon slowly relaxes.

"Do you live here?" They ask, a touch awkward as well. "Do you mind if I stay a while? My name is Rhadamanthys." That is a very regal name. It suits him.

"Can't stop you." Sylphid says, feigning being casual. Truthfully he'd love someone to talk to.

"…are you human?" Rhadamanthys asks, and Sylphid blinks at him for a second. Wow. He had to have had a deeply sheltered upbringing. Sylphid hauls himself up, shifting his body through the grass until he's upright in a more traditional naga pose. His feathers flutter a little, trying to make him more attractive, despite his trepidation.

"Nope." Sylphid hesitates slightly, before taking the plunge. "I'm a basilisk." He says, tail shifting, coiling in on himself. Basilisks are harbingers of death, after all. Rhadamanthys might attack him. Rhadamanthys's eyes go wide, and he stares, instead. Sylphid feels a little uncomfortable. "What, never seen a naga- a basilisk before? He bites out anxiously. Rhadamanthys shakes his head, glancing away, looking a little sheepish.

"No, I haven't. I'm sorry, you're just- really beautiful." He says softly, and Sylphid feels utterly justified in gaping at him in surprise. No one has ever said that to him. "Dragons- can see more shades of color than most species. I think people generally call in ultraviolet? And you're… beautiful. In dragon society, I'm not. I'm on the wrong end of the spectrum to get beautiful ultraviolet patterns like yours."

"Oh." Sylphid says lamely. "I think you look really pretty. I mean. I can't see any extra colors. But you do." He says awkwardly. "Like a paler eyelash viper." At Rhadamanthys's confused expression he hurries to clarify. "A type of snake. There's as many naga as there are types of snakes, after all." Gods, this is super embarrassing.

"So, are you a naga, or a basilisk? Or is a basilisk just a type of naga? I'm kind of confused." Rhadamanthys asks. Sylphid hunches in on himself.

"I'm a basilisk hatched to naga and raised among them. I've always been called unnatural and unlucky, so I really don't know." He mutters. Rhadamanthys looks contrite, edging closer to drape a strong, warm wing over his shoulders. Sylphid could swear he's purring, like the small forest cats do.

"I'm sorry. I- it's not really similar, what I'm running from. I just… got tired of being constantly compared to my brothers. They both got the silver-white genes, but I ended up gold, and on top of that, I'm a wyvern. Wyverns arent seen as high class, much less nobility, so for one to turn up in our family- it was a scandal, to say the least. It seems to have affected everything about me. I can't ever measure up, somehow. It's exhausting, and depressing, and I got in an argument with my eldest brother, so I just… left." He shrugs awkwardly. Sylphid smiles faintly. This is a place for the unwanted.

"I wouldn't mind. If you wanted to stay a while," he murmurs, glancing up at Rhadamanthys almost shyly. Rhadamanthys smiles too, small and warm.

"Okay. That sounds nice."

[dreamychaos]

@kingofthewilds your second prompt!!!

kingofthewilds asked: Aight, so! Prompt time! :D Perhaps an Aiacos/Shion 25 and 14; and maybe a Rhada/Sylphide 17 and 21? :O Thanks so much, Bird!! :D

So this is set pre Lost Canvas, during some Holy War before Rhadamanthys goes completely cuckoo and starts killing his own subordinates. :) I guess, be advised for very possessive behavior? It’s welcomed, if that helps. Also, tw for suggested euthanasia, and murder and blood and stuff.

17. One is recovering from a wound/illness

21. “They’re wrong about you.”

—

Rhadamanthys stares broodingly at the still, unnaturally quiet form of Sylphid in his bed. He’s asleep, and it’s strange to see him like that, without the ferocity and animation that characterizes his waking self. He seems vulnerable, and the possessive aspect of Rhadamanthys’s soul, the wyvern within him, is both pleased to see that vulnerability and angry about it.

Keep reading