Archive of Our Own

What would it take to bring the beast down?

It sounded like the ending of a bad joke, but it really was quite simple - just a little bout of food poisoning.

As per the yearly ceremonial ritual, a bountiful feast was to be held on the sixth full moon of each new calendar year.

Durge had insisted this year that they were to be allowed to decorate for the occasion, even if father's will didn't necessitate such trivial adornments. With the piles upon piles of bodies that were brought in, stray intestines and especially long and intact nerves had been utilized as streamers around the temple.

Durge hadn't been able to count how many had fallen into the pits while trying to decorate. He had to step in after a woman tried to shove Sceleritas into a pit. The only reason he stayed his hand was that it was, admittedly, funny how the butler lost his hat.

Before the main event, he'd taken a moment to admire the grotesque sight. Bodies, dismembered. Limbs strewn all about the altar, blood coating the cool stone and filling the air with its pungent smell. Inescapable and almost overwhelming. Durge had to control himself as he stared into a dead elf's pretty eyes.

She had died to a laceration to the throat, and with a small adjustment made the wound would fit him perfectly. Bliss, offered to him on a silver platter had to be denied. Tonight wasn't about him, not this time.

Father was proud of the display, surely. Durge was most excited about the livers. They went bad quick though. The pungent taste was an acquired one, sure, but there would never be enough to sate his hunger. Slightly gummy, and after the first bite it would fall apart in his mouth. Though tonight, something slimy rotten and metallic filled his mouth upon his first bite- Not the usual, slightly aged taste it characteristically had.

Still it was appreciated in its own right, despite his stomach's disagreement. It was a glorious night, the sound of crunching flesh and cracking bones a beautiful symphony for the feast. No dwarves to be roasted, but there's time for that later of course.

The night passed all too quick, blood coated his robes, his skin, and he smelled rotten. Everyone did, the temple was no better than the sewer come morning. What was odd though, was that Durge felt rotten upon awaking. His head pounded and his insides felt hot, like a rancid soup threatening to boil over.

Durge retched, only just able to contain the hot bile that burned his throat. He swallowed it back down and really he wished he hadn't, Father above it was awful. Getting out of bed was a trouble when his limbs did not cooperate, it was more of an awkward roll onto the hard stone of the floor in the cavern-like bedroom of his.

Dead. Durge wished death of himself, just in this moment. Laying on his side, the floor was both a blessing and a curse. It was cool to the touch, it was a balm to his feverish skin. It was uncomfortable, the bane of his aching bones and joints. With much effort, he rose to his feet, shaking from the apparent exertion. At least, more dignity would be salvaged like this than just crawling like a wingless mephit, surely?

Surely not.

He was rendered immobile for most of the day. Pathetic, unbecoming of Bhaal's Chosen, perfect progeny, killing incarnate and the array of other undoubtedly catchy titles he held. For a moment, no longer than that, it was ridiculous to think that this.. shambling mess was really so feared and revered.

Durge had to put on an act that everything was business as normal despite the fact he was nearly falling into the pits every time he had to puke. Usually, the chasms and abyssal falls bordering the favored altar were treated as something close to sacred, but it was either that or puking on the actually Holy ground of the temple. He got a pass anyways, he was father's special boy.

So early in the day it was, though still there was so much to do. His plans for nighttime were ruined, he couldn't hunt like this, especially not while vomiting. He'd only just been able to lead mass without keeling over, and really Durge didn't want to think about whatever the hells Enver Gortash would want to drag him along for today.

Assassinate this, bodyguard that, bring along your own damn lackeys Durge wished to snarl. He'd never say it to Gortash's face though. And he did, ultimately, appreciate the constant demands disguised as requests as odd as it was.

It was a source of entertainment for Durge, watching negotiations go downhill in real time for the tyrant. An increasing amount of people had been foolishly making attempts on Gortash given the fact he was getting closer to where he needed to be. Attempts to usurp him lead to an early funeral, the killings were the best part.

Durge supposed it wasn't half-bad to leave him breathing another day. Everyone else was doing it wrong anyways. Their attempts were sloppy and half-baked and they would be too quick with it had they succeeded. Wrong wrong wrong.

But today really wasn't the time for the man himself to saunter in as expected. Swagger in his step, walking around like it was his temple and not that of his God's rival. Gortash's head was on a swivel, pointed boots clicking on the stained stone as he approached Durge, sat in one of the encoves. He barely even regarded the corpses littered about, half consumed and rotten.

Gortash did take notice, though, of how ill Durge looked. Hunched over, shivering even if it was notably warm, and how he looked half-way dead. His smirk didn't waver. "My friend, as much as I would like to say it's nice to see you, you've looked better. I take it something happened?"

Durge's voice was strained and quiet as he tried not to agitate his sensitive and volatile throat. "And I wish I could say I was happy to see you, too. Nothing in particular occurred. I think you should mind your business and tell me what you want from me this time before I make an incident out of you." He glanced around, seemingly paranoid - it wasn't good form to have your alleged sworn "enemy" in your holy space. No matter.

Gortash leaned against the hard and misshapen wall, studying Durge further, he looked like he'd been dragged through the mud, then through the Hells. He certainly smelled like it. Though he noticed an uncharacteristic waver in their voice. "My business is to be postponed for a moment. No, what I want from you now is honesty." He held up a finger, narrowing his eyes. "Just this once. Tell me plainly, what happened. Because something did. And then maybe we can move on to business."

One of the only reasons he was hung up on this rare display of what could be characterized as vulnerability was that he couldn't see any visible injuries - he thought himself right to assume the copious amounts of blood covering the bhaalspawn wasn't his own. He wasn't worried though, no. Not at all.

Durge wasn't amused. He managed to get out "Honesty?-" Before retching, covering his mouth with a hand. His eyes shut tight at something tried to come up again, the bio-matter being forced down with some forcing its way from his nostrils. Gortash looked vaguely disgusted.

His nose burned from the acid, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Honesty. Short temper on you today, making demands so quick? You'll find that I've been truthful, thus far. Another day in paradise you see, this is nothing."

Gortash stared blankly, blinking at the sight before him. He took a deep breath in an effort to keep his voice level. "I've been nothing but the epitome of patience all day actually. You've mastered the art of being highly intelligent and incredibly dull at the same time. You're sick, aren't you?" He took a step closer, reaching out to feel Durge's temperature when his hand was smacked away albeit weakly.

Durge knew his argument was weak all he could muster up was "I'm not sick. I don't get sick." He glared at Gortash when he was forcibly held still, the cool metal of his gauntlet feeling divine on his too-warm forehead. "I fail to see how a- an upset stomach equates an illness. I would know if I was ill."

Gortash took the opportunity to tip Durge's head up, pointed fingertips digging into his flesh. "Yes. You are failing to see it. It's becoming quite obvious you don't feel well. You say you'd know, but what is this if not some sort of ailment?" He grinned, sarcastically sympathetic. "Why don't you let me help you? Consider it a favor, a token of my good faith."

Durge wrapped his arms around his midsection, grimacing as another wave of discomfort crashed through him. He didn't exactly have the leverage or will to chase Gortash off at the moment. "I don't want it. This too will pass like anything else. How could you even help me? Tear into my stomach, empty its contents? It would be fun I'll admit."

Gortash grimaced and shook his head. "You might not want it but you do need it. I wont ask you to admit that you need to rely on me, you know it enough already. And that's enough for me. First things first, I think a bath would do you well." Gortash took hold of Durge's cold hand, appearing slightly alarmed at how he wasn't exactly putting up a fight. He was mildly resistant at best. "Come on, stand up."

Durge weakly gripped Gortash's hand, using it to stand. He was beginning to reluctantly accept that maybe, just maybe, sitting and moping in the temple wont make him feel any better. Sick or not, this wasn't a nice feeling. He realized that perhaps he shouldn't be bracing himself with an arm around Gortash's waist, but also he shouldn't be holding Durge up by his waist.

Oh well. Kill anyone who says anything about it later.

Gortash was nearly dragging Durge along as his feet barely left the ground, he was more shuffling than walking. He slowed down while intently averting his gaze from the bhaalists who watched on curiously. "I'll ask you just one more time," he whispered, slightly more genuine. Maybe even concerned, certainly more firm. "What. Happened."

Durge really tried to think of the answer. "The only thing that I can think of was.. Well, there was a feast last night. But I've-.. This hasn't happened to me before, so.." He held onto Gortash just a little tighter as they crossed the precarious stone block resting over the particularly large chasm. "I find humor in the fact you think I'm still lying to you."

Gortash barked a laugh that echoed around them, Durge winced as it was oddly harsh on his ears. "Ha! You're quite the difficult thing. What am I to say to that, apologize for my healthy skepticism? No." Now that they were in relative privacy, Gortash pulled Durge closer-- He needed to ensure they didn't stumble, after all. Their hips brushing together was a neccesary evil. "A feast you say? Would you argue that you indulged yourself a little too much?"

Durge shook his head, mumbling a "No." He was fighting to keep his eyes open, shambling forward proving to be too much even with the support.

As they breached the sewers proper, Durge came to a stop, doubling over as he was taken off-guard by the sudden urge to puke. A swirl of colors emptied themselves from his system as they painted the ground. Off-green, brown and gray.

Durge looked positively drained and exhausted. He wiped his face for the umpteenth time that day, something clear still stubbornly leaking from his nostrils. Really, he looked like a kicked puppy upon returning to Gortash's side. Durge didn't mention how he felt just slightly better with an arm around his waist again. "Poor thing," Gortash cooed mockingly. "We'll be there soon enough. Just a little longer alright?"

Durge blinked and nodded. His mind was quiet for once, too lethargic to do anything more than just stay conscious.

And he was so out of it, that he was only snapped out of his discomforted daze when he felt warm water splash against his now bare body. Durge was in a fancy-looking lavatory now, had he really spaced out for so damn long he didn't even process the fact they'd reached their destination?

"Sit up. You don't want to drown, do you?" Gortash glanced at the rack of bottles filled with various substances next to the somewhat gaudy marble bath, picking one with a haphazard glance and dumping too much into the rising water. Fuck if he knew what it was, it smelled good. "If you wouldn't mind, oh I don't know, not pulling something like this again, I would greatly appreciate it."

Durge rested his head on the edge of the warming tub, staring at Gortash as he was knelt beside it. "No promises. I know this isn't what you were expecting to do today, but it isn't my fault. You chose to insert yourself. I'm.. partially, a little sympathetic." By how he had to nearly grit that last part out, it wasn't hard to tell he'd intended to use a different word.

Gortash shook his hand dry after stirring the water, rising with little more than a glance to Durge. He turned the valve shut when the tub had filled a decent amount. "Yes. Not how I imagined I would be spending the latter half of the day," he said under his breath. It wasn't that much of a bad thing though.

"Call out when you're done, I'll be nearby. Anything available here for you to wear, I encourage you to take it. Even if you're better without.." Gortash cleared his throat, leaving the rest unsaid before taking his leave.

Durge's eyes were fixed on the door as the sound of Gortash's clicking boots faded into nothing. He soaked in the water, his stomach simultaneously soothed and bothered by the heat. His cheeks burned - his whole body did - like tiny hot needles pricking his skin.

Admittedly, he did feel better now that the lingering smell of old blood rot and sewers was cleansed from him. Durge felt an odd sense of, what was it, melancholy? It was quiet. The demands for more blood, the lingering sense of judgement and pressure - even if he felt weak for feeling so awful. But something was wrong, something was missing. This, was supposedly wrong.

Durge began to relax. His shoulders slumped, he extended his legs fully, and he closed his eyes like a content cat. When was the last time he properly cleaned himself, or at least had a soak in a body of un-bloody water? Now, in the water's embrace, he really had no clue why he did it so infrequently.

How long passed in this little oasis, Durge didn't care. The water did after a while, as it was growing cold. With a pained little sigh, he stepped out of the bath and pulled the chain, beginning to shiver once again even if he was in the lukewarm off-colored water mere moments ago.

After patting himself dry with a towel and shaking the remnants of water off like a dog, he was now tasked with the challenge of re-dressing. Durge wondered if Gortash would kick him out or kiss him if he returned to him unclothed. Both maybe? Although prospect of being forced outside into the cold send a wave of discomfort through him though, his stomach threatening to empty itself even further.

Durge was cold enough already. So he looked at the multitude of robes on the wall. A varying range of blacks and grays, with one particularly looking fluffy red one. Another was the same shade of off-black that Gortash's coat was - coupled with the same gauche gold embroidery. Logically, that was the one he took.

It was slightly too big on Durge, sitting awkwardly on his frame it was clear it wasn't meant for him at all. He tied it closed lazily before venturing out of the lavatory. He was suddenly in a too-large hall, clad in dark wallpaper and red carpet. Familiar, if not for his tired and frazzled mind. It was nearly intimidating.

Durge headed right. He kept his hand held against the wall to stabilize himself as he went, the unexpectedly soft carpet beneath his feet making him want to just sit down and take a rest right there. But no, he knew his way around.. whatever this place was.

Is what Durge thought ten minutes ago. His legs were tired, he was tired, he just wanted to sleep, he entered nearly any unlocked room he could only to find it mostly empty or to enter another lengthy hallway.

He swore he was going in circles at this point, and he questioned why he was even looking for that bothersome man at all when really the hallway was nice enough to sleep in. And there it was again, that little sense of melancholy. Or maybe it was just his stomach bubbling and preparing to empty itself again.

Durge's efforts paid off when he opened a door, and was met with the sight of Gortash with his feet kicked up on a scratched and dark desk, reading something with a frown. The desk was once in pristine condition, given the remnants of polish on the curved legs.

It seems that he's been busy reading, what with the multiple books missing from the bookshelves and instead placed on the desk.

He looked up from his work at the sound of the door opening and closing, putting the document away before pushing himself off from where he sat. Gortash sounded almost pleased as he approached Durge. "There you are. Took you long enough, did you get lost in the lavatory?"

Durge weakly shook his head. It was an inexplicable urge that made him pull Gortash close, he surely couldn't be blamed for how he just wanted him close. Not his fault, Durge obviously couldn't have done anything about it.

Gortash chuckled, bringing Durge into his arms. "Not much of a talker now are you? It seems you're in rare form this evening." He ran his fingers against the fabric of Durge's robe, humming in recognition. "And oh? What's this? Out of a potentially dozen robes you could've chosen from, you just happened to take mine." He scoffed in mock derision.

Durge leaned into Gortash, hardly able to keep his eyes open at this point. Still he fought for his consciousness. "Shut up. Just a coincidence," he muttered lazily. He yawned, the thought of biting into Gortash's shoulder a passing one. Averting his gaze, he tried to deflect, "It's horribly uncomfortable."

Gortash tsked, pushing him away while taking his hand. "Is it? Then why not ask for a different one to be brought to you? Why choose to not take it off? Or is that too a coincidence." He grinned, beginning to gently guide Durge to the bedroom connecting to the office. "I think there's a flaw in that logic. No matter, you need to rest."
"Think whatever you want. But no. I'm not tired, I'm fine." Durge yawned yet again as they entered the room, a few warm scented candles lit and sprinkled along the table next to the bed, along with a cold compress and pitcher of water. The bed was spoiled with pillows, most decorative, but all overly fluffy - the silk sheets only adding to the "fuck you" money aesthetic the room had going on.

Durge put up a pitiful fight as he was pushed onto the bed. He does not tire, he does not need rest. There's always more to be done if there's a soul still living in the realms, this is heres- "You can hardly keep your eyes open. Tell me again without yawning you're not tired, pet." Gortash tossed the covers over Durge, huffing in amusement at the way his eyes began to drift further shut instantaneously.

Durge shivered. Still too cold. "I'm not tired. My body is. Isn't there a difference?" He pulled the heavy blankets closer, nearly burrowing under them as just the top half of his head poked out.

Gortash would rather be caught dead than verbally admit the sight before him was somewhat endearing, bhaalspawn notwithstanding. "Just a small one," he conceded, sitting down on the bed and crossing one leg over the other. "Have you eaten anything today? Real food that is."

At the mention of food, a fresh wave of pain radiated through Durge's stomach. It'd been easier to bear since the bath though that didn't mean it wasn't still problematic. "What constitutes as real food? No. I haven't been able to keep anything inside. Don't want to try."

Gortash placed his hand on Durge's forehead, his temperature still being high - skin hot to the touch. "No body parts. And you might not want to, but you need to. Lets get at least something in you, hm? How does soup sound?" He wouldn't bring attention to the fact that he was now rubbing soothing circles on his temple, truthfully he'd already known Durge was still burning up.

Durge laughed, a dry and hoarse sound. "Something in me you say? I can think of maybe something else that would be better suited to.." He was cut off by a light flick to the forehead, causing another bout of laughter to ring through the room. Gortash interjected, rising abruptly.

"Nonsense. You're incorrigible. You will have soup and nothing more or less." The smirk on Gortash told a different story though. "I will bring it to you when it's done. Try to rest, do not get up." With that, he exited the room. Durge was left alone yet again.

And just as he thought the exhaustion would catch up to him, finally whisk him away to a land most dark and bloodied, it vanished. He was left awake, that creeping feeling of peace being chased away and replaced by melancholy yet a-fucking-gain.

Most frustrating, but Durge reasoned that he'd have to wake up shortly to have some unholy excuse for soup poured down his throat anyways. So Durge waited.

And waited, while his mind wandered. While this behavior wasn't at all characteristic of him, what with the moping and wretched feelings coursing through his body, Gortash also appeared to be acting quite odd too.

Doting. Durge would be lying if he said some part of him, deep down and rotten like a tumor, didn't enjoy it. Maybe he should get sick more often? Whatever happened that caused him to end up like this would certainly have to become a habit. Maaaybe everything else and their plans could wait?

Durge knew he was deluding himself. This was the exception, not to become expected. Still, when Gortash returned with a tray laden with light snacks and a bowl of soup, Durge tried to come off as disgruntled. "Still alive I see," Gortash remarked while placing the tray on the bedside table. Pulling a chair close to the bed, he sat down. "I'm expecting you to eat, even if it's not much."

Durge stuck out his tongue as a bowl was placed into his hands. Warming, it felt nice in his hands. "But I'm not hungry. And how do I know you haven't poisoned the food? The water?" Durge stared at the chunky, dark broth before him. Admittedly, it smelled perfectly fine-- Better than fine, he was just making excuses at this point. They were somewhat past poisoning.

Gortash rubbed his temples, taking a thin cracker from the spread and shoving it in his mouth not caring as he spoke with his mouth full. "Not poisoned, see?" Patience wearing thin, he picked up the spoon and stirred the soup, before taking a scoop and blowing on it gently. "I don't care if you're not hungry. Nothing can run on empty for long. You need something."

He held the spoon up to Durge's lips, prodding them gently. Durge only glared at Gortash in sleep-fueled frustration. He knew that if he were to open his mouth and retort with something, the tyrant would likely shove the soup down his throat; Durge stayed silent. His stomach did not.

Gortash's brows furrowed. A man like him didn't worry. He had no reason to, so why was he beginning to feel something akin to unease the longer the soup went untouched and spoon unaccepted? Gortash held his chin in the palm of his free hand, elbow resting on his knee while he waited. He'll stretch his patience however thin it needs to be, the issue was more of masking and ignoring his feelings of concern.

"Come on. Make it easier for the both of us, please." Durge would admit, Gortash's pout was almost cute. But there was a wildfire making his stomach its home, it didn't need more fuel in the form of soup. Durge shook his head, lips quirking upwards at Gortash's apparent upset.

Feeling that he's running out of options, Gortash got up only to sit next to Durge on the bed. He poked his lips with the spoon again, "I'll make you a deal. You eat - just a little bit - and I'll reward you. Handsomely. How does that sound?" The fact that he was trying to bargain with a bhaalspawn who was acting like nothing more than a spoiled brat wasn't unrealized, he only chose to ignore it.

And wasn't he being helpful? Sure, this was all just meant to gain a bit of leverage over Durge, but Gortash thought he was good at this. Damn good, especially given that no one ever did this for him when he himself fell ill.

After thinking it over, Durge made a show of opening his mouth and accepting the contents of the utensil. He assumed he'd get to choose his reward later. Surprisingly, the soup wasn't half bad, flavored subtly but with a hint of spice. Maybe his stomach wouldn't appreciate it, but he couldn't deny that past the aches and pains and feeling of being stabbed in the intestines, he was hungry. Durge nearly choked upon seeing how Gortash perked up.

"There we go, very good. You need to get your strength back somehow." Gortash got another spoonful of the soup, again holding it up to Durge's lips.

Though it was refused momentarily as Durge chuckled. "I can hold the spoon on my own you know." His stomach rumbled, no longer out of just discomfort but at the recognition that he was, in fact, starving. Despite his argument, Durge accepted the offering still.

Gortash rolled his eyes, face dusting a subtle shade of red. "Shut up. You should be so lucky.." He trailed off, and so they continued like this until the bowl was half empty, the platter being mostly emptied - though it was more Gortash who took a liking to the crackers and fruits.

Durge's stomach took the soup surprisingly well, even if he knew he was reaching the limit. He felt a little better, even if still his body burned. He plucked the spoon from Gortash as it was being dipped back into the bowl, ignoring his sound of disappointment as he placed it on the table.

Gortash wiped the corner of Durge's mouth with his thumb, brushing off his coat as he stood. "That'll do. And I'm sure you feel better now, even if you'd deny it. I think we're done here, I'll be in my office. Try not to call me unless it's important." He had to stop himself from leaning down and giving the bhaalspawn a goodnight kiss, turning to leave only to be stopped with a hand on his coat.

"You're not staying?" Durge put on his best sad face - it didn't come across very well, his pout not having the intended effect. "I'm busy, of course I'm not. And really? I'll only be in the next room over." Gortash gave Durge a glance over his shoulder, equal parts amused and annoyed.

Durge tugged on Gortash's coat, not succeeding in his attempt at causing him to fall back onto him. "Yes, you are busy. With me, here." Taking a different approach, he dropped the dramatics and instead went with what he knew best. "You'll stay with me or I'll chop off each and every one of your fingers and toes. You will then be unable to work, and I will make myself a nice little necklace of them."

Gortash wasn't fazed by Durge's threats at this point. He smiled, crooked and wrong as he conceded with only a hint of reluctance, taking his spot back on the bed. "Promise?" He kicked his boots off, anticipating it would be for the best. He'd probably be stuck here for a while, his work could stand to be delayed for a little while.

Durge was slightly surprised at the way Gortash gave in to his demands so quickly but was moreso pleased. He tossed the covers over Gortash, and scooted over so they were closer, their legs brushing together and swiftly becoming entangled like roots and vines. A tragedy that could've never been prevented of course. "Only for you." Durge looked and felt like the cat that had gotten the cream - albeit one very, very ill cat. The cream was probably spoiled or something.

The heavy soup was an unexpectedly effective balm for his stomach. Enough to keep his insides inside, but not enough to disturb it.

That feeling of exhaustion returned to Durge as he rested his head on Gortash's chest, the scent of motor oil, vanilla, and something slightly putrid beginning to lull him into a proper sleep. Durge chose to entertain a partially blasphemous thought as he yawned, his self-control beginning to fray at the edges. "Enver," he whispered cautiously, "do you think this is sustainable?"

Gortash laughed, boisterous, too much given the moment and with how his name was spoken so softly. He pulled Durge closer, giving them a too-gentle squeeze, "Is what? You're not making any sense. Go to sleep already, you're tired." He pulled the covers up just a little higher.

Confliction stirred within Durge's heart and mind. He waved it away, it was unimportant. It wasn't necessary or becoming of either of them. "You're right." How rare, to so openly admit it. "G'night," he was barely able to slur, sleep finally taking its due.

Gortash stared at the now unconscious monster resting on his chest. It was easy to forget, in this moment, in a few fleeting moments here and there, that this thing before him was a killing machine. A divinely blessed - or was it cursed? - butcher knife. His heart, however cold it had gotten, was warmed by this thing. A special kind of heat. It made him do stupid things. Feel stupid ways. It was not wise to keep Durge so close, or to want him closer.

He didn't know why his master hadn't intervened by now. Quietly, Gortash whispered, cautiously kissing Durge's forehead, "Probably not."

Falling asleep next to each other, well, that wasn't how either of them had planned to end the day.

But that was okay. Just this once though.

Not like it'll keep happening or anything like that.