Chapter Text
For a long time, Malbonte had been chained in the dungeons of the new academy the Order had built. Their new lives weren’t as dandy as one might think. Everything was in shambles, and it wasn’t easy to recover from the war with the Mother of Life herself.
Malbonte had been imprisoned for letting Shephamalum take over. Eragon held no mercy for the half-breed. It was unclear what Shephamalum’s motivations were at the time, but they suspected it would be nothing good — one more god to be dealt with.
Vicky knew Malbonte could free himself from the confines they held him in, but he refused. Over the years he’d learned to be patient, to observe. He understood he had to willingly let himself be punished; the greater punishment, he feared, would be Shephamalum seeking him out. The god’s voice still rattled the half-breed’s mind.
Only Vicky had the effect of quieting that voice, though Malbonte never admitted it. For months now Vicky visited him in secret. He savored seeing his rebellious girl tug at both his defenses and his resolve. There was no clear label for what they were, but both knew it was becoming serious quickly.
He didn’t comment when she disappeared for weeks and then suddenly returned; he showed it through his rough kisses.
Sometimes they didn’t have enough time and Vicky wouldn’t unchain him, opting to play with power and show her love while he remained confined. Other times she ignored the guilt of ‘betraying’ the Order and broke him free just for a while. It had always been on and off between them ever since his… rebirth. She tried her best to keep her head in the game and deal with Heaven’s battles, but inevitably she found herself entangled in his arms.
Malbonte didn’t object — if anything, he welcomed her each time. But he never sought her out. For the longest time she felt as if he didn’t share her feelings; then, one night years ago filled with glyft and lovemaking, he confessed that he felt vulnerable. The endless games of the Order had taught him not to trust anyone.
Vicky understood he would never risk approaching her first for fear of rejection. From then on they spent what time they could together, though they were not getting any younger.
Feelings blurred and legs tangled. If Vicky had to give it a name, she would have settled on the humane term “friends with benefits.”
She tried again and again to find someone else, but no one excited her quite like Malbonte. He had a charm that pulled her back every time. He was quiet, yet smug about it. Each return was purposeful — eager to make sure he ruined her for anyone else.
It wasn’t as if he was any better. No other creature could satisfy him — not that he intended to try. From their very first time, something unspoken triggered whenever she was near. He liked that. Vicky was his fire and his ice at once. She knew when to be distant and leave him wanting more, but she also knew how to spark him, how to entice and inflame. She knew when to obey and when to defy; he didn’t have to say it, so why would he look for something different?
Sometime around Plague’s rise, his mind began to wander. His anger tripled and nearly consumed him every time the horseman hurt Vicky. He felt he had to leave — fly far away to purge the corruption from his own heart before he destroyed everything for everyone. Still, he was shrewd. He knew how to play on Plague’s emotions and addictions.
If he couldn’t defend Vicky on the battlefield, he would do it with mind games. Perhaps that anger was why he’d ended up in this damned dungeon. Breaking Shephamalum free had not been an impulse, but he did not regret it; at least they were both still alive, and he could feel Vicky’s warmth.
Malbonte wasn’t foolish; he knew what he felt, but he refused to name it. Although he suspected it was reciprocated, he avoided the risk of addressing it directly. He could sense Vicky’s recklessness whenever she came to him, seeking him so pitifully — as if only he could tend an invisible wound.
Today was no different.
She had just finished training and ran to the dungeons. She’d grown so accustomed to the corridors that she could find his cell blindfolded.
The sight of Malbonte dangling through the air always tugged at her heart. She felt jealous of couples like her mother and Winchesto or Sammy and Adi — they had no secrets, no chains. They could openly love each other.
Malbonte’s black eyes lifted as he heard the cell door open. A small smile curved his lips. Vicky was flushed; a light sheen of sweat clung to her neck, and her training attire clung to her figure in a way that excited him. She had been beautiful in his eyes since the first day he met her as Bont: kind, brave, and willing to help selflessly. Even in his purer form he felt possessive.
He didn’t need to ask when he might be needed again; he knew the time would come, and then he would claim her, if she would have him.
Vicky flew up to him and placed her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Hi,” she whispered with a grin. He grunted in response, eyes roaming over her face and then her chest. “Just finished training,” she added.
He watched as she unlocked the cuffs before wrapping his arms around her waist and lowering them gently to the floor.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, worry creasing her brow. Vicky was used to how little Malbonte spoke. The longest he spoke was during their lovemaking; he seemed otherwise more apt to use his body and his words in bed to bring her to wild heights.
“No,” he answered gruffly before slipping to the floor and pulling her onto his lap. She beamed, her hands trailing along his abdomen. “Did you miss me?” she asked, as she always did. Each time he merely nodded.
They knew their time was limited, so he wasted no moment and their lips met, urgent and needy. They could do no more than make out in that cell — they couldn’t risk noises that might draw attention. Malbonte went nearly insane with longing when he couldn’t feel her beneath his hands, but he understood that patience would be rewarded.
He knew she risked everything to be with him like this, and he was losing his restraint. The nagging voice in his head screamed: take her, kill everyone here, claim your rightful soulmate. But there were larger threats; he knew matters would only worsen.
For now, he settled for the brief, breathless makeout sessions that left them high and dry and slightly satisfied. Nothing would stop him from loving her once he escaped this hell.
They lingered a moment longer, holding onto each other as if binding themselves against the future. Vicky pressed her forehead to his, tasting the metallic tang of the dungeon air mixed with sweat and something sweeter — the scent of him, of safety and danger braided together. For a second the war, the Order, and the gods felt very far away. She wanted to promise him everything: safety, fidelity, a lifetime of stolen afternoons — foolish promises in a time of ruin, perhaps, but words were fragile here.
When she left, she did so reluctantly. He watched her climb away, the light catching the stubborn set of her shoulders. They had no future they could yet name, but they had now — and sometimes, for two flawed souls chained to fate, now would have to be enough.