Dragon Slave (Valgaav/Filia version)

Dragon Slave
by Zanne Chaos

Chapter Three
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A shout and a heavy thud of something falling cut through the sluggish haze of sleep, penetrating her brain. Filia's teeth chattered uncontrollably as a shiver racked her body, and she kept her eyes closed.

The sound of the iron door sliding open with a clang jarred her nerves, and brought reality rushing back, far more harsh and cold than the stone floor on which she slept. A low, weary sob uncurled deep inside her, but without sound. Filia did not move. All she could do was remain still and beg whatever god might still be hearing her that they would leave her be.

Nothing in existence could have prepared for the shock as something heavy slammed down inches from her, close enough that she felt the rush of air brush over her arm, close enough that shrapnel of shattered metal struck her hand, close enough that the vibrations ripping apart the rock hurt her nerves.

Filia screamed as terror beyond definition flooded her fatigued mind, and began sobbing frantically as something strong held her down. There was another blow near her other arm, and she was roughly hauled to her feet. Her legs would not support her weight, and she collapsed heavily, curling into a ball.

"Snap out of it!" a gruff voice roared, pulling her up again. Another hand, smaller, slapped her cheek, and she finally opened her eyes, looking at the reddish face of the fox from before.

"You're comin' with us," the gruff voice snapped, and she looked up to see Gravos towering above her. When she looked down, she saw her mace in his other hand, and realized the chains holding her down had been broken.

"You're getting me out of here?" she whispered.

"Now that they've got you all nice and docile, we're taking you to Lord Valgaav," Jillas said. He held out a chain to Gravos. "Here ya go, Boss."

Gravos took the chain and dropped the mace. Before Filia's mind could process what he was doing, he had it secured in the shackles, her arms bound behind her back. Jillas pulled her cloak around her shoulders and clumsily tied it, but she was given nothing else to wear.

Filia stumbled as Gravos roughly shoved her to her knees, and Jillas snapped a metal collar around her neck. A rope tied to a loop in the front, held by Jillas. Gravos pulled her back up to her feet without ceremony, and hefted her mace to his shoulder. "Git movin'," he ordered, and Jillas tugged her leash. "We ain't got all night."

*****

She couldn't recall ever feeling quite as weary and sore as she did at that moment, although there were times in the past that did come close. The only thing she wore about her body, her soiled cloak, now carelessly tied, offered little protection from the early morning chill. Fortunately, the rising sun was rapidly bringing in the torrid desert heat, although she wondered how well it would soak into her bones to drive out the bitter, aching cold while they were on a makeshift raft in the middle of a wide lagoon.

She wished she could clean up, to wash the dried blood and fluids from her body, to ease her bruised feet, but the water was briny, and the salt would burn. She had not even been given her boots, and the loose pebbles and sharp edges of rocks bruised and cut her bare feet as she had been led to the water, plodding along silently behind the fox holding the leash.

Filia tried not to look at it, but it dangled in front of her face, running up to the center of her throat where it attached to the uncomableable metal collar locked around her neck. She knew where Gravos and Jillas were taking her. To the Mazoku who attacked Miss Lina earlier. More than once, it occurred to Filia that she might be able to escape by changing into her Dragon form.

But escape to where? There was nowhere to go. A futile waste of effort, and she was so weary, on a level that went beyond mere physical exhaustion.

It was funny sometimes, how when the bigger the crisis, the more important the smaller fundamentals seemed to become. If the water had been fresh, she would have tried to bargain with her captors for the chance to simply bathe. Her hair was sticking to her face in stiff clumps, and with her arms bound behind her, she couldn't try to regain any suggestion of dignity. Her inner thighs and chest were itchy, with dried fluid caked on her delicate skin.

But her obsession with what little remained of her dignity faded when shalizalized that she had none left at all. Chances were, even if she asked, they would not afford her even so much as a chance to tidy up. Filia tried to summon up bitterness, knowing that a Mazoku would certainly delight in seeing what had become of a Dragon priestess, but all she could manage was apathy.

Maybe he would kill her, and it all would be over. Such a thought gave her a curious whisper of peace. Filia didn't realize they were entering a cave until the intensity of the sunlight was suddenly replaced with a cool darkness.

"The boss should like this," Gravos said, his voice deep and booming, hovering somewhere above and behind her. Maybe she wasn't quite as apathetic as she thought, for a scorching blush spread over her cheeks. He picked up a long staff, and maneuvered the raft deeper inside the cave to a makeshift dock.

"Lord Valgaav!" the fox cried out, calling deeper into the lair as he hopped off the raft. "Look what we got for you!" To accentuate his comment, he gave the leash a quick tug, causing her to fall on her side. Gravos grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her up to her knees, and splinters from the wood stung her as she crawled from the raft over the dock, to the dubious relief of the stone floor.

"Well, what *have* we here..." A deep voice, lazy with an amused drawl, came from somewhere slightly to her left. Filia shivered, trying in vain to stop blushing as she studied the ground.

"She's a Dragon priestess," Gravos said, the snort he gave emphasizing his derisive tone. "Walked right into that slaver town."

She couldn't keep from cringing at his words, and her head moved in a slight, involuntary shake of denial as she bit her lip. She hadn't known! It wasn't as though she wanted this.

She saw his boots and white pants in the corner of her vision as he stopped beside her, and felt his hand touch her cheek. Filia flinched slightly at the touch, trying to steel her will enough to keep from crying.

"Give me the leash," he said, taking it from Jillas. "Get her on her feet, take her clothes off. Let's see what they did to her."

There was utterly no point in even attempting to resist. All it would do was accentuate her humiliation. Filia stood still as Jillas untied her cloak, and yanked it from her shoulders. Her body was covered with dried fluid and welts -- some of them bloodied -- from the floggers. She bit her bottom lip harder, trying to will herself out of existence.

"And you were a priestess?"

She heard him say something, his tone mocking, but it only barely registered. All her thoughts were bent upon the notion that maybe she could cease to exist by mere power of thought.

"I asked you a question." The sharpness of his words cut through her haze.

The tension drained from her as humiliation was replaced by resigned lethargy. Resistence was ineffectual, and utterly pointless. "Yes," she answered quietly.

"What's your name?"

Filia hesitated, confused, scared and worried. She finally looked up at her captor, into his narrowed, amber eyes framed by spikes of mint-green hair. "What answer am I supposed to give..?" she whispered, trembling. She knew what her old name was. She knew what her new name should be. She also knew too well the possible consequence of giving the wrong answer, and her lungs tightened in panic.

Valgaav's lips curled into a derisive sneer. "You don't know your name?"

It was so hard to breathe, and hot tears burned her eyes. "Yes. No. Not... not anymore. I don't know... which way to answer that won't... I don't know what answer you want to hear," she stammered, her voice quaking.

"They flogged her till she didn't know which way was up, boss," Gravos said, his amusement evident in his voice. She cringed again, lowering her head once more.

"What name did they tell you to give?" Valgaav asked.

"Slave," she whispered.

"And what's the name you had before that?"

"Filia."

He moved his hand from her cheek down to her breast, just cupping it. "Slave Filia. Sounds good to me."

She flinched again, biting down on her lip to choke back tears. His hand tightened, gripping her breast firmly, preventing her from pulling away.

"How much training has she had?" he asked.

"Just one night, Lord Valgaav," Jillas answered.

He laughed darkly. "Hardly enough to keep it reinforced."

"I don't know," Jillas said. "We haven't heard a peep out of her till we brought her here. She hasn't even tried escaping."

Valgaav snorted. "What are you, then? A priestess or a slave?"

She remained silent for a moment as she mulled his question over in her mind. Finally, she looked him directly in the eyes. "Neither," she answered, her tone soft but firm.

"Neither?" he echoed, and looked to Jillas. "Like I said, not nearly enough." He looked back to Filia, studying her. "So what are you then?"

Filia hesitated. "I don't know anymore."

"You're gonna do as you're told, Slave Filia?"

The weary apathy returned, melting the delicate strings of steel that had started to form along her spine. "Yes," she replied.

Valgaav smirked, then looked to his servants. "You two are dismissed." As they departed, he led her by the leash over to a large throne. She followed along docilely, stopping when he did as they reached the throne.

"Let's put your mouth to the only good it can serve, priestess cunt," he sneered. Filia was dimly aware of the fact his words ought to sting. But she was too numb to care. "Did they teach you to suck cock?"

Filia gave a slight, weary nod, and when he lowered his trousers and sat down, she dropped to her knees, barely registering the harsh impact as she landed without the use of her arms and hands to assist her. The head of his cock pressed up against her lips.

"Get to work, then," he ordered.

She opened her mouth, taking it inside the best she could, and began sucking at him, trying to remember what she was told, and using her tongue. It was still an unfamiliar act, and she barely recalled the night before.

"You're not very good at this," he said, and hot tears burned her eyes at the disgust in his tone. Filia desperately fought to keep from crying as she tried to do better. She continued to suck at his cock, rubbing her tongue over it in the process, and moved her head to slide him in and out of her mouth.

She felt his fingers slide through her hair with a surprising gentleness, and gripped her head. With a light but steady pressure, he guided her movements into a steady pace. "You've got potential," he said.

Filia looked up at him through her bangs, watching him as she continued to suck him off. He relaxed back against the throne, tilting his head to the side as he watched her, not letting go of her head. "You should consider yourself lucky," he said. "I'd kill you if you weren't completely helpless."

Lucky? Filia closed her eyes, feeling a pang of regret. Death wasn't a threat, it was a blissful release from the farcical remnants of what used to be her life. She just tuned out the world at large, putting her attention on the mechanics of what she was doing, struggling in the dark to find ways to do a better job.

"Your technique can be improved. But at least you're not terrible."

Filia flinched in surprise as his words stung. Against all her efforts, tears managed to slip past her closed lids, slowly picking their way down her dirty face. She was *trying*. She just didn't know what to do.

"For a priestess, you look good." His tone was becoming a bit breathless and husky.

Her eyes met his again, shrouded slightly through her bangs. As she withdrew slightly, moving her mouth mostly off his cock, she raked her tongue over the tip while still sucking at him.

Valgaav closed his eyes briefly and shuddered. "Get ready, Slave Filia," he ordered, his voice thick. Between his quiet, husky roar as he climaxed, and the hot liquid hitting her mouth, Filia choked in surprise, unable to swallow properly. After a moment, he pushed her head away, lounging back in the throne, watching her.

Filia sat back on her knees, closing her eyes and keeping her head bowed. It was the rest of her life. If there were really any gods that still lived, or still cared, something would be so kind as to kill her before nightfall.

"You didn't feel scared," Valgaav said after a few moments, his tone quiet, contemplative. "You felt something else. What? You *want* to die?"

His words sank into her mind, and she mulled them over, considering the truthfulness to them. No, she didn't want to die. But what options remained for her? Filia looked back up at him. "There's nowhere else to go," she said quietly.

Valgaav's expression was unreadable. "Stand up," he finally said after several long moments of silence passed. She struggled awkwardly to her feet, wishing her hands weren't bound behind her. "They'd kick you out for getting defiled like that, wouldn't they?" he asked, and continued before she could answer. "In fact, they'd probably kill you."

It was that thought which got to her more than anything else he said. The knowledge he was right, the very people she grew up with, the people she loved; they would turn on her in a heartbeat if she ever tried to return. "Yes," she whispered, hearing the quaver in her voice.

"Sit on my leg," he ordered, patting his left knee. Filia hesitated a moment as she tried to figure out if there was any subtext to his demand, and decided to chance an interpretation. She sat down tentatively with her knees together between his legs, facing his right.

Valgaav was quiet for a few more heartbeats. "Your so-called temple is nothing but a bunch of butchers. You should be grateful that you aren't going back to them."

His words barely made any sense, and at the same time, they were far too believable. She shook her head, feeling the denial, not wanting to see what echoed in her heart as the truth. "What do you mean?" Filia stammered as she studied his face, shocked.

"They're murderers, plain and simple," he replied, and she felt his hand touch her back. There was something steadying, supportive, even comforting in the gesture.

She had to be misunderstanding him. Misinterpreting it. But a sickened, cold lump that was forming in her stomach made it hard for her to keep denying something she had wondered on a level so deep, it was never before acknowledged. "Wha...what happened? What are you talk about? If it's because you're a Mazoku, your kind tries to, no, *has* killed mine before." Maybe that was all it was, and she could shut up that little sickened feeling inside and make it go away.

He snorted in disgust. "Mazoku? Mazoku have nothing to do with this. They killed their own kind because they were in their way."

Faces long forgotten hovered on the edge of her mind, only to disappear when she tried to focus on them directly. Faces long gone, the random priest or priestess who might have been there one day, but gone without another word on their existence the next. No explanation, no mention. A bone-deep chill leached through her body and she tried to push them away. "What do you know of this?" she breathed, trembling.

"They *eliminated* my people," Valgaav replied as he continued to rub her back gently. "I was a Dragon once myself. Just because we didn't match their plans, they decided to get rid of us in a cowardly sneak attack." He studied her eyes for a moment before continuing. "They even kill their own people, don't be surprised that they'd kill those that *don't* do what they say."

Filia felt nauseated and cold. She couldn't stop shivering. "When was this?" She barely recognized her own voice, low and thick. "Who were your people?"

"It was centuries before you were born," Valgaav said. "I'd imagine they don't even talk about us, except perhaps maybe as some great crusade against 'heathens' who deserved it."

She shook her head slightly, wracking her brain, her memories, trying to think of any references, any clues as to what race of Dragon he might have been. "I never heard--"

"The Ancient Dragons," he interrupted with a quiet snarl. "I was an Ancient."

Filia couldn't help but flinch at his tone, and closed her eyes. Everything was too much, too soon, too quickly. The fatigue was overwhelming, and death felt even more welcome now, if only for the rest it would bring. She couldn't hold up the disbelief; it was far too heavy a burden under the weight of the accusations. But they were already lost to her, no matter what. She forfeited nothing by accepting the words as truth, except for perhaps the façade of denial. "I am sorry," she apologized, knowing even as she said the words, there was nothing she could ever do or say to even begin to repair the damage her own people had left in their wake.

Valgaav went still, and she thought he might push her away, or maybe kill her. But to even cringe took more effort than she felt capable of exerting. She could get used to the numbness.

Then he began to rub her back again. "Forget it," he replied, his tone a bit gruff. "It's not as though *you* were alive then. You're just another victim."

Filia glanced at him, out of the corner of her eyes, through her bangs. His expression was unreadable. The earlier words still stung, and she felt she should try to explain. "They didn't even warn me that such a place like that town even existed," she whispered.

"I'm not surprised." His eyes remained on her face, studying her a bit before he spoke again. "Well, you're certainly not going back there."

No, she wouldn't be. But there was nowhere else to go. She moved off his lap and knelt on the floor in front of him. "Let me stay, please?" she begged softly, desperately, as she bowed her head.

A sharp tug at her leash forced her back to her feet in order to relieve the pressure. "You *are* staying," he replied, his tone almost a snap.

She couldn't bear yet to look at him. "If you changed your mind, it..." Filia tripped over the words, and tried again. "You at least are one with a genuine right to kill me."

"Sit back down," was his only response to that as he patted his leg again. Once she had resumed sitting on his lap, he reached up and began rubbing her breasts. "You need help," he continued, "and you're in the right place. You're certainly better off here than with Lina Inverse or that damned Mazoku, Xellos. You're among your own kind now."

Filia frowned in confusion, looking up at him. He answered her question before she could ask it.

"We're all damaged outcasts here, misfits with nowhere else to go. You're not going to get betrayed here. We may be misfits, but we look out for each other."

Filia leaned against him slightly, sagging a bit as relief began to wash over her. She looked up at him, studying his face. "What do I call you?"

He appeared slightly off-guard by that question, and didn't answer immediately. "Jillas calls me Lord Valgaav. Gravos calls me boss. You... Heh. I suppose Master might just as good." He looked away, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. "Or anything else."

Everything was still all too topsy-turvy, and it felt that the safest and wisest course of action was to just remain with the name that assured her the Voice would not come back, the one which he indicated she could, or should, call him. "Master," she whispered, nodding faintly as she leaned closer against him, nuzzling his shoulder as she curled up a bit. Although his flesh was cool, not quite like that of a truly alive being, the action alone made her feel as thouhe whe were drawing close to warmth. His hands slid down her back, rubbing over her hip and butt, holding her to him. "I'm sorry I'm not very good," Filia apologized, her whisper almost inaudible.

She flinched when he snorted in derision. "What? It's not as though you have experience."

"I just... I mean... I... I never had to do that, do anything..." she stammered, then bit her lip. She was saying too much.

He was silent for several long heartbeats, and his hands slid up to her back again, rubbing her. "Forget it, Filia," he told her softly. "You'll get better. At whatever you do."

Filia relaxed, and nuzzled his neck for a moment before kissing his cheek lightly. He tensed suddenly at her move, and she froze. Then after a moment, he nuzzled her back, and she relaxed again, laying her head on his shoulder.

"We'll get you some new clothes as well," he told her, resting his head against hers.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It's a bit cold otherwise." She purred under her breath in contentment when he put his arms around her firmly, holding her close.

His hands slid over her body once more, caressing her. "You really are rather attractive," he said, and added, "for a Golden." Filia wasn't sure what to expect anymore. His actions and words, and the things left unsaid confused her. Her arms were still locked behind her back, and he still held the leash attached to her collar. Yet, he wasn't treating her like an object either. "You wish for me as your slave?" she whispered.

He drew his head back, looking at her, but didn't answer immediately. When he did, he sounded vaguely annoyed. "Don't put words in my mouth. If I thought you were still one of them, it would have been deliciously ironic." He rested his head back against hers once more. "Now, I'll keep you as my slave if you have no other desire."

She still felt uneasy. He was leaving her too many options open, too much was left to guessing. Even before the previous night, it wasn't something which she was accustomed to. Her whole life had been primarily a never-ending string of orders. Filia mulled over her answer, trying to figure out a suitable response. But if she said yes, what if he didn't want her? What if it was just to keep her? "Only if you wanted me," she answered softly.

Neither of them moved for several long moments. Then she heard him growl under his breath, his lips close to her sensitive ear. "You're mine," he said quietly, and then pulled her back with the leash just enough to kiss her firmly before she could reply. Filia blinked once in startled surprise, then melted against him, returning the kiss.

Then he pulled away, looking up. "Jillas!" he shouted. "Gravos, get in here!"

The two servants came in, and Filia buried her face against Valgaav's chest when she saw the smirks on their faces.

"Knock it off," Valgaav said sternly. "She's one of us now, and more than that, she's mine. You are not to harm her." Filia felt his arms tighten around her. "No one is."

"Yes, Boss," Gravos replied, in a tone far more contrite than Filia ever recalled hearing from him.

"Jillas, get over here. You can pick locks, can't you?"

"Yes, Lord Valgaav."

"Good. Then get these shackles and collar off her." Valgaav touched her face, gently guiding her to look at him. "I'll make new ones for her." Filia closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his hand.

"I could pick them if you really want, Lord Valgaav, but wouldn't these work just as well?"

She heard a soft jingle of metal, and looked over to see Jillas holding up a keyring.

"Do it," Valgaav replied, in a tone that hovered somewhere between exasperated and amused. He pulled Filia into a more upright position to give Jillas better access to her shackles, and looked her over. "When did you last eat?"

"I..." Filia faltered, trying to remember.

"If you have to think, then it was too long ago. Gravos?"

"Yeah, Boss?" Gravos said while Jillas stepped back, holding the removed shackles and collar.

"Go and fix up plenty of food for our new resident. She'll likely be hungry when she's done with her bath. Jillas, set out the jar of soap by the pool."

They hurried away to their assigned tasks, and Valgaav slipped a hand under her legs. Filia was startled into holding onto him as he stood, carrying hertherther into the cave. "You're a mess," he said, "and you reek of human." His tone was mild, as though simply stating a fact, and not issuing any criticism on her. "And don't worry about your clothes, we'll get you new ones."
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to be continued...