Prompt# 117 - Claddagh - An Cladach - originalharmony - Original

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Title: An Cladach
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #117 - Claddagh
Warnings: Slash, bending of Norse mythology.
Rating:
Summary: The stones dug into his feet as the storm moved around him like seagulls taking flight.
Notes: An Cladach is Irish for "Claddagh", and it means "a stony beach", and that was the inspiration I used.

 

Dáire watched the pretty boy – Tyr, he had heard his friends call him, like the one-handed god of war and justice from the far north – sit on the rocks. Despite the boy's name, Dáire could taste none of the blood of the old gods in his heart. Dáire remembered how it felt to be near them, young and powerless, able only to serve them and wanting only to please them. There was nothing of that awing compulsion in the boy, but there was a certain beauty none the less.

 

It had been thousands of years since he had been created as a brushstroke of darkness in the wind by some foreboding shadow, and he had seen many lovely mortals, but none had held a candle to the colossi that had filled his mind. Still, he was enamoured of the boy, eyes dark with something like lampblack.

 

It was a new light, hidden in the boy's heart beneath the dark clothes he wore. It was so human, but so enthralling. Seeing him felt like returning to his enslavement to the old gods, felt like being alive. The stones dug into his feet as the storm moved around him like seagulls taking flight as he gained weight and height.

 

The sky was dark above the beach, and thunder rolled like music in a lover's heart. Tyr, knees pulled up to his chest atop a large boulder, took no notice, even as his long, dark hair blew into his face. It began to rain, and the drops soaked his skin and his clothes.

 

Dáire moved still closer, and he saw the perfection of Tyr's skin, the way Tyr's lips never moved under the pressure of the wind. With each step, he could see the silver strands of mortal death coil tighter around pretty Tyr. His friends had left a while ago, and Tyr had told them he would be along soon.

 

Lightning struck the grey ocean.

 

Tyr turned his head, fluid and quick, and met Dáire's cloud-dark eyes.

 

In all the millennia since his conception as a single thought, Dáire had never met another's eyes. The old gods had been too powerful to take notice of one so inconsequential as he, and the mortals too blind. This one, this one lovely mortal, had seen him, though.

 

Dáire knew his lust for a master was killing the boy so that Dáire could serve him in a more immaterial realm. He was so enraptured, but the boy's eyes were so beautiful. They were brilliant blue, like the sky on the very first day of first days that he had only seen in the memories of those more ancient than he, when he had once been young.

 

Could he not, perhaps, serve the boy for a time in the realms of the material?

 

He could never touch this new master, not until the last breath had fled his body and he belonged to Dáire's realm. Even so, to be seen, to be changed, to become an equal – it felt right. He had never thought he would want that, but he then did.

 

For a time, he would protect the mortal boy, and then he would be the boy's partner in immortality.

 

He let out a breath, a last gust of wind, and then his feet touched down on real earth.