My sobs turn quiet. I stare at him, at this monster who hunted elves to save me, who limped miles to find this.
I look at him. Really look.
He is covered in filth. Dried, black blood is matted in his hair. The Worg-bite on his thigh is raw and seeping.
"You're hurt," I whisper, my voice hoarse. My guilt shifts, replaced by the familiar, comforting instinct to help. "We... we're filthy."
I gesture to the steaming pool. "We need to clean. The heat... it will be good for your wounds."
He nods. A single, slow, grave movement.
We strip off our ruined, foul clothes. The act is not sexual. It is necessary. Primal.
The size difference between us is stark in the glowing, green light. He is a ten-foot warrior of scars and muscle. I am small, pale, human. He’s my protector.
My fear is gone. It is replaced by a deep, aching appreciation. He is magnificent.
We slip into the pool.
The water is hot. A shocking, exquisite, blissful pleasure that sinks deep into my bones, melting the ice inside me. I gasp, sinking up to my chin.
Threk groans, a deep sound of pure relief as the heat hits his wounded leg. He sinks down, the water coming up to his massive chest.
I take a strip of my torn tunic. I move toward him. He watches me, his red eyes glowing in the steam.
I clean his wounds.
My hands tremble as I wash the blood and grime from the mangled crater on his thigh. I run my fingers over the old, ropy maps of his elven scars, tracing the angry, star-shaped one on his chest.
"What did they do to you, Threk?" I whisper, my heart aching.
He shudders at my gentle touch. His eyes burn red, and he closes them, fighting a memory.
"Pain," he rumbles, his voice deeper, clearer. "Long. Now... gone."
He takes the rag from me.
He washes me.
His massive, clumsy hands are impossibly gentle as he washes the filth from my back, his calloused palms rubbing circles on my skin.
His claws lightly scrape me.
A shiver of pure pleasure races down my spine.
He runs his huge hand over my hair, smoothing the tangled mess. He is gazing at me, his reverence a tangible thing. He knows me now. He knows my body.
He struggles for a word. "You..."
He points up, his clawed finger aiming at the single, brightest point of glowing, green moss on the cavern ceiling.
"You... star."
My heart melts. It is the most beautiful word I have ever heard.
A new emotion overflows in my heart. My fear and guilt is gone. This is no longer a penance.
This is love.
