Vian Meets Her Squad

And then after all that...?

The "Dragon boy" would act like this in any social setting. Stiff, silent, awkward and...

Fucking afraid, Vian thought with a frown. I'm sure of it. He's afraid.

"How do you figure Izabal took a cock that size?" someone whispered as Ilse and Eallo were finishing up, rising off of their crotches.

"Like a champion," another snickered. "I'm more wondering about how her Noble slit pushed that back out..."

"Well, it probably didn't, the Dragon probably had to cut her open—"

Mourn's short tail twitched and he stepped out of the shower, grabbing his slightly damp clothes from the hanger. Vian didn't know where he figured he'd go.

"Stop," she ordered.

He did, but he kept looking forward and at the ground. The tip of his tail quivered.

"We move upstairs," she instructed her two other team members.

They nodded and collected their dry clothing and left the shower room. She led them all upstairs into their quarters to finish dressing. She turned on a low light so they could all look at each other once fully dressed. She lifted her chin to meet Mourn's cautious eyes.

"You're going to have to let shit like that roll off your back, Mourn, 'cause it's never going to stop," Vian stated seriously. "Drow live to speculate. Acting like a moody, sulking mute isn't going to help you. They'll eat that up and turn up the spice even more, and the speculation will become 'facts' you'll hear over and over again until they get bold enough to push it in your face."

Mourn blinked at her slowly. Then he finally spoke. They were the first she'd heard since Grandmaster Y'shir had left him here with them.

"How do you...suggest I 'let' this 'roll,' Sergeant Vian?"

He's asking for specific advice? Fine. Good start.

She exhaled, thinking. "You beat a large handful of them in the exercises just now. Your confidence in a fight rattled a lot of them. In a weird way, they want one of two things. Either to see that confidence carry over off the field, or show them it was only luck and animal brutishness that helped you win. That's why they're saying the things they are. They're trying to rattle you as you did them, but outside combat. Make sense?"

Izabal's young son nodded, so she continued.

"So if you are strong in one way but soft in another, they'll be planning on ways to overcome you using those soft spots in future fights. You want to let them do that unchallenged? Just keep acting how you are. Or you can watch me, watch my squad, for ways to act confident when you aren't fighting. I can't tell you what will work but you need to watch us."

Unexpectedly, his tongue flicked out at her. That tongue was an odd feature, and she could only figure it was Draconic—because it wasn't Drow. It was lavender in color.

"What does that mean?" she asked with a bit of hostility.

He looked confused. "What does what mean, Sergeant?"

"You just stuck your tongue out at me, lowbie. I might take it as an insult."

Mourn considered this. "That is not the intent, Sergeant. I catch scent. With my tongue. This happens...without thought, at times. No insult. I apologize."

Vian sighed to herself. This was going to take a while, learning a completely new set of body language. And oh, the rumors that would fly in the meantime... She looked over, and Eallo and Ilse were watching them both, contemplating.

"Thoughts?" she asked.

Ilse indicated Mourn's trousers. "We should have those altered. Have the tail out all the time so others get used to it. You might like that better anyway, wouldn't you, Mourn?"

He was careful about his answer. Vian recognized his hesitation in an instant. Mourn thought if he admitted any strong desire, it would just be used to tease or punish him. But then, Vian knew her Matron and the Noble children fairly well in that regard. Like the boots, this battle had probably already happened—and Mourn's tail was still hidden. He'd lost that one.

"Agreed," Vian said solidly, looking up at the Dragonchild. "Tail out. We'll fix your trousers. I imagine it'll help with your balance and it doesn't look like you've taken a dump in your pants."

His eyes brightened a little, but he was still wary. "It might, Sergeant."

"Alright, then. Let's get that done now."

*******

Jahn got along with Mourn surprisingly well as her lovers all adjusted and readjusted to having the Matron's nephew in their squad. This made some sense to Vian; the two males were often both quiet, thoughtful, and her mentally agile mage would watch out for the baffled youth, pointing out moments where Mourn could use a cognitive strength instead of a physical one.

"He is like my Master," Mourn said once. "And yet, not..."

Vian knew what that "not" part was about. Often Jahn would sign something subtle and cleverly supportive whenever Mourn might be bothered by gossip—particularly about his mother, or further speculation about his sire based on what they could see of his body.

More than once, Jahn had managed a private zinger against the gossipers that caused the large half-blood laugh quietly. As soon as Mourn did this once, it became easier to do again and yet he never attacked them, because she had told him that was unacceptable if he was not under deadly threat.

Finally, Vian thought.

She was pleased to witness the strange male developing some mental armor to match his scaled armor for the darts tossed at him. Just like when he showed his fangs, Mourn's low and slow laugh unsettled them. Those who heard Mourn's laugh—especially when it got deeper—would always pause to see if he was about to do something else unexpected.

Knowing he could laugh helped, and because he could understand what she meant about "letting it roll off," Vian never once confronted anyone for anything they said about the hybrid. She refused to fight that kind of losing battle when she was trained for something else.

She was grateful to Jahn for finding what worked so quickly, and she let him know this. She encouraged the rest of the squad to find something about the Dragonchild they liked, despite his strangeness and how he always held himself apart from them, as if he felt he didn't deserve to be closer despite surviving twenty fights with them over the next eight years.

As always, Vian could count on them to find it. Saida enjoyed the spells she could practice with Mourn, Vian, and Jahn; Mourn added a level of difficulty and complexity that challenged her. Kerym and Ilse couldn't speak better for how skilled a scout Mourn could be; they learned from each other new ways to navigate the Underdark and anticipate threat or seek prey.

"The primal side is really valuable," Kerym commented to Vian, and she could tell he meant it. "Watch him pick a good spying angle sometime. He never has to be told."

"I have been," she'd responded, smiling. "I think you're getting more out of it."

Eallo and Vian worked hard to find Mourn's weak spots in melee, though the basics of the Blade Song were an unfair advantage at first.

"Should I stop using it against you, Sergeant?" Mourn asked.

She'd caught her breath, sharing a look with Eallo as they rubbed their bruises. They each shook their head.

"No. Keep using it. Don't hold yourself back to let us win, just don't kill us."

Mourn had paused, seeming confused. "I do not want to kill you, Sergeant. Why would I?"

And that was the kicker for Vian. He grew ever more deadly and skilled; he was on track to outgrow a mere squad and be a resourceful, solitary assassin for the House, mastering scouting, magic, and combat with practice. His experience in multiple areas would easily put him up for leadership, given enough time.

And yet... some part of his thought process seems so simple. How can a Dragon's son be so intelligent one way and so...well, so slow in others?

***********

"Not yet, Matron," Vian had admitted at one point with no little degree of tension.

"A decade," Miz'ri had murmured, displeased, her snake whip hissing. "And nothing? Are you even trying?"

"If you'll forgive the barracks-talk, Matron, you can't fuck a limp noodle."

"Then use potions. Or stimulate his nut gland."

Vian felt her heartbeat pick up a bit and breathed to settle it back down. "Um...he's said those have been tried before he came to us, Matron, and they didn't work. He also hated them."

"I don't care if he hated them, Sergeant. They are proven to work on all Drow males, they'll work on a half-Drow male eventually."

"Of course, Matron. Except I'm looking for the natural way, too. We might have to appeal to his sire's blood somehow, but we're testing blind on that."

"You're being too soft with him," Miz'ri judged, ignoring the suggestion of courting a Dragon's interest. Perhaps she didn't know how, despite what her sister had managed somehow. "He will lead you on and pretend that foolish, lying ignorance until your patience is at its end. He is far too old to be acting so childish."

Vian bowed. "I beg you give me more time, Matron. He's been much more useful to you in other ways. He watches us in the barracks sometimes. He'll join in sooner or later."

Miz'ri considered this. She looked suspicious. "I might borrow him from time to time, Sergeant, to check if you are truly using the time I've so generously given."

The Sergeant remained stoic even as she felt that protective pull for anyone in her squad. This was the one squad member she couldn't fight for the way she could for her others. It was a hint, perhaps, of how Y'shir had felt, giving Mourn over and looking regretful about it.

"As you wish, Matron."

"Always. As I wish."

Vian bowed and was dismissed soon after.

******

*So what do you think, Mourn?*

He blinked back and signed back. *Sergeant?*

*About this.*

Vian indicated the others in the room. Jahn had just sucked her to orgasm and had started on Eallo as Saida and Ilse shared Kerym on each end, one squatting on his face and the other on his cock; they faced each other and were kissing, touching each other's tits.

The hybrid had been curled up on the cot with his eyes closed—resting, if not in reverie—until Vian had crawled into the cot next to him, still smelling of sex.

*No lies,* she added.

*I have not mastered lying, Sergeant.*

Vian grinned, finding that oddly funny. It was also the truth; he was a terrible liar. More often than not, she encouraged him to use truthfulness to his advantage. He could at least practice judging when it could be effective, and when it only made things worse. If in doubt, he always remained silent.

*Then answer. I politely ask your honesty.*

Mourn looked toward the grunting and moaning, watching, flicking his tongue out. His member didn't even twitch beneath his loose pants that she could tell.

*This mends their bonds, it does not harm them,* he answered. *They are willing, so it is pleasurable. They know their mates.*

Vian eyed him, her lips pursed thoughtfully. *And you? You know no mates?*

He didn't want to answer; he was doubting. She heard his heartbeat again.

*Mourn. Sign to me. Truth.*

He swallowed, and answered. *No. No mates. But I know what is expected, I know what you have been asked to teach me. Please do not force me as I've seen others do, Sergeant. ...Please.*

She maintained eye contact; the hybrid looked away first and she felt her stomach drop. It wasn't that simple. Vian needed to make some progress, figure out something, or her whole squad would suffer. She tapped his shoulder to get his eyes on her hands again.

*Why do you know no mates? What does it require? Is it something Dragon, not Drow?*

Mourn's talons on his feet dug nervously into the bedroll laid atop the cot; his tail was coiling up around itself. It added to his scent and his heart; Vian was scaring him, even though no one else in the barracks would believe it.

*Scent?* he suggested, simultaneously flicking his tongue out. *I...do not know. I will...will know it when I sense it. That is all I could tell, Sergeant. I tell the truth.*

He's trying to describe something he doesn't even know. This isn't from the Drow blood, then; nothing we're doing is working. Are Dragons so picky?

Vian paused in her thoughts. Then again, how many Dragons even were there down here? She had only ever heard of the one. The big, black one who had struck a hard bargain. They hadn't seen any sign of him since Mourn had been given to the Matron; the enormous beast hadn't checked on his offspring even once that anybody knew.

Apparently the Dragon didn't care, and Mourn didn't know anything about being a half-Dragon. Nothing except what came to him on instinct.

What if it's impossible to breed him with other Drow? What if we need a female Dragon to teach him? No one knows how to find one! Hadn't Miz'ri even thought to ask about any of this before striking her bargain, if this was her plan all along? Fuck!

Vian sighed in frustration, rubbing absently at her sticky snatch. Despite her stress, it livened up again, tingling beneath her fingers. It led her to thinking more on what she'd seen these last ten years. As far as she could tell, Mourn didn't even masturbate, even if he would absently touch it now and then, like any male with dangly bits. His penis was more or less just for urinating.

Vian also remembered—even as she didn't tell Miz'ri—the way Mourn's expression and aura had changed when she had once last asked about stimulating his nut gland. The ears turned back, the fangs showing, his pupils shrinking to the width of needles in his eyes, and that sickening pulse from his aura had made Vian dizzy.

Damn her.

Miz'ri had forced that on him, and he had such an aversion to the idea now there was almost no way Vian could achieve the same without similar force.

I'd have to break him first and lose everything I've accomplished with him so far.

That was something she'd never needed to do with any male before; some females broke their males to make them serve, but Vian simply didn't need to. That's why she was one of the most effective ones, and why her males all did their best for her.

There might be no way to win this challenge, however, whether being soft-handed or not.

*******

The unstable balance continued for another five years before Vian saw any significant change. Mourn was called back to the mansion three times, and kept for a month at a time when Vian and her squad did not see him.

Each time Miz'ri's nephew was returned to them, it took Vian weeks to regain the ground she'd made with him before. The half-blood refused to describe what the Matron was doing but Vian and her squad had more than enough experience to guess, especially when Piare and Rachvil would come to the barracks to taunt Mourn, and Vian couldn't do shit about it.

Regardless of the torment, whatever the Dar'Prohn Nobles were trying to achieve wasn't working. Mourn only became more stubborn and even looked upon Vian and her squad with suspicion as a once-soft edge began to harden on him. He left the room when they were having sex now, more often than not.

Vian tried everything to persuade him, but Miz'ri's interruptions was undermining all her methods. The Matron grew ever more impatient for any sign of progress that Vian—for the first time—started lying.

"I assure you, Matron, that Mourn is at least licking female Drow slits in the barracks now. It's a start."

Vian hadn't meant for that lie to slip out, but it might've given her a little more time.

She needed advice. Guidance.

"Grandmaster," the Sergeant finally dropped to one knee before him. "I don't know what to do. My squad's going to be broken up over this, I'm afraid what's going to happen to them after I'm punished for failing with Mourn."

Y'shir slowly closed his long-fingered hand on her shoulder in sympathy. "I will try again to persuade Miz'ri to wait longer, Vian. It may or may not mean he will be taken away from you yet again, but have you discovered the root of this problem?"

She lifted her head. "What do you mean, Grandmaster?"

Y'shir smiled in his usual way: slight and tired. His faded, red eyes looked out a window from his private rooms. He was about the only one comfortable leaving them open. He exhaled softly.

"Miz'ri is trying to force him to grow up faster. I know it is deceptive to look at him, but he is still a young child, Vian. Think of a Drow who is about twenty years old. That is about where Morixxyleth is now."

Vian felt her stomach chilled over as if she'd guzzled a whole skin of under-spring flow after running for half a day.

What have I done...?

"What? B-but he's nearing seventy... The Matron told me he was growing faster than a pure Drow."

"Physically, he is growing very quickly," Y'shir agreed. "He has a highly capable body and profound instincts, as well as a natural magic flowing through him of a kind I've never truly seen. But his... maturity... has not caught up with you, or anyone in the barracks." He watched her sadly. "I am sorry, Vian. Miz'ri was either lying to you outright or she is still lying to herself. Morixxyleth cannot breed. I am not sure how long it will be before he can."

The Sergeant was surprised at the rage which flooded her. She felt white-hot inside as she jumped to her feet, her fists clenched. "You couldn't have told me? Given me some hint? Fuck, the things I've...when...I...we never wanted it! None of us!"

Y'shir lowed his eyes. "In all honesty, I'd hoped you would realize it."

"He's beaten everyone in a challenged fight, Y'shir! Everyone! If not the first time, then he beats them the second! No one sees him or treats him as a child! They haven't for fifteen years!"

"Except for me," the Grandmaster agreed, nodding placidly. "And now, you. You feel the truth, Vian, likely much deeper."

"And I'll do what with the truth, exactly?" the Sergeant asked bitterly, thinking again of her squad depending on her. "Try to convince Miz'ri where you haven't been able? Fuck, I just told her he was at least licking females just to get her off my back!"

"Oh," the Grandmaster replied, absorbing and acknowledging that mistake in a single syllable. He considered further. "I will recommend your team next for the border patrol, if that is alright. It will at least get you all away from the House grounds for a while, and perhaps...you can come to an understanding. Gain some insight, have a chance to talk."

Her jaw was starting to hurt, her teeth were gritted so hard. "I can't talk a baby into fucking like a grown male, Y'shir. No one can."

The Grandmaster nodded safely. "You should still take some time away, your entire squad should. I would recommend talking with him, do not leave him outside of your self-made family, Vian. He trusts you. Or at least he wants to."

"How would you know?" Vian asked. "You've been seeing him whenever he's brought to the House to be molested again?"

Y'shir nodded, his expression troubled; his voice grew more earnest as he spoke. "I've offered further mental training, where I can, to help against his believing under great stress what Miz'ri is telling him. I've tried to give him hope, that he should believe more in someone like you. If he is to consider a female Drow an ally at all, it should be you and those who follow you by choice, whose loyalty you have earned without trickery or force. You are the Mother to whom he should give his trust, and love without fear."

The Sergeant couldn't respond to that at first. She'd never heard the Grandmaster say anything like this, not so blatantly, even if he'd been subtly coaxing her this way for centuries.

"You once said I was an 'inventor," she said. "When I first found Eallo. You encouraged me during our 'breathing room.' It wasn't really an inventor you meant, was it?"