FSE

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_ Therapy Tiger _

Written by **Mandag

Twokinds , and all characters featured in this story are _ © Thomas Fischbach**_

Flora was not used to sleeping soft.

Slaves never had the privilege of proper mattresses, and for the time she'd known Trace, they had been too busy traveling to enjoy a proper high quality bed. The cot on the boat was comfy enough, and the basitin tavern had come with softer pillows than anything she'd felt before.

But nothing compared to Trace's gigantic royal bed; The silk sheets and triple mattress made for such a smooth surface, it was almost a little uncomfortable, like she could just sink into it and get swallowed entirely.

Not that it was unpleasant, but still a little unusual.

Unusual enough to keep her awake sometimes.

Or perhaps that was just the baby.

She let her hand glide across her belly as she stared into the roof. The belly with a now notable bump on it.

She still couldn't quite believe it, how she was carrying a life within her.

A miracle that shouldn't be possible, by the laws of both men and gods. A result of love so intense and earnest it defied the rules of the world itself; a child of two kinds.

She sighed, and blushed a little when she thought of how it came to be: Trace was skittish and gentle enough in everyday life, but quite different under the covers. The boat rides to and from the Basitin isles had been intense, in the best way imaginable.

When thinking back, she could with high certainty guess the exact night it happened, when the seed was planted deep enough to take root in her. His back had been covered with deep scratches the next morning, and she'd had to sit a little awkwardly at the breakfast table.

She could hear him breathing softly next to her, muffled by the thick covers. Turning her head, a tuft of his sky-blue mane was just barely visible where it peeked out against a pillow, his face covered by sheets. It sounded like he was mumbling something in human, but his voice was too slurred to make out the words.

His voice alone was enough to give her an intense urge to pounce on him like a feral wildcat, like she had so many times before; The initial violent jump would always end in a passionate embrace, and sometimes more. It was like a natural instinct to her.

Now though, with the immeasurably precious and fragile burden in her, she settled on just inching a little closer, her short fur sliding over the smooth bed, until she could gently wrap her arms around his shoulders.

His skin was warm, yet surprisingly moist to her paws. And as she used her grip on his chest to pull herself close, she found that his torso was also slick with sweat.

With her head resting against his upper back, and ears nuzzled against his long hair, she took to gently licking his neck dry, his skin salty and warm on her barbed tongue.

She'd done this a few times before, and it was more of a mental cleansing than a physical one; though it was nearly a decade ago, she could vaguely remember her own mom doing it with her, back when she was a scared little kitten. And though Trace found it a little strange, she could tell he enjoyed it, from how his shoulders would sink and the knots of muscle loosen under her touch.

Now though, all she got from him was a low groan and a gasp. His shoulders hardened against her cheek, before loosening again, like he was struggling with something invisible.

She let her hands fall from his chest down to his arms, where she found his fists clenched, veins straining against the skin as he mumbled something again through grit teeth.

“Everyone... Every last one of you!"

The anger in his voice, subdued as it was by sleep and weak human vocal cords, made the scruff on her neck rise; There was something in his tone that sounded like a completely different person, far removed from the gentle and friendly man she'd found in the woods.

Worried, more so for his safety than her own, she held him close, her face drenched by a fresh wave of his sweat.

This time it was cold.

He convulsed again, and it stung her heart to hear a low sniffle in his voice, under the rage.

“You don't understand! And I won't quit until you do... Never!"

A nightmare.

Over the half year they'd known each other, she'd heard him talk in his sleep a few times, though usually it had sounded like he was dreaming about her, with a soft “Fllrrah, mmh." and an occasional moaning “I lvvh yuu~".

That, or muffled recital of magical formulae.

This time his voice was clear, his body hard and taut. And as he tossed and turned himself towards her, she had to gasp when she saw what a terrifying mask of hatred he was wearing; Brows furrowed into a sharp V, lips drawn back in a snarl, and she could hear his teeth grinding as he bit down.

There was pain written all over him, from his clenched fists to his labored breath.

“Trace."

Her voice was weaker than she wanted, but seeing him like this frightened her; she knew all too well what lurked inside his head, and she was not keen on seeing it herself.

Once again, he groaned, a tear just barely visible in the corner of his shut eye.

“Trace. Wake up!"

This time she shook him, hands planted firmly on his shoulders.

“You're dreaming! It's not real!"

She didn't know exactly what he was seeing in there, but the sniffles, groans and curses told her more than she wanted to hear; That his visions may be fake, but his suffering was very real.

She couldn't stand to see him like this. She wouldn't allow it.

She searched for his hands and found his left one, charred and black, grasping at the sheets. It pulsed warmly against her fur, surging with energy she didn't understand.

Dark mana.

She stroked it tenderly, before gently joining her fingers with his, squeezing his hard palm.

His anger and sadness seemed to leak onto her, because soon she felt her eyes sting, and her breath catch in her throat.

She leaned in close, put her mouth to his ear, and whispered;

“Trace. It's not real... But I am! I'm right here with you... And I love you."

With the last few words she put her free hand on his cheek, feeling his hand crunch around her own until her joints creaked.

And finally, with a sharp gasp, he awakened; eyes shooting open with a whimper.

Flora could've sworn she saw just a flicker of red in the deep blue pupils before he shut his lids again, and a single tear ran down his cheek

He drew a few shivering gasps against her ear, and hugged her, shaking heavily.

“I-I... I d-don't..." He stammered, voice weak and wavering.

“Shhh... It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. It's over now." She shushed him, softly stroking his back. “Everything's gonna be alright. You had a bad dream. We're both safe. No one's gonna hurt us."

With her chest pressed against his, she could feel his heart pound like a jackhammer, thundering through flesh and fur. His entire body was cold and wet, his rapid breath flickering in her hair.

She pressed herself against him as hard as she dared without hurting the baby, as if to warm him up; under the thick covers she was actually quite hot herself, and had more heat than she needed.

Though the shivering wouldn't stop, Trace's breath eventually slowed down from a shallow gulping and into a more stable tact, eased by her passionate hands and soothing mantra of “It's okay... It's okay...".

And with the calmness came the sniffles; every rugged breath carried one, and eventually two little nasal gasps, until he was openly crying onto her shoulder, quiet sobs trickling into her fur.

She held him like that for minutes, offering her scrawny little feline shoulder for support. It was an unusual feeling, to be the stronger of the two; Trace had more arcane strength in him than anyone in the world, but right now he seemed as fragile as the child she was carrying within her.

After a while his grip loosened, his damaged left hand finally letting go of hers to join his right one clasped around her back.

“Feeling a little better?" She eventually asked, after a long silence.

All she got was a troubled sigh, underlined by a noticeable shiver.

“I... Don't know if I... G-give me a moment." He stuttered, before breaking the hug.

He scrambled about in the thick sheets, before clumsily making his way to the edge of the bed. He sat up, skin glistening in the pale moonlight.

With a long, pained groan he buried his face in his hands and let his hair fall, shoulders still shaking.

“A... A little..." He eventually responded.

Hearing how weak his voice was, she crawled up behind him and hugged him, muzzle buried in waves of sea-blue mane. It smelled of fresh sweat, saltwater and a slightly bitter perfume.

It smelled like Trace.

“Wanna talk about it?" She asked softly. “I sometimes dream I'm back in a cage or running through the woods with a hunting party on my tail. I've cried on your shoulder a few times. It feels good to let it out."

“You... It's... It's not the same." He stammered into his palms.

“What do you mean?" She tilted her head. “Being a slave isn't pleasant, Trace. Sometimes I dream of worse things than what actually happened to me. Can't imagine the things inside your head being too horrible to confide in me, of all people."

He snorted and squeezed her hand. Gently this time, without crushing it.

“Ngh-... I suppose you're right."

“Well tell me, then. I've had some bad things happen to me over the years. It sounded like you were in pain... And sad. Did it have something to do with what happened on the isles?"

She snuck her arms up and embraced him from behind, leaning her head onto his shoulder. Her flat chest let her get close enough to feel his heart, and how it had slowed from a reckless gallop into a steady hammering. For once she was glad to be underendowed in that area.

“Heh... Yeah, I've had some bad dreams before, but never... quite like that." He began. “It's memories. But not of things I remember myself, but from... before me."

Flora startled a little.

“You mean... from Crazy Evil Trace?"

He nodded. “Don't know if I'd call me... him that, though. Back in the day I just viewed that part of my mind as some terrible monster that I had to lock away at all costs."

She nuzzled his neck.

“But... wasn't he? From what I've heard from both keidran and humans, he was a horrible tyrant, feared and despised by everyone but the dragons."

He nodded again.

“Well... they're probably right. But it's a bit more... complicated than that."

“How so?"

He sighed and leaned back against her. Flora shut her eyes and focused on how his muscles seemed to soften, body unwinding just a little bit as he let himself relax in her arms.

“I haven't been around for that long..." he began, his voice steadier now. “...So I don't know what it was like before Old Trace disappeared, but I've talked with Eric about it. The laws he... that I created were horrible and cruel. From his viewpoint it seemed like I had an unsightly hatred not just for keidran, but for humans and basitins as well.

“But there's a side of this that most people don't see... which is understandable, considering the things I did; So many keidran and humans have died by my hand, directly and indirectly."

“That... That wasn't you though," she muttered. Hearing him talk about his past self like they were the same person was depressing, and his defeated tone didn't make it better.

“You're right. But most people don't know that. Just like most people don't know why I was so horrible. I didn't understand either, until we got to this estate."

He sighed, and Flora responded by gently stroking his chest. His body was still cold, but he seemed to have gotten a bit less distraught for now.

Talking about this was good, at least for him. And if it could make him feel a little better...

“What happened when we got here?" She pried.

“It wasn't until we walked up the stairs and saw the painting. The one of... Saria."

His voice cracked a bit, like he wasn't quite prepared to say the name.

“I don't even know that woman... At least not well enough to truly care for her like I do for you. But when I saw her in that painting, with her deep brown eyes and long hair... It was like something broke in the back of my head. Like when you squeeze a glass too hard in your hand, and suddenly there's shards, wine and blood everywhere. My entire mind went dark, and for a moment all I felt was rage and sadness... I-I..."

He trailed off with a low sniffle.

Flora buried her face in his hair and wished she could somehow take a share of his troubles so he wouldn't have to carry them alone.

He put his hand on top of hers, fingers pale and moist.

“Then you were there with me, holding my hand. And I came back down, realizing it was just that... other part of me acting up. And though I've kept it under a lid, I can still feel the sorrow and rage there, battering at the back of my brain. I-I just feel so angry, all the time now."

Once again, he put his face in his hands and groaned.

Flora followed him, slipping out of the covers to lean warmly on his back.

“The part in my head... The memory of my past self." He continued with a rusty voice, “Before he was always so calculating and persuasive. Like he was just biding his time, waiting for a chance to... I don't know what he was planning, really.

“But ever since I saw that picture, it feels like he's been going ballistic. And not in a planned or clever way. I can feel the anger and sorrow, and it affects me too."

He swallowed.

“I thought I could manage it, that a good night of sleep would make it better... Good gods was I wrong."

Flora cleared her throat.

“The nightmares?" She asked, dreading the answer a little.

He nodded weakly.

“Nightmare is a light word. The thing about most bad dreams is how they usually involve a threat to yourself, or to your friends... You said you sometimes dream of slavery, cages and human pursuers chasing you through the woods at night, right?"

“Mhm."

He took a deep breath.

“Well, imagine... Imagine if you weren't the one being chased, or the one who's mocked by a human with the keys to your cage.

Imagine if you were the one with the torch in his hand and a hunting dog at his side, hollering and laughing as he closed in on the scared little kitten.

Imagine the thrill of seeing the white in her eyes and the tears on her cheeks.

Or the catharsis of the one standing outside the bars, with warm clothes and a belly full of food, laughing at the cold and starving tiger on the other side.

“Can you imagine taking joy in that?"

Flora recoiled.

“I... no! How could anyone enjoy that? That's horrible!"

He groaned again.

“I don't know. I don't know how any sane, compassionate person could find enjoyment in hurting others. But I do."

His voice broke at the end and turned into a whimper

“That's the part that I just can't understand!

“The dream started with me... being angry and sad for no apparent reason... _ Really _ angry. I had visions of brown eyes and long, flowing hair, and shadowy figures looming above me, speaking in hushed voices about dark magic and how I shouldn't be alive...It kept going until I was so enraged I felt like I could explode.

Then, before I knew it, I found myself alone in a forest, walking on a wide path and into a small village. As I crossed the main gate I was attacked by wolves, wielding nothing but farming tools and crude planks as weaponry. Old men, women and children.

“When I saw their faces, riddled with both rage and fear, it was like... Something awakened in me. A sort of warm pleasure..."

He trailed off again with a cough.

Flora knew what was probably coming next, but she wasn't keen on hearing it; The rumors of the Grand Templar's violent lunacy, hushed as they were, had reached even the farm she'd been slaving at.

“Trace..." She started.

“At first I told myself that I was doing it in self-defense." He continued, deaf to her voice. “Those pitchforks were sharp, and wolves are so much bigger and stronger than humans. But as the ground grew red and wet around under my feet, I realized that some part of me really did enjoy this; The anger and sadness faded, washed out by the rush I got. I think I recall screaming at them, how they would never understand how it felt... not until I showed them..."

He grit his teeth, though Flora couldn't tell whether he was angry at the nightmare or himself.

“Gods, what... What is WRONG with me?! WISH I was the one being hunted! I WISH I was the one who ended up at the wrong end of the pitchfork or blown to bits by magic! That way I could at least wake up with a shock, hug you tenderly, and shake it off as a bad dream! B-but with the emotions that came over me, that feeling of genuine joy, I j-just don't know why I felt like that! It would be okay if I just did it and hated every second of it, but for some reason I... it felt good! "

Flora listened to him with a sinking heart. She felt like he could go on for hours about this nightmare, and nothing good would come of it.

Halfway through his crying monologue, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back into the bed, stifling his words. The choked and surprised gasp gave her time to put her fingers in his mouth, choking his protests.

“Trace, shut up and listen to me."

She took a deep breath. Time to push back.

“The things you see in your dreams are real. They happened. Grand Templar Trace Legacy killed a lot of people, and was a terrible person, this knowledge is so common even I know it, despite supposedly being a secret. He was a sad, twisted, spiteful and insane man, and everyone was right to be terrified of him."

He opened his mouth, but she shushed him with a soft snarl in his ear. She wasn't done yet.

“But that. Is not. You.

“The Trace who changed the laws so people couldn't free their own slaves, the Trace who massacred entire villages on his own, the Trace who was feared by basitins, keidran, and humans… He's gone. He only lives in your head. None of the things you see were done by you, they're just visions of a past that is long gone, thank the gods. It wasn't you."

She fumbled down his arm until she found his hand. The human one, trembling and cold with sweat. She grabbed it and led it down to the bump on her belly.

“This. This was you. If it weren't for you, I'd be a slave on some farm right now. Either that, or dead.

“The two slaves from Eric's boat… Mike and Evals. They would've gotten new collars, probably on a new boat where they'd be working right now, under a slaver crueler than their last one. Thanks to you, they're currently relaxing in the oasis room, probably talking about what they'll do as free men.

“The inhabitants of Edinmire. Adira, Maeve and everyone else: Who knows where they would all be now. Probably in an ashy grave. You saved them all.

“Oh, and don't let me forget; The entire East-Basitin federation. If you hadn't arrived when you did, the Templar Tower would've been completed, and every single basitin on that island would've been lobotomized without even knowing it."

Something in her belly moved. It was hardly noticeable, but the very light tremor reached Trace's hand, and he looked down with a strange sense of wonder in his eyes. She could see the skin on his shoulder rise into goosebumps.

“That… is your child." She underlined. “YOUR child. And mine. If you ever forget what's important in life, or you're unsure what things matter in the world, then just remember that you'll be a father soon. Let the past of a dead madman stay where it should be; in the past. I know he lives in your head, and I know he's angry. Angry at the past, angry at the world, angry at you... and probably more so at me for trying to make you forget him. But I also know you're stronger than him. He's tried this before, and you've always showed him who's boss, who's in charge of your body."

She had to take a couple of breaths; heated monologues were taxing when you were breathing for two.

“I'm gunna need you to stay strong. For me, and more importantly, our child. Do you think you can do that?"

She watched his eyes. Saw how the uncertainty, fear and confusion slowly disappeared behind a layer of grit, confidence and passion.

“…Yeah. I can do that."

“Good." She replied. Tired. “Because I already have to stay strong for two people. I can't do it for three."

Flora exhaled and felt the world flicker when she blinked.

That really had taken a lot out of her. She needed that sleep soon, she'd been up for way too long. She was looking forward to having her old energy back, once this child was out.

She rested her cheek on Trace's shoulder, which was still sweating cold, but no longer trembling.

“Does that clear things up?" She purred in his ear. “I think we both need some sleep, but I don't think I could snooze when I know you might go through that again without me to wake you up. I worry too much about you."

She could hear him swallow.

She felt him turn towards her, but no further than onto his back, staring into the ceiling. When he spoke again, his voice was completely steady, but tired.

“Do you ever… think about this estate?" He pondered, tired eyes fixed at something in the roof. “How it all belongs to me? The luxurious beds, the grand dining hall fit for dragons to feast, the expensive paintings… Gods, my own bloody servant! There are more riches here than I… Well, I haven't actually seen that many places in the months I can remember, but I know it rivals the Basitin castle. We live like royalty! Does it not seem strange to you?"

The sheets were so smooth she hardly felt it against her fur, like floating through space.

“It does…" She mumbled drowsily. “Part of the reason I couldn't sleep. It's almost too good."

He sighed. “Exactly. It's like checking into an inn that's way too fancy for your wallet, like you know the tab will be lying there in wait tomorrow, and you know you will have to pay up. You get what I mean?"

She shook her head. “Trace, I've lived half my life as a tribal keidran, and the other half as a slave. I've never paid for an inn in my entire life." She waited a second before adding “But I think I know the feeling. The feeling that you're living too high for your own good, and there's a voice in your head telling you you'll have to face the consequences sooner or later, right?"

He nodded. “Mhm. Something like that. The difference here is, I actually do have a voice in my head telling me how wrong this is. Literally."

Flora inched close enough to lay her leg across his lap and hug him from the side. Warmth was returning to his chest.

“And what does the voice say?"

He held around her and sighed.

“It says I don't deserve this. That everything I do and own is borrowed. Not stolen, 'borrowed', implying I'll return it all at some point. My money is borrowed. This estate is borrowed. My status is borrowed. My innate talent and instinct for magic is borrowed. That I didn't strive for any of it, that all the hard work was already done for me when I entered this world. That I am a child with unlimited wealth and power, using it for trivial causes when I could be accomplishing incredible things with it."

There was a bitterness in his voice, and quite a bit of sadness in it when he concluded; “And I don't have anything to refute it with. He's right. And he's rightfully angry about it."

Flora scoffed.

“He's an idiot if he thinks that."

Trace shut his eyes and grimaced. His nostrils flared, and she could've sworn she saw a faint flash of red when he opened them again. He blinked, and scrunched his face again.

“That... I don't know what you mean. Look around you. Everything here was earned by him and then dropped into my lap."

She shook her head and squeezed him a little tighter.

“Everything you have is borrowed… Does that include me, I wonder?"

He looked over at her in surprise.

He was the smartest man she knew, but gods, could he be an idiot at times.

“I… No, but…" he fumbled for words. “No offense Flora, but you literally fell into my lap…"

“…And then you cared for me, protected me and loved me, without any good reason to do so. I wonder if the Old Trace would've done that, or if he would have sold me off to the nearest slaver so he could focus on… what did he call it, 'accomplishing incredible things'?"

She took a hold of his hand again and pulled it down so he could feel her belly.

“I don't know what Mr. Legacy was hoping to accomplish by slaughtering wolves, terrorizing humans and lobotomizing basitins, but I don't think it involved having a baby. And that accomplishment is more incredible than anything he could've done on his own. It shouldn't be possible."

She held back a chuckle; something absurdly ironic just hit her.

“What?" Trace mumbled.

“Oh, nothing… It's just that the guy literally named “Legacy" is going to have an heir soon and is somehow angry about it."

Trace looked into the ceiling and chortled. Then he laughed.

“Yeah… Yeah that is… ehehehe…heheheh…"

Trace's laughter was a rarity, and extremely contagious. Soon she found herself giggling along with him, with her face in his hair. She shut her eyes and enjoyed it, enjoyed how the stress seemed to leave him as he laughed.

“Yeah that's… ehehe… pretty funny, actually." He eventually managed to say. “I think you gave him something to think about."

Flora nodded. “He better. I know he's angry and sad, but bitterness will never amount to anything. He should know that better than anyone. Grieving over the past won't get you anywhere. But the future…"

She put her belly against him and felt another slight tremor in there.

“…The future is important. Your future is with me and our child, not inside your head. You got that?"

He simmered down a little. “…Yeah. I got that. I feel like I'll need to have a thorough talk with my other self soon, but for now…"

He finally returned the hug.

“…For now, I'm good."

She sighed and closed her eyes.

She really could fall asleep at any moment if she wanted to.

“Good. Because I need rest. So does the kid. And I think you do too."

“Mmmh, the kid..." He mumbled into her ear. “I think I'll be up for a while. Have a lot to think about."

“That's fine. Just promise me… No more nightmares, okay?"

“No more nightmares. Not as long as…"

His hands held around her belly. Both of them, this time.

“…Not as long as I have this reminder of who I am."

Flora nodded.

And finally, she let herself fall through the sheets and into a comfortable void.

Sleep, at last.