Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the places in this story belong to me; and I don't make any money with this.

A/N: I can't even remember where this idea came from. In the beginning I just thought that a young Zaknafein had made some bad experiences with mages during those six months he spent at Sorcere, like every Melee-Magthere student, which would explain why he hates mages so much. I wasn't immediately thinking of the Archmage himself … but well, I love Gromph.
As we're talking about bad experiences it's obvious that this is not going to be a nice story. Slash, of course, and unsavoury things like rape.

Thanks to my beta reader Chi.

On The Verge Of Insanity

Zaknafein quickly scurried through the dimly lit corridors of the tower of Sorcere. He hated this confusing, mazy building, the ever-present faerie fire the wizards were so used to, and of course the presence of countless mages whose power made the fighter more than a bit uncomfortable.

The young commoner was a last-year-student of the Academy, and for the past two months he and his classmates had been here in Sorcere to hone their innate magical skills - conjuring darkness and faerie fire as well as levitating - and mainly to learn a few basics about battle spells, a useful feat when fighting mages. Zaknafein was well aware how important his lessons here were, maybe even more important than some of his fighting classes. That didn't change anything about the fact that his stay here was a nightmare.

The apparently weak, but nevertheless powerful mages with their spells, magical items, familiars and conjured demons got under Zaknafein's skin. He was a fighter to the core, and although he didn't mind using magical artefacts to support his skill, he would always rely more on his nimble body and his quick mind than on some strange gestures and arcane words. The mages, on the other hand, made no secret of their contempt for fighters.

In Zaknafein's case his low origins that clashed with his position as first of his class added to the scorn most mages met him with. While there were some commoners among the masters at Melee-Magthere, virtually all powerful mages - and priestesses - were nobles, often from the highest houses.

Zaknafein's tutor, one of the numerous Xorlarrin mages, was such a typical arrogant noble; still a student, but already behaving as if he were second only to the Archmage. He seemed to consider it a terrible waste of his precious time to teach anything to a 'weak-minded' , 'useless' fighter, and while he did his duty he used every opportunity to humiliate and taunt Zaknafein - and to order the handsome young warrior into his bed.

Therefore Zaknafein tried to leave Sorcere as often as possible after his lessons. It was officially forbidden for students - of any school - to leave the Academy, but everyone did it anyway, heeding the only important drow rule: Don't get caught. For once, this wasn't even difficult, because nobody cared that the students left to spend their nights in taverns, drinking, eating, whoring, gambling, or doing whatever else that distracted them from the trials at the Academy.

Zaknafein's hands never left the longswords on his hips when he hurried through the quiet hallways. He turned his head when he heard a rustle somewhere to his left - a fellow student from Melee-Magthere maybe, who hoped to kill the first of their class and ameliorate his place in the ranking. Zaknafein forgot for a second the old drow saying that those who always watch their back usually meet death from the front.

He was so focused on trying to discern where the noise had come from that he didn't look ahead anymore - and he realised only in the last second that someone was coming down the corridor towards him.

Zaknafein whipped around to find another drow standing only a few steps away from him. The mage had stopped with an annoyed expression on his face, obviously displeased with the student who stood in his way.

Zaknafein felt relief for half a second when he saw how young that mage looked: smooth, beautiful features that seemed to be those of a student, and therefore someone who didn't rank much higher than Zaknafein himself.

But it didn't take him more than a heartbeat to recognise his error: the eyes in this face were much older, speaking of experience and power, a gaze that was enough to crush Zaknafein's self-confidence. Dark blue robes, rings and amulets, all of it too valuable even for the richest student, confirmed Zaknafein's suspicion of who this really was. The last doubts vanished when his eyes fell on the spider-shaped broche and the huge emerald the mage wore on his chest.

Zaknafein stepped aside and dropped into a low bow no more than a second after he had first seen him.

"My apologies, Archmage," he whispered. Zaknafein was not good at grovelling, he was too proud for that. But fear and shock had taken the usual cockiness out of his voice, and he sounded genuinely frightened and submissive.

With his eyes lowered to the floor he couldn't see the smirk on Gromph Baenre's youthful features.

"Name and rank, student," the Archmage demanded coolly. Zaknafein flinched. He had hoped that the Archmage would be busy and just be on his way, but apparently the eldest Baenre son had all the time in the world. Or at least enough time to punish or kill Zaknafein. Even for a Baenre Gromph had a reputation of being particularly cruel. The young fighter had heard the most callous masters speak about him in fearful whispers.

"Zaknafein of House Do'Urden, last-year-student at Melee-Magthere, first of my class," he said obediently, keeping his gaze down.

Gromph made a small noise of recognition. Normally Zaknafein would have felt flattered that a master had already heard of him, but with the Archmage it just scared him more.

"I am sure you have some spare time," Gromph said suddenly, casually. His voice was as youthful as his face, lilting and melodic, and at the same time utterly cold and commanding. It was the voice of someone who was used to having every one of his orders obeyed without hesitation.

Zaknafein, usually so proud and cocky, always quick to talk back to his masters at the risk of a hard beating, found himself obeying automatically. He had never met anyone, not even a high priestess, who radiated so much authority. Rumour had it that Gromph Baenre was the most powerful drow in all Menzoberranzan right behind his mother, the old Matron Baenre. Zaknafein didn't doubt that in the least.

The Archmage seemed aware of his power and aura, for he did not even wait for an answer. As soon as Zaknafein had straightened up Gromph lifted a hand to touch his shoulder. He whispered a seemingly unpronounceable word, obviously not casting a spell but merely activating one of his many items. They were standing in a medium-sized office a split second later.

"If not you will certainly manage to make up for your offence to whomever is waiting for you," Gromph continued as if he hadn't just teleported them through half Sorcere.

Zaknafein's eyes were transfixed on the Archmage now. His training told him to look around in the room, to search for an exit, for an escape route - but he knew that it was pointless. Even Zaknafein was not brazen enough to try and run away from this particular drow.

"I have heard of your exploits, Zaknafein," Gromph said in the same casual tone as before, but there was a hard edge in his otherwise pleasant voice. "A commoner who is first of his class, beating even my nephew."

Despite his grim situation Zaknafein couldn't suppress a little grin. Xastres Baenre, a son of one of Gromph's numerous sisters, was indeed a highly talented fighter, but he couldn't match Zaknafein's skill. It was an almost unheard-of situation for House Baenre to have a student at the Academy who was not first of their class.

Gromph leant against the heavy desk. His posture was relaxed; although he was much smaller than Zaknafein and so slender he seemed frail, he was perfectly at ease. They both knew that Gromph could kill Zaknafein before the fighter had got his weapons even half out of their sheaths.

"Not that I care," Gromph snorted and made a dismissive little gesture. "You'll never be more than one fighter amongst many, a warrior in a race of warriors, a female's toy that will be disposed of quickly, no matter your skills."

Zaknafein stared at him, surprised to see bitterness in those red eyes. He didn't even realise how insolent he was, looking the Archmage in the eyes. Gromph smirked again.

"I'm curious if what they say about you is true," he said cryptically. "Take off that armour."

Those words were enough to bring Zaknafein's angry pride back. The Archmage himself, and he only wanted the same thing as all those other masters who had taken a liking to such a handsome student. And yet Zaknafein still felt as if those commanding eyes were controlling him as efficiently as any domination spell. Anger turned into defiance. If he had to give Gromph what he wanted, he wouldn't do it like a slave.

His eyes never left Gromph's when Zaknafein unclasped his piwafwi and let it slide to the ground. Nimble fingers undid the buckles of his armour, trailing over his own body whenever they could. One layer after another left his trained body until he stood only in his breeches and shirt before the Archmage, whose face was as unmoving as if he was supervising a student casting a spell.

Gromph stepped closer to him, and although he looked vulnerable next to the muscular fighter he didn't seem the least bit intimidated. He brought those long, slender fingers to Zaknafein's shirt and started to unbutton it.

"It's a pity when commoners forget their place," Gromph said evenly. "Although it is … fascinating."

"It's a pity when nobles think their birth gives them any value," Zaknafein growled back, but he was smart enough not to push Gromph away. He hated this feeling of helplessness, and Gromph's beauty didn't change that. Unlike many other drow Zaknafein had never found anything arousing in submitting to others. It was purely humiliating and painful.

Gromph snorted - or was it a laugh? Zaknafein had no idea, and he couldn't see Gromph's eyes. He only gasped in pain when Gromph's surprisingly strong fingers tweaked one nipple as soon as the shirt fell open. The Archmage twisted it hardly, and a little smile appeared on his lips.

Zaknafein groaned. He shouldn't be surprised. Of course, probably the only thing that made the notoriously grim, sour Archmage smile was inflicting pain on others. Gromph's constant bad humour was as legendary as his habit of letting it out on his inferiors - which meant pretty much every other male in the city and quite a few females as well.

"Skilled, strong, beautiful," Gromph whispered and stretched a little to run his soft lips over Zaknafein's neck. Somehow it didn't sound like a compliment. "I know the likes of you. You think your talent and efforts will get you anywhere." He licked over Zaknafein's earlobe. "You think you will gain power, respect, influence, as Weapon Master, as teacher at the Academy, or just as a priestess's favourite lover." Little kisses on Zaknafein's cheek, tender and therefore a certain promise of pain. "You will allow them to use you, to rape you, to torture you, because you think it is the price you have to pay. And you will let them fool you into believing that you have won."

There it was, sharp teeth sinking into Zaknafein's soft bottom lip while Gromph's arms sneaked around the muscular body. The bite turned into a passionate kiss, and although Zaknafein felt no desire at all he returned it, unconsciously hoping to make the Archmage shut up. The softly spoken, mocking words were cutting Zaknafein's soul into pieces, and he couldn't even tell why.

Gromph suddenly stepped back and grinned viciously. He pushed the open shirt off Zaknafein's shoulders, running almost admiring hands over the revealed, honed torso. It should feel nice, and most drow would probably be shivering in lust now, despite the knowledge of impending pain. Zaknafein only sneered, and strangely enough this seemed to amuse Gromph even more than it angered him.

"Those countless whores like you, sucking up to females, begging like animals, content when you get food instead of whip lashes. Thinking those pretty muscles will change anything about your fate."

Gromph's fingers slid from Zaknafein's chest over his abdomen, feather light touches, and further down, slipping in under the waistband. The fighter whimpered in frustration when those unbelievably nimble fingers closed around him, and his body betrayed him, just like it did so often in such situations.

"If I weren't such a whore," Zaknafein growled, if only to think of something else than the heat in his breeches, "I wouldn't be standing here, letting you molest me."

Gromph's hand left the half-hard cock, and after a short pause the Archmage slapped Zaknafein in the face. The blow was surprisingly hard, coming from such a frail drow. Zaknafein licked over his split bottom lip and stared at Gromph again. The Archmage didn't even look angry.

"I could tie you up, if you like it that way," Gromph teased. He slowly walked around Zaknafein and stopped behind him, whispering in his ear, "But I don't have to, do I? You might be scum, but you're smart enough to recognise your master when you see him. Strip off those breeches."

Zaknafein smirked, keeping his posture straight and proud. There was a mad glimmer in his eyes.

"Make me," he drawled, looking back over his shoulder to glare at Gromph. The Archmage was taken aback for a whole second. He could hardly remember the last time anyone, let alone some fighter and student, had dared to defy him, to provoke him, to challenge him. For the very simple reason that nobody ever won against Gromph Baenre - and he would make sure Zaknafein learnt that lesson tonight.

"I can hurt you badly," Gromph replied coldly. He never got loud, he didn't even raise his voice a little. "In ways you can't even imagine."

"I thought you wanted to fuck me," Zaknafein snapped, his confidence returning thanks to the surprising fact that Gromph hadn't killed him yet. "You'd better keep me intact for that, don't you think? Or do you find blood-soaked, half-dead bodies particularly arousing?"

Zaknafein realised that he had gone too far when he heard soft chanting, and despite his renewed cockiness he was sensible enough to remain silent instead of attacking Gromph. He felt the mage's slender hand on the middle of his back, and when Gromph completed his spell Zaknafein felt as if his very life essence was being sucked out of him. It wasn't exactly a feeling of physical pain, like a whipping, it was much worse, going right through his whole body and soul.

He couldn't even scream, only make an inarticulate, gurgling noise. Just as he grew sure that Gromph was going to kill him right there and then the mage drew his hand back. Zaknafein stumbled forwards, and if he hadn't grasped the edge of the desk for support he would have fallen.

"My, you probably didn't expect that," Gromph mocked him, and the calm ease in his voice showed clearly that he had many more tricks up his sleeve, and probably even nastier ones. "I hate waiting," he added more hardly.

Zaknafein let go of the desk, swaying before he found his balance again. He unbuttoned his trousers with trembling fingers and slid them down, grateful that he didn't have to see Gromph's face when he bared himself completely.

"You'd do so much better as a whore than as a would-be, upstart noble," Gromph sighed while he ran his fingers over the back of Zaknafein's thighs and his rear. "Although, the two are probably pretty much the same."

He grabbed Zaknafein's hips, roughly, and turned him around. The fighter complied - Gromph wasn't even half as strong as Zaknafein, but his authority gave more force to his movements than any physical strength could.

Zaknafein shivered again when he faced the Archmage, deadly calm in those red eyes. No words were needed now; Zaknafein knew that the almost unbearable pain Gromph had just inflicted was nothing but a foretaste of what would expect him if he kept up his insolence. He bit into his bottom lip to refrain from crying out in anger and frustration, and just lowered his eyes to the ground. It was less unnerving than staring into the Baenre's eyes.

He didn't move while Gromph took off his heavy robes, leaving on nothing but soft suede trousers. One hand returned to his cock, stroking it slowly to its full length while the mage's lips and teeth left countless burning marks on Zaknafein's throat, neck and shoulders. Ridiculously Zaknafein thought of the mocking words he would hear from his tutor as soon as the Xorlarrin student discovered those marks.

Just as the physical arousal overcame Zaknafein's reluctance and anger, crushing his pride under the biting need for release, Gromph drew, predictably, his hand back. The Archmage pinched a nipple before he captured Zaknafein's lips again. Although the fighter still avoided Gromph's gaze he could almost feel the smug superiority, the sweet triumph in Gromph's eyes when the kiss was returned with unveiled need.

One of Gromph's arms suddenly left Zaknafein's body to shove the parchments on the middle of the desk to the side. The fighter groaned helplessly, knowing far too well what awaited him. Although he should probably be grateful that Gromph either wasn't as 'creative' as his reputation made him, or that he hadn't enough time to play elaborate games.

Again, Zaknafein offered no resistance when he was turned around and pushed down onto the desk. He was overpowered by the remains of the pain that had almost ripped his body apart, by the prospect of more pain, by Gromph's aura and, as if that wasn't enough, now by his own arousal that clouded his mind even more. He hated that feeling of pain mingling with pleasure, the pain dulling his desire rather than heightening it, but unfortunately it wasn't enough to erase the lust completely. Damn his treacherous body which knew nothing about pride and self-esteem, but a whole lot about sensations and stimulation.

At least Gromph refrained from teasing or torturing him much longer. Zaknafein closed his eyes and put his head on his arms, fighting down his panic in order to relax his body. It was actually easier than shutting down the outraged voice in his head, the daredevil who demanded that he made some cocky remark.

Gromph didn't bother with any preparations, but at least he used some oil - although Zaknafein was pretty sure that the Archmage did that purely for his own comfort, not to make it easier for his victim.

Zaknafein buried his teeth in his forearm as soon as he felt the tip pressing against him. He wouldn't scream, he wouldn't. He hated screaming, he hated that sign of humiliation, the evidence that his will had been broken, not only his body. He wouldn't admit that he ached for release, that the pain drove him half mad as Gromph thrusted into him, never giving him any time to adjust, to get used to the intrusion.

His fingers grasped the edge of the desk because his legs were hardly able to support his weight anymore. Zaknafein had gone through this countless times, and with men who had been just as brutal as the Archmage was now, but somehow it seemed more painful to him than usual. He wasn't able to pin down what Gromph did differently, he didn't know or feel anything but that unbearable pain.

Suddenly Gromph grabbed Zaknafein's hair and yanked his head back, while his other hand sneaked around his body to his erection.

"Beg," Gromph growled, his voice husky with lust. Zaknafein didn't know if he should beg to be touched, or beg for Gromph to finish. It didn't matter anyway. He just snarled in defiance.

The thrusting didn't stop, and fingernails dug into that most sensitive part of Zaknafein's body. Another rough tug on his hair twisted Zaknafein's neck into an unnatural, uncomfortable position.

"Beg!" The Archmage sounded impatient, and if Zaknafein's mind hadn't been reduced to animal urges he would have realised that Gromph's shuddering and quick breathing gave away that he could hardly hold himself back anymore.

Zaknafein growled something that was supposed to sound like, "No!", but it ended up as an inarticulate snarl. Despite all his proud intentions he cried out when Gromph squeezed his erection, too hard to bring any pleasure, inflicting pain that spread through his whole body.

Before Gromph could repeat his order another time Zaknafein half whimpered, half screamed, "Please!"

The word was out of his mouth before he could think about it, nothing but a reaction to the pain. He would have said anything to make it stop, no matter how degrading. And yet the word had never been as heart-felt as it was now.

Tears of humiliation ran over his cheeks without him noticing when the grasp on his cock and his hair softened. Gromph came after a few more thrusts, but his moans hardly reached Zaknafein's dazed mind. His hands had let go of the desk, and when Gromph withdrew and made a few insecure steps backwards Zaknafein slid from the table and slumped onto the soft carpet. The world was blurry around him, and within all that mind-robbing pain remained the humiliating lust Gromph still hadn't bothered to satisfy.

His honed senses were deaf, the throbbing pain kept him from hearing or seeing how Gromph cleaned himself up, got dressed again, and even drank a glass of wine, his calm returning as quickly as it had dissipated.

A few minutes later - Zaknafein supposed so, but he had actually no idea how much time had passed - Gromph nudged him in the side with his boot.

"Get up," he commanded. Zaknafein looked up to see his face as composed as if Gromph hadn't just raped him - and, mind you, enjoyed it greatly.

Even in his current state Zaknafein refused to admit that he didn't have the strength left to get up - not to mention that Gromph would hardly accept that excuse. He clutched the edge of the desk to pull himself up, and after two failed tries that sent him tumbling down again, he managed to get on his feet.

"Why, I like your stamina," Gromph said with mock admiration. "It's such a pity that I have to leave now."

Just as Zaknafein wanted to sigh in relief Gromph cast another spell, and long tendrils came down from the ceiling, wrapping themselves around Zaknafein's wrists and pulling his arms over his head, so high that he found himself standing only on tiptoes, in the middle of the office.

Gromph smiled and nodded contently. He stepped closer and stroked Zaknafein's erection again, a not too subtle reminder of his own desires, although the pain had lessened them considerably.

"I think I am going to keep you here for a few days. Your tutor will hardly miss you, and you'll surely make up to him for the fact that he had to do without his private whore," Gromph said in that infuriatingly casual voice. He patted Zaknafein's cheek in what was probably the most condescending gesture the young fighter had ever experienced, and left the office.

Gromph watched Zaknafein with the bored fascination of a centuries-old Baenre who had seen everything and who got interested in the slightest anomaly. And Zaknafein was, as the past three days had confirmed, quite unusual.

The Archmage whispered a few words to open the magical ties. The tendrils retreated slowly into the ceiling and vanished, releasing the shivering body.

Zaknafein slumped down like a corpse, not even wincing when he hit the floor. He lay still for several seconds before he curled himself up with the last bit of strength he could muster. A pained whimper escaped his chapped lips when his body protested against moving.

Gromph assumed that it was only stubborn pride and sheer force of will that kept the boy alive. Three days at the mercy, or rather lack thereof, of Gromph Baenre had taken their toll, even on someone with Zaknafein's strength and endurance. But although Gromph had clearly seen the humiliation and desperation in Zaknafein's eyes a few remains of the fighter's strong will had somehow survived. The boy had clung on to his anger as if it was the only thing he had left to protect himself in what was probably the worst situation of his life so far.

It wouldn't help him much. After all, his life would only get worse.

"Get up," Gromph ordered, reclining in his office chair. And Zaknafein did. He didn't talk back anymore, he had pleaded and begged like everyone else, but he still managed to force his abused, half-dead body to do the near impossible. It took him several tries that sent him stumbling back onto the floor, but finally he rose gingerly, his muscular legs trembling with the effort of holding him upright after three days without food and sleep.

"Look at me," the Archmage continued. Zaknafein, eyes fixed on his feet, didn't react immediately. He had learnt over the last days to obey Gromph's orders without hesitation, but right now it was almost as if his brain was too exhausted to understand the words. When he finally looked up his eyes were moving restlessly, not daring to meet Gromph's.

The Archmage got up, slowly, and walked over to him.

"I could kill you. Nobody would even wonder what happened to you," he stated matter-of-factly, but with an almost intrigued look on his face. The past days had provoked in him some kind of morbid curiosity about this strange commoner. Most nobles would have been incapable of anything but whimpering and pleading by now. But Zaknafein - although he had whimpered and pleaded a lot - actually managed to look angry for a split second before he remembered the recently learnt lesson and fought his pride down.

In a quite unsettling way Gromph felt reminded of his young brother, Dantrag. The secondboy of House Baenre, only a few decades older than Zaknafein, was one of the rare males who had not been broken by punishments, but who retained his cockiness and self-confidence. But Dantrag was a Baenre. He could afford pride.

And wouldn't Zaknafein have made a marvellous Baenre? Gromph mused, bewildered by his own train of thought. Yet as it was, his strength of will was not only useless, it was a weakness. A commoner, a male, was better off without pride. Zaknafein was too strong to be submitted, but unlike Gromph or Dantrag he didn't have the power nor the station to gain at least relative independence.

Gromph could already see that dark, nervous gleam in Zaknafein's eyes, the unmistakeable sign of future insanity. The boy was not even thirty, and his sanity was already crumbling away. He would refuse vehemently to accept the world, struggling against it until it would bend and distort and eventually break him.

If Gromph had been capable of mercy he would have killed him right then and there. Zaknafein was headed for a life of pure misery - and Gromph's only comfort was that the misery of other males was greater than his own.

He hadn't broken Zaknafein completely in those three days, but he realised that there was no need for that. Zaknafein would destroy himself all on his own.

Gromph turned away and sat down again, waving his hand dismissively. He was smiling.

"You may go."