"T... Mine own L'rd?" Morgott's voice rumbled as he stood at the doorway to their room, using his sword to support himself with every step. He was their consort, but hardly acted as such; even going so far as to avoid sharing a room with them. He was a filthy beast, and no amount of gentle reassurances could mend the pain and beliefs that had been ruthlessly beaten into his hide.

Morgott's dim golden eye was cast downward at the cold stone, that lie beneath his bare feet. He didn't dare enter the room, unless requested by the Elden Lord.

His expression was blank; stoic with a fake sense of disinterest as it was always, but his twitching tail gave away his nervousness. The way his brow furrowed slightly, and how his grip tightened upon the handle of that sword; the same sword he had encased in his foul blood during their second fight... Morgott still didn't understand why the Elden Lord never finished him off; why they wanted him of all creatures in the Land Between to be their consort.

"Thee has't needeth of me?" In truth, he desperately craved you too. Yet, Morgott always kept himself out of arms reach. Always just out of range to be touched- metaphorically, emotionally, physically... Your kindness was profound, and it was a warmth that seeped into his old bones, and made them ache in a need he's never felt before, but he couldn't. Never.

He would only stain you.