Iason gave up trying to hide his staring after only a minute or so. He had never been anywhere so spectacular before! It was a little dark and depressing but so was Gotham and the intricately woven rugs on the floors and hangings on the walls, the exotic fabrics and metals he could see in every corner made the palace (because there was no other word for such a grand villa) seem straight out of one of the legends his mother used to tell him and that he in turn would tell to the younger children on the streets.
If ever any of the Elven-kin had truly lived among men, surely they could not have wished for a richer dwelling place.
Alfredos led him from the room they had entered through the magical wall. (A room full of gilded furnishings and scrolls and books. Real books!) Through halls and up and down stairs before they came to a stop in front of another door which the old man unlocked with a key from the ring at his belt and opened, gesturing Iason to enter. "This shall be your room for the night." He said blandly. "There is water should you wish to wash and I shall fetch you in the morning for breakfast."
Iason swallowed and stepped into the room, freezing in place as the old man closed the door. Heart in his throat, he turned and tested the latch, unsure how to feel when it yielded beneath his hand, the door opening a crack without a sound. Drawing the door too again, he turned to inspect his...his what? Cell?
He forgot his fears for a moment as he gaped at the room. It was larger than his mother's hut had been! Forget the room, the bed was probably larger than their hut! With cautious steps he approached the piece of furniture and gently ran a finger across the blanket. He had never felt anything so soft before. It felt like it would be warm too.
There was a small table beside it that held a large bowl and a pitcher with steam coming out of it. A quick glance proved it to contain water. Iason blinked in confusion and looked back at the door. If this was an unused room then how-?
It was probably magic, he shrugged and carefully poured some of the water into the bowl, where the steam instantly lessened. When he touched the water it was a gentle warm temperature. Tentatively, he scrubbed at his hands in the bowl, the water swiftly turning a murky grey from the layers of grime that had coated his skin for as long as he could remember. By the time he had used all the water until it was so filthy that further attempts would be less than useless, he had only managed to get his face and hands somewhat clean. There was a reflective surface on one of the large pieces of furniture, a mirror? He studied himself in it. He hadn't known how pale his skin was. slowly, he lifted a hand and touched his face, watching the reflection do the same, only backwards. Were his eyes really that green? He'd always assumed they were more grey, like his mother's.
His finger drifted from his chin to his nose, tracing the light spots sprinkled across the bridge and onto his cheeks. Mapping out the shape of his face, he came to a halt at his hairline, fingering the dripping fringe falling over his eyes. He dared a glance at the bed and shuddered.
He was still so filthy, and the bed was so clean and big. He didn't want to ruin this...whatever it was by making them angry on the first night. He made a quick circuit around the room, noting that the door remained unlocked, and the window, though small, was large enough for him to squeeze through and opened above a fancy woven thing with plants growing up it, easy to climb down. That done, he dropped to the floor and wriggled under the bed, curling up in the corner where two stone walls met, his back safely set against them. Clutching the tattered fragments of his blanket-cloak about him, he drifted off to sleep, his last thought being that if this was how Lord Varius treated his slaves, then maybe this wouldn't be so bad.