Summer went on toward fall and the season ebbed toward winter. Winter chases summer, with fall and spring between them to keep them apart.
Something about it sounded familiar. Maybe Fenris had heard a servant telling a story or something. It sounded like a story, or like it should be a story, but he didn't remember it. Just something about the seasons. It seemed like a nursery tale to remember the seasons, that was all—a simple tale for children. That thought made him wonder.
The hole in his memory wasn't gone as if it never was. It would be far kinder if that were so. His mind was not a house whose wall had been brought down and made as if it had never been; it was a house missing a floor that was never patched together. He was aware that it was gone, in the same sense one could see that a floor had rotted away. But it was just as substantial, and the feeling was even more useless.
There was little use in dwelling on it though, so he frequently did not. Sometimes, a thought here, a comment there, would threaten to sound familiar, but that was all. He had learned to disregard it; it never came to anything, so why bother?
Danarius was happy with him. That was all that really mattered. He had offhandedly commented that Fenris had become everything he desired of him, and ahead of schedule.
He had come a long way from the half-starved young man who could barely stand up on his own to the man he was now. It was relieving.
Fenris watched his master the same way he observed everything else in the room—with a lack of personal interest, but watchful and diligent all the same. He had only recently been deemed suitable for the task that was to be his ultimate design and function, and glad of it.
He still spent a couple hours a day practicing swords and other such, but he was no longer sent to the field at least. Sometimes, he would accompany his master down to the winery, though, or other places.
He had noticed that, today, Danarius kept staring out at the yard. The ink had gone dry on the quill in his hand. Fenris wondered if he noticed; he seemed distracted by something or other.
Danarius finally seemed to notice the quill in his hand, and looked at it as if it had suddenly appeared there. He looked at it for a longer moment, then set it down, wiping his hands of the small ink stain on a cloth. It was mostly dry, though, but the man didn't even seem to notice it. He wasn't noticing much today, it appeared. And those were the days Fenris needed to notice more than usual and be especially alert.
The magister sighed, and leaned back in the chair, sliding a ring off of his finger, and stared at it as if it were the only thing in the world. All this Fenris watched, attentively, from the corner of his eye.
"Fenris." The elf blinked, turning his head toward his master automatically, but not looking directly at him; that was rude. "Leave me."
He bowed, and took his leave without a word, and waited outside the door. He hadn't dismissed him, after all, or given him some other duty.
It was a long time before the door opened, and the magister breezed past his slave without even seeming to see him. But that was fine. Slaves should pass their existence as such.
Fenris didn't even hesitate; he followed him. A poor bodyguard he would be if he didn't, and his master said nothing of it. He followed the magister down the hall, down the steps, another hall, and out the back door to the garden. He didn't linger here, though; he walked through it. The gate was closed, and Danarius stopped to open it. Fenris would have stepped in front of him to do so, but the path was narrow here, and he couldn't politely get around. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to look. A lop-eared rabbit nibbled delicately on a clover. The creature had best get out of the garden though—they were pests here, after all, but they did taste good.
Danarius was passing through the gate, and Fenris was quick to follow after him. Down another path, and the magister produced a key to this gate. The wall was low enough that the gate was, in truth, reduced to a nicety, but it had a key all the same. He pushed that open too, and seemed so distracted by whatever was on his mind that he left the key in the gate, and only the wind blew it shut. Fenris hesitated. This was his master's family graveyard. He waited at the gate, to give him some semblance of privacy.
He looked away, but saw out of the corner of his eye when he stopped in front of a particular grave, and looked down at the plate affixed to the headstone. Fenris turned his head to look at it. It was a statue, like many of the others. Some were bells, weeping saints, holy symbols, and other such. Toward the back, there was even a large and very old sepulcher. But the one he had stopped at seemed different somehow. It was stonework, like all the rest, and at first the elf assumed that the statue must be a saint of some sort, but the way Danarius was staring at it implied otherwise. He was pretty sure this was the same statue he had stopped before at about this same time last year.
Weather had worn down most of the finer details, but he could see that the stone woman was not beautiful. Comely, yes, but not beautiful. If it were simply artwork, it would have strained for perfection; this was more than artwork. That statue had been someone once, most likely, and not just a fanciful design. The stone woman held a bundle in her arms that was clearly meant to be a child.
Maybe it was the person in the grave.
Danarius stood, and looked at it for a long, long time. Fenris shifted from one foot to the other, and looked about the yard. He watched a cloud drift by, thought he may have seen a deer in the forest. A young colt in the field was running. He shifted, but the other way lay the vineyard, and he could never look at the vineyard for long these days if he could help it. The work they endured, the rations, the conditions… No, he couldn't bear to watch it.
The gate opened again, and Danarius locked it, and took the key. He heard his master sigh, and trudge back to the manor. Fenris followed.
But he didn't go back to the study, or his quarters. Rather, he went into the east wing, and climbed the stair, up to a place Fenris had heard about but never been, all the while muttering to himself about how he was too old for this, and should just send someone else to do it. But he did it anyway, and climbed every single step. The door's hinges were so rusted that the door was difficult to open for him.
"Fenris," he said, taking a few steps back on the landing, and gestured to the door. The elf heaved against it. It grated, and its hinges voiced their complaints, but he shoved the door open when he threw all of his weight into it—with more than a little straining. He held it open as his master went inside. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust.
Danarius walked to a window, and shoved back the curtains to let in the light, doing the same with the others, then turned back to the room. Sunlight filtered through the faded drapes and the dirty glass. The room was littered with old furniture, antiques, and numerous wooden boxes. Most everything was covered in a draping, which in turn was covered in a thick mantle of dust. The magister stopped at a large four-poster bed, running a finger along the carvings, the digit coming away grey with dust. He stopped for a moment, and looked at the carved figures, pained. The carvings he traced were of horses—galloping horses, rearing horses. A young girl's bed, Fenris assumed, by the faded pink paint. There was a long, heavy chain affixed to the floor near the bed, and he shivered.
Why, he wondered, was there a chain by the bed? He watched his master as he turned from it, stepping over the chain as he passed. No, the elf realized. Who was the chain for?
The magister disappeared behind a curve of the wall, and Fenris was quick to follow him should he be needed. Danarius stood frowning at a large, heavy trunk. "Fenris," he said again, and nodded to the trunk. The elf bent, and pulled it out of the way enough for his master to get by it. He stood several feet away, and watched his master peel a drapery off of a large, heavy painting. It raised a lot of dust, and the magister coughed and choked. Fenris felt his eyes water for a moment, then sneezed as the dust plumed.
Danarius cursed, dropping the drapery, which of course just made it worse for both of them until the dust settled. Fenris held his breath until he couldn't any more, and the worst of it had seemed to pass.
The magister lifted the large painting in its gilded frame, and set it on top of a nearby surface that may have been a table or a desk—it was covered in a drapery too. In the dim light, Fenris couldn't help but look at the painting, watched his master's hand reach out, and touch it gently, almost reverently. No… lovingly.
The painter had managed to capture the life in the woman's eyes, the smile she almost managed to conceal. She wasn't beautiful, but something about the life and laughter in her face made her lovely.
If he had been able to see his master's face he would have seen something else—pain.
But the man turned away from it, and the look was gone. "Pick it up—carry it down the stairs. If you damage it, elf…" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't damage it." He breezed past him, leaving Fenris to manage the big painting by himself. He heard him begin the descent down the stairs, and sighed, staring at the big painting. He lifted it, experimentally, trying to figure out the best way to carry it. It wasn't that it was incredibly heavy; it was awkward; all the weight was along the outside, after all, on the frame.
But he managed to lug the awkward painting all the way down the stairs, and was relieved to find a pair of servants waiting at the bottom, who took the painting from him wordlessly, and hurried off.
Fenris found his master again in the study, all trace of whim gone from him—strictly back to business again.
Or so it would seem.
As the day wore on, and Danarius struggled to catch up on his paperwork with the time he had wasted away, the hour grew late. The magister ultimately gave up on the matter, and called for a light supper, and sent Fenris away to eat.
The elf came back later; he still hadn't been dismissed.
He was right where he had left him—one stack of papers had simply grown larger than the other in the time he had been gone.
Danarius stopped what he was doing, and turned, and looked at Fenris, studying him the way he sometimes did, half admiration, half… something else? And the magister took a long drink of his wine, and emptied the glass. He glanced at the empty contents, then to the bottle. "Fenris," he called him.
The elf approached him, and saw his master's eyes flick to the bottle. The elf lifted it, gently in both hands, and refilled the glass, and set it back down, and moved back to where he had been standing before.
The contents of the glass was gone very quickly. He's drunk, Fenris thought reflectively. Or close to it. The magister was staring at him again, and seemed to be thinking about something.
"Fenris," he said again. The elf went to the bottle, and poured the last of it. He hoped he hadn't drank the entire thing. That was a good way to get sick, and then Fenris would have to listen to the vomiting that would doubtless ensue. The magister didn't eat that much normally… "Fenris." The elf paused, wondering what more he could want from him. To fetch another bottle, perhaps? The magister sat in the chair, the glass in one hand. "Kneel."
It wasn't such a strange command, and he knelt in front of him. Danarius drank, and set the glass down, empty. His hand touched the side of Fenris' face. It was warm with drink. Instinctively, he wanted to shy away from it; for the past year and a half all anyone had tried to do with him is shy away from his touch. In the end, he had only learned to shun others the same way, for their sake.
But it was his master's hand, and he did not do it. His master lifted his head with two fingers under his chin, between the markings there. "It's been entirely too long," he murmured. Fenris had no idea what he was talking about… and it made him uneasy. The magister's fingertips touched his lips, and the elf's stomach tightened involuntarily. His fingers pushed against his lips, and Fenris understood a little of what was wanted. His lips parted "Keep your teeth away." His finger pushed into his mouth, against his teeth, and they opened, just a little. "But use your tongue, and as much saliva as you can manage." Fenris still felt horribly confused. "The farther back into your mouth, the better, my pet." He pushed his fingers back into his mouth until Fenris gagged unexpectedly, and the magister smiled, just a little bit, his fingers running against his tongue. They tasted like ink. "Use your hands." His finger rubbed along his tongue. Fenris swallowed hard, but carefully with his finger in his mouth. Something about this… It made him wish he had stayed in his quarters, even if it were wrong to do so. "Whatever you can't fit in your mouth, put in your hands." The elf had no idea what he could possibly be talking about. But it sounded like… No… No, it couldn't…
But it was, and the magister lifted the robes, his finger leaving his pet's mouth, his hand gripping him by his long white hair, and pulled him forward. Fenris didn't even cry out in alarm, not even when he pushed him down in his lap. He took a deep breath, and understood the instructions his master had given him.
His eyes slid closed, but his mouth opened, his hands raising to help him. His master's fingers tightened in his hair as he moved, breathing from his nose. He gagged more than once and it was more in his mind than in his body—he almost never choked on anything-and his eyes watered. But as he forced him to move faster, he knew he had to be approaching an end.
He hated it. He had never been more sure of anything in what life he remembered, but he hated it.
And at the same time… didn't hate it.
Some part of him hated it more than anything, with a cold certainty. And another part… another part just saw it was his duty; something else he had to do. It was no different than standing at attention, than carrying the portrait earlier. It was just something he had to do. Eventually, that part buried the hatred he felt. If he hated, it would fester, so he suppressed the feeling, buried it. It was no use to him here, and never would be of use to him.
Hatred and anger were things he had no use for. He was a slave. If Danarius wanted him for this, he had no choice but to obey. If he wanted him for this, or to work his vineyard again, that was his entire existence: To serve.
And he remembered that when he forced himself hard against the back of his throat, and he gagged, and choked, and his master hissed at him to swallow before he vomited, and he did, barely capable of the act. His throat continued to convulse, and he fought down the panic, his nose against the cluster of hair at the base. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, among other things. He made himself calm, and with the calm, his throat relaxed. The compunction to gag left him as his heart stilled.
It wasn't so much an act of swallowing as letting it run down his throat, and he wilted in his mouth. Danarius pushed him back, sending Fenris toppling backwards, unbalanced. He automatically swiped at his lips, and swallowed several times. He thought he tasted bile, and salt. Danarius took a long, deep breath, and straightened his robes, and smirked, before he went back to his paperwork, as if nothing had ever happened.
As the days passed, Fenris began to wonder if it ever did happen.
When she had been summoned to her master's solar, Hadriana hadn't known what to expect… but not this.
Strangely, she felt numb. She didn't shake, or cry. She just… felt numb.
The house had caught fire. Not the manor, no. The little house she had shared with her family. There had been an accident. Her mouth felt dry as ash.
There had been no survivors.
Her master had bade her to sit before he gave her the slip of paper. He had found her family, against her will, despite that she had done everything she could to hide them. They were embarrassing, and poor, and her mother was mad with her blind devotion to the Maker. She was convinced, utterly, that should she have a connection to them, it would ruin her reputation before it even began. And when he found them, they were dead.
How many times had she wished for this to happen? How many times had she wanted her uncaring family dead? And now they were, and she realized that it had never been at all what she had wanted.
"I'm sorry," he told her, voice gentle as ever.
She scarcely heard him. "I…" She set the slip of paper down. She may have put it in her tea; she wasn't really looking. She rose to her feet. "Forgive me, I must go." She bowed, stiff and unseeing, and turned to go.
"Do you want to go to the village? It's not far from here," he offered.
"That's… very kind of you. But there's nothing for me there." And she left. In her rooms, she lay on her bed, and cried for all the things she had lost.
As the days passed, Hadriana felt less numb, and more bitter. Maybe if she had been there, maybe if they hadn't have kicked her out, unwanted, they wouldn't all be dead. Alternately, she also felt like… if she had only gone back and apologized, they would all be alive.
She had no family any more. There was just nothing left. Maybe it didn't matter, or maybe that was all to the good; what use was a family that scorned her so?
Along with the usual stack of reports consisting of complaints and sniveling, Danarius also received a letter from his brother. He wrote about his eldest daughter, briefly—how it was recently learned that she was pregnant with her first child. Good for her, he thought. And the twins of their schooling and development. His lady wife. Good for all of them.
But then he got to little Annalkylie, and that was when Danarius straightened in the chair.
Well, how about that. Kylie was a mage after all. At least the bloodline wasn't running out completely. It was really for the best that his half-blood child was in Seheron; it would be the gossip of the country that the only mage-born child he could sire was a blind half-elven brat. Better no children at all.
He would just have to leave everything to… Kylie, really. He mulled that thought over for a moment, and went back to the letter. His brother beseeched him for help finding her a mage to apprentice under.
The mage considered this. That was a delicate process. He thought of the magisters he knew. Which had apprentices? Which were willing to take more than one at a time? Which would be the best tutor? But most importantly, which could he use? Kylie could just as quickly become a hostage in some situations as opposed to a sign of favor and political alliance. Sometimes, the magisters, after all, would go to war against one another. Usually, it was more common in the country. In Minrathous, those battles were fought with words and ink. Sometimes, they were no less bloody though.
He already had an apprentice. Besides, the child would do better learning from someone with fewer ties to her family anyway. She may grow nervous knowing that her teacher was also her uncle, and conversing with her father. And her family may visit more frequently than would really be necessary…
It would require some thought. In the meantime, she had a tutor they had wrestled up from somewhere, but it would only be suitable for her to apprentice to a magister long-term.
Shame Raith was dead; Danarius would insist upon it.
He went through half a dozen without coming to any real conclusions. Well, it would all come in time.
Hadriana was excited. In spring, they were going to make the journey back to Minrathous—to live there. Her master had a mansion in the city. She could scarcely wait. She had been training so hard—at all her lessons. Social etiquette, politics, magic—all of it and more.
The last time she had gone to the city had been as a beggar in rags. Now… Now, she would be going to it as a magister's apprentice in fine silks. She liked to daydream of what her life would be like there, of the things she would do and see, now that she was an apprentice. She dreamed of the parties, the balls, the feasts, the magical duels, even the coliseum. Danarius had a penchant for the coliseum. She could see where it would be interesting to watch people fight for their lives. Most of the battles weren't to the death any more, but the captives who could not be tamed were brought there, and they fought to the death.
Sometimes, they had captured Qunari (this was rare), or escaped recaptured slaves—all facing punishment. She had studied all about that too, in an effort to impress her master. He had promised to take her already, as well as the balls and the feasts too.
Right now, her master was out… hunting. Frankly, she didn't know why a mage would be interested in such a sport, but he was off with the dogs and horses right now, a couple servants and slaves too. She wished him the best of luck murdering some helpless animal. Hadriana herself was a vegetarian.
He said that a mage should have a strong body to go with their spells. She knew that the staffs got heavy sometimes. Some spells required more movement than others, and the staff had to be raised, lowered, spun, and everything else. They got heavy, especially with most of the weight just being at one end. Danarius told her to find a physical activity she enjoyed and work at it. His was hunting, and archery. He said it was a bit like casting magic, and wasn't as strenuous as swordplay. Hadriana didn't know what kind of "physical activity" she should do. She didn't really like such things.
When he asked her about it, and she only shrugged, he had gently reminded her of why, and sent her off to practice with her staffs. She always ended the hour-long sessions coated with sweat and exhausted, complaining that the staff was too heavy to do what needed to be done. But Danarius flatly refused to cut her a lighter staff, particularly if she didn't want to do anything physical.
It seemed backwards to her, and eternally frustrating. Why was it so wrong that she would rather study?
She could lose herself for hours in a good book, the way each page seems to send her into a different time and world and before she knew it, an entire day had come and gone, and she would wonder what had happened.
It was a nice day, so she went out onto the big balcony off of the ballroom—it overlooked the forest, and was filled with potted plants and a few sun shades with the furniture. She carried a stack of books and set them on a table, and curled up into a chair to read. She wrote notes on her vellum when applicable, and any time she tired of one subject, switched to the next. There was so much to learn, and she wanted to know enough to not make a fool of herself or something. When Danarius got back, he was going to host a party, for a few reasons. For one, it would keep the magisters from coming to him individually, both to get a gauge on his new apprentice, as well as to see Fenris. A good social event like that was a show of power—political, financial, and possibly even magical. It also gave him the chance to use his freshly remodeled ballroom. Best get it all out of the way at once.
She only fretted over what she was going to wear, and say—she had better study, so she had a better idea of conversational subjects at least. It was months off, and still she was nervous. She couldn't believe that she had been here for over a year.
It was… amazing. She found herself looking northward, the direction of what was her home town. But the fire took that. Her family was dead now.
She bit her lip. Maybe she should go see their graves. But… no. It was nothing.
She looked back to her book. This was more important. The past was gone. It was her future that needed tending to.
