Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Author's Note: Normally I'd wait until I had another chapter done before I put this one out but since it's Easter and the last one was short and this one is short as well I figured I'd be nice. Things are beginning to move now! :-) Enjoy! And, as always, thanks to my wonderful, amazing, superhuman beta for making this readable.
Chapter 5
Time passed and Thomas proved to be a diligent and apt pupil...once he accepted Jason as his teacher.
He was still wary of the odd slave who seemed to be so much more than that of his current stature. In a way, Thomas had come to respect him, but that did not mean he was any less the prince he had been brought up to be.
Cruelty, bluster and complete obedience were rewarded and Thomas desperately wanted to avoid punishment.
Jason simply waited. He taught Thomas, but at a slower pace than he normally would have taught one with as much talent and potential as the young prince.
He had nearly a lifetime's worth of lessons to correct. It would take time for Thomas to unlearn the lessons instilled into him by his father's hand--or belt and Jason was not willing to risk danger to either of them by allowing Thomas to unravel certain mysteries before it was time.
Thomas seemed to have come to the edge of a precipice, teetering back and forth after weeks and months spent learning from Jason. He knew he could back away; go down the hill that lead to the life he had been leading--back to being Isorfir—though Jason had not called him thus for weeks. Or he could take a chance and take the next step off the edge.
Only he was unsure whether he would be met with jagged rocks or calming water at the end of the leap.
King Daemon saw not the subtle changes in his son. Thomas was nothing if not a very good, very convincing actor. It was necessary to become one in order to ensure his survival.
Daemon would not accept anything less than what he demanded at any particular instant and not even his son could escape his temper if he did not deliver. It had only taken a few mistakes when Thomas had been very young for him to learn to talk and trick his way out of trouble.
If nothing else he respected Jason for being able to do what he was not; stand up to his father. No, Thomas had seen far too much to do such a thing but Jason, he experienced not saw, and still he did not let the king intimidate him.
It awed Thomas as much as it terrified him.
Daemon was not someone to be underestimated. There had to be some sort of good in him, though it was perhaps hidden very, very deeply, but not many could claim to know it. To be fair, he did keep many of his late father's just laws in place, allowing women and foreigners to hold the same positions as men born within the kingdom for the most part. He had not increased or decreased the trade of slaves, except to the palace. He had not held mass murders of citizens.
But the things he did not do failed to redeem the sins he committed.
While citizens were free from his malicious tendencies for the most part the palace slaves were not. They were fair game and Daemon treated them as such, as if they were birds killed for sport. He regarded most humans as no better than the animals he would kill without thought while on the hunt, but the slaves, those he had free reign over. No one dared complain if one of their number did not return after committing a folly as small as spilling a water jug.
It mattered only on the mood Daemon found himself in.
Thomas had a kinder heart than that of his father.
It was by this kinder heart that Daemon kept his control over his heir razor sharp. Thomas had been conditioned to fear his father for so many years it took very little to frighten him into complying with whatever his father wished. Tonight would be a reminder and the mere thought made Thomas have to hide his tremors.
The journey down into the dungeons was enough to frighten the young prince. By the time he reached the corridor where the guards were waiting to escort him to his father he was twitchy, glancing around in complete disorder out of nervousness. He masked his fear of course, it would not do to have the guards see their prince frightened, but his hearts trembled and leapt at every tiny noise.
He wished that his father did not think this was necessary any longer. He had learned his lesson. He truly had.
The sounds could be heard before he even made it to the cell.
A low, constant moaning, no, not even moaning, a keening, whimpering sound. He knew that sound. He knew whoever was being beaten was past the point of registering anything but pain. If the guards had not been right behind him, waiting for him to go forward, he could have turned around and ran out of that cursed place as fast as humanly possible
Taking a breath that felt more like a gasp Thomas entered the room. It was darker than the hallway; no torches lit the dank room, only the pale light of the moon from the slit of a window cast any kind of lightness. It took a moment for Thomas' eyes to adjust to the dim.
Getting a glimpse of the slave in question nearly caused Thomas' chest to plunge into his stomach. The slave barely came up to Thomas' chest. So young...Too young...
Thomas' breath caught in his throat momentarily. He hated this.
The beating paused Thomas entered, the guards stopping the torment long enough to bow to him.
The body of the slave child sagged in the chains that kept him upright. The boy's head hung against his chest, a pitiful whimpering sound. A muscle in Thomas' face gave an unnoticed twinge but other than that, he did not react. His expression was schooled to remain impassive, anything else, save glee for the sight before him, would result in punishment.
Thomas was a bully; though he did not have the same sadistic nature as his father. He would boast, he would attack when he felt threatened because running only served to give his father the chance to enforce these punishments on him. Seeing the damage he had done to a slave, a child who had, in all likelihood, committed a minor infraction was too much for him. He had to get out of there.
"Father," Thomas said, his tone bored. He was nothing if not a skilled actor. He would not have survived if he had not been. "This bores me. He is barely even conscious. Must I stay? My lessons with the slave begin early."
"Fine, fine. You may retire," Daemon answered absently. He was enjoying this far too much to worry of his son. There was no reason for the boy to stay if the victim of the night was past putting on a good show.
Thomas bowed slightly to his father and hurried from the room with as much dignity as he could muster when his stomach twisted painfully.
He made it to the courtyard before retching into the bushes. The back of his eyes burned with tears he knew he could not allow to escape. His body wanted to continue retching, his stomach still heaved, but he had nothing more to give. His hair fell messily around his face as a cold sweat broke out over his face.
A hand suddenly rested on his back, steadying him, and gentle fingers brushed his hair out of his face. He tensed in fear of the still unknown figure. If it was his father or one of the counsellors...
But as the hands moved, one to rub his stomach soothingly and one to hold him up as his limbs trembled, he knew that could not be.
"Come. Sit down and rest for a moment." The voice was gentle as the hands moved and Thomas found himself being led to a nearby bench. He looked up...
A strange pair of eyes, softened with concern and the same shade as the sky before daybreak when the stars are still visible, met his.
Thomas immediately stiffened and shrugged off the hands that sought to help him, his face burning red. This was worse than if it had been his father! He could not lose face in front of this man.
"Drink this," Jason told him, ignoring Thomas' discomfort for the moment.
"What is it?" Thomas questioned, looking warily at the clear liquid in the carved wooden cup for a moment.
"Water," Jason replied with a slightly wry grin. He turned and pointed in the direction of the slave quarters. "From the pump. I thought you would like to rinse your mouth."
Thomas wanted to rid himself of the taste of bile in his throat so he rinsed his mouth out and spat before he realized what he was doing. His face reddened further and he looked away from Jason.
"Better?" Jason questioned as he took the cup from the prince's limp fingers.
Thomas nodded, all the blood in his face turning his head nearly purple in embarrassment. Jason did not comment. Instead, he let a warm calloused hand travel up and down the still slightly shuddering back in a gentle, comforting motion.
After a moment Jason sighed, "You are too young to witness what occurs in those dungeons."
"The boy that suffered the blows was younger than I." Thomas' voice shook slightly. "I wonder what offence he committed."
Jason remained silent. The hand continued to move comfortingly over his back. Thomas knew the slave had more knowledge than he was giving forth. Jason seemed to have an eye or ear all over the palace.
Thomas wanted to know. He had to know.
"Tell me his offence, please. I must know," Thomas requested, finding Jason's eyes. They flickered, something in them changing but Thomas could not be certain what it was yet.
The blue gaze searched him, disarmed him down to his very soul. Thomas had never felt as bare as when he was under that stripping gaze. Whatever he saw within Thomas he never vocalized, but he did give Thomas what he wanted to know.
"He delivered the king's meal tonight and it was not of his liking," Jason said finally.
Thomas sighed. He had wanted the boy to have committed some horrible act that would have at least begun to justify the punishment that had been meted out. He shuddered and drew away from Jason, away from his so readily given comfort. He did not want it. He did not want this. It was so much harder this way. It hurt this way.
Thomas stood up abruptly and back away, stumbling as he did. His face was flushed again and his eyes had grown panicky and wild. Jason made no move to follow him as he turned and ran. Some things had to be sought and discovered without outside interference.
Jason slipped back into the slave quarters, his return as unnoticed as his departure. He would wait. Soon, Thomas would come to him by his own will.
Author's Note: Normally I'd wait until I had another chapter done before I put this one out but since it's Easter and the last one was short and this one is short as well I figured I'd be nice. Things are beginning to move now! :-) Enjoy! And, as always, thanks to my wonderful, amazing, superhuman beta for making this readable.
Chapter 5
Time passed and Thomas proved to be a diligent and apt pupil...once he accepted Jason as his teacher.
He was still wary of the odd slave who seemed to be so much more than that of his current stature. In a way, Thomas had come to respect him, but that did not mean he was any less the prince he had been brought up to be.
Cruelty, bluster and complete obedience were rewarded and Thomas desperately wanted to avoid punishment.
Jason simply waited. He taught Thomas, but at a slower pace than he normally would have taught one with as much talent and potential as the young prince.
He had nearly a lifetime's worth of lessons to correct. It would take time for Thomas to unlearn the lessons instilled into him by his father's hand--or belt and Jason was not willing to risk danger to either of them by allowing Thomas to unravel certain mysteries before it was time.
Thomas seemed to have come to the edge of a precipice, teetering back and forth after weeks and months spent learning from Jason. He knew he could back away; go down the hill that lead to the life he had been leading--back to being Isorfir—though Jason had not called him thus for weeks. Or he could take a chance and take the next step off the edge.
Only he was unsure whether he would be met with jagged rocks or calming water at the end of the leap.
King Daemon saw not the subtle changes in his son. Thomas was nothing if not a very good, very convincing actor. It was necessary to become one in order to ensure his survival.
Daemon would not accept anything less than what he demanded at any particular instant and not even his son could escape his temper if he did not deliver. It had only taken a few mistakes when Thomas had been very young for him to learn to talk and trick his way out of trouble.
If nothing else he respected Jason for being able to do what he was not; stand up to his father. No, Thomas had seen far too much to do such a thing but Jason, he experienced not saw, and still he did not let the king intimidate him.
It awed Thomas as much as it terrified him.
Daemon was not someone to be underestimated. There had to be some sort of good in him, though it was perhaps hidden very, very deeply, but not many could claim to know it. To be fair, he did keep many of his late father's just laws in place, allowing women and foreigners to hold the same positions as men born within the kingdom for the most part. He had not increased or decreased the trade of slaves, except to the palace. He had not held mass murders of citizens.
But the things he did not do failed to redeem the sins he committed.
While citizens were free from his malicious tendencies for the most part the palace slaves were not. They were fair game and Daemon treated them as such, as if they were birds killed for sport. He regarded most humans as no better than the animals he would kill without thought while on the hunt, but the slaves, those he had free reign over. No one dared complain if one of their number did not return after committing a folly as small as spilling a water jug.
It mattered only on the mood Daemon found himself in.
Thomas had a kinder heart than that of his father.
It was by this kinder heart that Daemon kept his control over his heir razor sharp. Thomas had been conditioned to fear his father for so many years it took very little to frighten him into complying with whatever his father wished. Tonight would be a reminder and the mere thought made Thomas have to hide his tremors.
The journey down into the dungeons was enough to frighten the young prince. By the time he reached the corridor where the guards were waiting to escort him to his father he was twitchy, glancing around in complete disorder out of nervousness. He masked his fear of course, it would not do to have the guards see their prince frightened, but his hearts trembled and leapt at every tiny noise.
He wished that his father did not think this was necessary any longer. He had learned his lesson. He truly had.
The sounds could be heard before he even made it to the cell.
A low, constant moaning, no, not even moaning, a keening, whimpering sound. He knew that sound. He knew whoever was being beaten was past the point of registering anything but pain. If the guards had not been right behind him, waiting for him to go forward, he could have turned around and ran out of that cursed place as fast as humanly possible
Taking a breath that felt more like a gasp Thomas entered the room. It was darker than the hallway; no torches lit the dank room, only the pale light of the moon from the slit of a window cast any kind of lightness. It took a moment for Thomas' eyes to adjust to the dim.
Getting a glimpse of the slave in question nearly caused Thomas' chest to plunge into his stomach. The slave barely came up to Thomas' chest. So young...Too young...
Thomas' breath caught in his throat momentarily. He hated this.
The beating paused Thomas entered, the guards stopping the torment long enough to bow to him.
The body of the slave child sagged in the chains that kept him upright. The boy's head hung against his chest, a pitiful whimpering sound. A muscle in Thomas' face gave an unnoticed twinge but other than that, he did not react. His expression was schooled to remain impassive, anything else, save glee for the sight before him, would result in punishment.
Thomas was a bully; though he did not have the same sadistic nature as his father. He would boast, he would attack when he felt threatened because running only served to give his father the chance to enforce these punishments on him. Seeing the damage he had done to a slave, a child who had, in all likelihood, committed a minor infraction was too much for him. He had to get out of there.
"Father," Thomas said, his tone bored. He was nothing if not a skilled actor. He would not have survived if he had not been. "This bores me. He is barely even conscious. Must I stay? My lessons with the slave begin early."
"Fine, fine. You may retire," Daemon answered absently. He was enjoying this far too much to worry of his son. There was no reason for the boy to stay if the victim of the night was past putting on a good show.
Thomas bowed slightly to his father and hurried from the room with as much dignity as he could muster when his stomach twisted painfully.
He made it to the courtyard before retching into the bushes. The back of his eyes burned with tears he knew he could not allow to escape. His body wanted to continue retching, his stomach still heaved, but he had nothing more to give. His hair fell messily around his face as a cold sweat broke out over his face.
A hand suddenly rested on his back, steadying him, and gentle fingers brushed his hair out of his face. He tensed in fear of the still unknown figure. If it was his father or one of the counsellors...
But as the hands moved, one to rub his stomach soothingly and one to hold him up as his limbs trembled, he knew that could not be.
"Come. Sit down and rest for a moment." The voice was gentle as the hands moved and Thomas found himself being led to a nearby bench. He looked up...
A strange pair of eyes, softened with concern and the same shade as the sky before daybreak when the stars are still visible, met his.
Thomas immediately stiffened and shrugged off the hands that sought to help him, his face burning red. This was worse than if it had been his father! He could not lose face in front of this man.
"Drink this," Jason told him, ignoring Thomas' discomfort for the moment.
"What is it?" Thomas questioned, looking warily at the clear liquid in the carved wooden cup for a moment.
"Water," Jason replied with a slightly wry grin. He turned and pointed in the direction of the slave quarters. "From the pump. I thought you would like to rinse your mouth."
Thomas wanted to rid himself of the taste of bile in his throat so he rinsed his mouth out and spat before he realized what he was doing. His face reddened further and he looked away from Jason.
"Better?" Jason questioned as he took the cup from the prince's limp fingers.
Thomas nodded, all the blood in his face turning his head nearly purple in embarrassment. Jason did not comment. Instead, he let a warm calloused hand travel up and down the still slightly shuddering back in a gentle, comforting motion.
After a moment Jason sighed, "You are too young to witness what occurs in those dungeons."
"The boy that suffered the blows was younger than I." Thomas' voice shook slightly. "I wonder what offence he committed."
Jason remained silent. The hand continued to move comfortingly over his back. Thomas knew the slave had more knowledge than he was giving forth. Jason seemed to have an eye or ear all over the palace.
Thomas wanted to know. He had to know.
"Tell me his offence, please. I must know," Thomas requested, finding Jason's eyes. They flickered, something in them changing but Thomas could not be certain what it was yet.
The blue gaze searched him, disarmed him down to his very soul. Thomas had never felt as bare as when he was under that stripping gaze. Whatever he saw within Thomas he never vocalized, but he did give Thomas what he wanted to know.
"He delivered the king's meal tonight and it was not of his liking," Jason said finally.
Thomas sighed. He had wanted the boy to have committed some horrible act that would have at least begun to justify the punishment that had been meted out. He shuddered and drew away from Jason, away from his so readily given comfort. He did not want it. He did not want this. It was so much harder this way. It hurt this way.
Thomas stood up abruptly and back away, stumbling as he did. His face was flushed again and his eyes had grown panicky and wild. Jason made no move to follow him as he turned and ran. Some things had to be sought and discovered without outside interference.
Jason slipped back into the slave quarters, his return as unnoticed as his departure. He would wait. Soon, Thomas would come to him by his own will.