The moment she uttered the words of acceptance, she knew she'd sealed her fate.
Elias' smile was sickly sweet at her consent, the taste of his victory clearly something he savored. "Wonderful," he practically purred at her, "You will make a fine apprentice, my dear."
Her skin crawled at his words, how they rolled off his tongue so easily. She couldn't fathom any words to respond, her tongue tied as horror set in at what she had done, opting to instead stare at her hands, wrung upon her lap. Her heart hammered in her ears, fingers shaking as she wondered what would now become of her; Elias had been awfully vague when describing how she and her newly discovered magic - she still had a hard time believing it existed, despite setting the tablecloth on fire with nothing but her hands only moments ago - would serve him and his unnamed master. Which raised another question: who did he answer to, and was he more dangerous than the man that sat across from her?
"Forgive my manners, my dear. It seems in all the excitement, I never quite got your name."
Anyone else would have thought Elias was a polite, well-educated man if they had just met him. But as Clare stared at him, gut coiling and instinct screaming to get away, with his brow raised as he patiently awaited her answer, she knew there something very, very wrong.
"Clare," she replied meekly. "My name's Clare Vincent."
"Clare," he repeats, stretching each syllable out in a way that makes her want to squeeze her eyes shut and try to wake up from this absolute nightmare. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Clare. My name is Elias Villaneuva, magister of the Tevinter Imperium."
She debated asking with on earth the Tevinter Imperium is, but refrains, unwilling to give him reason to prolong this conversation. All she wants is to get out of this room, away from this man, get her thoughts together, and figure out what the hell she was going to do from here on out. He waved his hand at her lack of response, surprisingly not offended. Instead, he simply snapped his fingers commandingly, an unspoken call. Almost instantly, his elven bodyguard was at his side, vigilant as ever. "Take my apprentice to her new guest quarters in the right wing. Return to me after."
He straightened at Elias' words, not in a way that indicated that he hadn't been listening, for his eyes had been attentive during every second of Clare and Elias' conversation, bowing low at the command. "Yes, master," he replied, his voice strong yet strangely placid, almost… strained. Elias did not deign him with a response, merely waving his hand once more as the detached man made his way over to her seat, walking past her without pause. Understanding his indirect dismissal, she quickly rose from her seat, unsure for a moment if she were supposed to bow or something else, yet decided against it when Elias turned away from her, shifting his attention to a window on his left window. Eager to get away, she scurried off, following after her escort.
"Clare?" Elias' call gave her pause by the doorway, turning to see him now standing by the windowsill, hands clasped behind his back as he appeared deep in thought. He didn't even look at her when he continued, "Do not disappoint me."
Clare might have been entirely foreign to this man and his home, but she wasn't entirely oblivious. It was a threat, plain and simple. The first time he had let his pleasant mask slip, allowed her to see the danger that lurked beneath his sickly sweet smiles and sinister eyes.
She could only gulp. "I won't," she managed to reply. He only hummed at her words, clearly not believing her. Not yet.
"We'll see," was all he said. And with that, Clare practically bolted out of the door, not giving him another chance to try and call after her.
She caught her escort at the end of the hallway, clearly waiting for her to catch up. The pair continued on in silence, neither making an effort for conversation. Days ago, Clare would be panicking at the awkwardness of this situation, grasping at things to talk about. Now, she was just hoping she didn't anger anyone in this world into killing her before she found herself a way home.
Unwilling to allow herself to linger on those thoughts any longer, she threw caution in the wind for just a moment, and decided to risk trying to speak to her escort. "So, uh…" she began, unsure of herself. "This is the second time we've met and I still don't know your name."
Unlike Elloril, who had been shocked and even suspicious that Clare had even asked for her name, this man did not so much as blink. He doesn't bother to pause in walking, not sparing her a glance. Unsure if he heard her or not, she remains silent. Just when she thought he wasn't going to reply, his voice rings through the hallway, "My name is unimportant, my lady."
She can't help but let out a snort of indignation at his use of the words my lady, momentarily forgetting her panic in favor of amusement in being called such a medieval title. "I'm not a lady. And I still want to know your name, even if you think it's not important."
Her insistence didn't sway him in the slightest. "You are my master's apprentice now. You are a lady now," he replies, without missing a beat, as though that explained everything she needed to know.
"That still doesn't tell me your name," she replied, yet he still gave her no answer. He only continued on, not even annoyed or disgruntled by her insistent pestering.
Of course he wouldn't get annoyed. He's a slave. He'd probably get beat for so much as getting annoyed, a cruel voice in the back of her mind sneered, a harsh reminder of how awful this place was. And she was stuck right in the middle of it.
The pair remained walking for a few more minutes, Clare not bothering to try and get him to speak again. Instead, she focused her attention on the landscape that stretched past the windows where the afternoon sun slowly made its way under the horizon, idly thinking to herself. She was rather good at it, after all; thinking about everything and nothing. And now, trapped in this place and forced to study magic, of all things, under who she suspected to be a slightly deranged man, she had much to think about.
"We are here," the stranger's voice pulls her from her thoughts, pausing in front of a door. Job done, he turns to her, bowing low at the waist. She only stared at the sudden display, unsure what to say in reply, yet he doesn't even give her the chance to, turning on his heel and walking away.
"W- Wait!" Clare calls, uncertainty lacing her tone. The man stopped in his tracks, but does not look over his shoulder to meet her gaze. She lets out a sigh at that. "Thank you."
These people might not be used to being on the receiving end of human decency, but for as long as Clare was here, she was going to show them every ounce of kindness she could possibly give.
It was the very least she could do.
"... You are welcome, my lady," he said after a pause, continuing on.
She does not hesitate to enter her room after that, eyes appraising the suite. It was far more luxurious than the previous room she'd been sleeping in, not that she particularly minded. Elias could have made her sleep in a barn for all she cared, as long as he came through on his promise to send her home after she did whatever magic hocus-pocus he needed her to do.
Now in the safety of nothing but her own company, her mind whirled at everything she had just experienced. As she fell on her plush bed in a heap, staring at the canopy, she allowed herself to finally absorb everything that had just happened to her in only the span of a few hours.
First, she had somehow been transported to a strange, fantasy realm.
Second, she possessed magic, of all things, that she didn't understand how to use.
Third, she had made a deal with a man who owned slaves, that consisted of… what were his words again? Her magic and she serving him and his master, and in the meantime, he would look into finding a way home for her.
She closed her eyes at her own stupidity, running a hand down her face. What told her he didn't already know how to send her home, and was simply hiding it from her? It was a very plausible possibility. What was stopping him from just… hiding that vital piece of information from her, until she gave him whatever the hell he wanted? Because he very clearly wanted something from her, otherwise he wouldn't have asked her to serve him, right? He had asked her and her magic to serve him, so did that mean it had something to do with the magic? God, she was so lost, so confused, and couldn't even begin to understand just what she had gotten herself into. She could only comfort herself in the fact that Elias would probably have not budged if she tried to push her luck; knew he was likely only using her for his own needs. She was screwed.
She wanted to go home.
She would not give anyone, let alone Elias, the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Here, in this room, alone and isolated, she allowed herself the release as her tears finally sprung at her eyes, flowing endlessly down her cheeks. She had to be strong. To survive in this place, every action watched by this dangerous, very possibly cruel man, she had to be strong. Could not allow herself to break outside these walls. But here, in this small sanctuary, she would allow herself release.
She did not sleep that night, only stained the pillow with her never-ending tears.
She was in the coffee shop, alone, sitting at her usual booth. Harvey and Casey were nowhere to be found, the shop void of both staff and customers. Normally in dreams, one thought they were experiencing the waking world, only to understand they were dreaming until they actually woke up. Yet this was… different. She felt entirely conscious in this place, connected with her surroundings and thoughts. She knew, for the first time, that this wasn't real; merely a dream. But it was a comfort, one she desperately needed. For a long moment, Clare only sat there, allowing herself to bask in the illusion, convincing herself that she was back home and not in some strange fantasy land.
Of course, all illusions had to be broken eventually.
"Ir abelas, da'lin. Ar din elvar'nas sul min to gara."
A whisper, foreign yet familiar, forced her to open her eyes and turn to the direction of the noise, startled at the sight of a misty-green figure greeting her. Its voice was weak, as though the only thing holding it together was an old, withered rope. It was a faceless being, humanoid in nature, even if its form was one of translucent emerald mist that lilted in the air, shaping itself as a silhouette of a person. Yet despite its lack of features, one part of it was perfectly shaped, not a single speck of smoke out of place: its left hand, delicate and feminine.
Exactly like the hand that had pulled her into that fire.
Realization finally hitting her full-force, Clare gasped, a scream ripping its way through her throat as she pushes herself away from the being, finally registering that it was the same voice that had called out to her back then, back when she had-
"Get away from me!" Clare screamed, falling out of the booth in her desperation to put as much distance between them as possible. Despite it having no face, she could somehow feel the waves of guilt and sadness that exuded from it. It only made her more afraid.
It did not bother to chase her, or even attempt to approach. "I... apologize, I forgot for a moment humans spoke in this tongue," it continued, sounding almost apologetic despite how frail its voice sounded, slowly, hesitantly, flowing to her as Clare paused in her attempt to break away, conflicted as she debated throwing caution in the wind, even for a moment, to demand answers from it.
Her curiosity won out. "Who are you?! Are you the thing that pulled me through the green fire?!" The demands poured from her mouth in an unapologetic heap, casting her questions at the strange wraith-like thing that she was almost certain was responsible for everything that had happened to her.
It did not seem offended by her onslaught of questions. If anything, Clare could've sworn she heard a feeble chuckle fall from its misty lips. "Yes, it was I who brought you here. What I am is... unimportant. All that matters is you understand that I am your ally," it spoke, shifting as it made its way towards Clare's form, who didn't dare move at it twirled around her, as though inspecting every facet of her form. "You gave me my freedom, lethallan."
Clare's confusion surged in the perplexity of the being's words. "What? I don't understand-"
A weak giggle, surprisingly girlish, met her ears. "Of course you don't. Humans were always such clueless creatures. It seems it is a trait that runs across realms," Clare frowned at the blatant insult, opening her mouth to argue back, but the creature only continued on, unconcerned with her offense. "Alas, we are connected now, you and I. Two souls attached to one body."
Clare choked on whatever words she was going to say next, finding herself frozen in both fear and confusion at the phrase. She so desperately wanted to understand, needed to understand, yet every time she spoke only lead to more mysteries than answers.
"Please, I don't understand…"
Finally, it paused, seeming to finally register her despair at her own cluelessness. "You will not for a long time, lethallan. It is my fault you are here, but… I will not apologize for pulling you through that tear. I would explain, but it is too much for only one night. Heed my words: let the magister teach you, but remain cautious. He only wishes to use you," It spat the word magister out as though it were dirt stuck between its teeth, nonexistent as they were. "You already know it was my hand you grasped back in your own world. We are tied together now, you and I. You can trust me, because to endanger you would endanger myself. I am content to watch through your eyes. You are a... curious creature."
Tied together? Those words didn't bode well with Clare. "Are you a ghost? Did you possess me?" She knew she was grasping at straws, but she needed answers. She couldn't explain why, even to herself, but she found herself... trusting this being, despite the absurdity of its answers. Trusted its words, despite it being responsible for her position here. She didn't know why, and it made her want to pull her own hair out.
"Possession would imply I have the ability to control you, which I do not. A soul cannot be forced upon a living body."
Her words were cryptic, yet… strangely comforting. She opened her mouth to speak further, yet the being suddenly gasped out in pain, green specks flickering across its form as it reached up to clutch its head, groaning. Clare's eyes widened in surprise, something like concern coiling in her gut, yet before she could even ask if it was alright, the being spoke, "I weaken. I used much of my remaining power to bring you here, and so, I must rest. Heed my words, lethallan: do not trust the Magister. I can only protect you inside the Fade... it is up to you to guard yourself when you wake," it managed to get out, its voice becoming weaker by the second.
Clare had so many questions. Fade? Protecting her? She was so lost, so confused, in desperate need of answers, yet this encounter had only left her with more questions. Refusing to give up just yet, she blurted out, "Wait, I have questions-"
Yet she never got to ask them, for in that moment, she woke up.
Waking up the morning after was not a pleasant affair.
Her eyes were an uncanny mix of puffy and itchy from her hours of crying the night before, throat raw from wailing. She groaned at the discomfort of it all, turning over as she felt the sun against her eyelids, burying her face in the pillow.
"Good morning, my lady," A voice, gentle yet tinged with an edge of fear, welcomed her back to the land of the living.
"Mornin', Elloril," Clare greeted, sitting up and stretching as a yawn escaped her lips. She had never been much of a morning person, even with a coffee.
"Master Elias wishes for you to meet him in the library to begin your studies, my lady. I am to be your handmaiden during your stay here," the elvish woman continued, placing a silver tray in her lap, the sight of several fresh fruits along with bread and cheese greeting her. Her mouth almost watered, her stomach giving an angry rumble when she realized she hadn't eaten last night.
"Oh, thank you!" Clare smiled, not hesitating to dig in. The elvish woman bowed in response, an action that she missed, standing back to the wall, patiently waiting for Clare to finish her morning meal.
She was halfway through eating when a thought occurred to her. "Elloril," she began, the elvish woman immediately standing at attention, "When's the last time you ate?"
The question startled the slave, whose eyes glanced down at Clare's plate, tongue darting out to hungrily lick her chapped lips; an action she didn't miss. "We are permitted to eat the scraps from Master Elias' dinner, miss."
We, as in the rest of the slaves. She prayed Elias had extravagant, five-course meals, yet from how skinny Elloril was, she doubted that very much.
"Come sit with me," Clare invited, scooting over and patting the spot next to her. The elvish woman hesitated, expression guarded, but she wouldn't dare disobey a direct order from Elias' new, unfamiliar ward. Slowly sitting herself down next to Clare, posture stiff, she awaited whatever possible torture awaited her. She had heard stories of particularly cruel magisters taunting their slaves by forcing them to watch as their masters ate extravagant meals while they were on the brink of starvation. Clare had been kind to her the previous day, but she knew better than most slaves that their masters were easily subject to dreadful, violent mood swings, being owned by one such as Elias.
"Here, have some," Clare suggested, delicately picking up the tray, careful not to spill any of the food, and placing it upon Elloril's lap.
It clearly had been the last thing the slave had expected.
The elvish woman, however, remained afraid, "Oh, mistress, I could never-"
"Please, Elloril. I'm full anyway!" Well, that wasn't entirely the truth. She was still a bit hungry, but there was no way she was going to let this woman, who was little more than skin and bones, go hungry for another day. "It's really good. I promise I'm not playing a joke on you or anything."
How mistreated did these people have to be to flinch away, deathly afraid, from an act of kindness? It made Clare's heart hurt, to see something so awful such as real-life slavery right in front of her as she remained powerless to really help do anything about it.
"You are most kind, my lady, but the food is yours," Elloril deflected, attempting to push the tray back onto her lap, but she didn't budge.
"And I'm giving it to you now!" Clare chirped. Then, as an afterthought, she sighed, adding, "Please, don't be afraid of me. I want you to have some. If you really don't feel comfortable eating it, then would you take it down to the others and ask them if they want it?"
A silence stretched between the two, Elloril's eyes untrusting while Clare's remained hopeful. Finally, the elvish woman tilted her head, seeming to allow herself to speak what seemed to be troubling her, "You… I had heard whispers that you were not from this place, that Master Elias… took you from the Fade."
Clare thought about her next words carefully. Had Elias sent this woman to try and get information out of her? Despite those warnings in the back of her mind, her crippling loneliness and trust forced her to throw caution in the wind, giving a nod at her words. Of course she'd know; the servants and slaves were undoubtedly a tight-knit bunch. "Yeah, it's true. I'm… not from here. My home is a long way away. Elias promised to send me back if I... served him," she replied, shifting from her spot on the bed. Her next words were careful, spoken gently. "We... don't have slavery where I live." I'm not like Elias, is that she really wanted to say.
Elloril's brows raised to her hairline, clearly shocked such a place existed. "I see," she responded, not daring to say anything further; she wouldn't dream of speaking out against the practice that bound her to this estate, the man that could kill her without any repercussions whatsoever.
"So, please believe me when I say I just want to help you," Clare continued, nudging the food in her direction.
Several emotions passed across the elf's face. Confusion, apprehension, and finally, acceptance. Fingers shaking, she gently plucked a grape from the neatly-arranged fruit pile; the smallest thing on the plate. Fast as a bird, she plopped it in her mouth, chewing quickly. When Clare made no move to stop her, to rip the bowl from her grasp and exclaim that it was, in fact, a trick, she slowly reached for another. Soon, she had finished the whole bowl of fruit. Yet instead of eating the bread next, she neatly tore it into small chunks, hiding it away in her pockets.
Clare could only frown at that. "You don't need to ration it, Elloril. I'm going to keep sharing my meals with you," she explained, to which the woman paused, a confused expression casting over her face.
"I apologize, my lady. I... thought I would take some food with me for the younger ones. Is that alright?"
Her throat constricted painfully at her words. Younger ones, which undoubtedly meant children. Elias had children slaves.
She forced herself to blink the tears away, unwilling to break down here. Strong, she thought to herself. She had to be strong. "Of course it's alright, Elloril," she managed to get out.
For the first time, the elvish woman smiled; a true smile, one of genuine happiness, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Shaking her head, she stood up, making her way over to the wardrobe. "Come, my lady. I must get you ready. Master Elias is not a patient man."
They spent the next few minutes getting Clare ready, Elloril dressing her in intricate robes that seemed fit for a noble, the fabric gentle across her pale skin. It was as Elloril was lacing up her intricate robes from behind the young woman as she leaned forward, so close that her lips nearly grazed her ear. Clare jumped at her sudden closeness, breath caught in her throat, yet didn't make a sound. "My lady… no human has ever shown me kindness as you did this morning, so I will tell you this as a way of thanks: to survive in this place, do as Master Elias says. No matter what," Elloril pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not to say her next words. With a small sigh, one of resignation, she whispers so quietly Clare almost didn't catch it, "He is not as kind as he makes himself out to be."
Clare gulped at her warning, her throat seizing up in unparalleled fear. She hadn't trusted Elias from the start, her gut screaming at her that something wasn't quite right, but hearing her fears confirmed, knowing she was about to walk into the devil's den… God, how had this happened to her?
"Thank you for telling me," she breathed, unable to say anything more.
Elloril, seeming to understand, only nodded. "Just be obedient."
Obedient. Clare could do obedient. "Okay."
All too soon, the pair had to leave the safety of the room, Elloril slowly leading the way to the library. As they walked, the words the strange being had uttered to her stayed within the back of her mind. Do not trust the magister. It wasn't necessarily a warning she needed, because even she, as out of place and new to this world as she was, could see the leash Elias kept on himself, clearly wishing for some part of himself to remain hidden. She wouldn't lie to herself; she didn't know whether to give the dream merit or not. It was, after all, just a dream. What startled her was that she remembered everything. Every detail of the wisp-like creature that spoke to her, of the words it spoke, she recalled in perfect clarity. Like a memory that didn't fade. Perhaps it had been her own subconscious talking to her, warning her of the obvious dangers to heed? Had she made that creature up within her dream because she was desperate for answers? Even with those deprecating thoughts, she refused to dismiss it just yet; if she could be transported to a world where magic was real, she certainly didn't have a choice but to carefully consider everything she thought she knew.
"My lady," Elloril's voice broke her out of her reverie, bowing low at the waist when Clare shifted her eyes to her. They had paused at a large set of doors, a foreboding gateway as she realized who awaited her through them.
She cleared her throat, not quite ready to go in just yet. "It's through there?"
A hint of a reassuring smile caught upon the elvish woman's lips, but she smothered it before it could go any further. "Yes, my lady. Master Elias is waiting for you."
"Thank you," Clare said gently, quietly enough so that no one could hear her. Elloril simply gave her a nod and bowed once more, dismissing herself as she turned on her heel and walked away.
Clare couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips at seeing her new and only ally walk away. It was just her now, about to jump headfirst into the devil's den.
For now, all she could do was use everything in her power to master her… magic, and become skillful enough at it that she could give whatever Elias wanted as soon as possible, and hope he would come through on his end of the bargain. Steeling herself, she straightened her posture and lifted her hand to the door, giving it a gentle knock. Not waiting for Elias' permission, she opened the door, peeking inside for her tutor. Her eyes quickly swept over the room, shocked at the shelves upon shelves that held books, tomes, and scrolls. She'd never seen anything quite like it through her own eyes before; only in movies and fantasy artworks.
"Ah, you've arrived! I was about to send someone to look for you," Elias' voice rang throughout the library, advancing to her form that lingered near the doorway. He smirked as she slowly approached, seeming satisfied at what Elloril had dressed her in. "I trust you are ready for your first lesson?"
I'm ready to go home, she thought to herself, but bit her tongue before the words could come tumbling out. "Yes, sir."
"Good," he replied, drawing out the word as he lead her towards a hardwood table at the center of the room. Pulling out a leather-bound book from under his arm, he carefully placed it on the surface, specks of dust fluttering off its cover.
"Tell me, dear apprentice, can you read these words?" Elias asked, opening the book to a random page and tilting it towards her. She squinted at the pages, every individual letter the same height, all lined edges and no curves. As she stared at it, she vaguely recalled her high school lessons in ancient history, and realized the language resembled Archaic Latin.
"No," she replied, "I can't. Is that your common language?"
He seemed… pleased by her admission. She had expected him to be angry at the setback in her learning process, yet instead, he showed the opposite reaction at the hindrance. She didn't have the time to wonder why, as he quickly set to talking again.
"It is the common tongue, also referred as the King's Tongue or Trade tongue. If you cannot read it, I will teach you by words alone," he said, pushing the book to the side.
He did not give her the opportunity to speak or ask questions, instead heading straight into his lesson. "Now, the first thing you must understand about magic is this: it is the greatest gift one can be given," he began. "Since you are entirely unfamiliar with magic, I will start from the beginning. Conventional magic originates from the Fade, where both spirits and demons dwell, and also where the living visit when they dream. Mages have a certain affinity… connection, if you will, to the Fade, in which they are able to channel energy from it. Within the Fade, a person's surroundings can be reshaped by those who have grasped its nature, so mages have the ability to do this within the waking world."
And so began her first lesson, stretching on for hours on end. Clare absorbed every word of it, more afraid of upsetting Elias than an eagerness to learn, only interjecting during drawn-out pauses when the questions burned within her. Is magic genetic? Were specific people more adept at it than others? How many schools of magic were there? He answered each vaguely, not allowing room for details before he moved onto his next subject.
It was upon his elaboration of the Fade that she became skeptical, the mention of demons a concept she couldn't quite believe. "You said… demons?"
He sensed her skepticism, a disapproving frown stretching at his lips. "Yes, demons. They are malicious spirits that usually embody negative emotions, and crave to join the living through the act of possession. They are a cause for caution for untrained mages, but you should not allow fear to control yourself; they feed off of such emotions. They are not so terrifying as the barbarians in the south make them out to be. They are simply useful tools to extend your power if you know how to safely interact with them; they are no cause for fear, as we mages are far more powerful than such things."
His explanation on how to handle spirits and demons stretched on for another few hours, emphasizing the significance of how to interact with them, and understanding that the two were incredibly different. At first, the concept of such beings terrified her; an entity that could invade her dreams as she slept, overpower her and possess her, turning her into an… abomination, as Elias had called it, was plenty enough reason for caution. For a moment, she had feared that the thing that had spoken to her in her dream the night before was such a thing, yet quickly dismissed the suspicion when Elias went on to explain that abominations transformed their host into an unrecognizable monster. While it was a terrifying concept, Elias assured her it was incredibly easy to avoid such a fate, and quickly went on to teach her how to avoid such a thing. Wards, spells, incantations, advise on how to safely converse with spirits and demons without risking oneself. Demons fed off of the negative emotion it embodied; desire, despair, envy, pride… one could generally tell if it was a demon if it aimed at making a deal with the mortal it interacted with, intending to lead to possession one way or another. While spirits sought to help or understand mortals for their own purpose, demons sought to consume, possess. An easy concept to grasp, really.
It was so much information, yet she absorbed every word out of sheer necessity, out of fear of Elias' wrath if she dared to deflect her attention to anything else but him. It was the type of teacher he was, she quickly learned. Impatient, unforgiving, and incredibly strict. She hadn't really expected anything less from him; it suited his character rather well.
It was as the sun spilled past the library's shelves and into their small sanctuary that marked the coming of the afternoon when Elias finally ended their lesson. Clare had always prided herself on being a rather dutiful student, a person who enjoyed learning, but even she felt the familiar strain of being overwhelmed with information she had been so accustomed to experiencing back in high school, desperate to raise her grades enough to score a scholarship. Even so, as she followed Elias' lead and stood up from her chair, she didn't dare complain. Didn't dare say anything that could induce his anger.
"I have my business to attend to, my apprentice. You may go anywhere you wish inside the estate except the left wing; that is a rather… private area, if you will. I'm sure you understand," he said, sparing her a short glance, daring her to question him. When she made no move to, he continued, "Ah, I almost forgot. I have a gift for you. A… welcoming present."
Clare instantly opened her mouth to object, not entirely willing to accept anything from him if it meant he could potentially use it against her in the future. Yet before she could even force the words out, he had already lifted his staff and gently tapped it against the floor once, then twice. At the unspoken signal, the library door opened, her escort from the night before making his way inside, respectfully falling to his knees at Elias' feet. It made Clare sick, seeing such an act of obedience which was born from slavery.
"I'm sure you remember my bodyguard, Voss, yes?" Elias asked, interrupting her from her thoughts.
She didn't dare let her eyes flicker to him, didn't dare let him even see just how horrified she was at the sight of the leather collar around the man's neck. Voss. His name was Voss. This isn't how she wanted to formally meet him. She had wanted him to give her his name himself, not be introduced by Elias like some kind of pet. "I… yes, I remember."
He clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. "Good! Because from this day forth, he is yours."
Clare didn't even try to hide her shock at his admission, head whirling to his direction as the meaning of his words set in. "I'm sorry, what?"
"He is yours now, my apprentice. He has served me well during his service, but I have no need for a bodyguard any longer; not as I am. But you, an untrained mage and my recently appointed apprentice? That will raise some eyebrows. I would hate for anything to happen to you, whether by your own hand or because a foolish rival wished to damage what is mine. 'Tis for your own safety, my dear. And you deserve only the best."
She felt bile rise in her throat at his words; at his admission that he considered her his property, at the fact he was gifting her a slave, at the fact that he was insinuating she was in danger by simply being associated with him.
But she didn't have time to panic, not when his pleased expression was slowly disintegrating into impatience when she didn't immediately reply. "T- Thank you, Elias, but… I can't possibly accept such an, er… generous gift!"
It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Silence stretched between the three, but there didn't need to be any noise just to know that Elias was angry. "You wouldn't refuse my awfully kind gift, would you, Clare?" Elias asked, his grip on his staff tightening dangerously as the room's temperature suddenly dropped, a shiver running across her spine as he took a step towards her. "That would be awfully… rude. I would hate for my apprentice to be so... ill-mannered."
Obedient, she remembered. Elloril had warned her of this. That she had to do whatever Elias said. Even, apparently, accepting a slave from him.
"I…" What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? "I'm sorry, Elias. I didn't mean to offend you."
He only hummed in response. "You accept, then?"
She hated him. In that moment, the kindling of dislike Clare had felt for him only a few moment before burned into hatred, into an inferno of anger and fury.
But she had to be strong. Had to remain in his good graces if she wished to return home. So she smoothed her features, and gave him a grateful smile. "Of course."
"Wonderful," he purred, tilting his head towards the elf who still remained on his knees on the floor. "What do you say to your new owner, Voss?"
Clare could hardly withhold the flinch that overtook her at being called the owner of another person. Voss, however, showed no reaction. He only bowed his head further, his forehead pressing against the hardwood floor. "I am yours to serve, mistress."
She felt too sick to even reply.
Elias, however, didn't seem bothered at her silence, only clapping his hands together in delight. "How marvelous! It is my honor to gift you your first slave," his eyes gleamed, either uncaring or oblivious at her horror, "Serve me well, Clare, and he will be your first of many."
Was that supposed to make her happy? Make her feel pleased with himself? Or was he aware of just how much he was torturing her in this very moment?
I need to get out of here.
Her next words were careful, precise. "Hopefully, I will have found a way home before I can… take such advantages of your generosity."
Her acting seemed to be a lot better this time around, for Elias seemed far more pleased with her words than the first time she had lied. "So very polite. You and I shall get along just fine, I believe," he chuckled lightly to himself, as though he were sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. "Alas, I must be going. Voss shall escort you to dinner. Remember, my dear: you are free to wander the estate, just not the left wing. Do make sure to remember."
He was already halfway out the door when she meekly answered, "Yes, sir."
And then, he was gone, leaving only her and Voss in the room.
For a long moment, she only stood there, blinking away the angry tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She felt repulsive, disgusted with herself. Elias had given her a slave, and she had hardly even fought him on the issue. Had accepted it with a fake smile, unwilling to risk herself. And now, an innocent man was paying the price.
But now wasn't the time for breaking down. Now was the time for action.
She cleared her throat, eyes shifting to the man's who was still kneeling on the floor, waiting for him to get up. When he made no effort to, she sighed. "Uh, you don't have to wait for my permission or anything, Voss. You can stand up."
"Of course, mistress," he smoothly replied, instantly standing while keeping his head bowed.
She inwardly recoiled at being called mistress. "Voss, um," she began, unsure how to continue. "Please, you don't need to call me mistress. I… I don't consider you a slave, and don't want you to consider me as your... master." She spat the word master out like it was poison burning her tongue.
For a long moment, Voss simply stood there, deliberating. His expression gave absolutely nothing away, remaining as impassive and blank as when Elias was in the room. She thought that he wouldn't speak, remain as cool and emotionless as the day before when he walked her back to her room; she could hardly blame him. Yet, just as she was about to give up trying to get something out of him, he spoke, "It is what we are, mistress."
She almost jumped at his voice, yet managed to remain composed. "It's what we are?" she questioned, confused.
Once again, he paused, clearly considering his next words carefully. He didn't want to risk offending her, she realized. She supposed in his position, he had to be cautious. He had every reason to be cautious around her; she was an unknown, suddenly taken under the wing of his master, who, if Elloril was to be believed, was a far more sinister character than she realized. And now, he had been gifted to her, as though he were an object, a possession to be freely passed along from one person to the next. It was with those thoughts that fueled the sincerity behind her next words, a gentle vow she swears in that moment that she will not break. "I don't own slaves where I'm from, Voss. The practice is considered vile, inhumane. Please… I don't want to own slaves, don't want anything to do with this," she made a vague gesture towards his neck, where the leather collar remained, "You deserve freedom. Everyone does."
Sometime during her little speech, Voss had lifted his head to stare at her. A glint of something - hope, maybe? - flashed across his features, yet it passed as quickly as it came. All that remained was that same lifeless expression that she swore, somehow, while she remained here, would help to bring life to.
"You are in Tevinter now, mistress. Slaves do not deserve anything," he slowly said, "Master Elias would not be pleased by such talk, my lady."
It was a warning, she quickly realized. A gentle warning, one that warned her of the words that this place would probably consider treachery.
Yet even then, she wouldn't apologize. Wouldn't bend. If Elias was going to use her for something, keep her around in this awful place for a purpose she still did not know, she was not going to wait around silently. "Indeed," she replied, voice quiet and almost mischievous. "It's a shame he isn't here to hear it, isn't it?"
This time, he openly stared, and for the first time, she saw emotion on that freckled face; a slight tilt of the head, a gentle furrow of the brow, a sharp intake of breath. She swore it would not be the last. "... A shame indeed, mistress."
And in that moment, for the first time since coming to Thedas, she managed to smile.
oh. my. gosh. guys, you have no idea how hard this chapter was to write. writers block kicked me so hard! but i finally managed to complete it. i'm not entirely happy with it, will probably go back and rewrite a few things, but for now, i just want to give you guys something! thank you all for being patient, i'd love to hear your thoughts! until next time xo