Season content notes: torture, nonsexual dubcon,
Falthro stayed up through the night, praying. Dannu ignored him, responding to neither his pleas for absolution nor demands for explanation. Finally, as dawn broke the east, he braced himself for the day to come.
Breakfast was an ordeal, but he was used to choking down food—both physical and spiritual—no matter how much he suffered. He was grimly certain that, on this morning, Dannel’s suffering was far worse than his.
Almost as if the thought summoned him, Falthro’s personal servant escorted Dannel into the room. Before either could say anything, Falthro asked, “Have you eaten?”
“No, Lord Falthro.” Dannel swallowed.
His servant…was this one Beattie? No, Beattie had been the last one. Regardless, she knew his ways. She set a second plate on the table and filled it. Falthro pointed at it. “Eat. No matter how badly you feel, no matter what you face each day, unless you wish to die, you eat. Food is life, and not eating makes it that much more likely you will die.”
Dannel glared at him, but Falthro didn’t notice. The man’s emotions had lit a fire behind his eyes, a fire only partly eased by his servant’s soothing presence. He chose his people for that quality.
One bite at a time, he forced himself to finish his pastry. When the last crumb was gone, he shoved his plate away. Across the table, Dannel half swallowed, half choked on, a mouthful of eggs. After a few more bites, he set his fork down and met Falthro’s eyes.
“I can say nothing to sway you? No plea, no argument.”
Falthro looked away. “I cannot break my oath to Dannu. Not will not, cannot.” The last of Dannel’s hope died, but the man only nodded. “They say there is a special black stone fae are helpless against.”
Falthro sat back in his chair. The anger and hate pouring off Dannel told him where this was going. Some other emotion flickered behind them, but subtleties were lost on the fae. “Starmetal. I have seen none since we came to this land. If you did manage to find any and use it against me, I would call it justice.”
Dannel’s eyes widened. “Would you?”
“The crime you were accused of is so very heinous, no lesser punishment will fill the terms of my oath. And yet, does that not make my crime against you just as heinous?” Falthro shrugged, “Note I do not say I would stand still while you plunged starmetal into my heart or any such dramatics. Only that if you managed to do so, I would call it justice.” Closing his eyes, Falthro saw the coming horror. Dannel had chosen exile and to seek revenge, no matter what it cost him.
The taste of determination overwhelmed that of hate and anger. Determination and…respect? The slither of cloth broke the silence. Falthro opened his eyes. Dannel knelt before him, hands fisted and face strangely calm.
“Lord Falthro, I doubt I will ever forgive what you do, but you have been honest with me. Of the choices you offer me… I will be your slave.”
Falthro gripped the table with trembling hands and whispered a prayer of thanks. The next several decades would be pain-filled, but his hands would not bear more innocent blood. “So be it.”
For the first time in his long life, the fae lord bowed to a human.
One week later.
The door to the glamourhame opened. “Enter and be silent.”
Dannel stepped into the torture chamber and bowed to the fae lord within. The door closed behind him.
The lord snapped his fingers impatiently, pulling Dannel out of his thoughts. “Strip and kneel.” The lord pointed to the center of the room.
Dannel removed his clothes and knelt in the indicated spot. Small pieces of grit on the floor dug into his knees. He stared straight ahead and ignored the discomfort, sure worse would come.
The lord said nothing further. He settled into a well-padded chair and seemed to fall into a doze.
The grit pained Dannel’s knees, but he ignored it. A few blessed minutes without the housekeeper or cook cursing him, berating him, dumping slops on him, and otherwise making it clear to all and sundry that Dannel was the whipping boy for all the slaves serving Lord Falthro. A few minutes free of that was worth a little pain.
He shifted his weight, unconsciously trying to find a comfortable position. All he did was force the grit into new areas of his knees. Why wasn’t Lord Falthro doing something?
Dannel gritted his teeth and did his best to block out the pain. The whips, knives, and “furniture” everywhere he looked reminded him that the fae could do much worse than have him kneel on a gritty floor. He didn’t remember the floor here being dirty, but he hadn’t been paying attention last time, either.
Lord Falthro had sworn to craft punishments for the councilors of Elm Grove, who had falsely condemned Dannel. Dannel tried to distract himself by imagining what the fae might do. Lord Falthro had also said that, in some way, Dannel’s presence would be a punishment to Lord Falthro himself. Dannel still had no idea what that meant.
The pain slowly blossomed into agony. Maybe Dannel should have asked the fae to kill him. Death couldn’t be worse than a lifetime of this. Could it?
Sweat dripped down Dannel’s face. No matter how he tried, he could think of nothing but the pain, the pain, the pain. He was bent over, arms wrapped around himself and rocking back and forth. Lord Falthro had sworn Dannel would not be crippled, but how could he hurt so much otherwise? It was not obedience that kept him on the floor. He couldn’t believe his legs would still carry him if he tried to stand.
Lord Falthro stood suddenly. “You may sit in the chair. I will send someone for you.”
Dannel couldn’t hold back a sob. He tried to stand and fell over onto his side. Lord Falthro helped him up and offered him a shoulder until he reached the seat. The freedom from pain was a bliss he had never imagined. “You did well,” the fae said. Dannel pulled away from the fae’s hands and snarled. To his surprise, Lord Falthro only nodded and left the room.
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