Work Text
“No such thing as sacrifice and no means left to compromise.”
Illness
It was a curse, he thought. He’d heard others his age say the same thing. Such a shame to stand out so much, so vivid against the dirty background of the markets, the mud, the drab ragged clothing.So he was smaller.Yeah, that was to be expected. It was strange to be seen as smaller even among his fellows, his kin, in the groups that huddled in the market's corners. He’d been ostracized from the start to an extent. There had been some, here or there, who’d let them hide behind them when headcounts went through or relented to him clinging to their arm or their hand. Especially the adults, they tended to show more mercy than children his age. Wasn’t that uniquely cruel?As they were moved from place to place, he tried to understand the world around him and felt he always failed. Always so scared of the inevitability. He knew his fate. Yet he’d struggle against it, work his hardest even when the tightness of the leather around his neck, the buckle feeling cold even if he’d worn it as long as he could remember. To yearn for freedom wasn’t quite right, not in his mind anyway. It wasn’t something that aligned.Then again, not much about him did.He was smaller.Smaller than the rest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“And what little desire I had to try.”
Training
“You’re not going to reach.”“J-Just…w-watch me!” He’d bark back in some kind of forced false bravado because it was all he had, smaller than the rest.Step step step and reach, hook your fingers at the top knuckle and try to brace that way. Press with your shoulder instead of bashing, keep your weight in your heels, throw from your wrist, not your elbow, and channel the shining star in your chest outward, not upward.At least, those were the vague tips given by his seniors. All of it was rather complicated for him.Again, those his own age were nothing but cruel. He didn’t blame them for that. They were competing with each other, after all, and only the best would be allowed to continue, others sold off into different…occupations.Only two options for his sort.He’d known that from an age far younger than he ought to.So he’d work just as hard, if not harder. But he was smaller.And as he grew up…as his body toned with muscle and curved with age...“My, my, my, what a lovely little thing!”She was looking at him up and down, examining each plane of his body and tilt of his features. His stomach clenched.A second curse upon the first.Not only was he smaller, but the humans also seemed to find him prettier.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I guess there's more of me to take.”
Shelter.
Starlit Silver.That was the name on an intricately inlaid sign on the outer gates that received horse, carriage, and redstone wagons of the highest regard.The noises around this place were worse than those in the old training market.At least, he thought so.He’d worked so hard not to be sold to something like this, and yet here he was. What sort of shelter was there? None.Not in these clothes that were shades of green his new Mistress insisted suited him best, which only made his stomach roil. They didn’t cover enough. He hated them. But it was them or nothing, and in a place like this, nothing was far too terrible of an option, so he took them with a bowed head and a submissive murmur of thanks.Not like there was anything left to fight for. He’d done all he could.A first curse to be smaller, a second curse to have grown lovely, at least, the humans thought so. It made him hate even more. But what even was there to hate?The humans? Sure, but that wasn’t hard, nor was it particularly original.Himself? …well, maybe, but he’d gone so far as to fade to obscurity in and of himself, without the training, he felt almost foolish for fighting so hard.All of it taken away in an instant. He hadn’t even been allowed to finish the program he’d initially been sold too, which was meant to be some sort of guarantee, if not to him, then at least to make him more valuable.
Bedwarmer, bodyguard…I could be anything you like.
The line had tasted like acid when he’d been made to speak it. His voice, too; maybe he ought to call it a third curse?Growing up, it deepened and took on a unique tone. Raspy yet high, and his cadence was like a roll of thunder. He didn’t do it on purpose. Yet when the Mistress of this place had come shopping for new additions, she’d seen him standing out from the rest.Nothing he could do about it.And now here he was not a day over sixteen, behind the curtains that served as shelter for precious seconds as he tried to straighten himself.Align his eyes.Unique.Curse them all.It still itched and ached, along his ribcage, over skin that had already braved enough scars, so why did she even bother? His new Mistress apparently found it to be essential to her branding.Curse her, too.Stars.Two interlocking stars. Rounded at the edges to give a lovely, demure, almost…dare he think to himself pretty…kind of look that he hated.Hate, of course, wasn’t anything unfamiliar to him.Pale shimmers that had hummed alongside the taps of the needle, and of course, he hadn’t been allowed to move. He’d known better than to pull away, ignored the pricks and hurt even are tears burned behind squeezed shut eyelids, no different than a scar he tried to say within his mind. But it wasn’t. In a vacuum the tattoo wasn’t something ugly, he supposed, compared to any other number of things she could’ve had inked into his skin. Yet it still marred him. Different from scars, in that way, because scars could fade to old memories and never be recollected, or at least they could be denied, banished to the realm of unsung nightmares.Stars.He remembered being younger and seeing them as something brilliant and beautiful. Like the shining star in his chest, that he pressed outward, to use magic that let him paint with shimmer and shine in the air around him. It was something from when he was very, very small, that he might’ve loved.Grown up to love.Had he ever loved anything? The curtains are only temporary shelter. Same as the fabric so gauzy and thin, so tightly fit as to show him off in all the ways he hated. To cover the ink she put into his skin, to be revealed right on time, decoratively splayed over skin as of yet untouched.He knew that wasn’t going to last much longer.Yet when the curtains part, it wasn’t as though he had a choice but to put on a show for the gathered masses of sinners draped in luxuries.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“And as I amble through familiar aches I long to just unfold.”
Emotion
Don’t show it.Easy enough.Just bite your tongue, because your voice will only get you in more trouble...as you got older it got deeper, but it clung to the same qualities as before. The cadence that moved as if bounding in snow, and even still it could pitch up higher, especially during those acts you despise...have always and will always despise.Keep it to yourself, before long she might have you trained to sing, and stars above you’d hate that.Not as though this wasn’t terrible enough already.He’d been at the brothel nearly two years now. Grown used to this life, or, as used to it as he could. The lights he caused to dance through the ceiling during his stage performances still drew gasps of awe, but it never made him feel much aside from shame.His magic was used for little more than fairy lights and shows of splendor here. Not to say he had much pride in it otherwise; he hadn’t been allowed to train that far in the old market of his youth, but he’d certainly gotten far enough to know how to do so much more.They didn’t need more from him here.The buckle still felt cold against his throat, even if it was polished to a shine, expected of him, to present himself in those shades of green, gauzy and thin to leave little to the imagination, entertaining his Mistress’s high paying ‘guests’ alongside dozens of others.The place oozed luxury in a way that made him sick.Starlit Silver.Far to delicate a name for a brothel.It was located near the arena in the royal capital. It was where he’d lived for two years now, performing nightly and entertaining daily in all manner of ways to ensure the customers' utmost pleasure.He’d gotten a good grasp on his stomach and his gag reflex at this point. Hadn’t really had any other choice. He was popular. Hated that, too.Hated himself?
…but should I even bother?
More than anything, he felt tired. Resigned was also the wrong word.“Lord Heath! My my my, what a wonderful surprise, it’s so rare you travel to the capital! Such an honor to entertain you!” His Mistress was a woman who usually dressed in fine glittering shawls over well-fitting evening gowns that cinched her waist and accentuated her cleavage. She entertained the guests as well in the sense of welcoming them to her luxurious little business and getting a feel for what they wanted in their night.He took Lord Heath’s traveling cloak and scurried away to place it in the coat closet. Took a settling breath there. Anytime any of them were in front of the Mistress they had to be nothing less than perfect, even the paying guests were oftentimes more forgiving than her on account of how they were usually in a good mood when they came to the Starlit Silver.“Lady Starla.” It was all he bothered to say as he let the woman cling upon his arm and lead him toward the private lounge she kept for only the most valuable clientele.Lord Heath was a curt man with handsome features. Tall and muscular, with long shining blonde hair streaking gray and a well-kept goatee and mustache. He didn’t look like a man in mourning, which is why he was so stunned when he brought drinks up for him and his Mistress.“…oh, I am so terribly sorry, my Lord…to hear of the passing of your darling youngest son, I couldn’t imagine the grief!”
…so excessive…
He couldn’t help but consider it as he entered, keeping his steps silent on the polished porcelain tile floors, far to easy to slip on if you weren’t careful, but their beauty was deemed more important than practicality. Considering the lazy sauntering gait of all the guests, it was more a problem for the slaves.For him.But again, he’d bite his tongue.Lord Heath took the crystal glass filled with shining amber alcohol, swirling the drink without sipping it.He carried the tray around to his Mistress, offering her one of her usual ridiculously sugary, overly decorative drinks…which many would be shocked to see contained no alcohol. She preferred to keep her mind sharp when entertaining her guests.She took the drink with delicate fingers covered over in shining rings, nails polished to shimmer like starlight. He tucked the tray under one arm. His green covering robe was gauzy like a veil, and the golden lightning that filled the Starlit Silver always made him feel exposed.He’d gotten used to it.At least, he tried to convince himself he had.“He was…a complicated child.” Lord Heath replied after a moment, finally taking a singular sip of his drink. His slate-colored eyes remained matched with Lady Starla, whose perfectly coiffed pale blonde hair had a few tastefully curled wisps tumbling behind her ears, accentuated with bright earrings.“And yet!” She said, clasping a hand to her cheek as if devastated herself.It was all such a tasteful little stage play.Made him sick having to stand here and listen to it.
Dismiss me already…
He silently pleaded, eyes darting up from where they’d been fixed to his boots. A slight heel to force a tasteful swaying gait, yet not high enough to ruin his appeal of being so small.So small.So lovely.“To be frank, his death in and of itself doesn’t greatly pain me. I have two other sons who are of far better manner.” Lord Heath finally said, which he’d been expecting.The man didn’t exactly seem the doting father.“Oh, is that so? Then what does, my Lord?” Lady Starla took this information without a moment's pause, not showing any sort of abject horror at his easy dismissal of the murder of his son.“That the mercenary who did it was so blatant…the Slayer. I admit it rather irks me that they think they can do such a thing and simply carry on. To cross me ought to take more mettle than that, to simply take his head and disappear without confronting me directly?” Lord Heath clicked his tongue once…he tried not to flinch at the noise, yet it just had that kind of power.“An honorable adversary ought to step to me directly.”“But my Lord, a mercenary isn’t meant to pick fights with nobility. Especially not one as well known for martial prowess as you.” She plied the words so sweetly it was nauseating.“Even still…if I were a younger man, I’d hunt them down myself, just to punish them for the slight.”“The Slayer is infamous. It would be far to dangerous an expedition to place yourself on, my Lord. A wise decision not too…”Lord Heath made a displeased noise and knocked back the rest of his drink in a few swallows, then silently extended his glass outward.He moved quickly and with silent steps around to him, leveling the tray again for him to place the glass on.“Another drink, my Lord?” He asked in a voice as small as he could manage.“Yes.” The Lord didn’t bother to look at him.“Right away, sir.”He moved with the same kind of careful grace he always used in front of his Mistress, knowing better than to display even the smallest hint of clumsiness under her watchful eye. He’d pay hell for it later if he did.Yet he felt her eyes on him regardless. His skin prickled from them. Yet he focused on his task, setting the Lord’s glass on the bar cart and refilling it.“Perhaps, my Lord, you could send someone to punish the Slayer in your stead?” Lady Starla asked softly, and Lord Heath let out the barest minimum of a sigh.“And who? I do not wish to send any of my own men like pigs to the slaughter…the Slayer is not one to toy with idly. The mercenary guild hands them only their toughest assignments, and rumor claims they haven’t failed yet.”“I see, I see…”He brought the drink back and offered the tray silently. Lord Heath again took the drink without looking at him. Not that he was expecting anything else.
Dismiss me, dismiss me, dismiss me…
Her eyes darted up to him a moment, and he made the mistake in that instant of having glanced up at her again from where he’d been keeping his gaze safely on his own boots.“…if I may offer, as an old friend, my Lord…a suggestion.”He knew where this was going before she said anything more. His stomach clenched as he tucked the tray beneath his arm again, but he knew better than to try and flee, escape the room or otherwise even curl into himself.She clicked her fingers at him and he paused.Caught standing in front of their chairs, these two humans he hated, but that was nothing new, and yet maybe it was the old continent itself he should hate?It’s fault that he was born to a fate like this.“His sort are trained as assassins, and yet they’re so lovely…and with their light magic, they’re often used as prostitutes or for entertainment like here at my establishment. Prior to my purchasing him, he was in a training market.”Lord Heath, for the first time all evening, looked into his face.He didn’t dare look up from his boots this time.“I see…and what do you recommend, Lady Starla?”“A gift, my Lord. I don’t think for a moment he’d be able to kill the Slayer, but he’d certainly be able to bother them an awful lot of trouble…and it would be of no loss to you.”“But what of you?”“I’ve had him two years now…while it’s true he’s unique, I’m sure I could find a replacement. It’s a small price to pay if it might bring you some closure on the death of your son, my Lord.”They talked like he wasn’t here.No, that wasn’t quite right.They talked like he was trash, like they were just searching for the most useful way to throw him out, and now they’d found it. It wasn’t as though he’d ever done badly in his work here, either, as if that were even an option.It wasn’t.Then again, neither was this.“I see…a most generous gift, Lady Starla. I will not forget it.”Her eyes flashed victoriously.It was true.He knew it, if for a moment he stepped out to look from beyond his view.His loss was meaningless compared to having the most well-respected of all the Lords owe his Mistress a favor.That’s how she would see it, anyway.“Please think nothing of it, my Lord.” She practically purred, and maybe he ought to say it was a silver lining that he wouldn’t have to hear that voice for much longer.Her eyes turned to him. When she spoke, her tone shifted just barely, and it wasn’t as though he even needed that much. All that mattered was her intention.
“You are to go kill the Slayer, and be absolutely quiet while doing it.”
Ah, what a fate.His fingers tightened against the tray as he took a breath to reply instinctively, ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘understood’ or whatever else. Then he processed the order, comprehended it…, and the runes circling his collar sparked.
Kill the Slayer.
Absolutely quiet.
He swallowed and nodded once in response instead, the voice he’d thought maybe he ought to call his third curse stilling in his throat.Departed the next morning to start about sealing his fate.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Tell me all of this will be more than a face and bitter memory”
Training
It probably should’ve been a lot harder to actually track her down.In all honesty, though, the fact that it had only taken him several weeks was probably impressive…but it wasn’t as though she exactly hid her identity. It was just that not a lot of people believed it when they found out that such a dainty little elf woman was, in fact, the famed Slayer.He hadn’t exactly gotten much to help him out. A bit of coin, a few days worth of food…it was a lucky thing he’d learned to scavenge while at the training market. Otherwise, he’d have starved long before he could manage to give the Slayer any trouble.Her or her avian and her nether-born friend and her nether-born friends avian.Things really could never be simple, could they?Couldn’t he just get a quick death out of this, at least?
No, don’t start thinking that…
He had to strictly remind himself.The way his Mistress had given him the orders had made all of this extensively more complicated.
Kill the Slayer.
Absolutely quiet.
Of course, the actual punishment triggered by his collar all had to do with perspective. He needed to sleep in order to kill the Slayer. He needed to eat in order to kill the Slayer. Therefore those activities didn’t trigger the collar, thankfully. Otherwise he’d long since be dead.But the problem was, he also couldn’t ever let his will break. His actions all had to be taken with the intent of killing the Slayer.
I need to kill her.
I need to kill her.
I need to kill her.
He let out a sigh as the prickles faded, squeezing his eyes shut a moment and trying to concentrate. He’d been trying to train back up his light magic as best he could. The magical strength of his folk was drawn from temperature, so their power over light was tied instead to the seasons. At least, for him it was…others felt different, but then, many he’d met in the markets before that had been similar to him weren’t, in fact, just the same.He’d never been just the same…sometimes he wondered if even his Mistress realized that. You’d think that drawing his strength from a place of cold would make things easier as winter closed it’s icy claws over the old continent.It didn’t.He wasn’t running low yet though, which was good, because at this point he easily would’ve been dead fifteen times over if he hadn’t had the use of his magic. The cut on his arm still oozed congealed blood…all from the Slayer detecting him creeping closer and taking a swing at him. It had been his first attempt on her life, moving in closer, hoping against hope that maybe he could pull someone off while she was so distracted.It stung in a sharp reminder that she wasn't as pathetic as that.He knew what his job here was though.Dredge up those skills that he’d been made to abandon in exchange for dancing, for light shows, and uses of his body that could swirl like a chilly breeze, the humans always saw him in a way he cursed.Small and pretty. So usable. So easy to hurt. Entertaining to hurt.So, as he crouched in a tree, trying to take a few minutes respite, he pressed his palm over the cut in his arm, heart thudding. His mind tried to flutter.
I don’t wanna do this. I don’t wanna die.
His collar prickled in warning, and his eyes heated up. A few more trembling breaths.
I have too. I have to kill her. I need to kill her.
Don’t let that breath hold a whimper.Pain or fear could have no response that might meet the ear, because he had to keep absolutely quiet.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You’ll still feel right at home. Alone.”
Home
He could see through the window at the inn.
I can’t believe she just leaves it open…I wish I still had some poison darts left…I need to find the herbs to make some more whenever they move into the forest again…
He had the gauzy green wrapped around him, and it wasn’t doing nearly enough. The cold wasn’t so much a problem for him as it might be for any others, but it certainly didn’t make all the long nights he’d spent outside, in trees, or curled into the corners of alleyways any easier.
She could have at least let me wear something better than a prostitute's clothes…
The whole point was for him to be a problem for the Slayer…whose name was Gem. He’d managed to pick that much up.Gem and her avian.Her avian, whom she’d just helped settle into bed, had wings that were still injured. He wasn’t sure what had happened; he assumed it was some sort of attack, but it seemed her wings, in particular, were damaged. That was why the nether-born…Impulse…why he’d gotten the white-winged avian.Then the white-winged avian had been an entirely separate problem.Yet still, they cared for him. And why was that? He didn’t know.Yet he saw the way Gem helped the raven-winged avian lay down on her stomach. The way she bustled around the little inn room to grab every available pillow and tuck them under her injured wings, so she could rest easily. The way she sat and stroked the mop of pale brown hair just barely visible to him through the silver of the window. Where he perched on an empty enclave in the rooftop across the street, having used his magic to make himself invisible. Light reflecting and refracting like it was catching upon fractals in a manner he’d been taught at the training market.He sat crouched, hugging his knees, the temperature dropping as the sunset and left him to the pale mocking starlight.It wasn’t warm. The sun didn’t do enough either, but it was certainly better.It wasn’t that inn room.It wasn’t that warm bed with blankets and pillows.It wasn’t the way Gem seemed to care so deeply for her avian, for her slave, because that’s what she was, and yet that’s what he was, so why…?He couldn’t remember ever having a home where he felt warm.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You will not ever, ever know. You won’t.”
Obedience.
He’d seen his chance and he’d taken it.Maybe he ought not to have.She seemed genuinely angry, this time. Every other time it was like she was shooing away a bothersome fly when she batted him aside, but this time?He knew he was concealed. He knew she couldn’t see him. He knew the nature spirits only felt him as the vaguest of outlines, that was part of the magic he used, he knew it, he knew it.Yet when she screamed, rounded, stomped her foot and her eyes flashed that brilliant gold?For a moment, he was sure she’d seen straight through him.For a moment, he was sure he was dead.“I’ll deal with you later!” Her voice was a pitchy shriek as the forest began to rumble and quake, and he didn’t know what else to do.He fled in pure terror. His heart beat so quickly.
I need to kill her.
He hurtled branch to branch in his haste to get away, boots kicking off the bark and barely rustling the leaves as he escaped into the night. Tears burned in his gaze, but he had to convince himself they were from the cold, from the wind, from frustration, right?Right? Were they?I’m scared.The pinpricks circled in warning. He needed to get his head on straight, he needed to or else, or else, or else-
CRASH!
He fell from the trees. Missed a jump, missed a step? He wasn’t sure. Missed something. He hit the ground hard, managed to roll with the impact enough not to break anything and yet he got a face full of dead grass and dirt anyway. For a few seconds he lay stunned on the forest floor as his magic gave out in sputters and fits.Don’t give in. Don’t break. If you do, it’s going to hurt, if you admit it, how could you ever change back, that mindset will crumple you, it’ll kill you long before she gets the chance.
But I don’t want to kill her.
And there it was.The pinpricks faded just for a split second, just long enough for him to know he’d done something wrong.Then the agony struck. Like blades trying to force out from his bones. Pain that left him writhing and gasping in the dirt.Three tails…they made him stick out so badly from all the rest.Three tails once fluffy white, made him stand out even further, hair the same shade, and exceptionally cared for while he was still at the Starlit Silver, if not because he desired it, but because he needed to present himself to the patrons as rare and beautiful. If or not he was, he didn’t know. But he had to at least pretend. Strange, ethereal, whatever else. It didn’t matter, they were long since tinged by muck and grime from weeks of travel beating weakly against the dead grass.He sobbed. Tears burned hot from mismatched eyes, one ruby red, the other dark like the color of fresh spilt ink. His gauzy green outer robe had held up over his travels, his Mistress never one to skimp on quality even for such risqué dress for her slaves whom she rented out on the hour, beautiful, unique, and what?What was he?Sobbing, trying not to make noise but failing, and with each failure the agony only grew worse, a punishing cycle that punched up further and further. His white fox ears were quaking and pressed flat against his equally as snow white hair. The black gaiter he had pulled up over his face melded seamlessly into the tight black tank top that fit so well, too well, left far to little to the imagination. Black shorts with cinched thigh belts and side slits, pale green thigh-highs that matched to the robe into his black boots with that slight damn heel and he hated them, hated it, hated everything and it was just enough to break him.Leave him curled up on his side in some far-off forest sobbing till his chest burned, the agony ripping, ripping, ripping through him.
I’m scared.
I don’t wanna fight her.
I don’t wanna die.
I just wanna be warm.
He’d sob and writhe till he blacked out from the pain of his punishment.When he woke up later, groggy and disoriented, stiff and shivering, he’d see that even such a shattering wouldn’t spare him.Then again…well.Etho had known he wouldn’t survive this from the start.