Authors note: Sorry for the lack of formatting in the last chapter. We will go back and make sure to edit this accordingly. Enjoy this chapter, and please let us know what you like and what you'd like to see more of (as well as the opposite)!
--Jasmine and Daniel.
It took surprisingly long to awake, and when he did, he wanted to fall back asleep. Sleep was one of the few times he was able to completely forget where he was and what his life had become.
Yet the unfamiliar smells, the unfamiliar sounds, the sensations around him, and the mere feeling of where he was, prevented him from falling asleep again. In a way, it was harder to wake up here than in the dungeons. The dungeons had been similar to any cave. This...was odd and unfamiliar in the extreme.
His bed was comfortably padded with a sheet and pillows so soft he hadn't felt the like. The scent in his room was one he could not place - sweet and distinctly spicy at the same time, like something always seeming to prick the inside of his nose. The feel of the air was different, even. It seemed heavy and thick, somehow constricting. When he rose from his bed, the ways the furniture was constructed were unfamiliar. They had too many curves, and too many barbs to be elven - at least the elven he was familiar with.
He reached for his clothes only to recall that she'd thrown them out.
That cursed drow wretch! The cunt - the monster.
He swallowed back emotion, and the taste in his mouth of a mingled sweet and intimate, only a trace now, made him spit.
Her. That's' her.
What he'd been made to do yestereve had followed him until he fell asleep.
He'd known that when he was chosen as a house slave, that his existence would be both improved, yet in many ways, much, much worse - he'd spoken to other slaves in the pits of the prospects of house slaves. While they usually got plenty of meals and warm beds to sleep in, their existences were more often and even more sudden cut short by the volatile tempers of their dark-skinned masters and mistresses.
What I saw and heard yesterday, I can see that. Tyr, grant me courage and strength. I shall not falter.
The words sounded easier in his mind when there wasn't a drow woman forcing him to knee, submit, or...other vile acts.
When she had been brought before him yesterday, he'd been hopeful at first. Certainly, a youthful-looking woman, barely out of adolescence, would be an improvement and perhaps offer opportunities for him to escape.
Should have remembered that their children stop being children at age five.
Still, yesterday had been one of surprises - no matter how much Leilena had tried to teach him prior to his capture. He found himself torn how to feel about the woman - Viara - at times. She'd subjugated him, raped him, yet hadn't killed him when he had clearly overstepped and seemed....amused of him, of all things.
Strange.
Seeing no reason to leave his chambers, he retrieved the small sticks of charcoal he'd managed to smuggle both to the dungeon and to this place. He shifted the bed perhaps two inches, revealing the small likeness he was working on on the smooth, pale wall.
It had begun as amusement - Leilena telling him that she found the act of sketching and drawing to be an effective method both to relax and to focus one's thoughts. She'd shown him, and within a few years of their acquaintance, he'd adopted the habit of keeping a small journal that he drew in at night.
Well, his journal was burned long since - but he still had some charcoal. So he drew. The gentle curve of Leilena's cheekbones was clear on the wall. He smudged with his index finger, softening the edge of her hairline, drawing back and nodding to himself.
Not bad.
He knew that he did what he did to try and escape his situation - but he did not mind it.
The situation is new. I'll need time to assess and...see what to do.
When he had been transferred, he had almost had an escape plan worked out with a few of the slaves. He did not know whether they had betrayed him - but was convinced to develop his own plan this time.
The door moved, and he just managed to hide the charcoal and sit with his back to his work before the door was opened and a now-familiar figure entered.
"Slave." She wore tight-fitting leather armor and breeches with high boots made of some scaled leather as well, though crested with what looked like a red-and-purple fur. Two sheaths with daggers at her belt, and her red eyes seemed to glow with malice when she regarded him with a sneer. "You are not used to washing yourself and presenting yourself to your mistress in the morning, i take it? Beginning tomorrow, this is what you will do. Go. Wash. There is a meal as well - though you've yet done little to deserve it."
Haern considered what - if anything - to respond to, but swallowed all but two words. "Yes, mistress." He tried to inject meekness.
Remember - she controls your fate.
The drow seemed surprised for a moment, then nodded curtly and turned to leave.
Haern washed - and when he'd washed, he ate what he could only describe as an odd-tasting loaf of bread, and something which looked like a white cheese but certainly tasted very different. There was also water.
The drow sat by her desk, writing on a sheaf of parchment and looking in a book.
Even the evilest races of Faerûn have dreary and common days.
He stood by the door to his chambers and waited. He had no intention of raising her ire further, instead considering how he could put her at ease.
She's young - even by their standards - but hardened from the life she's led. She will do whatever she has been taught, likely without question, but she's not above...asking and considering. At least not in private. If she's in the right mood.
He added the last part grudgingly..
She has a temper like a demon...
That, he'd seen.
"Mistress?" He tried making his voice meek.
She turned from the desk, twirling the stylus between two fingers in a nimble display. "What, slave?"
"May i...may I ask a question now?"
Her lips pursed and she frowned. "Questions are rewards for proper behavior, rivvil. Something you have yet to show. But, perhaps..." she snapped her fingers, pointing with one finger. "Here. Kneel, male."
He felt bile and anger rise, and it took considerable mental effort not to glare or snarl. Keeping a meek expression, he moved forward and slowly before her, his eyes on the floor. Do what they ask..
Do what they say. Remember where you are..
When she said nothing, he slowly lifted his gaze.
She wore an amused smile. "So obedient so quickly, hmmmm? Such a good slave."
That time, he was sure his anger showed, for she laughed softly.
Her boot nudged his chin, and he hesitated only for a moment before planting his lips, tasting leather, scale, and something unpleasant and oily.
Her smile showed teeth, but she seemed pleased. "Very well, slave. I can't say I'm not surprised." She motioned. "Ask."
He pondered this, unsure how much he would be allowed to ask..
Any question must seem harmless....
"You...said you were the second daughter. So the...others who were with you at the dungeon...your sister?"
"And my mother, yes. I am the youngest of her daughters. My mother has had poor luck, and given birth to mostly male offspring following me. You met, or saw, my older sister."
He had..
Even viler than this one, it seemed..
