Chapter Text
Everything about this is stupid, Percy thinks to himself for what feels like the thousandth time. It may well be the thousandth time if he’s honest with himself. It’s become somewhat of a tradition, whenever he was allowed the time to lay down and sleep, to ruminate on all the ways his life had gone wrong, all his stupid mistakes and failings, before closing his eyes. It was probably the saddest bedtime story ever told, but he didn’t see much of a reason to try and tell himself a nicer one. It wouldn’t stop the nightmares. Nothing stopped the nightmares.
Dreams of his family falling one by one as the Briarwoods and their cronies swept through the castle, of the dungeon and Ripley hurting, laughing, touching, of Cassandra bleeding in the snow as he ran and ran and ran….
Percy knew that trying to make himself more comfortable on the same molding, dirty pile of hay he had been laying on every night for gods know how long was an effort in futility, but he tried it anyway. It gave his hands something to do as his brain ran through all the other terrible things that had led him to this point. Waking up on the fishing vessel, blurry memories of sailing as he tried to cope with the trauma of losing his family. Leaving the ship, the strange dream of a vengeance and smoke and a powerful weapon to funnel it all through. Trying to cobble together enough money to forge it before overhearing a shopkeep gossiping of a strange woman doctor who had passed through recently. Following that lead to her. Attempting murder armed only with overconfidence and a sword – a sword. As a child he could never master even holding one correctly. Never making it close enough to see her face. Being thrown in prison and, when the warden got tired of feeding the poor useless sap in his cell, being sold to the slaver who he worked under and held him in this dank dark cell he was currently attempting to make a bed of all this time. Losing his… losing his tongue. A very fresh and painful memory.
At this point, the self-pitying mental backstory complete, he gave up his attempts to bundle the straw into a functional pillow and simply faceplanted into it as his exhaustion wore through his will and he resigned himself to another night of blood and death and smoke.
Waking up was never pleasant these days. Between the hard ground, heavy manual labor, and near constant presence of chains on his wrists and neck, Percy was nearly convinced his muscles had never not hurt. Any attempt to stretch and relax his tense muscles only pulled at the half-healed wounds littering his body. He knew at any point his situation was bound to change. The labor he had been doing, as far as he could tell, was simple construction of his master’s house but he knew once that was finished, he would likely be taken to market. Already he had overheard offers from those who saw value in his skill in construction (fair) or in his handsome face (terrifying) but thankfully he was talented enough his master was reluctant to let him go until the job was finished. Which was any day now at this point.
A groan echoed through the cells as the heavy metal door at the end of the hall was opened. Percy reluctantly stood - wincing as weight landed on his bad ankle- and made his way over to the door of his cell, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other prisoners as they did the same. He had long since given up on talking to them even before he lost the ability to speak. Half of them didn’t understand him anyway.
The long hallway down the middle of the cells was suddenly lit up with flickering torchlight as their master made his way into the prison, keys and chains clanging from where they were slung over his shoulder as he walked. He was a large half goliath man. Baldheaded but with patchy red hair dotting the underside of his chin and large bushy red eyebrows over his scarred face and crooked nose. Every day for as long as Percy had been here he had methodically made his way to each cell, chaining all his slaves together before leading them to the work site, which was why Percy startled when the man bypassed the first cells before coming to a stop in front of his.
“It’s yur lucky day Whitey.” He grunted. “Finally have ta let ya go. Got ya a buyer with an offer I can’ refuse. Lotta good money for a young servant boy. Real stuffy type. You best watch yur manners in fron’ of ‘em. Make me look good or it’ll be yur head, got it?”
Percy nodded as the man opened his cell and locked him in the chains even though the man clearly hadn’t expected a response. Real stuffy type? Young servant boy? Percy’s stomach filled with dread. He was old enough now to understand the unorthodox ways some of the privileged he had grown up around had entertained themselves. It disgusted him now to know he had attended balls and dinners with such type of people. He desperately hoped this wasn’t about to walk into one of those situations. But at the same time as these horrible thoughts flickered through his mind, so did a bit of hope flare as he thought maybe, just maybe, he could find himself as a servant for some noble somewhere far away, with a real bed. Gods, how far he had fallen.
These were the thoughts that zipped through his mind as he was lead outside and down the street into the living room of the very house he had been helping to build. It had been painted and filled with furniture since the last time he had seen it, although he didn’t have time to admire this as his attention was immediately taken up by the tall, straight-backed elf standing in the center of the room holding a full teacup, though clearly reluctant to drink from it. There was an air of importance around him that Percy instantly attributed to nobility. The hope in his chest flared a little brighter.
“This is th’ one sir. Young and fit and all ‘at. Real good with ‘is hands. Helped build this ‘ouse in fact. I’m sure you’ll find ‘im up to yur satisfaction.”
The elf turned and gave Percy a once over, from the dirty, straw matted hair down to his very warn and hole-filled shoes.
“This is truly the best of your stock?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, his accent confirming Percy’s hunch that he was nobility or at least had very good schooling.
“Best young ‘un. Actually thought he was a celestial a’ first on accoun’ of tha’ white ‘air an’ all but he ain’t. Still an ‘ell of a deal tho’.” The man chuckled to himself before cutting off at the elf’s unamused glare. “Uh. I suppose I got ah couple more thatter outta the age range you requested if you like to take a look at ‘em?”
The elf let out a dissatisfied hum and Percy was suddenly afraid that he may not have spent his last night in that cell after all. But his fears abated as the elf reached into his purse to pour a sizable amount of gold into the man’s hands. Percy made sure to keep his eyes averted as the elf turned and addressed him.
“My name is Syldor. I will be taking you back to the city of Syngorn with me where you are to be a servant to my eldest children, twins. You are to see to whatever they ask of you, but I am also tasking you with keeping them in line. They have a history of disobedience. You are expected to mitigate this to the best of your ability and to report to me if they engage in any suspicious activity. Do you believe you can handle this?”
Percy nodded. The elf gave him one last glance before ordering him to follow and walking out the door. Percy didn’t dare glance back at the man who had served as his master for the past several weeks as he did his best to limp along with the elf’s long strides.
The city streets didn’t hold much interest for him now that he knew he was leaving it, so Percy instead spent the walking time trying to discreetly study the elven man he was following. He didn’t look particularly old, but it was always hard to tell with elves. His clothes were a fine material and he walked with purpose, so he was clearly used to having some sort of authority over those around him. Percy couldn’t make out much more than that with the small glances he had been taking by the time they reached their destination.
It was a beautiful building. Large blue stone columns lined the outside and a large white domed roof cast a broad shadow in the morning sunlight. The wooden doors were manned by two guards in blindingly white armor armed with swords who immediately reached to open the doors as they noticed the elf approaching. Percy guessed this was either a temple or an embassy of sorts. As they entered the elf immediately turned to approach an older brown-haired man sitting behind a desk on the right. Percy awkwardly shuffled after him, the manacles loudly clinking in the otherwise silent room.
The elven man spoke quickly, securing some sort of transport from the man behind the desk. Percy caught the words ‘teleportation circle’ and suppressed a shudder. As much as he hated magic, he couldn’t wait to get out of this fucking city.
The conversation was relatively short and soon he and the elf were being ushered by the brown-haired man through another set of double doors into a room with a large circle filled with sigils on the floor. The elf, Syldor he had said his name was, turned back to exchange some farewell pleasantries. The subtle clinking of the manacles was still present even as Percy stood still, the fear and ever-present exhaustion causing his hands to shake.
He heard the double doors slam shut behind him as the elven ma- as Syldor stepped up next to him.
“Well?” He demanded, gesturing for Percy to step forward into the cycle.
Deep breath in. Let it out slow.
Well, he thought, Can’t be any worse than this place. At the very least I might finally get a bath.
And with that, the last son of the Whitestone stepped forward into a future that consisted of so much more warmth and comfort and love than any such thoughts of hot water cascading through his mind could ever provide.