"A New Beginning"
by Beryll

 

The house was quiet. Not the peaceful silence of sleep and not the absence of sound that came from lack of life. It was a smothering, choking silence of too many people waiting, holding their breath. A silence that made the heart heavy and the mind sluggish.

Elsewhere life would be noisy and wild tonight. Only a few hours remained of the old year and people would celebrate the birth of the new year with hope and fervor.

But the ancient manor of the van Bean family was dark, most of the servants and slaves long asleep. There was still light in the kitchen, someone taking care of the last chores of the day. And the muted light of a low burning fire illuminated one large window on the upper floor, backlighting the dark silhouette of a man standing at that window. The master of the house was still awake.

Sean watched the snow outside fall in thick sheets. It had started snowing a week ago, only about an hour before he had reached home. His slaves had scrambled outside frantically when his coach pulled up in front of the manor. Nobody had expected him to return till after New Year. Certainly not on the afternoon of Christmas.

Ducking fearfully, they had started cleaning the yard of snow. Sean had send them back inside. He did not want them to freeze. And he did not want the yard cleaned either. He had wished for snow and yet more snow to cut him off from the world.

His slaves had looked at him oddly, startled by the kind words he used to send them back to the warmth of the manor, and they were still looking at him oddly, every time he politely thanked one of them for a task well done, every time he did not beat them or shout at them when they failed in some way, every time he treated them like humans and not like the possessions they had been to him for such a long time.

At least his body slave was starting to adapt to her 'new' master.

Diane, Sean reminded himself, her name was Diane. She was not a faceless, nameless commodity to be exchanged without him even noticing. She had a name and a personality that was very slowly starting to show.

With a small smile Sean thought back to the moment he had first asked her name.

After that hunt in the winter forest the queen had invited all of them to drink and honor the success of her brother. So there had been no way Sean could have dodged the celebration even though all he had wanted was to take care of his 'prey'.

He had however made sure the slave's wounds were taken care of while he endured all the false praise the other nobles heaped on him. After a full two hours he had finally managed a graceful escape.

He had found his rooms quiet and only sparely lit by the weak winter sun finding her way through thick curtains. Eager to check on his 'prey' he had almost overlooked his body slave, kneeling unobtrusively in a corner like she always did. She was as much part of his life as his boots or his cloak - always there but nothing more than another useful item.

Granted - an item that had many uses. She not only took care of his personal belongings and his basic needs, she also was the perfect target for his occasional rages and always available when he needed a quick fuck.

Standing there in the darkened room Sean had for the first time truly looked at the girl, realizing that he had no idea when exactly she had come into his possession, realizing that she was pretty in a simple sort of way, with her blonde hair and pleasantly rounded figure, realizing that he didn't even know her name even though she had constantly been around him for nearly three years.

Looking at her he had also remembered the many times he had hit her for no other reason than his own inability to deal with 'her'. Remembered a particular night not too long ago when he had been quite drunk, when he had used her harshly, wiping blood from his cock with her own skirts when he was done, when he had slapped her hard afterwards because she had stumbled with the last drink she was to bring him.

To feel shamed by looking at a slave girl had been strangely reassuring. To watch how she squirmed in discomfort when he drew her to her feet, gently tipped up her chin so he could look at her face, examine a fading bruise he had put there only a few days before. How she had blinked in complete confusion when he apologized for that.

He had then calmly explained that he wished to change some things in his life. That he felt the need to become a better man, a better master. That she shouldn't be surprised when she was not beaten and raped anymore.

Of course, she had not believed a single word he said. In her shoes, he wouldn't have either. Especially as she had no shoes because he had never given her any.

Another mistake he had corrected since.

He had then sent her off to pack his things and get his coach readied. He did not plan on staying any longer. He hadn't even said a proper good bye to his sister. Just send her a note, saying that he wanted to play with his new toy at home.

He knew she would come check on him sooner or later. She would probably be very spooked by all the changes he knew he wouldn't be able to hide. But he was also fairly sure that she wouldn't mind. He had always been her stupid little brother after all.

Sitting in his coach, wrapped in warm furs, the much too thin body of his 'prey' in his arms, still unconscious, he had had plenty of time to wonder where he was going. And he had slowly, slowly admitted to himself, that the road before him was shrouded in mists too thick to see through. But at least he was not falling anymore.

Now - one week later - he still was as adrift as the snowflakes outside. Soundlessly whirling in a soft breeze, unable to see the way in the cloudy night.

He slowly turned around to gaze over to the figured buried in a heap of furs and blankets on his own bed. His 'prey', the young man, the slave - neither of those words rang true in his ear but he still didn't have a name to put to him. For the last week, he had remained in the grasp of a violent fever. The hardship he had endured since his capture, combined with the hunt through the frozen forest and the two wounds he had received had brought him to the brink of death.

The healer who had originally tended to the wound that morning at the castle had told Sean in clear words that he should better take his pleasure soon as the slave would quite likely not survive the next night.

Sean had refused to believe that.

He had spent the last week by the young man's side, caring for him like he had never even cared for himself. Tending his wounds, cleaning him, feeding him, holding him when fevered nightmares made him scream and fight against invisible enemies.

By now, he could recite the slave's life by the marks on his body. Could tell that he had been a craftsman of some kind by the oldest calluses on his hands, could tell that he had fought to defend his homeland against Sean's people by the newer calluses that were only acquired by wielding a sword. That he had been brought down by a well-placed blow to the head, the wound now nearly healed but still visible. Could tell that he had walked the long way from his home to the castle where he had nearly found his death. With his hands bound on his back and a collar around his neck, both his wrists and neck rubbed raw. His shoulder covered with whip marks.

There were other signs not as easily deciphered. A tattoo, now broken by scars, that circled his left wrist with what looked like vines. Another one following the line of his collarbones, spelling some words in the script of his homeland. And a small symbol, right below his right ear.

Beneath the grime and dried blood that had clung to him Sean had found a young man that had probably been quite successful with the girls. He was good looking in that roughish sort of way that made girls giggle and blush.

He had the body of a trained warrior, all hard muscles and taunt sinew. Smaller than Sean himself. A knife fighter, Sean would have guessed, but the calluses on his hands spoke of swordsmanship.

Sean went over to the bed and sat down on the edge, rubbing his face with a tired sigh. He had not slept enough. Hadn't eaten enough either, as Diane's reproachful look had told him just this evening when she took his dinner away nearly untouched. She didn't dare scold him yet but he was sure it wouldn't be long now till she dared. And he was looking forward to it.

The figure next to him stirred, turning over with a small grunt. This morning the fever had finally broken, when Sean had almost given up hope that it ever would. The slave had fallen into a deep, healing sleep that was now slowly turning into an uneasy slumber.

He would wake up soon.

And Sean was scared.

The last time he had looked into those eyes, unclouded by fever, they had been wide with fear and despair.

The hope of finding even the sliver of a chance for the foolish love Sean was nurturing in his heart was flickering like a candle in a storm.

Why would his 'prey' look at him with anything but fear and hatred when even Sean himself couldn't find a reason?

Still he remained, waiting for his slave to wake up and pass judgement on him.

Again, the body next to him stirred and Sean looked down just as those eyes fluttered open. Looked into eyes still clouded with sleep but soft, clear, and for once not haunted.

And then those eyes became aware of his and went still. Like deepest pools in a remote forest clearing, they seemed to swallow him with their blackness. Nothing reflected in them at all, neither emotion nor light.

And Sean was frozen in their gaze, unable to move, unable to say reassuring words he had rehearsed in his head a thousand times. Transfixed like a deer caught in the hunter's eye, unable to flee the arrow. Like he must have felt when Sean had put a dagger to his throat.

Then the young man drew in a shuddering breath, blinking, and Sean was freed from the spell as those eyes now reflected pain. But he didn't move anyway. As much not to startle the other as for the simple reason that he had nowhere to go.

Again those eyes found his and dark eyebrows drew together in a frown as the other’s gaze checked him out, then quickly took stock of the room.

Sean didn't know what he expected to happen next. Knew that he should say something but he was completely surprised when the young man in his bed spoke, haltingly, voice rough from disuse.

"I know you.,” he said slowly, his eyes troubled, confused. "You killed me..." he continued, his frown deepening, "and then you didn't."

His hand moved under the blanket to the thick bandage covering his shoulder, where the crossbow bolt had pierced him. Then he brought it up from under the blanket to stare in confusion at the softer bandage covering his wrist. Again, his eyes searched the room for any kind of threat and found nothing but soft shadows and Sean.

Who still didn't know how to say what he so much wanted to say.

"I know your eyes..." the young man said softly, still confused but now with a strange kind of wonder in his voice, "I was running and you were watching over me and caught me when I fell..."

"You had a fever," Sean said, finally finding his voice, "you were dreaming."

The young man struggled to sit up, surprise now showing in his eyes at his own weakness. Without thought Sean reached out to help him up. Only when the other man was sitting straighter, staring at Sean in slightly suspicious concentration did Sean realize that his 'prey' had not recoiled from his touch like he had so much expected - feared - he would.

"How long... how long has it been?"

"A week." Sean answered truthfully. "I... was afraid the fever would kill you."

Again, those eyebrows drew together as Sean was watched with relentless curiosity. The next question was the one he had dreaded.

"Why?"

He knew full well the extent of this question. And he closed his eyes, hiding from the searching look in the other man's eyes, struggling to find an answer that would convey that why without demanding too much too soon.

"I didn't want you to die." He finally said, still sticking with the truth without really revealing anything.

He was answered by a soft snort and when he looked at his slave - captive? guest? prize? - he was almost shocked to see soft amusement sparkle in those dark eyes that had captured him so thoroughly.

He was even more shocked, when the young man reached out with a slightly unsteady hand, gently touching his face, tracing a line along his cheek and then under one eye.

"Have you watched over me that whole week? You look as bad as I feel."

Fear, Sean had expected, hatred, maybe even despair. But certainly not this... he didn't even know what to call it. Boldness? Curiosity? Calmness? It was all that and in it's sum still more, and more confusing to Sean.

Slowly he realized that some part of him had expected this to be like it had been with Viggo's boy. That any slave would be as shy and doe eyed as Orlando. Of course, the scars should have made him think again. This was no tame house slave. As his sister had so aptly pointed out: this was a prisoner of war. Still he would at least have expected anger or hatred.

Sean's voice was as unsteady as the other man's hand when he answered. "Yes... I... you needed care. And it was my fault you were hurt."

A shadow passed over the young man's face as if he was remembering the hunt.

Sean rushed on, now not caring how much he revealed. "When you looked at me... in that clearing... I couldn't kill you... I didn't want to... didn't want you to die... didn't want to be like that anymore." His hands balled into fists as he remembered that cold morning himself, the feeling of falling into darkness. "I took you home with me. So you would be safe."

In the other man's eyes, he saw more understanding than he had thought possible. And strangely - now no fear at all.

He felt his own heart make a painful leap in his chest when that hand rose again to caress his cheek, then tug a strand of hair behind his ear.

When the young man spoke again there was neither cold nor judgement in his eyes. "So you saved me to save yourself?"

Sean wanted to say more, say it had been love but the hand moved and a finger was laid against his lips, stilling his words.

"Whatever your reason was, I thank you.,” the young man continued. "I thank you even more for your care and protection."

"You are welcome." Sean answered softly, meaning it in every possible way.

He took the hand still touching him, feeling worry stir in his heart when he noticed how cold it was. Gently he tucked the hand under the thick furs again, noting that already the young man's eyes were drooping again.

"You should sleep some more." He suggested, trying hard to sound professionally caring and failing as his voice was thick with emotions, strongest of them a gratitude so deep he could hardly contain it. He helped the other man slide deeper under the covers again.

"Who are you?" he was asked with a voice mumbling with sleep already.

"Sean." Sean answered, feeling no need at all to burden the other man with all else he was. "And you?"

"Colin."

Then those dark eyes drifted shut as sleep claimed their owner.

Sean watched over him, slowly realizing that he still had no idea where the path before him was going but that it seemed a bit brighter, now that there was at least a chance that he would not be walking it alone.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll

go to OF LOVE

HOME * LIBRARY * HOLIDAYS SERIES

•