The word sticks in Fenris' mind all night, irritating him throughout dinner and well into the evening. Purchased, and oh, he knows what was meant. He paid those twins a set sum, he offered them a salary and a room, something along those lines. Nobles don't really think about what they say; they think even less about how it sounds. A fancy purse his newfound charge calls him, and he isn't wrong, for that's how it sounds, doesn't it? An accessory. A delightfully exotic counterpart. A bodyguard and a nanny all at once, kept not because he's necessary but because he's fashionable.
But call it employment. Call it salaried. Call it anything but bought and sold— but he won't argue. He doesn't dare.
Besides: it's a bruise to his ego and affront to his pride, but it isn't dangerous, not really. After all the agony Fenris has lived through, he can afford a few misplaced words. Really, he ought to be grateful. He'd been wary enough when the job was described to him, but looking at his charge now . . . oh, he's little more than a whelp. A bratty firstborn who wants only to indulge in his hedonism and is sulking now that he can't— gods, the hardest part is likely biting his own tongue whenever the boy whines about any minor inconvenience.]
I suspect no one has told you that I am bound to your side day and night.
[There is a room somewhere in this grand estate that's ostensibly meant for him. He hasn't found it yet, and no one has bothered to show him. It barely matters. It's a place to keep his things, and given he barely has any, there's no point. But if there is a bed there, it is for show only. You will be his shadow, his employer informed him. Day and night.
There isn't a second bed. He'll have to ask after that. More than likely it's been forgotten, a minor detail he'll have to rectify himself. That's all right. He has slept on worse places than the floor. Fenris leans his back up against a wall, unintentionally mirroring his charge as he settles in.]
Perform your nightly routine, whatever that may be, and sleep. I will not interfere. But I am to be at your side constantly for the next few weeks.
[Until he learns to behave, his father had said dismissively. A semi-punishment for a young buck too headstrong to know better. Sooner or later those restrictions will loosen and Fenris given the far more preferable choice of standing guard outside Astarion's door— but then again, given the boy's proclivity for sneaking out the window, perhaps not.
His eyes flick up. And then, his tone perfectly neutral, adds:]
no subject
The word sticks in Fenris' mind all night, irritating him throughout dinner and well into the evening. Purchased, and oh, he knows what was meant. He paid those twins a set sum, he offered them a salary and a room, something along those lines. Nobles don't really think about what they say; they think even less about how it sounds. A fancy purse his newfound charge calls him, and he isn't wrong, for that's how it sounds, doesn't it? An accessory. A delightfully exotic counterpart. A bodyguard and a nanny all at once, kept not because he's necessary but because he's fashionable.
But call it employment. Call it salaried. Call it anything but bought and sold— but he won't argue. He doesn't dare.
Besides: it's a bruise to his ego and affront to his pride, but it isn't dangerous, not really. After all the agony Fenris has lived through, he can afford a few misplaced words. Really, he ought to be grateful. He'd been wary enough when the job was described to him, but looking at his charge now . . . oh, he's little more than a whelp. A bratty firstborn who wants only to indulge in his hedonism and is sulking now that he can't— gods, the hardest part is likely biting his own tongue whenever the boy whines about any minor inconvenience.]
I suspect no one has told you that I am bound to your side day and night.
[There is a room somewhere in this grand estate that's ostensibly meant for him. He hasn't found it yet, and no one has bothered to show him. It barely matters. It's a place to keep his things, and given he barely has any, there's no point. But if there is a bed there, it is for show only. You will be his shadow, his employer informed him. Day and night.
There isn't a second bed. He'll have to ask after that. More than likely it's been forgotten, a minor detail he'll have to rectify himself. That's all right. He has slept on worse places than the floor. Fenris leans his back up against a wall, unintentionally mirroring his charge as he settles in.]
Perform your nightly routine, whatever that may be, and sleep. I will not interfere. But I am to be at your side constantly for the next few weeks.
[Until he learns to behave, his father had said dismissively. A semi-punishment for a young buck too headstrong to know better. Sooner or later those restrictions will loosen and Fenris given the far more preferable choice of standing guard outside Astarion's door— but then again, given the boy's proclivity for sneaking out the window, perhaps not.
His eyes flick up. And then, his tone perfectly neutral, adds:]
Do you understand?
[Daft thing indeed.]