Sebastian and the Beast fic!
There shall now be a very slight pause in the DoJ posting schedule to bring you a Sebastian and the Beast fic (aaaargh I need a title!)
Because Dogmatix is so evil she’s good -- or possibly so good she’s evil -- and her art+story have created this mutant tentacled plunny (*displays well-gnawed ankle with strange creature dangling from it*)
Warnings: a little language, violence, tentacles (but not in a kinky way).
The current latest page of Sebastian and the Beast can be found here, along with handy-dandy links to all the previous pages. Go read it! It's AWESOME!
Lord Beast was lurking at him again.
Sebastian forced his shoulders to un-hunch, regaining his stance and pretending he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of the tentacled figure on the battlements. It’s not like I’m doing anything new! he thought, putting a little extra venom into the next strike at the straw figure. He’s seen me training-- watched me, lurking up there like some demonic pigeon-- I don’t know how many times now! It certainly can’t hold any novelty or much interest any more!
“Murr.”
“I don’t know either, King Cat,” Sebastian grumbled, and decapitated his target.
------
The castle’s ruler wasn’t being as obvious about watching him the next day, but he was being a lot more… present. Sebastian had caught sight of his silhouette half a dozen times already, not to mention spotting tentacle-tips whisking out of sight around corners like the lace on a woman’s skirts, and it was only lunchtime!
Then Beast spoke from right behind his chair as he reached for his glass, and he nearly snapped the goblet’s fragile stem.
“You seem bored.”
“*hlk!* …Uh. No more than usual, really,” he choked out, managing to haul his voice down an octave to its natural pitch by the end of the sentence. Damn him, can’t he make some noise when he moves?!
“With the library,” Beast clarified, one red-patterned tentacle slithering onto the table to pluck an apple out of the bowl. “You’ve not been reading lately.”
Oh. “It’s very impressive,” he hastened to assure his jailor. “Extensive. It’s just… a little hard to relax with a book when I have to translate it to myself, you know?”
One raised eyebrow informed Sebastian that Beast did not, in fact, know what he meant, and also managed to convey that an explanation would be appreciated, thank you.
“…All the books are at least two hundred and fifty-some years old, Lord Beast. The language is old, and I have a hard time puzzling it out. That’s not so bad when it’s a treatise on strategy, I can work a lot out just by context, but it doesn’t go with reading for fun.” Especially when most of the novels are court romances, which rely on veiled references to current events for half of their appeal, and the ‘current events’ in question involve people who’ve been in the grave for generations, Sebastian went on to himself, ducking his head and trying not to look ungrateful. And half of them use flower language for intrigue, and that’s changed. And-- yeah. Not reading for fun any more.
“Hm.” The tentacle stopped fiddling with the apple, holding it poised in mid-air as Beast looked suddenly thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Given that you can read them easily yourself, no, you wouldn’t. I wonder how old you really are--?
“Would you like to go shopping?”
“Huh?”
Damn him, the tentacled jerk had the gall to look amused at Sebastian’s inelegant response. “There’s a small town nearby,” he went on, flipping the apple into his hands and splitting it in half with one sharp twist. “It’s visible from one of the towers under the right conditions, in fact. It should be large enough to have some sort of bookseller, and if not, I’m sure you could find someone there to order through. I’m willing to supply the funds if you are willing to do some work to repair the deficiencies in my… hospitality.” The eyebrow quirked again, into a rather less friendly expression. “I would require you to return by sunset of whatever day you went, of course.”
Sebastian blinked, feeling a strange, irrational rush of… happiness? He trusts me to go and come back? I-- no. Wait. Of course. This is just him giving me another chance to ‘show my true colours’. He covered the wry twist of his mouth with a quick gulp of wine, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have my word.”
When he looked up again, Beast’s expression was almost identical to the one he’d just managed to wipe from his own face. “Of course I do.” And then Beast was gone, before Sebastian could object to that dry-voiced, oh-so-sarcastic comment.
------
The next morning, there was a pouch of gold on Sebastian’s bedside table, and a saddled horse waiting in the courtyard.
He came back, of course. He’d given his word not to escape at their first meeting, given it again at that lunchtime conversation, and he would be damned before he gave Lord Beast the satisfaction of being right about his ‘Sir Thief’. He took a certain bitter pleasure in riding back through the gates at least a candlemark before his deadline -- even more so, when he saw a well-remembered silhouette watching him from one of the many windows.
“Take that, Lord Beast,” he muttered darkly, unhitching the heavy saddlebags and leading the horse into the stable block. (The stables had been empty when he’d first explored his new home, and for all he knew the horse was going to vanish again as soon as he returned to the main building, but he planned to take the time to unsaddle, feed, and groom it anyway; it was a good horse, and deserved the courtesy.) “You don’t get to rant about how you ‘knew it all along’. Not that you’d have much of an audience if you were right…”
He would have felt smug, he thought, if it wasn’t so damn tiring being mistrusted.
------
Sebastian came back the next time, too.
There had indeed been a bookseller in town, an elderly man who’d clearly gone into the business out of love rather than avarice. He had an astonishingly good selection in his tiny shop, and stroked the volumes as he brought them down to show his new best customer; the only drawback was that he seemed to suffer almost physical pain when it came time to actually sell his wares! After the first visit, Sebastian just used his stock as a sort of catalogue instead of trying to purchase anything on the spot. The old man was far happier when he could keep his own copies, selling Sebastian the new, upstart, unfondled editions he ordered in.
There was always more shelf space in Beast’s echoing library, always more gold in the bags that appeared in Sebastian’s room, always another volume of tactics or strategy or tales of derring-do waiting for him… and, as it turned out, always the Beast watching from a high window as he rode back in the gate. Later there would be mulled wine in the library, two chairs in front of the fire where there had been just one, and a quick mind and quiet voice to discuss the latest purchases with. Beast didn’t seem to mind that Sebastian was choosing books to fit his own tastes, and handled them with the same care he showed for his own magical texts, clawed hands never so much as scratching the covers.
They fell into a routine after a while. Roughly every second week, Sebastian would mention -- to thin air, the way he requested new clothes or a hot bath -- that he’d finished his latest book, or that old Gervase should have received a delivery for him. The gold would be there in the morning, the horse would be ready, and Beast knew not to look for him in the practice yard or at lunch. He ate in town, exchanging nods and friendly comments, made his selection, and always returned before sunset…
…until the day he didn’t.
------
I was a fool to let him go the first time. Twice a fool to let him repeat the trip. Three times a fool, and a fool forever, to begin to trust him!
I made that first offer on the spur of the moment, and I knew it was a mistake even as I said the words. I thought he had proven me wrong. I have been lulled… cozened into complacency, into slackness, into relaxing… into thinking that we had become more than…
Well. I know better now.
Tentacles writhed in the darkness, knotting painfully tight around each other. It was a moonless night, and Beast hadn’t called for light when the sun set; the starlight was too weak to illuminate the room, and the faint lights of the distant town weren’t visible from this window. He didn’t need to see, though; he had no desire to see the trackless snow on the empty road, proof of his gullibility.
Did he have this in mind from the start? Has he been saving-- stealing my gold, spending less on the books than I thought, storing it away for his escape? Was he… last night, when he laughed about the impossibilities written in that foolish sword-and-sorcery drama, when he mocked the ‘hero’ for his stupidity, was he also mocking me for mine? Laughing inside, knowing his plan was complete?
Damn him for an honourless varlet. And damn me, too.
------
Sebastian blinked eyes that felt full of sand and tried to focus. His head was pounding worse than it had after that first fight with the Beast, and for a few confused moments all he could think was that the castle’s tentacled master must have gotten mad at him again.
What did I do this time? He hasn’t talked about ‘perversion’ or even glared at me in weeks… huh… wait. I was in town… wasn’t I?
Finally managing to focus on the surface inches from his nose, he blinked again as he saw hard-packed dirt. Not the white sheets of his own bed, or the flagstones of the practice yard, or even the snow-dusted formal lawn where they’d had their first meeting.
Feels cold enough for snow, though…
“Looks like our little pigeon’s awake, boys!”
Rough hands hauled him up by his hair and jacket, and for a few dizzying moments the renewed pain had him seeing nothing but stars; then a hard grip on his chin forced his head around, and he was looking at a grinning face. The man could have been any prosperous townsman, fat and jolly with a magnificent moustache, if it wasn’t for a certain hardness in his eyes.
…I know him. I’ve seen him around. He was… today… at the inn? I think… he offered to buy me a drink?
Drugged? …No. I refused it, didn’t I? It was getting late…
Something sparked a memory, just a flash making it past the headache. A dark alley opening off the street he was on, movement within as he led his horse past, a young man calling out to him. He’d turned to look, and… what had happened?
The young man had grinned, a little sympathetically. “You really should have taken the drink, friend.” And while he’d been distracted, puzzled by the comment, there had been movement behind him and…
…And now I’m here. Mugged. Wonderful. Captain Grange would kick my ass for being so careless.
Another bit of information made it past what he guessed was an incipient concussion; his hands were tied behind his back, tightly enough to have his wrists throbbing and his fingers going numb.
“Back with us, are you, soldier boy?” the fat man almost cooed, patting Sebastian’s cheek with insulting gentleness. “Now, now, no need to glare like that,” he chuckled. “You’re tied, and disarmed, and outnumbered, and generally outclassed, young man; this is hardly the first time we’ve done this. We’ve got it down to a fine art, we do! Behave, and do as I say, and you’ll come out of this with your hide whole -- just a little poorer, and perhaps a trace wiser for the experience.”
Sebastian snorted. “And what makes you think I have any gold to give you? Beyond what you’ve already lifted out of my pouch, that is.”
A hard slap rocked his head to the side, bringing the pain-sparkles back to his vision, and the hand in his hair wrenched him back around to face his interrogator. “Don’t think you can fool me, boy,” the fat man growled, suddenly sounding a lot less avuncular and a lot more dangerous. “I said, we know what we’re doing. We’ve been watching you. You’ve taken over that Rosebriar Castle that the local yokels are so afraid of, which means you’ve got the castle treasury at your disposal -- and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll dispose of it right into our pockets.”
About to laugh, or give a rude retort, or something -- this fool had no idea how wrong he was! -- Sebastian choked and paled, looking over the fat bandit’s shoulder. There was a window in that wall, small and unshuttered, probably the only one in this shack or hut or whatever it was… and it was pitch black. Full dark.
I’m late.
I’ve broken my word.
The bandit’s eyes narrowed, studying his face. “Starting to realise your position now, soldier boy? Are you going to cooperate, or do we have to get… creative?”
Sebastian was silent, heart aching with the knowledge of his betrayed honour.
“Creative it is, then.”
------
Much later, lying on the floor with his own blood and spittle forming a puddle of mud under his head, Sebastian wearily forced his mind to work.
I have to get back. Beast… he’ll already be thinking the worst of me. Longer I take to get back… worse it’s gonna be.
Can’t get away. Bastard’s right… they do know what they’re doing. Enough men here I wouldn’t have managed to escape even right at the start. Certainly not now…
…have to get taken back, then.
Better make this convincing. Not gonna get a second chance.
A boot shoved at his shoulder, flipping him partly onto his back, and Sebastian wheezed in pain as broken ribs shifted. “Come to your senses yet?” the fat bandit asked jovially.
Bastard hasn’t even broken a sweat. “A’right,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “A’right. ’ll give it t’ you.”
“Ahhh, now that’s a much better attitude. Before we go anywhere, though, I want details. Where are the keys? What sort of guards or spells do you have on the treasury? Do be thorough, dear boy, I’ll be awfully upset with you if you leave anything out.”
“No keys,” Sebastian muttered thickly. “No spells. No guards. Nothin’.”
The fat man’s eyes narrowed again. “Now really, is that the best you can do? I find that very unlikely.”
“Nothin’!” he insisted, trying to sound afraid. “Don’t need ’m. Doors… open for me. Just me. Don’t need guards.” It was even true, up to a point; he had no keys, the castle’s doors -- most of them, at least -- would open for him, and it didn’t need any more guards than it had.
At least… he hoped it didn’t.
------
They left him on the floor all night, bruises stiffening in the cold air blowing in the open window. He tried to move his fingers every so often, to keep at least some blood flowing, but it was hard; hard, and painful, and eventually he gave up.
As long as it keeps hurting, my hands haven’t died, he told himself. I’ll heal.
The bandits dragged him out at first light, dumped him into his own saddle, and tied his feet into the stirrups. He listed sideways, unable to balance himself, so they bound him to the pommel as well, using the straps that had held his saddlebags for extra bracing. Sebastian sagged helplessly forwards onto the horse’s neck, mouth full of its mane, desperately thankful for the warmth of its body on his face and legs. He caught glimpses of an overgrown garden as they moved off, brambles taking over what had once been a neat vegetable patch and flowerbeds.
Ah. That little cottage on the edge of town, he thought dimly. The one that’s been vacant a while. Never heard what happened… somebody died, maybe? Convenient for them. Close enough to carry a limp victim… far enough away that nobody will hear anything. Bastards.
He slept on the way, or passed out, he was never sure which. A hard cuff on the side of his head woke him, and he opened bleary eyes to see the castle wall a little way off.
“Now what?” the fat bandit asked brusquely. Now that they were away from town, his cheerful façade had dropped away, leaving the hard core of his personality bare.
“Postern gate,” Sebastian mumbled.
“It’s locked.”
“Told you… ’ll open for me.” He prayed it would. Things weren’t going to go well if Beast had thought to lock him out after his apparent betrayal.
“Hmph. Cut him down!”
He couldn’t walk, legs folding beneath him when he tried, so one of the bandits dragged him to the small gate inset in the huge ones and shoved him against the wood -- then let go, letting him slither down into a heap, smearing blood from reopened cuts across it.
“No, you bloody fool, cut his hands loose and put one on the--”
There was a quiet click, perfectly audible in the still winter air, and then a creak of unoiled hinges as the postern swung open under Sebastian’s weight, letting him fall the rest of the way to the ground.
“--Huh.” The bandit leader squinted suspiciously at the open gate, then slowly grinned as nothing else happened. “Well. Guess our pigeon was telling the truth after all!”
------
~Master!~
“I told you to leave me be!” Beast snapped, turning to glare at the ghostly servant hovering just inside the door.
~Forgive me, Master, but Sebastian is--~
“What?!”
~--here, in the courtyard, and--~
“You let him in?! How dare--”
~--Master, please, he needs help!~
------
“Well now,” the fat bandit mused, letting go of his prisoner’s collar and letting him fall face-down into the snow. “I like this. Even more impressive than the locals said.”
“No footprints that I can see, bar ours,” the young bandit who’d distracted their mark for the mugging said. “Guess he was telling the truth about nobody else being here. Think we could stay here for a while? It looks pretty plush, and in good nick.”
“First things first,” his boss told him. “Spread out, you lot; check for signs of occupation, just to be sure. And you--” He nudged the soldier boy’s shoulder with his foot. “--Which way to the treasury?”
Astonishingly, the prisoner snickered. “No idea,” he got out, turning his head laboriously to one side and looking up at his captors.
“Say what?!” The bandit hauled him up, nose to nose, nearly strangling the boy with his grip on the torn tunic. “You said--”
“Y’ got it all wrong,” the soldier boy said, still grinning, though his face was white with pain under the smears of mud and blood. “’M not the master of the castle. ’M a pris’ner… I jus’ get day release, t’ go shoppin’. An’ now y’r on his ground.” The grin widened a hair. “Better start runnin’.”
The postern gate slammed and locked behind them.
“Darn. Y’r too late.”
And the manicured rosebushes planted all around the courtyard hissed, uncoiling into lashing brambles that reached out and grabbed.
------
Beast slithered into the courtyard, tentacles whispering over the snow. Ignoring the struggling thorn-wrapped bundles, he moved to where Sebastian was crumpled on the ground, turning him gently to face upwards.
“…H’lo, Lord Beast,” Sebastian whispered. One eye was nearly swollen shut, but the other gleamed blue up at him, and a wry smile tugged at bleeding lips. “S’ry ’m late.”
“…Hmph.”
For some reason, that response made the smile widen, and the young man relaxed into the Beast’s arms. “They took th’ books,” he managed, eyes slipping closed. “An’ th’ change. S’ry. Got careless…”
“Don’t apologise,” Beast murmured, one clawed hand gently settling Sebastian’s head into a more comfortable angle against his shoulder. “You kept your word.”
A muffled grunt and rustle of leaves came from above. Beast stood, gathering Sebastian’s limp form up with arms and tentacles, and turned to consider the bandit leader. Furious/terrified brown eyes and a bristling moustache were all that was left visible of him; the briars had wrapped around him in a tight cocoon, binding his arms and legs tightly together and even winding into his mouth, gagging him. For a long moment, the Beast looked coldly at him, slit-pupilled eyes meeting his; then he turned without a word and carried Sebastian inside, leaving the bandits to strangle in roses.
Because Dogmatix is so evil she’s good -- or possibly so good she’s evil -- and her art+story have created this mutant tentacled plunny (*displays well-gnawed ankle with strange creature dangling from it*)
Warnings: a little language, violence, tentacles (but not in a kinky way).
The current latest page of Sebastian and the Beast can be found here, along with handy-dandy links to all the previous pages. Go read it! It's AWESOME!
Lord Beast was lurking at him again.
Sebastian forced his shoulders to un-hunch, regaining his stance and pretending he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of the tentacled figure on the battlements. It’s not like I’m doing anything new! he thought, putting a little extra venom into the next strike at the straw figure. He’s seen me training-- watched me, lurking up there like some demonic pigeon-- I don’t know how many times now! It certainly can’t hold any novelty or much interest any more!
“Murr.”
“I don’t know either, King Cat,” Sebastian grumbled, and decapitated his target.
------
The castle’s ruler wasn’t being as obvious about watching him the next day, but he was being a lot more… present. Sebastian had caught sight of his silhouette half a dozen times already, not to mention spotting tentacle-tips whisking out of sight around corners like the lace on a woman’s skirts, and it was only lunchtime!
Then Beast spoke from right behind his chair as he reached for his glass, and he nearly snapped the goblet’s fragile stem.
“You seem bored.”
“*hlk!* …Uh. No more than usual, really,” he choked out, managing to haul his voice down an octave to its natural pitch by the end of the sentence. Damn him, can’t he make some noise when he moves?!
“With the library,” Beast clarified, one red-patterned tentacle slithering onto the table to pluck an apple out of the bowl. “You’ve not been reading lately.”
Oh. “It’s very impressive,” he hastened to assure his jailor. “Extensive. It’s just… a little hard to relax with a book when I have to translate it to myself, you know?”
One raised eyebrow informed Sebastian that Beast did not, in fact, know what he meant, and also managed to convey that an explanation would be appreciated, thank you.
“…All the books are at least two hundred and fifty-some years old, Lord Beast. The language is old, and I have a hard time puzzling it out. That’s not so bad when it’s a treatise on strategy, I can work a lot out just by context, but it doesn’t go with reading for fun.” Especially when most of the novels are court romances, which rely on veiled references to current events for half of their appeal, and the ‘current events’ in question involve people who’ve been in the grave for generations, Sebastian went on to himself, ducking his head and trying not to look ungrateful. And half of them use flower language for intrigue, and that’s changed. And-- yeah. Not reading for fun any more.
“Hm.” The tentacle stopped fiddling with the apple, holding it poised in mid-air as Beast looked suddenly thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Given that you can read them easily yourself, no, you wouldn’t. I wonder how old you really are--?
“Would you like to go shopping?”
“Huh?”
Damn him, the tentacled jerk had the gall to look amused at Sebastian’s inelegant response. “There’s a small town nearby,” he went on, flipping the apple into his hands and splitting it in half with one sharp twist. “It’s visible from one of the towers under the right conditions, in fact. It should be large enough to have some sort of bookseller, and if not, I’m sure you could find someone there to order through. I’m willing to supply the funds if you are willing to do some work to repair the deficiencies in my… hospitality.” The eyebrow quirked again, into a rather less friendly expression. “I would require you to return by sunset of whatever day you went, of course.”
Sebastian blinked, feeling a strange, irrational rush of… happiness? He trusts me to go and come back? I-- no. Wait. Of course. This is just him giving me another chance to ‘show my true colours’. He covered the wry twist of his mouth with a quick gulp of wine, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have my word.”
When he looked up again, Beast’s expression was almost identical to the one he’d just managed to wipe from his own face. “Of course I do.” And then Beast was gone, before Sebastian could object to that dry-voiced, oh-so-sarcastic comment.
------
The next morning, there was a pouch of gold on Sebastian’s bedside table, and a saddled horse waiting in the courtyard.
He came back, of course. He’d given his word not to escape at their first meeting, given it again at that lunchtime conversation, and he would be damned before he gave Lord Beast the satisfaction of being right about his ‘Sir Thief’. He took a certain bitter pleasure in riding back through the gates at least a candlemark before his deadline -- even more so, when he saw a well-remembered silhouette watching him from one of the many windows.
“Take that, Lord Beast,” he muttered darkly, unhitching the heavy saddlebags and leading the horse into the stable block. (The stables had been empty when he’d first explored his new home, and for all he knew the horse was going to vanish again as soon as he returned to the main building, but he planned to take the time to unsaddle, feed, and groom it anyway; it was a good horse, and deserved the courtesy.) “You don’t get to rant about how you ‘knew it all along’. Not that you’d have much of an audience if you were right…”
He would have felt smug, he thought, if it wasn’t so damn tiring being mistrusted.
------
Sebastian came back the next time, too.
There had indeed been a bookseller in town, an elderly man who’d clearly gone into the business out of love rather than avarice. He had an astonishingly good selection in his tiny shop, and stroked the volumes as he brought them down to show his new best customer; the only drawback was that he seemed to suffer almost physical pain when it came time to actually sell his wares! After the first visit, Sebastian just used his stock as a sort of catalogue instead of trying to purchase anything on the spot. The old man was far happier when he could keep his own copies, selling Sebastian the new, upstart, unfondled editions he ordered in.
There was always more shelf space in Beast’s echoing library, always more gold in the bags that appeared in Sebastian’s room, always another volume of tactics or strategy or tales of derring-do waiting for him… and, as it turned out, always the Beast watching from a high window as he rode back in the gate. Later there would be mulled wine in the library, two chairs in front of the fire where there had been just one, and a quick mind and quiet voice to discuss the latest purchases with. Beast didn’t seem to mind that Sebastian was choosing books to fit his own tastes, and handled them with the same care he showed for his own magical texts, clawed hands never so much as scratching the covers.
They fell into a routine after a while. Roughly every second week, Sebastian would mention -- to thin air, the way he requested new clothes or a hot bath -- that he’d finished his latest book, or that old Gervase should have received a delivery for him. The gold would be there in the morning, the horse would be ready, and Beast knew not to look for him in the practice yard or at lunch. He ate in town, exchanging nods and friendly comments, made his selection, and always returned before sunset…
…until the day he didn’t.
------
I was a fool to let him go the first time. Twice a fool to let him repeat the trip. Three times a fool, and a fool forever, to begin to trust him!
I made that first offer on the spur of the moment, and I knew it was a mistake even as I said the words. I thought he had proven me wrong. I have been lulled… cozened into complacency, into slackness, into relaxing… into thinking that we had become more than…
Well. I know better now.
Tentacles writhed in the darkness, knotting painfully tight around each other. It was a moonless night, and Beast hadn’t called for light when the sun set; the starlight was too weak to illuminate the room, and the faint lights of the distant town weren’t visible from this window. He didn’t need to see, though; he had no desire to see the trackless snow on the empty road, proof of his gullibility.
Did he have this in mind from the start? Has he been saving-- stealing my gold, spending less on the books than I thought, storing it away for his escape? Was he… last night, when he laughed about the impossibilities written in that foolish sword-and-sorcery drama, when he mocked the ‘hero’ for his stupidity, was he also mocking me for mine? Laughing inside, knowing his plan was complete?
Damn him for an honourless varlet. And damn me, too.
------
Sebastian blinked eyes that felt full of sand and tried to focus. His head was pounding worse than it had after that first fight with the Beast, and for a few confused moments all he could think was that the castle’s tentacled master must have gotten mad at him again.
What did I do this time? He hasn’t talked about ‘perversion’ or even glared at me in weeks… huh… wait. I was in town… wasn’t I?
Finally managing to focus on the surface inches from his nose, he blinked again as he saw hard-packed dirt. Not the white sheets of his own bed, or the flagstones of the practice yard, or even the snow-dusted formal lawn where they’d had their first meeting.
Feels cold enough for snow, though…
“Looks like our little pigeon’s awake, boys!”
Rough hands hauled him up by his hair and jacket, and for a few dizzying moments the renewed pain had him seeing nothing but stars; then a hard grip on his chin forced his head around, and he was looking at a grinning face. The man could have been any prosperous townsman, fat and jolly with a magnificent moustache, if it wasn’t for a certain hardness in his eyes.
…I know him. I’ve seen him around. He was… today… at the inn? I think… he offered to buy me a drink?
Drugged? …No. I refused it, didn’t I? It was getting late…
Something sparked a memory, just a flash making it past the headache. A dark alley opening off the street he was on, movement within as he led his horse past, a young man calling out to him. He’d turned to look, and… what had happened?
The young man had grinned, a little sympathetically. “You really should have taken the drink, friend.” And while he’d been distracted, puzzled by the comment, there had been movement behind him and…
…And now I’m here. Mugged. Wonderful. Captain Grange would kick my ass for being so careless.
Another bit of information made it past what he guessed was an incipient concussion; his hands were tied behind his back, tightly enough to have his wrists throbbing and his fingers going numb.
“Back with us, are you, soldier boy?” the fat man almost cooed, patting Sebastian’s cheek with insulting gentleness. “Now, now, no need to glare like that,” he chuckled. “You’re tied, and disarmed, and outnumbered, and generally outclassed, young man; this is hardly the first time we’ve done this. We’ve got it down to a fine art, we do! Behave, and do as I say, and you’ll come out of this with your hide whole -- just a little poorer, and perhaps a trace wiser for the experience.”
Sebastian snorted. “And what makes you think I have any gold to give you? Beyond what you’ve already lifted out of my pouch, that is.”
A hard slap rocked his head to the side, bringing the pain-sparkles back to his vision, and the hand in his hair wrenched him back around to face his interrogator. “Don’t think you can fool me, boy,” the fat man growled, suddenly sounding a lot less avuncular and a lot more dangerous. “I said, we know what we’re doing. We’ve been watching you. You’ve taken over that Rosebriar Castle that the local yokels are so afraid of, which means you’ve got the castle treasury at your disposal -- and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll dispose of it right into our pockets.”
About to laugh, or give a rude retort, or something -- this fool had no idea how wrong he was! -- Sebastian choked and paled, looking over the fat bandit’s shoulder. There was a window in that wall, small and unshuttered, probably the only one in this shack or hut or whatever it was… and it was pitch black. Full dark.
I’m late.
I’ve broken my word.
The bandit’s eyes narrowed, studying his face. “Starting to realise your position now, soldier boy? Are you going to cooperate, or do we have to get… creative?”
Sebastian was silent, heart aching with the knowledge of his betrayed honour.
“Creative it is, then.”
------
Much later, lying on the floor with his own blood and spittle forming a puddle of mud under his head, Sebastian wearily forced his mind to work.
I have to get back. Beast… he’ll already be thinking the worst of me. Longer I take to get back… worse it’s gonna be.
Can’t get away. Bastard’s right… they do know what they’re doing. Enough men here I wouldn’t have managed to escape even right at the start. Certainly not now…
…have to get taken back, then.
Better make this convincing. Not gonna get a second chance.
A boot shoved at his shoulder, flipping him partly onto his back, and Sebastian wheezed in pain as broken ribs shifted. “Come to your senses yet?” the fat bandit asked jovially.
Bastard hasn’t even broken a sweat. “A’right,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “A’right. ’ll give it t’ you.”
“Ahhh, now that’s a much better attitude. Before we go anywhere, though, I want details. Where are the keys? What sort of guards or spells do you have on the treasury? Do be thorough, dear boy, I’ll be awfully upset with you if you leave anything out.”
“No keys,” Sebastian muttered thickly. “No spells. No guards. Nothin’.”
The fat man’s eyes narrowed again. “Now really, is that the best you can do? I find that very unlikely.”
“Nothin’!” he insisted, trying to sound afraid. “Don’t need ’m. Doors… open for me. Just me. Don’t need guards.” It was even true, up to a point; he had no keys, the castle’s doors -- most of them, at least -- would open for him, and it didn’t need any more guards than it had.
At least… he hoped it didn’t.
------
They left him on the floor all night, bruises stiffening in the cold air blowing in the open window. He tried to move his fingers every so often, to keep at least some blood flowing, but it was hard; hard, and painful, and eventually he gave up.
As long as it keeps hurting, my hands haven’t died, he told himself. I’ll heal.
The bandits dragged him out at first light, dumped him into his own saddle, and tied his feet into the stirrups. He listed sideways, unable to balance himself, so they bound him to the pommel as well, using the straps that had held his saddlebags for extra bracing. Sebastian sagged helplessly forwards onto the horse’s neck, mouth full of its mane, desperately thankful for the warmth of its body on his face and legs. He caught glimpses of an overgrown garden as they moved off, brambles taking over what had once been a neat vegetable patch and flowerbeds.
Ah. That little cottage on the edge of town, he thought dimly. The one that’s been vacant a while. Never heard what happened… somebody died, maybe? Convenient for them. Close enough to carry a limp victim… far enough away that nobody will hear anything. Bastards.
He slept on the way, or passed out, he was never sure which. A hard cuff on the side of his head woke him, and he opened bleary eyes to see the castle wall a little way off.
“Now what?” the fat bandit asked brusquely. Now that they were away from town, his cheerful façade had dropped away, leaving the hard core of his personality bare.
“Postern gate,” Sebastian mumbled.
“It’s locked.”
“Told you… ’ll open for me.” He prayed it would. Things weren’t going to go well if Beast had thought to lock him out after his apparent betrayal.
“Hmph. Cut him down!”
He couldn’t walk, legs folding beneath him when he tried, so one of the bandits dragged him to the small gate inset in the huge ones and shoved him against the wood -- then let go, letting him slither down into a heap, smearing blood from reopened cuts across it.
“No, you bloody fool, cut his hands loose and put one on the--”
There was a quiet click, perfectly audible in the still winter air, and then a creak of unoiled hinges as the postern swung open under Sebastian’s weight, letting him fall the rest of the way to the ground.
“--Huh.” The bandit leader squinted suspiciously at the open gate, then slowly grinned as nothing else happened. “Well. Guess our pigeon was telling the truth after all!”
------
~Master!~
“I told you to leave me be!” Beast snapped, turning to glare at the ghostly servant hovering just inside the door.
~Forgive me, Master, but Sebastian is--~
“What?!”
~--here, in the courtyard, and--~
“You let him in?! How dare--”
~--Master, please, he needs help!~
------
“Well now,” the fat bandit mused, letting go of his prisoner’s collar and letting him fall face-down into the snow. “I like this. Even more impressive than the locals said.”
“No footprints that I can see, bar ours,” the young bandit who’d distracted their mark for the mugging said. “Guess he was telling the truth about nobody else being here. Think we could stay here for a while? It looks pretty plush, and in good nick.”
“First things first,” his boss told him. “Spread out, you lot; check for signs of occupation, just to be sure. And you--” He nudged the soldier boy’s shoulder with his foot. “--Which way to the treasury?”
Astonishingly, the prisoner snickered. “No idea,” he got out, turning his head laboriously to one side and looking up at his captors.
“Say what?!” The bandit hauled him up, nose to nose, nearly strangling the boy with his grip on the torn tunic. “You said--”
“Y’ got it all wrong,” the soldier boy said, still grinning, though his face was white with pain under the smears of mud and blood. “’M not the master of the castle. ’M a pris’ner… I jus’ get day release, t’ go shoppin’. An’ now y’r on his ground.” The grin widened a hair. “Better start runnin’.”
The postern gate slammed and locked behind them.
“Darn. Y’r too late.”
And the manicured rosebushes planted all around the courtyard hissed, uncoiling into lashing brambles that reached out and grabbed.
------
Beast slithered into the courtyard, tentacles whispering over the snow. Ignoring the struggling thorn-wrapped bundles, he moved to where Sebastian was crumpled on the ground, turning him gently to face upwards.
“…H’lo, Lord Beast,” Sebastian whispered. One eye was nearly swollen shut, but the other gleamed blue up at him, and a wry smile tugged at bleeding lips. “S’ry ’m late.”
“…Hmph.”
For some reason, that response made the smile widen, and the young man relaxed into the Beast’s arms. “They took th’ books,” he managed, eyes slipping closed. “An’ th’ change. S’ry. Got careless…”
“Don’t apologise,” Beast murmured, one clawed hand gently settling Sebastian’s head into a more comfortable angle against his shoulder. “You kept your word.”
A muffled grunt and rustle of leaves came from above. Beast stood, gathering Sebastian’s limp form up with arms and tentacles, and turned to consider the bandit leader. Furious/terrified brown eyes and a bristling moustache were all that was left visible of him; the briars had wrapped around him in a tight cocoon, binding his arms and legs tightly together and even winding into his mouth, gagging him. For a long moment, the Beast looked coldly at him, slit-pupilled eyes meeting his; then he turned without a word and carried Sebastian inside, leaving the bandits to strangle in roses.