Deafening Silence- Chapter One
Title: Deafening Silence
Author: Lindsey hesmagicandmyth
Rating: Overall, probably PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, side of Gabe/William and Jon/Spencer
Summary: A slave!fic that takes place in Europe in the 1600s(ish).
Disclaimer: None of the guys are really slaves and even if they were, they belong to Pete so none of this is true. Title stolen from Mayday Parade (well, kind of).
Author Notes: This may or may not have been inspired by some BDSM fic that I read with a collar involved. I have a weakness for collars. This fic however has nothing to do with BDSM.
And when I said I'd try to have the fist chapter up by Friday, I really meant allow me to leave my notebook containing the story at work over the weekend and then allow LJ to close when I do go to post it and all that jazz. So, how is mid-Wednesday for you?
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Ryan sat down his cards and sighed, “I should stop playing against you, Mike. You‘d think I‘d learn.”
“A Ross never learns.” Mike laughed back. “Or at least, you never have,”
“I owe you,“ Ryan muttered with a shake of his head as he pushed a few gold coins toward his friend. He stood up from the table, reaching for his overcoat. “I owe you.”
“Yeah, you owe me,” Mike agreed with a smirk. “Big.”
“Oh, fine..” Ryan sighed overdramatically, “Take Billiam. I should replace him anyway.”
“You selling him?” Mike asked, looking horribly confused.
“Not on your life, Carden.” Ryan grinned at the slave on the floor by his feet and picked up the leash connected to his collar. “William’s the best slave a man could ever own.” he complimented and William stood with the movements of the leash.
“I’ll pay the rest to you next time I see you,” Ryan promised Mike, “But right now, I’ve got to get downtown before everything’s picked over. People to see.” he said with a playful raise of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah” Mike nodded, “Just don’t gamble against any of them!” he called after the two as they exited the parlor.
“Why are we going downtown? Are you filling Brent’s place?” William asked once they were on the road.
“Well, I was just going to help Gabe pick out a few slaves to help with his latest building project, but if you see a slave that just catches your eye as a replacement, let be know.”
William nodded, “Deal.” It didn’t offend him to hear Ryan refer to himself or any of the others as slaves. It’s what they were and they knew it. To them, it felt much the same as referring to the workers in the city as shoemakers and blacksmiths. It’s not an insult if it’s a fact.
Ryan and William only regretted the term on the rare occasion that they visited the slave market and saw it carved into the sign on the iron fence that kept the market outside the city. It was that rare occasion that William always remembered the difference- there were no markets selling shoemakers or blacksmiths.
“Gabe!” Ryan called across the loud, boisterous sounds of the market- sounds
they tried their best to block out: families crying inconsolably as they were sold apart, whips cracking down over bare skin, the angry yells of slave drivers, and other things that would keep William up at night.
“Can we hurry please?” William asked his master.
“Of course,” Ryan replied as Gabe approached them with his favored slave at his heels.
The taller man grinned when he’d walked closer. “And how are you two gentleman this afternoon?”
“I’m not a gentleman.” William mumbled as a blush swept lightly over his cheeks.
“Don’t tell me what you are or are not, “Gabe pretended to order. “If you act like a gentleman, then you are one.”
“How many?” Ryan asked, ignoring them and motioning toward the caravans nearby. Gabe looked out over the different slave drivers and their pathetic stock.
“Three?” he spoke, half question, half statement. William looked somewhat disappointed so Gabe retried his answer, “Maybe four.” And William looked slightly happier.
“Alright then,” Ryan nodded to himself, walking off with William in the direction of a caravan that looked to have the most slaves available.
“Come on, Nate,” Gabe said, tugging the leash of the boy behind him and both following Ryan.
“Need some who can work and not put up a fight,” Ryan informed the slave driver when he’d gotten close enough to talk to the man. He looked around the group of slaves. It seemed all of them were thin and half-starved, not even close to being healthy enough to work like they should, but Ryan didn‘t argue because none of the market’s slaves had looked decent in months. Every mass of them brought through were just as starved as the next. “Young, strong workers. We’re building.” Ryan said like it would make a difference.
The slave driver motioned to one of his workers. “224.”
Instantly the other man went and removed the shackles from the ankles of a young, thin boy. Ryan and Gabe glanced at one another and then the merchandise they were being offered. This was the best in stock?
Gabe shrugged and circled the boy, looking him over carefully. He wasn‘t necessarily paying attention to his red hair or half-tattooed arms, but more his structure and whether or not he figured he‘d hold up under pressure. “You’ve got all of your teeth?” he asked.
The boy deemed “224” opened his mouth to show his potential owner a full set of teeth.
“Can you work hard?”
“Yes, m’ lord,” his words returned unconvincingly.
Gabe nodded and looked over to the slave driver. “I need three more like this one.”
The man nodded and listed off a few more numbers to his men, resulting in six boys like “224” being dragged from their places in the masses to a small line-up in front of the two masters.
Gabe looked over one boy as Ryan looked over the next.
Fairly quickly, Gabe approved the first boy. He was shorter in stature than the one he’d picked the moment before, but he looked like he might be stronger. Not to mention, his arms were covered in tattoos, which seemed to give the idea that he was tougher than he appeared to be. Still, it was hard for anyone to look too tough with their ribs showing and dirt caked in their light brown hair (it could possibly even be blond if they washed it). Gabe decided though that his face was kind enough and his face seemed resigned so he’d do.
Ryan approved the boy next to him, “153” as the tattoo on the side of his waist said. His ribs showed too, but his arms were equally covered in different intricate patterns of ink, and he didn’t seem to want to put up a fight. Not to mention, his jet black hair and lightly tanned skin made him stand out just enough that Ryan thought he was pretty enough to need to keep.
Then Gabe pointed out a boy on the other end of the line. “Ry-” he motioned his friend over and gestured toward the boy.
The slave in front of them was average height, lean build, and rather young- still a teenager if they had guess. He had curly dark brown hair that fell just a little below his shoulders, and what appeared to be a once rather toned torso…before the food had been withheld from him long enough to dissolve much of the appearance he‘d probably once had.
“This is a worker?” Gabe asked the slave driver skeptically.
“He is now,” the gruff man replied sharply, causing Gabe and Ryan to glance knowingly at one another. This boy had never seen a day of work outside of his master’s bedroom.
“I’m not looking to work one of them to death,” Gabe spoke sternly to the slave driver. “I don’t like this market and I don’t want to have to come back soon.” He reached up to feel the slave boy’s arm and the boy shied away, scared of the swift movement. Gabe, Ryan, William, and Nate all shared in their look of disapproval. “Is he going to be able to work or not?”
“He’ll work just fine,” the driver promised and Gabe motioned for the boy to join the other three slaves he’d chosen.
The remaining boys in the line were ordered back to their places where they could be reshackled. William’s face fell as he watched them, as the one with flowers tattooed to his left arm saw Gabe pay for the boys he’d chosen. If William had of blinked, had of not paid as close attention, he would have missed it, but he didn’t. The slave boy blinked and a single tear hit the dusty ground beside his bare feet.
“Ryan-” William whispered and his master turned his attention to the direction he saw William staring. “That one?”
Ryan trusted his slave’s judgment enough to stop the man placing shackles on the boy’s ankles.
“Excuse me,” he called, “bring that one back over here. Let me see him.”
The man led the slave back over to the potential customer and Ryan sighed.
“Teeth?” he questioned and the slave looked up and opened his mouth, but Ryan didn’t pay very much attention to his teeth. All he saw were big, brown eyes and lush, light pink lips, dark brown hair falling over the slaves face some.
“How much?” Ryan asked immediately. William smiled, pleased with himself as Ryan reached into his pocket for his money.
The boy, according to his waist’s tattoo- 289, looked down at his feet now free, but didn’t fight when the cheap rope was placed around his neck. He was captive, and he was used to it. After all, he’d never known any different.
Ryan’s hand held firmly to the rope’s end all the way home, afraid the boy would try to make a run for it and when they reached the edge of the Ross property, Ryan reached and unclasped the leash from William’s collar.
“Run ahead and tell Patrick to heat water for a bath. One for me and you and one for our newcomer.”
William nodded and headed briskly for the house. Ryan watched him with a small smile, then turned to his newest purchase.
“What’s your name? I mean, surely it’s not some number really.”
A hollow voice spoke up, but the boy never took his eyes off the path in front of them, “It’s Brendon.”
“Brendon.” Ryan responded. “Yeah, that’s better than a number. Where are you from, Brendon?”
The slave’s brow furrowed a moment. He had to answer. Had to, but… “The coast?” he answered, but it sounded more like he was asking, trying to tell if that was a sufficient answer.
“How old are you?” Ryan asked.
Brendon flipped out a few fingers hastily by his side as if he were counting before finding the nerve to ask, “It it April?”
“April starts next week.” Ryan told him gently.
“I will be twenty-two in early April.”
“I turned twenty-two this past August.” Ryan volunteered as if Brendon cared about his new master’s birthday.
When the house come into view, Darren was out drawing in the horses. A smile spread across Ryan’s face and he looked at Brendon in the darkening sunset. “Do you like animals?”
“They’re fine.” Brendon replied, expecting to be told he’d be sleeping with them or something.
“Can you lead horses, feed, groom, train them?” Ryan asked.
Brendon paused a moment and took his eyes off the path to look at the field and stable in the distance. “I- I probably could, but I don’t know how really. I haven’t worked with animals since I was ten or so, I guess.”
Ryan nodded, more to himself than to Brendon before commenting, “We used to have another slave working in the stables with Darren, but when my father passed away this past year, he freed him and I was left to take over the estate and find someone to help Darren. You shouldn‘t have any problems getting along with him. He‘s lived here seven, eight years, I think and so he should be able to show you around just fine.”
Brendon didn’t say anything, just looked back at his feet and followed Ryan to the house. William opened the door when Ryan and Brendon reached the side entrance.
“Thank you,” Ryan told the boy at the door and Brendon had to look up to double check that there was a collar around William’s neck. He’d been enslaved for nearly twenty-two years and no master had ever told him thank you for anything. Brendon wondered what it took to be worthy of a thank you from this new master.
Ryan walked with Brendon and William to a room toward the back of the house.
“Ryan,” Patrick greeted with a smile, “Marshall and Ian are heating your bath.” He reached and took Ryan’s coat for him. “Should Greta-”
“Yeah-” Ryan nodded, taking his coat from Patrick and handing it to William. “On your way back, tell Greta to get materials ready and bring a measuring tape.”
When William nodded and was gone, Ryan turned back to Patrick.
“This is Brendon,” he spoke and Patrick held out his hand to the new arrival.
“Patrick,” he informed and Brendon nodded until he saw Patrick reach next to his side and take his hand to shake. Brendon felt the hand around his firmly and brought his eyes up slowly to check around Patrick’s neck, but was startled at what he found - no collar.
“I’ll leave him with you,” Ryan spoke to Patrick and Patrick nodded.
As Ryan left, Patrick latched the door . “So you’re filling in for Brent now?”
Brendon looked down, “The stables?” he asked weakly.
“Yes, that’s right,” Patrick responded, checking the temperature of the water he had heating over the fire. “How long were you with the caravan?”
Brendon thought, “Since last summer, m’ lord.”
“Patrick,” the servant quickly corrected, “Call me Patrick. I’m not your master.”
Brendon nodded again.
There was a soft knock on the door and Patrick opened the door to a blond girl with a smiling face.
Brendon didn’t understand when Greta first went to work, making small talk and measuring him- the length of his arms, the distance from his waist to the floor. When Greta told him his clothes would be ready tomorrow, Brendon took a moment to process it all. New clothes. He’d never had new clothes. Slaves don’t receive new clothes. And these would be personal, tailored to fit Brendon. His mind whirled until Greta had gone and Patrick had filled the tub with warm water.
He brought soap, a sponge, and a large towel to the side of the bathtub and motioned for Brendon. The slave slowly stripped himself of the filthy rags he’d been wearing as trousers for the past few months and stepped toward the tub.
Instantly, tears rose to his eyes and his body shuttered as his cold skin became surrounded by the steaming water.
Patrick picked up the sponge and soaked it before applying soap and quietly beginning to wash the grimy filth from Brendon’s body.
Brendon closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth around him and the gentle washing of the sponge on his back and shoulders.
Patrick washed the boy thoroughly until William brought clothes.
“Darren’s,” he told Patrick and was gone.
And as Brendon was redressing himself, marveling at the scent of soap remaining on him, it occurred to him that in order for him to be borrowing Darren’s clothes that either Darren was sitting naked somewhere or that Darren had more than one set of clothes.
When he finished dressing, Patrick pulled two chairs up near the fire. “Take a seat. Ry- Master Ross will be here eventually.”
It did take a while- probably half an hour, but Brendon passed the time just fine- staring into the fire, smelling his hands, nearly wondering over his fingernails now that Patrick had scrubbed them clean, and sitting in a chair. It had been years since he’d sat anywhere but the ground.
Brendon was pulled from his examination of his bare, clean feet by a grinning Patrick. “I almost forget this,” he spoke as he held a small brush in front of Brendon.
The slave’s brow knotted as he took the little brush.
“It’s for your teeth,” Patrick filled in.
Brendon couldn’t say he was crazy about the slimeygritty feeling of the paste or for its saltyminty flavor, but the feeling of his teeth afterward kept his tongue pleasantly entertained until Ryan returned to the room.
Any high the boy may have been on vanished however, the instant he saw the leather strap in Ryan’s hand. Patrick nodded toward Ryan and left the room, the door closing firmly after him. Ryan moved to occupy the seat Brendon had previously waited in And the boy knew his role. He moved quickly, kneeling at Ryan’s feet on the hardwood floor.
Gently, Ryan lifted his new purchase’s head, sliding the stiff, black leather around his neck.
Brendon’s heart felt heavy as he heard the small padlock click closed. He’d been there before, trapped by something so small. It was a lonely and hollow feeling to think about, but when a master still had their hands on his neck, Brendon couldn’t help himself.
“Is that okay?” Ryan asked softly, as if Brendon might be skittish.
Brendon thought, wanted to shout no, that it wasn’t okay and that he was supposed to be free, but he didn’t. He just took a deep breath and considered the collar. He could feel it, but he had plenty of room the breath, to gasp even, so he nodded. “Yes, master.”
“Alright,” Ryan spoke firmly. “My name is Ryan Ross. This is my estate and it’s run by my word and rule. There are on average only seventy slaves. You sleep in the slave quarters, eat there, work where I assign for ten years. You work faithfully for ten years and you buy your freedom. Cause trouble and I add time to your stay. Do you understand?”
Brendon’s mind lingered over the fact that Ryan’s hand was still gently pressed against the collar and Brendon’s neck. He wasn’t sure if a master had ever touched him except to strike him.
“Yes, master,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“Patrick will show you to your quarters,” Ryan informed, standing up and motioning for Brendon to stand. “Have you eaten?”
Brendon had learned to ignore hunger, but at the mention of food his eyes gained a spark and his mouth watered.
“N-no, master.”
“I’ll see to it that Patrick gets you something left from dinner.”
Ryan unlatched the door and the servant was waiting. Patrick reached and attached the leash in his hand the Brendon’s collar.
“Get him something to eat, please,” Ryan told the other man. “William and I are going to bed.”
Brendon let his mind take in Ryan’s last line to Patrick- “William and I” and “bed.” Brendon decided if that was what it required for a “thank you” from his new master that he was no longer interested and he let Patrick lead him to the slave quarters.
Author: Lindsey hesmagicandmyth
Rating: Overall, probably PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, side of Gabe/William and Jon/Spencer
Summary: A slave!fic that takes place in Europe in the 1600s(ish).
Disclaimer: None of the guys are really slaves and even if they were, they belong to Pete so none of this is true. Title stolen from Mayday Parade (well, kind of).
Author Notes: This may or may not have been inspired by some BDSM fic that I read with a collar involved. I have a weakness for collars. This fic however has nothing to do with BDSM.
And when I said I'd try to have the fist chapter up by Friday, I really meant allow me to leave my notebook containing the story at work over the weekend and then allow LJ to close when I do go to post it and all that jazz. So, how is mid-Wednesday for you?
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Ryan sat down his cards and sighed, “I should stop playing against you, Mike. You‘d think I‘d learn.”
“A Ross never learns.” Mike laughed back. “Or at least, you never have,”
“I owe you,“ Ryan muttered with a shake of his head as he pushed a few gold coins toward his friend. He stood up from the table, reaching for his overcoat. “I owe you.”
“Yeah, you owe me,” Mike agreed with a smirk. “Big.”
“Oh, fine..” Ryan sighed overdramatically, “Take Billiam. I should replace him anyway.”
“You selling him?” Mike asked, looking horribly confused.
“Not on your life, Carden.” Ryan grinned at the slave on the floor by his feet and picked up the leash connected to his collar. “William’s the best slave a man could ever own.” he complimented and William stood with the movements of the leash.
“I’ll pay the rest to you next time I see you,” Ryan promised Mike, “But right now, I’ve got to get downtown before everything’s picked over. People to see.” he said with a playful raise of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah” Mike nodded, “Just don’t gamble against any of them!” he called after the two as they exited the parlor.
“Why are we going downtown? Are you filling Brent’s place?” William asked once they were on the road.
“Well, I was just going to help Gabe pick out a few slaves to help with his latest building project, but if you see a slave that just catches your eye as a replacement, let be know.”
William nodded, “Deal.” It didn’t offend him to hear Ryan refer to himself or any of the others as slaves. It’s what they were and they knew it. To them, it felt much the same as referring to the workers in the city as shoemakers and blacksmiths. It’s not an insult if it’s a fact.
Ryan and William only regretted the term on the rare occasion that they visited the slave market and saw it carved into the sign on the iron fence that kept the market outside the city. It was that rare occasion that William always remembered the difference- there were no markets selling shoemakers or blacksmiths.
“Gabe!” Ryan called across the loud, boisterous sounds of the market- sounds
they tried their best to block out: families crying inconsolably as they were sold apart, whips cracking down over bare skin, the angry yells of slave drivers, and other things that would keep William up at night.
“Can we hurry please?” William asked his master.
“Of course,” Ryan replied as Gabe approached them with his favored slave at his heels.
The taller man grinned when he’d walked closer. “And how are you two gentleman this afternoon?”
“I’m not a gentleman.” William mumbled as a blush swept lightly over his cheeks.
“Don’t tell me what you are or are not, “Gabe pretended to order. “If you act like a gentleman, then you are one.”
“How many?” Ryan asked, ignoring them and motioning toward the caravans nearby. Gabe looked out over the different slave drivers and their pathetic stock.
“Three?” he spoke, half question, half statement. William looked somewhat disappointed so Gabe retried his answer, “Maybe four.” And William looked slightly happier.
“Alright then,” Ryan nodded to himself, walking off with William in the direction of a caravan that looked to have the most slaves available.
“Come on, Nate,” Gabe said, tugging the leash of the boy behind him and both following Ryan.
“Need some who can work and not put up a fight,” Ryan informed the slave driver when he’d gotten close enough to talk to the man. He looked around the group of slaves. It seemed all of them were thin and half-starved, not even close to being healthy enough to work like they should, but Ryan didn‘t argue because none of the market’s slaves had looked decent in months. Every mass of them brought through were just as starved as the next. “Young, strong workers. We’re building.” Ryan said like it would make a difference.
The slave driver motioned to one of his workers. “224.”
Instantly the other man went and removed the shackles from the ankles of a young, thin boy. Ryan and Gabe glanced at one another and then the merchandise they were being offered. This was the best in stock?
Gabe shrugged and circled the boy, looking him over carefully. He wasn‘t necessarily paying attention to his red hair or half-tattooed arms, but more his structure and whether or not he figured he‘d hold up under pressure. “You’ve got all of your teeth?” he asked.
The boy deemed “224” opened his mouth to show his potential owner a full set of teeth.
“Can you work hard?”
“Yes, m’ lord,” his words returned unconvincingly.
Gabe nodded and looked over to the slave driver. “I need three more like this one.”
The man nodded and listed off a few more numbers to his men, resulting in six boys like “224” being dragged from their places in the masses to a small line-up in front of the two masters.
Gabe looked over one boy as Ryan looked over the next.
Fairly quickly, Gabe approved the first boy. He was shorter in stature than the one he’d picked the moment before, but he looked like he might be stronger. Not to mention, his arms were covered in tattoos, which seemed to give the idea that he was tougher than he appeared to be. Still, it was hard for anyone to look too tough with their ribs showing and dirt caked in their light brown hair (it could possibly even be blond if they washed it). Gabe decided though that his face was kind enough and his face seemed resigned so he’d do.
Ryan approved the boy next to him, “153” as the tattoo on the side of his waist said. His ribs showed too, but his arms were equally covered in different intricate patterns of ink, and he didn’t seem to want to put up a fight. Not to mention, his jet black hair and lightly tanned skin made him stand out just enough that Ryan thought he was pretty enough to need to keep.
Then Gabe pointed out a boy on the other end of the line. “Ry-” he motioned his friend over and gestured toward the boy.
The slave in front of them was average height, lean build, and rather young- still a teenager if they had guess. He had curly dark brown hair that fell just a little below his shoulders, and what appeared to be a once rather toned torso…before the food had been withheld from him long enough to dissolve much of the appearance he‘d probably once had.
“This is a worker?” Gabe asked the slave driver skeptically.
“He is now,” the gruff man replied sharply, causing Gabe and Ryan to glance knowingly at one another. This boy had never seen a day of work outside of his master’s bedroom.
“I’m not looking to work one of them to death,” Gabe spoke sternly to the slave driver. “I don’t like this market and I don’t want to have to come back soon.” He reached up to feel the slave boy’s arm and the boy shied away, scared of the swift movement. Gabe, Ryan, William, and Nate all shared in their look of disapproval. “Is he going to be able to work or not?”
“He’ll work just fine,” the driver promised and Gabe motioned for the boy to join the other three slaves he’d chosen.
The remaining boys in the line were ordered back to their places where they could be reshackled. William’s face fell as he watched them, as the one with flowers tattooed to his left arm saw Gabe pay for the boys he’d chosen. If William had of blinked, had of not paid as close attention, he would have missed it, but he didn’t. The slave boy blinked and a single tear hit the dusty ground beside his bare feet.
“Ryan-” William whispered and his master turned his attention to the direction he saw William staring. “That one?”
Ryan trusted his slave’s judgment enough to stop the man placing shackles on the boy’s ankles.
“Excuse me,” he called, “bring that one back over here. Let me see him.”
The man led the slave back over to the potential customer and Ryan sighed.
“Teeth?” he questioned and the slave looked up and opened his mouth, but Ryan didn’t pay very much attention to his teeth. All he saw were big, brown eyes and lush, light pink lips, dark brown hair falling over the slaves face some.
“How much?” Ryan asked immediately. William smiled, pleased with himself as Ryan reached into his pocket for his money.
The boy, according to his waist’s tattoo- 289, looked down at his feet now free, but didn’t fight when the cheap rope was placed around his neck. He was captive, and he was used to it. After all, he’d never known any different.
Ryan’s hand held firmly to the rope’s end all the way home, afraid the boy would try to make a run for it and when they reached the edge of the Ross property, Ryan reached and unclasped the leash from William’s collar.
“Run ahead and tell Patrick to heat water for a bath. One for me and you and one for our newcomer.”
William nodded and headed briskly for the house. Ryan watched him with a small smile, then turned to his newest purchase.
“What’s your name? I mean, surely it’s not some number really.”
A hollow voice spoke up, but the boy never took his eyes off the path in front of them, “It’s Brendon.”
“Brendon.” Ryan responded. “Yeah, that’s better than a number. Where are you from, Brendon?”
The slave’s brow furrowed a moment. He had to answer. Had to, but… “The coast?” he answered, but it sounded more like he was asking, trying to tell if that was a sufficient answer.
“How old are you?” Ryan asked.
Brendon flipped out a few fingers hastily by his side as if he were counting before finding the nerve to ask, “It it April?”
“April starts next week.” Ryan told him gently.
“I will be twenty-two in early April.”
“I turned twenty-two this past August.” Ryan volunteered as if Brendon cared about his new master’s birthday.
When the house come into view, Darren was out drawing in the horses. A smile spread across Ryan’s face and he looked at Brendon in the darkening sunset. “Do you like animals?”
“They’re fine.” Brendon replied, expecting to be told he’d be sleeping with them or something.
“Can you lead horses, feed, groom, train them?” Ryan asked.
Brendon paused a moment and took his eyes off the path to look at the field and stable in the distance. “I- I probably could, but I don’t know how really. I haven’t worked with animals since I was ten or so, I guess.”
Ryan nodded, more to himself than to Brendon before commenting, “We used to have another slave working in the stables with Darren, but when my father passed away this past year, he freed him and I was left to take over the estate and find someone to help Darren. You shouldn‘t have any problems getting along with him. He‘s lived here seven, eight years, I think and so he should be able to show you around just fine.”
Brendon didn’t say anything, just looked back at his feet and followed Ryan to the house. William opened the door when Ryan and Brendon reached the side entrance.
“Thank you,” Ryan told the boy at the door and Brendon had to look up to double check that there was a collar around William’s neck. He’d been enslaved for nearly twenty-two years and no master had ever told him thank you for anything. Brendon wondered what it took to be worthy of a thank you from this new master.
Ryan walked with Brendon and William to a room toward the back of the house.
“Ryan,” Patrick greeted with a smile, “Marshall and Ian are heating your bath.” He reached and took Ryan’s coat for him. “Should Greta-”
“Yeah-” Ryan nodded, taking his coat from Patrick and handing it to William. “On your way back, tell Greta to get materials ready and bring a measuring tape.”
When William nodded and was gone, Ryan turned back to Patrick.
“This is Brendon,” he spoke and Patrick held out his hand to the new arrival.
“Patrick,” he informed and Brendon nodded until he saw Patrick reach next to his side and take his hand to shake. Brendon felt the hand around his firmly and brought his eyes up slowly to check around Patrick’s neck, but was startled at what he found - no collar.
“I’ll leave him with you,” Ryan spoke to Patrick and Patrick nodded.
As Ryan left, Patrick latched the door . “So you’re filling in for Brent now?”
Brendon looked down, “The stables?” he asked weakly.
“Yes, that’s right,” Patrick responded, checking the temperature of the water he had heating over the fire. “How long were you with the caravan?”
Brendon thought, “Since last summer, m’ lord.”
“Patrick,” the servant quickly corrected, “Call me Patrick. I’m not your master.”
Brendon nodded again.
There was a soft knock on the door and Patrick opened the door to a blond girl with a smiling face.
Brendon didn’t understand when Greta first went to work, making small talk and measuring him- the length of his arms, the distance from his waist to the floor. When Greta told him his clothes would be ready tomorrow, Brendon took a moment to process it all. New clothes. He’d never had new clothes. Slaves don’t receive new clothes. And these would be personal, tailored to fit Brendon. His mind whirled until Greta had gone and Patrick had filled the tub with warm water.
He brought soap, a sponge, and a large towel to the side of the bathtub and motioned for Brendon. The slave slowly stripped himself of the filthy rags he’d been wearing as trousers for the past few months and stepped toward the tub.
Instantly, tears rose to his eyes and his body shuttered as his cold skin became surrounded by the steaming water.
Patrick picked up the sponge and soaked it before applying soap and quietly beginning to wash the grimy filth from Brendon’s body.
Brendon closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth around him and the gentle washing of the sponge on his back and shoulders.
Patrick washed the boy thoroughly until William brought clothes.
“Darren’s,” he told Patrick and was gone.
And as Brendon was redressing himself, marveling at the scent of soap remaining on him, it occurred to him that in order for him to be borrowing Darren’s clothes that either Darren was sitting naked somewhere or that Darren had more than one set of clothes.
When he finished dressing, Patrick pulled two chairs up near the fire. “Take a seat. Ry- Master Ross will be here eventually.”
It did take a while- probably half an hour, but Brendon passed the time just fine- staring into the fire, smelling his hands, nearly wondering over his fingernails now that Patrick had scrubbed them clean, and sitting in a chair. It had been years since he’d sat anywhere but the ground.
Brendon was pulled from his examination of his bare, clean feet by a grinning Patrick. “I almost forget this,” he spoke as he held a small brush in front of Brendon.
The slave’s brow knotted as he took the little brush.
“It’s for your teeth,” Patrick filled in.
Brendon couldn’t say he was crazy about the slimeygritty feeling of the paste or for its saltyminty flavor, but the feeling of his teeth afterward kept his tongue pleasantly entertained until Ryan returned to the room.
Any high the boy may have been on vanished however, the instant he saw the leather strap in Ryan’s hand. Patrick nodded toward Ryan and left the room, the door closing firmly after him. Ryan moved to occupy the seat Brendon had previously waited in And the boy knew his role. He moved quickly, kneeling at Ryan’s feet on the hardwood floor.
Gently, Ryan lifted his new purchase’s head, sliding the stiff, black leather around his neck.
Brendon’s heart felt heavy as he heard the small padlock click closed. He’d been there before, trapped by something so small. It was a lonely and hollow feeling to think about, but when a master still had their hands on his neck, Brendon couldn’t help himself.
“Is that okay?” Ryan asked softly, as if Brendon might be skittish.
Brendon thought, wanted to shout no, that it wasn’t okay and that he was supposed to be free, but he didn’t. He just took a deep breath and considered the collar. He could feel it, but he had plenty of room the breath, to gasp even, so he nodded. “Yes, master.”
“Alright,” Ryan spoke firmly. “My name is Ryan Ross. This is my estate and it’s run by my word and rule. There are on average only seventy slaves. You sleep in the slave quarters, eat there, work where I assign for ten years. You work faithfully for ten years and you buy your freedom. Cause trouble and I add time to your stay. Do you understand?”
Brendon’s mind lingered over the fact that Ryan’s hand was still gently pressed against the collar and Brendon’s neck. He wasn’t sure if a master had ever touched him except to strike him.
“Yes, master,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“Patrick will show you to your quarters,” Ryan informed, standing up and motioning for Brendon to stand. “Have you eaten?”
Brendon had learned to ignore hunger, but at the mention of food his eyes gained a spark and his mouth watered.
“N-no, master.”
“I’ll see to it that Patrick gets you something left from dinner.”
Ryan unlatched the door and the servant was waiting. Patrick reached and attached the leash in his hand the Brendon’s collar.
“Get him something to eat, please,” Ryan told the other man. “William and I are going to bed.”
Brendon let his mind take in Ryan’s last line to Patrick- “William and I” and “bed.” Brendon decided if that was what it required for a “thank you” from his new master that he was no longer interested and he let Patrick lead him to the slave quarters.