Clan Mors Fleer Commission - part 7 (Finale)

Benjamin breathed out slowly, trying to keep as silent as possible while he regained his composure. Even though he was never meant to linger in his mistress' chamber after fulfilling his purpose, he had no choice but to remain; his exhausted state leaving him unable to retreat immediately. He closed his eyes as he stretched out his tender body beside her, making the conscious effort of not becoming too comfortable. Whilst listening for his cue to hasten his withdrawal, he perceived how his mistress began to shift next to him. He opened his eyes to acknowledge her presence, when suddenly without warning, his arm got pinned down by her shoulder. Benjamin gazed upon her in bewilderment, as she tiredly turned her whole body around to her side, nuzzling her face against his chest, as her other arm stretched out across him. Her leg reached over and around his frame, and as that was happening, he could feel a slight constriction around his own leg - which he soon gathered was her tail gently wrapping around it. Through her exhausted stupor, Fleer had - without a spoken word or gaze of recognition - all but completely tethered herself to his body.

Benjamin was at a loss for words. Barring the idea that something like this had never happened previously, what stunned him most of all was how it clearly wasn’t a manner of keeping him restrained. Her grasp of him was far too sincere; far too gentle. It wasn't a forceful hold to keep him in place - it was a delicate, thoughtful embrace, imploring him to stay with her. He gazed upon his mistress in utter confusion as he awaited the silence to be broken; only, as he lay there stupified, such an event never seemed to coalesce. The only sound that filled the air during the moments that followed were the soft crackling of embers from the fireplace, as well as her innocent breaths that all but dulled his senses as he ventured ever closer into complete weariness. Not even fighting that inclination, Fleer eventually fell asleep soundly against him, a stark contrast to her retainer, who - in light of all that had transpired - remained deeply contemplative over this unusual display of affection. Since he was unable to see to it himself, all the candles that dotted her chamber soon extinguished themselves of their own accord given time, leaving only the soft brilliance from the hearth, and the pale luminance from the midnight sky bleeding in through the windows. Inside her chamber slowly blossomed a feeling of comfort that was unlike anything previously experienced. Though he hadn't expected it, within that encapsulating darkness kindled a warmth that had never truly been realized until that very moment.

Over a year had ed since the fateful day on which Benjamin was captured and brought to the ancient dwarfen stronghold which would become his prison. What initially appeared like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from, soon after melded into a cruel reality, and ultimately, a strange coexistence. One where he had resigned to his servitude, as his tasks had become less arduous, and the moments in between seemingly carrying more and more normalcy. Where any perceived slights were no longer corrected with cruel reprisal, but rather, through stern reprimand - if even that. While he never stopped yearning for the past he had come from, it had troubled his heart greatly knowing those aspirations seemed to become less pertinent the longer he remained in her shadow. That he harboured all the means to start over, and yet actively chose not to, because he needed to know if there existed some amount of truth to the change he saw within her. That somewhere - deep inside the heart of his captor - lay a form of comion that wasn't merely trying to keep him subservient within her home.
Every night since her absence, Benjamin had the opportunity to escape, and yet, every night, he could never bring himself to go through with it. He could’ve returned to Bretonnia - not as a farmer - but as a scribe. He could’ve eked out a life comparable to the one he would’ve left behind, and one where he was truly free again. And yet, every time he thought he had convinced himself of his desire for freedom, to once more breathe the open air of his homeland, and to live amongst those who didn’t constantly threaten his life, images of his abandoned mistress flashed in his mind, and he never took the chance. He did not know fully how or when the change happened; regardless, he realized that his reluctance to escape from his confinement wasn’t out of fear of failure, but rather, from having grown genuinely beholden to her. Even though he knew that her intentions hadn’t been selfless, she had nonetheless kept him safe from the rest of her kin. She had kept him well fed, and provided with enough rest and leisure to recuperate from his servitude. Moreover, through her literary gifts, she had given him an internal voice he had never had enough time - nor the means - to discover previously. And through allowing him to speak, he had been granted some semblance of understanding of what had been hidden underneath her harsh exterior; or at least, what he believed to have been hidden underneath.
Every night, he wondered whether his delay was folly; whether he was grasping onto something that didn’t actually exist. Whether he was a fool for humoring the idea that the softer treatment from his mistress could have possibly meant anything. Had it been genuine affection that stayed his hand, he wondered? Or had she simply broken him? Convinced him that his life was better spent under her grasp, rather than risking to lose it for another on the surface? It didn’t make sense to him; how could those fleeting moments of kindness be sincere, after everything he had come to learn of her kind? After everything he had come to learn of her? How could this proud and cruel warrior - who had originally acquired him for such a foul purpose - possibly be anything else, other than what she had presented herself as?
He had always known that her decision to keep him hadn’t been born out of mercy or goodwill, and yet, despite his deepest grievances - despite everything she had done to him - he resigned that it didn’t matter anymore. Seeing her sleeping against himself like that, completely bereft of the anguish she had carried with her, comforted him dearly, even as he figured that it shouldn’t have. In truth, even if his mind knew that he ought to still be disdainful over the creature that had enveloped him, those feelings had already surrendered long ago under the conscience of his own heart. Though he had tried to imagine otherwise, he could now do nothing but surrender to the idea that the one who held on to him simply wasn’t the same chieftain who had him imprisoned all that time ago. She no longer was that same tyrant who kept him chained in a dark room, cold and naked, only to be brought out whenever she saw fit to exploit him. Moreover - indulging his memories that had led to this moment - he realized that she hadn’t been for the longest time.
Ever uncertain as he may have been until she stepped through that door again, he was now wholly assured that his decision to stay hadn’t been a hopeless delusion. Feeling her warm body pressing against himself with such tenderness and sincerity erased any semblance of doubt that had still lingered in his mind. Even if she was unwilling or incapable to it such a thing, she had cared for him. Her hand didn’t force him in place, it merely rested on him. Likewise, her tail didn’t constrict his leg to prevent his retreat, it simply wanted to bring him closer to her. At that moment, he didn’t feel controlled; he felt appreciated.
His gaze lent itself to his sleeping mistress, and was duly smitten by the peacefulness he saw upon her. No longer was she suffering from her untold weariness, nor was she gleefully lording over him. She was at ease; completely content by virtue of his presence. Though a reason hadn’t fully occurred to him, his hand nevertheless reached for her face, and - without a semblance of fear in his heart - he gently stroked her hair to the side, unveiling more of her restful expression. He felt his pulse calming to a tender rhythm that matched that of her own, as he beheld the unspoken gratitude he had never truly known to have existed.

As he lay there, gazing upon her blissful face, his eyes eventually shifted to the wound on her upper chest. In doing so, a poignant memory was slowly unearthed from the back of his mind; a harsh reminder of a reality she had previously confided in him. His mistress had once told him that she - and the rest of her kind - lived and died under a very simple principle: that “to offer one’s back to someone, was to invite one’s demise.” Whether you were the lowest rank of warrior, or held the highest amount of influence as a warlord, everyone was ultimately only out to serve their own best interests. The one standing next to you was just as likely to stab you in the back as your enemy, were it that the weapon you carried would have increased their own chances of survival; a concept she had purportedly seen more times than she could care to .
Countless stories of her past triumphs that she had regaled him with all seem to have echoed that same sentiment - and seeing her now in this way, it all made sense to him. All the gifts he had received, the additional responsibilities to excuse his continued freedom, and how she felt less inclined to constantly watch over him. In a way, it was as if these boons were her own twisted way of caring for him without explicitly saying so. Because even if that had been her intention… she couldn’t say so. For her, mercy and leniency had never been an option - not because she lacked it - but because she could not afford it. Brutality wasn’t just a tool that had offered her this position, it had likely been the only thing which had kept her alive. Maybe, he wondered - just perhaps - she hadn’t become who she was because she chose to, but because it had simply been the only life she had ever known? The only life that had proven to work? Although alien as that idea was to him, he still found a shred of likeness to himself within that plight.
Benjamin had never been lost to the unfairness of the world he had come from; of how he was expected to sacrifice his own well-being for that of his betters, with little in the way of return. That hardship, however, paled in comparison to the strife that his mistress had no choice but to endure for her entire life. In all the years he had been toiling, fighting, and bleeding for his homeland, he never once recalled living in fear that his own neighbors would attempt to forfeit his life, were it that his crops grew more plentiful than theirs did. Just like he wasn’t afeared by them, so too weren’t the fathers or mothers of the intention of their children, nor the other way around. Even if he - or anyone else he knew - were powerless to change the fabric of their destiny, they could at least rest easy knowing that they shared in those burdens. Regardless of how difficult times may have gotten, he at least found solace in the idea that he was never truly alone in his trials.

Fleer, he realized, had never known such a thing.

Based on everything she had ever told him, she had never come to know companionship. She had never come to know camaraderie, or mutual struggle - as indeed, her struggle had seemingly always been against everyone else she had ever met. In truth, no matter how far she may have climbed the hierarchical ladder of her kin, the boons of her position had probably never offered her more succour from the harshness of her world, than had she still been clinging at the bottom. If anything, he gathered, her rank would’ve only proven to make her even more paranoid, as those below would’ve had no qualms about taking everything from her, were they ever given the chance. Ironically, it seemed to him that despite having lived inside a prison of her making, he was always more free than she ever could’ve been. Because even if he wasn’t, he could at least hold on to the memories of having been. In a way, her keeping him confined like she had, while asking less of him as time went on, likely meant that he had lived a more peaceful life than she ever could have herself. Almost like she had shielded him from the rest of her world, while she still suffered in it.
His eyes sombered as his gaze once more lent itself to her tranquil face that rested against himself. It was so different compared to anything he had ever seen her as. There was no greed, no gleeful malice; only a contentful smile knowing that nothing in that moment would hurt her. That she could finally breathe, because she was no longer afraid of his intentions. Was this what she had been searching for, he wondered? Or had she only come to realize afterwards that she did? Just the mere thought of those ponderings grieved him terribly. How horrible a fate that must be, he thought, to never for a moment's notice feel a hint of safety. To never know true peace of mind. How heavy her armor must’ve been, not only to keep out the blades of enemies, but to keep out the very world itself. To not be able to place trust into anyone. To not even be able to fall asleep, without worrying that those around would seek to harm you.

How lonely a life that must've been.

Now that he finally knew what had been kept inside of her out of fear - out of necessity - he was relieved that he never went through with his intention of escaping. He had been proven right. Fleer wasn’t infallible - but she was different from the creature he had seen her as; and that difference was the one thing he had been holding out hope for. That her kindness hadn’t been something he had simply imagined, nor that it had been meant to serve a different purpose. That her eyes had been longing for something that she was unable to voice, because she didn't believe that she could, or because she simply didn’t understand how to. He did not know what it was that had brought her through that gate; what she had fled from, or for what reason. And yet, his heart decided that it didn’t matter. In the end, she had chosen to return here, wounded and alone, because it had been the one place where she felt safe. She had stumbled through that door, in spite of her injuries, because he was the only one she trusted to collapse in front of. Whether or not it had been her intent when she first acquired him all that time ago, he decided it made little difference now. He had meant something to her; and having now been the only one to ever see her for who she truly was, he felt he couldn't abandon her - not after she had risked everything in order to realize those intentions.
Perhaps when the horizon outside the window to his side rose to awaken them, her injuries would heal, and once more she’d regress into her former self like nothing had changed. Perhaps he was still holding on to a dream that she possessed sympathy that she was in fact incapable of feeling; that this all had indeed been a mere happenstance. And yet, despite everything, he didn’t believe that. Even after all he had gone through, he could still feel the change in her heart as it pulsated against himself. How calm and unworried it was; and knowing that he was the cause for that change made him feel more at peace than he ever had been before. Even as he knew that her care for him needed to be kept secret from the rest of her kin, that was yet a risk he was willing to go along with, if it meant that the remainder of her life was better off because of it. What may follow after that, he couldn’t be sure of; Benjamin knew better than most the world he lived in, and what unspeakable cruelty it was capable of. Yet, he now also understood his role within it. In that moment, for the first time since his entire life was upended, he felt a sense of purpose; a task that wasn’t forced upon him, but rather, one he wanted to fulfil without it being asked of him. He couldn’t guard her from the dangers she faced any better than she already could herself. What he could do, however, was offer her something she otherwise couldn’t attain on her own; a feeling of safety and belonging. An idea that at least one person could see her for who she truly was, without using that knowledge against her. That he wouldn’t take advantage of her trust; and that her trust was the reason he could never do so.

Hesitant at first, as he worried he’d disturb her slumber, Benjamin eventually slid his hand slowly across his chest, until the top of his fingers caressed her own. He perceived how soft it truly was, when its intent wasn’t to restrain him. Had they always been that way, he wondered? That feeling of comfort encouraged him to carefully rest his other hand on top of her shoulder, returning her embrace, and uniting it in earnest. Bringing her closer like that warmed him more than he thought imaginable; to feel her soft fur, and to guard her exhaustion that she was unable to show for anyone, save for himself. He knew that she could never ask of him to protect her; even so, during that fleeting moment, it gladdened his heart dearly that he was still able to.

Not long afterwards, his weariness finally took its toll, as he peacefully drifted asleep.

This commission was shared with the explicit permission of HellcrossH. See post #6395710 staff notes for further information.