Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Redstone Dungeons

Silas deftly tucked the tail of the gauze between the folds across his chest and moved away from the boy, gently placing his manicured nailed upon his shoulders, bringing his arms back down to his sides. Once again, he was impressed with his own handiwork. The wounds would heal nicely and he could the boy to work in two days time. 

As the man took a knee the boy gave his answer, placing his salves and bundles in the chest below the cot. He was glad that the boy had not been able to see the wide grin on his face. With the last clean rag inside of the chest, he cleaned the blood, wine, and tumeric from his hands. He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and took out his Academy ring. The sapphire, big as his thumbnail, glistened brightly in the firelight. "Your secret is safe with me." He said, closing his long fingers around it.

"You're not a beast." The boy was a fledgling, a hatchling, a wet piece of clay and a gift. They were in a room in which no sound could escape, in the middle of the night, and the boy whispered the name of his King. Bradai had no ears in this room, save for his own, but still the boy whispered the name of his King. The way he had said it, turning around, paranoid. 

Silas got to his feet and made his way to him, standing tall in front of him and slipping the ring onto his ringer. Gently, his fingers traced along his chin, and the points of his painted blue nails found their place under his jaw. They dimpled at the boy's pale skin, and tipped his head up to look at the Seneschal. 

"You're not a beast, my young Puckgordon." He repeated, his smile soft upon his lips. "But perhaps..." He dropped his hands, but his eyes continued to study his features. "Perhaps we'll make one of you yet." 

For a moment, Silas did nothing. But then he walked to the door, knocking twice, and stepped aside as the two girls from earlier reappeared. Light flooded the cramped room, and Silas motioned towards the open doorway.

"Do you care for a walk? Unless you'd like Yelen and Zasha to carry you to your room?" 

He looked at the two girl, then back to the boy, and said something funny in Azaryan. The two girls laughed in turn, but did not let it get in the way of their cleaning.
John
Puck
The Redstone Dungeons

Puck closed his eyes carefully and looked down at his bandaged body, and he realized he didn't have a shirt with him, it was back in his old quarters. He took a deep breath and turned back, watching Silas. He shivered a little again, the pain subsided to a dull ache a while ago, and he felt entranced in his words. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, confused. Silas was surely close to the king, in a way, and yet... Was this against? Or for? Puck was actually one for loyalty, surprisingly, he just wasn't loyal to anyone... Yet.

He flushed pink, luckily the red stone and orange light hid most of it as the girls giggled, and he dropped his head down, stepping forward, only a pair of loose pants for comfort as he followed Silas out. He whispered, to Silas as he trailed slightly behind him.

"...Are you?"
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Outer Bailey, The Maith Mansion

Silas let the question hang in the air as they exited the Redstone Dunegons. They crossed through a series of heavy wooden doors, ornately carved with stems, leaves, thorns and poppy flowers. Everything, it seemed, had been ordained with the royal floral pattern of House Maith. Unlike their mainland counterparts, the Maith Mansion was not like the manses found in the great cities of the South. It was a genuine castle, one of the largest and most expensive construction projects south of Terresol. As they stepped out into the night air, that fact became apparent. What was, in day, a bustling center of political gaming and commerce was now a peaceful retreat from the rest of the city, which seemed long from sleep. Silas was smart enough to realize, however, that despite the serenity, there were still prying eyes and listening ears. 

They were walking along the great outer bailey, the red wall that stretched along the perimeter of the castle. In the front of the Maith Mansion, the Outer Bailey rose sharply in the middle of the city, seemingly cutting the wealthy Redwall district in half. In the back of the castle, however, the wall had been built right into the cliff, above the meager fishing village that his King had been born in. The sounds of revelry from the Stilts rose sharply up the sides of the walls, the faint echos of drinking songs and hurdy gurdies hanging in the air alongside the scent of cooking pork and fresh fish.

"I am a man of the Great Academy of Azarya. I am also an Asgarov. As his third son in his second family, I spent the majority of my youth tending to my father's vast estate, and when he eventually sent me to study on Ank'Veden, I became engrossed in study. I learned to read and write long before many children my age. I learned the magical arts of which I was capable, and where as my brothers excelled and gained official positions within the Academy, I became a Mage." 

He rose his ring and it flickered in the moonlight. He pursed his lips and clenched his fist again. He could have said more. He could have told him about the duels, or when he had been exiled the first time, before his old King rose to the throne and sent him back. Or when he had found Bradai tied to a table by common street thugs and taught him how to truly read and write, and watched him grow smarter and wiser and more dutiful than anyone had ever expected him to be, and the queer sort of jealousy that had defined their early years together. But those were things best left unsaid. 

"Beasts don't know that their beasts. I think you said that in the court."
John
Puck
The Outer Baily, The Maith Mansion

Puckgordon followed slowly, and... Well, he felt more comfortable barefoot than with boots on. He was used to running through damp forests or deep swamp docks, picking slivers from his rough souls and digging his toes into the bark of trees to run from the servants told to watch over him. 

And following Silas, he kept his eyes ahead. When he had come here, before, he couldn't take his eyes off the landscape, so new, so dry, so light and airy. But now, he couldn't stand to see the walls and know that he was trapped within their deep redness, their smooth towering form a cage around his freedom. 

When Silas began announcing his backstory, Puck let it sink into his head, that this was a magic worker before him. It made his glazed over eyes sharp, feeling some sort of emotion hit his chest and fester there as he watched Silas speak, following his new Master's eyes to the glistening ring caught sharp in the moonlight.

Looking back at him, he tilted his head to the side.

"...Beasts... Maybe not... But monsters... They know." He went to cross his arms, but physically couldn't, dropping his arms back to his sides with a wince of pain.

"...I've had leeches." He said, changing the subject and standing tall, which allowed less stress on his back. "My older sister dunked my head into a leech pool in Melsoh." He looked over at Silas. "So I pulled the leeches off of my face and pushed her in." He glanced back down at the ground. "Our faces bled for weeks afterward, the wounds wouldn't heal."
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Outer Bailey, the Maith Mansion

"That..." He shook his head, "That is an _awful_ story." 

He began to laugh again, "I mean, just a _terrible_ story. Here I am, waxing poetic about the life and you counter with a story about pulling leeches off of your..." Something about the story made the man squirm. "Your first lesson, my young Puckgordon, is that you do _not_ pull leeches off in an attempt to remove them. They're all mouth, and use a combination of suction and serrated teeth to stay attached to the skin. Beyond that, they secrete a poison that keeps your blood viscous. You've got to put salt on them, or burn them, if you can get a small enough flame." 

Silas looked down, over the wall to the stilts, and pointed a spindly finger. "You'll go down there, tomorrow, and get me a bucket of those leeches we discussed earlier." Silas produced a small pouch of silver from the inside breast pocket of his deep blue longcoat and placed it into the boy's hands. "One silver should be more than enough."

"There are people there, the poorest sort of folk that live near the coastline, that sell them for dirt cheap. Do _not_ get them yourself." The word was accented with a hard stare. "Let me catch you rooting around in the muck like a common leech farmer. I will not have my assistant making a fool of himself within the first day of my employ. You will _wish_ for me to strip the skin from your back when I'm finished with you."
John
Puck
The Outer Bailey, The Maith Mansion

Puckgordon blushed a little and furrowed his brow, looking away. He was more embarrassed than angry, which was a first. He knew he was in trouble, couldn't storm off, so he just turned his head and looked off. "Well, I was five." He tried to justify. "Not like anyone told me that back then... You just... Before you asked me about the leeches..." He sighed, carefully crossing his arms slowly not to hurt himself. 

He clenched his jaw, looking down at his feet as he was commanded. It made him almost... *Livid*. He hated being told what to do, as he was never a fan of authority, and to be called out as foolish before a decision was even made made him even more defensive, and he took a step back away from the pouch, refusing to take it.

"And undo all of your fine work? Tch." He muttered, getting a little hostile as he backed up more, turning to look back the way they came. 

He didn't see the issue with muck. After all, he was Melsi. But he didn't say anything else but what he had already spat out, his body as hunched as possible in his state in an attempt to shield himself from Silas' warnings. He felt his lip curl and he looked back at Silas like a cornered dog.

From that gentleness before to being a strict almost motherly figure, it turned Puckgordon completely off from it all. He was starting to grow fond of Silas, but this just reminded him that any person would... Well, tell you things that... Hm. Why didn't he like this?
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Outer Bailey, The Maith Mansion

Silas watched as the boy grew withdrawn from him, stepping away from the silver. For an instant, he considered that the boy might be a fae, and his entire personality of irregularities had been a result of his twisted ancestry. But there were no deformities, no strangely colored eyes, and his body had been as normal as anyone else's. For a moment, he felt bad about it, but that quickly faded. It was not as if they boy was in a position to run to his room and lock the door. But that did not mean he couldn't apologize.

His lips grew into a tight line as the bag of silver fell by his side. The boy's tone was pitiful, a shadow of the defiant monster that had walked into the court that morning. The boy had trusted him to keep him safe, and even the most gentle of ribbings set him off. He would have to remember that. 

"I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" The question was a genuine one, although it had the wording of a taunt. In truth, he had hardly even realized that he had done it. He had been blessed with a glib tongue, a tongue that would have killed a man of lesser stature, but on him, won approval in every court he had ever been a part of. They called it honesty if you were powerful, and insolence if you were poor. Bradai had taught him that. "You should know that I did not intend to hurt you, young Puckgordon."

_This is your punishment._ He wanted to say, _You're supposed to be upset._ But the truth of it was that he had taken a liking to the boy. As his assistant turned, though, there was a feral quality in his eyes that had not been there before. Despite everything he had gone through, there was still fight left in him.

"The King gave you to me so that I might teach you. Teach you about his Kingdom, and his city, and his leeches at the docks. If you only take a liking to me while I strap you to the cot and tend to your wounds, then so be it. But when you are with me, you will ask questions and speak your mind. If you question my judgement, so be it. I can not promise that I will not hurt you, as our line of work is dangerous. But I will promise to keep you safe, even if that means that it's from yourself. This ring is not just for show, I assure you." 

He sighed softly, and for the first time since their meeting, allowed for his shoulders to relax. "You have had a long day, and I should be more sensitive to that, I suppose." He tucked the bag of silver in his pocket and continued to walk towards the castle, but turned around to look at him through half lidded eyes. "We can get whatever you like from the kitchens and I'll show you to your new quarters. And we'll talk no more of business until tomorrow. How does that sound?" 

Whether or not the boy would follow was up to him, but the Black Poppies all around them would escort put him in his chambers either way.
John
Puckgordon 
The Outer Bailey, The Maith Mansion

Puckgordon immediately snapped his head to attention, reasoning Silas *Meant* To taunt him with his gentle question, his eyes narrowing and his lips parted to snarl something back. He froze, though, his aqua eyes starting at Silas as he repeated himself, and Puck immediately shook his head.

"I'm... Not *Hurt*, Hog's- you think I'm... No, I'm *Not hurt*." He stumbled over his thoughts, trying to stand tall again, commanding himself to remain more than just a scared boy. He clenched his fists in frustration as he looked down again, listening to Silas and gently shaking his head. "The king gave me to you because I was a snake to charm." He said promptly, shaking his head a little more and turning away again, this time with a more prickly sense, but he was a little relieved at the thought of just... Being able to say things. Maybe he'd have that glib tongue. Maybe he'd have something worse. But, nonetheless, it didn't seem terrible. 

When Silas relaxed, it was visible, and that qued the same reaction in Puck, if only by a fraction, his hands unclenching. 

He had never been... *Offered* Anything before. He was usually just told. He was never emotionally taken into account, but... With Silas, he was. It made him feel uneasy, the new sensation of kindness. 

His bare feet patter quietly behind the Physician without a response, his head hung low as his back throbbed and ached. Although the bandages were holding, the orange mixture of blood, pus, and tumeric was already staining them, and by the morning it would look like a nasty bit of work. A healthy nasty bit of work at least. 

He felt exhausted. It was true, but... He just... Part of this didn't feel real. Would he admit he liked this? This sort of attention? It tamed the beast, did it not? But that isn't what Silas wanted, was it? He whispered himself. In that quiet cell...

"A beast..." He muttered under his breath, and he looked down.