4. Endless Lists of Don't do That Again.
CW: implications/references to non-con/sexual assault. References to burning. References to slavery. Botched escape attempt. Beating with a belt. Fear of non-con. Non-consensual stripping.
“Just keep your head down, alright?” Was the last thing Trygve told Evan before showing him to the kitchens. And that was exactly what Evan intended to do. At least until he got the opportunity to run.
Over the next week, he’s given a variety of jobs, though by far the worst one is turning the spit that meat is cooked on. The hours on end of turning the meat on the heavy iron spit makes his back and neck ache; the proximity to the fire leaves him with blisters on his hands but worst of all, the smell makes his hip scream and nausea seep into his throat.
The kitchen itself is huge with at least 20 other people all scrambling to get things done. At first, he expected that at least a few of the kitchen people would be here voluntarily, but the stone-faced guard at the door, and the silence, other than hushed whispers attempting to coordinate jobs, suggested otherwise.
Evan’s job gives him a good view of the kitchen, and the repetitive nature allows him to make notes. When the guards changed. How can careful they are. At what stage they seem to get tired and distracted. Where the spare food ends up.
The guards seemed to change as the preparation for a meal ended. The kitchen itself had only a few small windows for natural light, and very few of them were allowed to leave their place in the kitchen outside of latrine breaks. Most of the staff also tended to sleep in the kitchen rather than elsewhere. This meant that the meals were the best attempt at keeping track of the hours that passed. So, the guards were likely changing every 3 or 4 hours.
The guards' distractibility seemed to alter depending on who was there. Some didn’t leave their posts at all, whilst one, slightly greasy-looking man seemed to take a liking to one of the maids, choosing to spend parts of his shift escorting her out of the room for a while.
Evan can only guess what was happening from the twitchy fear on her face before she was called away, and the blank expressions after she’d been brought back. The other kitchen staff seems to cover her absence seamlessly, and with her return small, discreet hand squeezes are exchanged. Evan meanwhile finds himself imagining several different ways it could be possible to ram a knife through the back of the fucker’s throat. It’s a surprise no one had even tried it yet.
Over the week, Evan uses his proximity to large amounts of food, to slip extra off plates. He stashes it in a small corner near where he sleeps. However, for anything that looks particularly perishable, Evan makes the quick decision to eat immediately. He needs to put on some weight if he’s planning on lasting any time without food. Evan has spent years watching how M works. How she uses her large dress to conceal what she’s taken. Evan is clumsier than her and a large shirt isn’t quite as good, but he seems to make it work.
***
The week passes, during which he hears whispers of a large celebration that is being held. The work on the day is more hectic than normal, and Evan feels his bones and joints hate him. The day goes on and food preparation dies down, and the kitchen seems to slump collectively.
Evan finally has a moment to breathe as the fire dies down and the pan scrubbing subsides. His knuckles had blistered from the heat and then been scrubbed raw in the dishwater. He moves across the room to a small pan of cool water that he uses to soak his bloody, painful hands.
That’s when he notices it. The guard is gone. The man had been here most of the time, but he had been sloshing back a couple of glasses of wine towards the end and now… there was no one else there. They were probably all at the feast… and…. Oh. A small surge of adrenaline bubbles into excitement. He, however, forces himself to stay calm as a half-drafted escape plan begins to be cobbled together. He lets it simmer whilst he covers up the second wind of energy that he’s experiencing by shifting his expression to one of exhaustion.
He moves his way slowly through the kitchen towards where he’d been collapsing most days to sleep, unnoticed by most of the exhausted people. As he passes, he picks up a silver plate, like the sort that they had been using today to serve food on.
He quietly and fluidly takes out some of the food he’d been quietly stashing and lays it neatly on the plate. Now the trick came down to confidence. Confidence that he was where he was meant to be. How confidently and precisely could he navigate his way through the building?
He weaves his way through the kitchen, keeping his head down. He can be certain the people here are too tired to care. And he doubts they’d hand him in. Not really. The guards were who he had to be wary of.
He exits the kitchen, scanning left and right before choosing the right corridor. Where he’d first entered had been heavily guarded. So, he may have better luck going in the opposite direction.
He threads his way through the corridors. Trying to prevent himself from speeding up as adrenaline pounds through him. There’s a momentary pause as the corridor bleeds into huge, grandiose halls. It’s more glamour and money than Evan had ever really seen in one place. Even compared to when he still lived with his grandparents.
The walls are decorated with expensive portraits and are lit by large candelabras Music and chatter echo from where the feast is going on. Right. He stops blinking in awe and wills himself to relax and think. Best to avoid that route then. He changes direction and begins moving through the halls and away from the large dining room.
Evan manages to get a good distance away from the party. He follows to where
the doors should be logically. Away from kitchens and dining rooms. Somewhere near a staircase. Rounding a corner his eyes fall to two large doors.
The entrance.
That’s when he hears footsteps and laughter. His breath hitches. But he forces himself to push through. Keep calm. Keep steady. Keep walking. He wills himself to remember that if he looks like he belongs. It’s no one will notice.
The steps get closer and closer, he steps to one side to let them pass respectfully. Heart thumping away in his chest. Praying they couldn’t read minds.
Two guards, clearly a little too drunk approach and begin to pass him.
Evan exhales as they keep walking and begins to move towards the doors.
The steps stop.
Keep walking.
“Hey… the feast’s this way.” A guard calls over. His voice slurs slightly from the alcohol.
Evan keeps walking. Slow. Steady. He’s doing a job. There is a reason he’s going this way. He has a purpose.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” the guard calls at him.
Evan stops. His heart is in his throat. There are two choices. Run or pretend. Play along and certainly get caught out… or…. The door is so close. He has a head start… it could be so easy. Pretend or…
He breaks into a sprint. Food scatters to the floor. He finds himself gripping the plate tightly as he does.
It takes a second for the alcohol-addled guards to process what’s happening.
Evan reaches the door and goes to wrench it open, as two large men barrel towards him shouting. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The door opens and as quick as a street cat, he’s out the door. His feet pounding against the cobblestone.
Despite the alcohol, the guards close the distance with ease. Hands lunge to grab at him.
Evan takes the opportunity and frisbees the plate off in a wild direction. His only weapon clangs as it cuts into the brow of one of the guards. “Fuck!” spits the now very, pissed-off guard, rapidly blinking, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes.
Evan digs his toes into the stone path as he bolts for the gate. A huge weight body slams into him. He hits the ground with a crunch as the full body weight of a man is on top of him. All Evan can do is put his hands out to stop smacking his head into the cobblestone.
“Look! He tried to make a run!” The guard on top of Evan proudly declares, gripping the boy’s hair and yanking it to one side. “You thought you could try and get away, did you?” The smell of liquor on his lips is strong.
Evan struggles. Trying to shift the weight off him, the guard moves so his knee is in the small of Evan’s back, and he kneels over the top of him. His hand remains in Evan’s hair, gripping it painfully and forcing the boy’s head to the floor. “I wonder what sort of reward we’ll get for this.” The tone is low, and sickly.
Evan’s mouth goes dry and his mind flashes blank as fear creeps its way through his body. No. Gods no.
A kick to the ribs pulls him out of it making him gasp. “Fucking prick” the guard with the cut brow snarls. He slams two more into the boy’s chest.
“Excuse me!” Evan’s hair is released, as the man pinning him down sits up to look at his colleagues.
“That little shit just cut me. You can save-” he gestures wildly “-Whatever this is, till later! Right now. He’s mine.”
There’s a long, elongated sigh from above. “Fine.” Evan feels his hands being pinned but the pressure from his back is gone for a moment, only to be replaced by the feeling of hands at his waistband.
The fear is back. Colder than ever. He goes to kick but feels a shoe pressing his legs down. He attempts to crane his head around but all he can see is the dark evening sky.
His breeches are dragged down and there is a small jangle of a belt being unbuckled.
Evan goes still, the fear makes him sick and-
There’s an audible crack as the belt contacts the bare skin on his lower back and upper thighs. Red-hot pain shoots into the back of his throat. The leather stings uncomfortably and the shock causes his lungs to rake in more air.
There's another strike and another, layering themselves on top of one another. Burning and stingy, aching and throbbing. The leather cuts through his skin, ripping jagged, bloody lines into the boy’s pale lower back. The impact of the leather tears into him in a pain that leaches its way through his body and into his throat.
Evan feels the desperate urge to cry but as each strike drives air from his lungs, he finds that he can’t.
After what feels like hours, there’s a pause. Some sounds of shuffling. Before two, very weighty strikes come down. The guardsman is clearly putting his whole shoulder into it as he does. A large chunk of metal scours bruises into his flesh, as the belt buckle is brought down on the boy’s body.
Finally, after an eternity. It stops. Evan lies there. Panting, pain ringing out through him, and tears begin to well in the back of his throat. The pain throbs in the gentle breeze, but the humiliation feels worse. The heat of being held down and beaten like a petulant child, and the fear of what else they could do, rises in his cheeks as he swallows back tears.
He is pulled to his feet, hands pinned behind his back to stop him from running.
“Good. That’s a lot better.” Bloody brow seems more relaxed. “Take him to Lord Maynard then? I’m sure he’d want to know about this little escape attempt.”
Evan’s captor sneers “Oh so you get to do what you want with him and not me?”
“Yes. Because getting in trouble with the lord is not my priority tonight. Come on. And let him pull up his fucking trousers. I don’t want anyone to think I’m that drunk. Even if you are.”
Evan quickly pulls his waistband back. The fear is back. Like hell does he want to see this lord… But he has very little choice as he is marched back into the manor and into the loud feast room.
The room is lit by blazing torches, food that Evan had been working with a few hours’ prior litters the table, mostly still intact due to the quantities.
On entering, some of the chatter dies down. A rather large man, at the head of the table, makes his way down “What is the meaning of this?” his voice demands the attention of the room.
The bloody brow takes a step forward whilst the other guard, forces Evan to his knees, by kicking in the back of his legs. “We found this boy trying to run.”
The Lord paces slowly towards Evan, looking him over as he approaches. “This is the new one, is it not Sir Ademar?”
The hulking knight who had bought him looks up and sighs very slowly “Yes, my lord. It is.”
Lord Maynard approaches before finally stopping in front of Evan. He hums slightly, as Evan glares back in defiance.
Sir Ademar looks to his lord “He was stationed in the kitchens, my Lord.”
Maynard looks at Evan a bit longer before smiling. “Have him reassigned to me.” His gaze pierces through Evan’s very being before he looks to the guards “Take him to my chambers. And remember to lock the doors.”
The guards nod as Evan is pulled to his feet.
“Of course, My Lord.” Sir Ademar nods before gesturing to the half-orc, Trygve, to pour his wine. Trygve begins to pour, but for a moment he locks eyes with Evan. A look of frustration, sympathy, and pity. The message is clear. I told you to keep your head down.
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AN: And now we can move to needlessly tormenting my boy! :D Shout if you spot a typo or want adding to the tag list!!!!
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