When they got back to the room, Harold collapsed on the bed. His body ached and he could no longer avoid thinking about his situation. His request to Sarl had come without premeditation, but it was what he wanted.

He couldn't bear to do this again, to be a puppet. It was worse than being the blackmail for his father's obedience. It was worse than leaving his father to die and fleeing. It felt like spitting on his sacrifice. Harold was weak and he knew Lyra had broken him. The meeting in Stadrhym would help his people, it would make his father proud. After that...Harold was better off dead.

His healing wounds itched and he rubbed at them painfully. He was so tired, but he couldn't find rest.

"You need to relax," Vai's voice drifted over and Harold laughed at the concept, "let me help." There was a rustling sound and the smell of fragrant oil.

"What are you—" Harold asked but stopped when Vai's oiled hands slipped under his shirt and began massaging his sore back, somehow avoiding the brutalized parts and working away his tension. Harold considered asking him to stop, but the bits of pleasure mixed with the burning of his cuts made them easier to bear. He closed his eyes.

He barely noticed Vai remove his shoes until the cold oil touched his feet. He jerked away but then held still, letting Vai work. To Harold's surprise he felt himself relax, his exhausted body begging for sleep to heal and he drifted off.

For a while, he didn't dream then the nightmares started. His breath left him, the air hot and suffocated. He pounded on the coffin lid screaming but no sound came out. His fingers slipped on the wood and it oozed hot blood and fire coursed through his veins. He clawed at the walls, clawed at his face, trying to remove the pain bringing needles.

He woke with Vai's arms around him, pinning his own to his side, his fingers were clawed and he felt a wetness on his cheek. The silence of the dreams was broken and he could hear a screaming sob that he realized was coming from him. He was shaking so hard he thought for sure he would shatter to pieces.

"Sir! Sir!" There was a pounding on the door. Harold stopped screaming and Vai released him. The door burst open and a guard glanced around before pointing a spear at Vai. Harold waved a hand.

"No, it's fine. I dozed off and it was just a nightmare."

"Sir, are you sure? It sounded—" The man stopped. "You're bleeding."

Harold touched his face and there was blood on his finger. "I..."

Vai dabbed at his cheek with a wet cloth. "You scratched yourself. Allow me to treat the cut."

Harold sat there stunned and the guards stood awkwardly. When Vai finished, Harold gathered his thoughts. "Thank you for your concern, but it was truly nothing more than a terrible dream. You are dismissed."

The guards hesitated. "Sir. We'll be right outside."

"Thank you," Harold said although the phrase had been half directed at Vai.

After they left, Harold slid back, sitting against the headboard, still shaking. Vai rummaged through his pack for a few bottles, setting them on the floor by his cot which he had returned to.

He stood. "Do you need anything?"

"An escape from this nightmare," Harold laughed desperately.

"I do not understand what you wish, but I do have a potion to help you sleep."

Harold flinched and looked at him with fear. "She sent you to drug me?"

Vai frowned. "It is just to help one sleep. You needn't take it if you do not wish. If it eases your mind to know, I made this before you arrived at the estate."

"Perhaps," Harold consented before looking at Vai curiously. "Why exactly are you here anyway?"

"The same reason as you, my lord. Because my mistress wishes it. She instructed me to help relax you and assist in your recovery. A task I give you my assurances I am well trained and equipped for."

Harold shuddered. He tried to remember Vai during that day at the estate but didn't dare drift too close to the memory. Instead, he thought about when he had first been dumped on the estate steps. His captors had on masks and hadn't answered any of his questions. Thrown in a sack, Harold didn't see anything again until the kidnappers opened it to a surprised Vai.

He remembered Vai accepting the men's demands for payment and a message about taking care of Harold. He’d thought he would be killed, but Vai had merely asked him to stay in the room.

Of course, Harold had tried to escape and Vai had been forced to have two rougher men rig the ropes to the ceiling. Despite that, Vai had brought him regular meals and seen that he was somewhat comfortable—although Harold's mind at the time had been more preoccupied looking for a chance to escape before the Bear returned.

His recollections were interrupted as his stomach growled and Vai suggested, "Perhaps you wish for food? If you desire I will find a meal for you." He stood but Harold shook his head.

"It's nearly noon. I should be about so people can see me. I can't continue to sleep during the day. I will go take my meal in the dining hall...or what's left of it."

Vai bowed and offered an arm that Harold grabbed to help himself off the bed. His feet touched the cold floor, he'd forgotten Vai had removed his shoes. The islander dropped down and helped him slip them back on and fussed about his shirt, making sure it was not too dishevelled or showing anything hidden underneath.

Harold waved him off as he began brushing the Jarl's hair and strode out of the room. The guards looked at him with concern, but he asked, "Is the dining hall functional?"

"Oh—er, yes, sir. For smaller parties."

Harold nodded and walked off, Vai following at a respectable distance. The dining hall was indeed a bit worse for wear. About half the chairs were gone, and many of the huge tapestries were torn or missing. Nevertheless, there was a seat for the Jarl and a setting for him but no server to be seen.

Harold stared at the empty plate wearily. "Go find me some food please," he asked and turned when Vai hesitated. The islander seemed nervous, but still bowed and left. Harold turned the empty goblet about examining it. He'd never seen it before, no doubt the fine dining sets had all been stolen and this was not one normally fit for the Jarl's table. He placed it back down and waited. Normally Vai seemed unnaturally fast at fulfilling wishes, but he was taking a good while.

Of course he probably didn't know his way around the manor. He could always ask the guards though...Shit!

Harold shot up and ran down the hall Vai had disappeared to. He rounded the corner just in time to see a guard’s fist smash into Vai's face. The islander curled on the floor as the other guard kicked him.

"Stop!" Harold screamed and the guards jumped. They turned to argue, but when they saw who it was, they stumbled to attention. "Jarl Sorenson. We were just—"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Harold yelled as he approached Vai's curled body. At his shouts, more guards came running and Harold pointed a shaking finger at the two who had beaten Vai. "Take them to the dungeon quickly. I'll deal with them later."

"But sir, he's—"

"NOW!" Harold roared and the guards grabbed the other two away while Harold bent down and hesitantly touched Vai. The man coughed and uncurled. There was a small bruise on his sharp cheekbone and his velvet shirt was ripped, revealing a darkening bruise on his ribs.

"I—" Vai started and then turned and vomited on the stone, clutching his stomach.

"Gods, are you okay? What did they do?" Harold asked horrified, wondering what revenge Lyra would take for them hurting her closest servant.

Vai wiped his mouth with disgust. "I apologize for alarming you. I should have expressed my concern this would happen. I do not believe they have broken anything."

He smiled but touched his face and winced. "Ah. That could be a problem. Mistress will not like my face bruised." He looked down at himself, a few spots of vomit were on his ripped velvet shirt. "May I request a moment to make myself presentable. Or, if you wish, I can finish my task and wait until after you've eaten."

Harold helped Vai up. "No, I don't think I can eat now. I'll take you to my room."

Vai accepted the help up but then pulled away. He brushed himself off and nodded. Harold hurried back to his room and Vai slipped into the bathroom. There was a knock on the door and Sarl was let in.

"Sir, what happened? I heard you had two of my men thrown in prison?"

Harold leaned against the bed post. "Those idiots beat Vai."

"The islander?"

"Yes, the islander. Her islander. He's by her side when no one else is and they beat him. Gods knows what she'll think is an appropriate punishment."

Sarl considered this. "Is he alive?"

Harold gaped. "Thank the gods, yes. Nothing broken either, but he's bruised and—"

"I don't think this warrants throwing two fine soldiers in the dungeon. We're short handed as it is and—"

Harold huffed in frustration. Sarl didn't understand. "You don't get it, he's not just any servant. He's...he's..."

Vai appeared from the bathroom, a new shirt on, and gingerly prodded his face. The bruise had blossomed into a full black eye and Harold groaned. Vai frowned. "It is getting worse isn't it." Harold nodded and waved over to a small mirror on the desk. Vai examined himself in it. "Ah. That is going to be a problem."

Sarl shook his head. "It's a black eye, it'll go away. I really must insist we release those men."

"No! They stay there. Perhaps imprisoning them for a while will be enough."

Vai stepped forward, bowing slightly, "Perhaps I can help make things clear as there seems to be some confusion."

Sarl crossed his arms and stared Vai down. "Oh yes, please explain."

Harold sat down, his anxiety making him shake again and Vai continued, "My position and value to my mistress is not like that of a butler or a stable boy. It is more closely related to perhaps a prize racehorse or rare art piece. I doubt you are familiar with the title zhurl but that would be my position were we at my home country. The closest I can explain is that I am her slave of pleasure and any damage to my person is an offense to my mistress's property. Such as harming a prized horse and risking injury to its legs. A ‘black eye’, as you put it, interferes with my function."

Sarl's jaw dropped and Harold choked, even he was not entirely aware of Vai's exact function to Lyra. He just knew she seemed to trust him more than anyone else. Who else would she have let help her with...

"What on earth is that bitch's consort doing wandering our manor anyway?" Sarl asked angrily.

Vai frowned and opened his mouth, but Harold raised a hand. "He's here to help me. Sarl shut the door."

The older man huffed and ordered his entourage to wait outside, shutting the door. "Really, Harold, I understand she's trouble, but I hardly think—"

"Vai, help me."

Harold tried to take his shirt off and winced. Vai assisted and when it was gone Sarl gasped, "Gods."

Harold had his eyes closed. He didn't want to see what Sarl was seeing.

"She did this in one day. One day of hell. And this is after Vai treated it. This was my punishment for telling her I wouldn't be her puppet. I said no. One word and this was the response. I leave tomorrow for Stadrhym and she’s going to return for her slave and find him damaged. If I'm not here, who will she punish? The least I can do is show I understand the offense and give her the culprits."

Sarl turned away and Harold felt Vai slip a sleeve on and he dressed himself. He opened his eyes. Sarl's hands were clenched. "They were my men. I will take responsibility."

"No, you will not," Harold said firmly. Sarl turned to argue but the Jarl’s face was firm. "I told you, Sarl, I need you. Hjor needs you. I won't let you get shown up by her. The people need you to be free of them."

"Fine. But I'll fight for my men, I won't let her have her way with them either."

Harold sighed but conceded. "They stay in the dungeon until Vai explains. Then you can protect them how you wish."

Sarl shot Vai another dirty glance before leaving. Harold turned back to Vai and winced making Vai self-consciously cover his bruised eye.

"I will do my best to assure my mistress that this was a misunderstanding, although I humbly beg you to allow me to stay here. It is not fitting for me to be seen as such. It would reflect poorly on my mistress."

Harold waved a hand and gave Vai a small smile. "Of course. I appreciate any help you can give." He shook his head. "I don't know how you can stand living with her."

Vai frowned. "It is my honor to serve Lady Lyra. For a zhurl to serve someone with much power is the highest of achievements. I feared after leaving the service of the empress, I would be doomed to serve lesser masters."

Harold shuddered at Lyra's name but then gaped. "Emperess?"

Vai held himself proudly. "I was once the zhurl of the favorite wife of the Aryi emperor. Although my mistress now is quite different from the empress, I have found the change...satisfying." He glanced back at the mirror, the bruise continued to creep around his eye. "Although this will make things difficult for a time."

Harold was curious. "Really? It bothers you that much?"

Vai flinched and looked down embarrassed, "I apologize, I should not have said that. I merely mean I satisfy best when I am...unblemished."

Wondering for a moment what it was like in Vai's world, he asked, "So do you often end up fixing her torture victims?"

Despite knowing Vai had done nothing to stop Lyra's horrors, he had a hard time understanding the gentle man's place with the Bear’s daughter.

Vai shook his head and shifted uncomfortably. "No, my lord, before you I have never treated anyone but my mistress."

"Really? So is healing part of being a...zhurl?" The foreign word was strange to say and Vai smiled, amused.

"No, until I came to Valhelm, I had never seen any real wounds. In truth, I am very weak and thank the gods for my mistress's patience with my slow learning. I was useless and couldn't stand the sight of blood when I first came to the estate. Now I can at least help ease her pain and yours."

Harold frowned. For someone claiming to be squeamish, he'd been in the room at least a bit during his torture, Harold was sure of it.

"But you were there. I know you were. You helped her do this." He gestured to his body and felt anger. It was satisfying to feel and he found himself able to talk about that night. Vai cast his eyes down and stiffened.

"I was. It is not my place, but my mistress required help and there were few other hands to be had. Most were killed the night Lady Dyla died and, had I not been out with my mistress, I too would have been burned. I prefer my original function of pleasure over pain. But my mistress's wishes are my own." Before Harold could ask another question, Vai stood and bowed low.

"If you would allow me some more time to attend to my injury and if you would send for a meal, I would be comforted knowing you had eaten."

Harold frowned at the obvious escape from conversation, but nodded. "I'll take my meal in the dining hall as intended."

"Ah." Vai stepped closer and bowed again. "I would beg you to take your meal here. I was asked not to leave your side."

Harold's hand hovered on the doorknob. He really wanted out of this room. Wanted to check the state of the manor, but Vai said Lyra wouldn't want him wandering around with a black eye. He sighed. They were both bound by Lyra's wishes.

Opening the door, he asked the guard, "Please send for some food. I will be remaining here for the day to prepare for the negotiations tomorrow."

The guards nodded, one being not-so-subtle at trying to peek into the room. Harold shut the door. It was probably a good thing to prepare anyway.

When the food arrived, Harold dug in, not quite realizing how hungry he'd been. Vai lay down on his cot quietly and it suddenly occurred to Harold, he'd never seen the man eat.

"When was the last time you ate?" he wondered out loud.

Vai opened his eyes and thought. "Yesterday's dawn," he answered and Harold balked, it'd been over twenty-four hours. He shoved the tray towards Vai.

"Why didn't you say something? Here, eat now."

Vai took the tray and sat up. "Thank you. It was not my place to make demands and I am used to waiting when my mistress is...occupied. It would be inappropriate for me to leave her side to satisfy myself."

Harold blinked at that but got up to open his closet, planning what to wear to the meeting. He couldn't keep looking at Vai without feeling pity and he didn't want to deal with that rabbithole. The man's life had to be hell, but he also had stood by and watched Harold get tortured so...

He chose some clothes that were nice, but travel worthy, and hung them over the door. Vai had finished the meal and was cleaning up. For a second, he started for the door, then turned and placed everything on the empty desk.

When he saw Harold watching him he said, "It has been a while, if you would allow it, I would like to redress your wounds."

Harold scratched at his side, winced, and sat on the bed. "Fine," he answered and gingerly removed his shirt.

For a moment he forgot and looked down at himself. His stomach churned. His chest was striped with jagged red lines and welts—pale white but inflamed—covered almost every remaining inch.

There were a few places where the skin was discolored and some of the welts were swollen with pus. He'd been ignoring the constant pain, in harsh denial and now he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose, trying not to vomit.

Vai's warm hands undid the few bandages and he gently cleaned the cuts on his chest and back, covering them with more salve. As he worked, Harold scratched at his thigh. There were a few burns there that were noticeable as the pain from his chest faded. Vai caught his hand and Harold flinched.

"My apologies but if you are hurt there, it would not be good to irritate the skin further. Allow me to dress it..." Vai's hands went to Harold's belt and deftly undid it. Harold leapt up.

"Woah, I can do that myself." His cheek flamed and Vai nodded, nonplussed as Harold took off his pants, hissing as the action revealed yet more burns, these more puffed and welted from no treatment. The skin tore from them as he peeled his pants off. Vai applied salve to them as well and then replaced the pot's lid.

"These are swollen. I recommend loose bandages for the rest of the day and avoiding constricting them with clothing."

"You want me to walk around with no pants on?"

Vai cocked his head. "A robe would be more practical with this wound. Or you could remain under a loose blanket."

Harold walked over to the closet again, rummaging around until he found an old robe. Carefully, he put it on. Admittedly it was vastly more comfortable, not chafing his skin like the tight trousers and jerkin had.

Feeling a bit trapped, Harold being pacing, muttering aloud what he planned to say to the other Jarls. As he practiced his speech, Vai interrupted, "I do have a last message from my mistress about what you are to say."

Harold looked at him warily. "Now you say something? Well, what is it?"

Vai gestured to his own black eye. "To explain the bruises."

Harold’s own face sported a few, now yellowing, bruises. Vai continued, "My mistress thought it a prudent explanation for your appearance and...general pains to be explained that you were kicked by a horse after the death of your father. Being bedridden would also explain why you did not invite anyone to his funeral or your coronation."

It was a solid lie but he could hear it coming from her mocking voice and he grit his teeth.

"Fine," he grunted and spun around. He wavered for a moment and stumbled, light headed. Vai leapt up and steadied him but Harold shrugged him off.

"You did not sleep much and you are still healing. Perhaps with an early start tomorrow, it would be best to retire early?"

Harold stood stubbornly, well aware of how exhausted he was. But he didn't want to sleep. It would mean wasting his one day at home before...besides he didn't want to dream.

Vai seemed to predict his thoughts and retrieved a small dark green bottle. "As I mentioned before, if you wish, this will let you sleep soundly."

After a pause, Vai looked down and added, "My mistress requested you use it at least in Stadrhym to avoid any...disturbances."

Like reliving her torture in earshot of the other Jarls. "Let me see it."

Vai handed the bottle over and Harold uncorked it, sniffing dubiously. It had a strong, sharp odor. Very medicinal.

With a weary sigh, Harold sat on his bed and kicked his boots off before laying down gingerly. He took a sip of the bottle. It was sharp on his tongue. Vai took it from him. "That'll be enough."

Harold closed his eyes. His body ached and his head felt swollen. The feeling of despair that now camped at the bottom of his stomach rolled over and he groaned but soon the fuzzy edges of his mind closed in closer and he slept.