When Xaxac awoke it was still dark in the room, as best as he could tell, but he was having difficulty telling anything. He wasn’t exactly drunk anymore, not in the way he had identified the feeling, but he certainly wasn’t sober. He was, however, painfully aware that if he didn’t find somewhere to relieve himself he was going to wet the bed.

Agalon still had his arm slung over him, and for a minute Xac was afraid to move. But he couldn’t wet the bed. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even imagine what would happen if he did, but he knew it would be horrible. So he moved as slowly as he could, slid inch by inch out of Agalon’s sleeping grasp, and eventually reached the edge of the bed.

He rolled onto his back and glanced at the sixty tiles on the ceiling, then darted his eyes to the bedpost closest to him. He reached up, grabbed it, and used it to hoist himself up to a sitting position.

The room spun and he jerked to grab the post with both hands.

There was a water closet in the room. That’s where he needed to go. But it was on Agalon’s side of the bed, and with the way the world titled and flopped around him that seemed an impossible distance. Still, it needed to be done.

He hoisted himself to his feet and became instantly afraid that he was going to be sick. He couldn’t get sick. He couldn’t throw up. He absolutely could not throw up. He had nothing to clean it up with, and Mrs OfAgalon would probably straight up murder him over it. Maybe if he could make it to the water closet he could throw up in there.

He leaned heavily on the bed and tried to walk across the floor as it heaved from side to side, but after a few minutes of this he had to admit defeat. It just wasn’t going to happen.

He glanced at Agalon to make sure he was still asleep and watched him lying there, the slow rise and fall of his chest, looking perfectly content. Xac wondered what elves dreamed about. He hadn’t remembered Agalon taking his hair down, but he saw it now, spread out across his pillow. The human men all kept their hair short, kept it out of their faces while they worked. Only human women really grew their hair out like that, and most of them didn’t even do that. Agalon’s hair was beautiful, the color of golden wheat and as straight as the stalks.

Xac had to get to the water closet.

He slowly lowered himself to the ground and began to crawl on all fours. It was much easier to combat the room this way, especially if he closed his eyes, but he was still afraid the motion was going to make him sick. He had to sit up on his hands and knees to reach the doorknob, and a wave of nausea overcame him as he did so. He grabbed the frame of the door as it swung open, heaved himself forward, and vomited into the toilet.

He considered that to be a massive victory.

He wiped his wet eyes on his arm and wondered where his nice shirt was. He couldn’t afford to lose it. He needed to find it before MrsOfAgalon found him without it.

He felt a little better after he had emptied his stomach, and managed to pull himself to his feet, but he didn’t trust his aim so he sat down, bent forward, and leaned heavily on the door to shut it.

After he had finished he pulled himself up by the basin of the sink, put the stopper into the drain, and pumped it about half full. He splashed his face in an attempt to cool it down, then cupped his hands, filled them, brought them to his mouth and took in a mouthful. He swished it around to remove the taste of bile, spit it into the toilet, and thought of how nice it was to have as much water as you wanted available in your house.

He had gotten lucky.

Whatever magic his vomiting had worked had made it easier to walk, though it was certainly not being sober. But he was now reasonably sure that if he held out his arms for balance he wouldn’t have to crawl. So he exited the water closet, pulled the door closed behind him, took a deep breath, held out his arms, and stepped forward.

He could do that. It was an improvement.

He looked back to the bed and saw that Agalon was still asleep with his beautiful hair spread out over his beautiful pillow in his beautiful bed. Xac was sure he didn’t know he had gotten up, that he was no longer beside him. He thought, for a moment, about trying to wash the jug and basin out now, long before dawn, and getting ahead of Mrs OfAgalon, but he quickly decided against it. He would either drop it or fall and shatter it.

Then he had another thought.

He took slow, deliberate, quiet steps toward the door.

He turned the knob.

And it opened.

He stood there, looking out into the sitting room while the clock ticked away loudly in the stillness of the night, trying to figure out what this information meant. It seemed important.

Then he slowly closed the door, turned, and made his way back to the bed.

He climbed in facing Agalon, pulled the quilt up to his chin, and snuggled into Agalon’s chest. His master made a happy humming noise, threw his arm over him again and pulled him closer, though he did not seem to wake up.

Xaxac awoke to a stream of sunlight shining down on his face, and turned to bury himself in Agalon’s embrace again, to use him to block the light.

But Agalon was gone.

So he pulled the pillow over his face and moaned in frustration. He was nowhere near as ill as he had been the first time he awoke, but his head pounded and his stomach was angry at him. He knew on some level that he needed to eat something, that if he could just get some food into himself he would be alright.

The sun was annoying him.

Shit! The sun!

He had slept through dawn! He hadn’t done anything! Mrs OfAgalon was going to kill him!

He moved the pillow, lamenting his illness, and turned to face the windows. The curtains were billowing with a comforting breeze on the hot summer day, and he judged from the intense heat and the angle of the light that it had to be midday.

He pushed himself up slowly on one elbow, then to a sitting position, moving slowly and trying not to upset his body too much. Agalon was gone, but someone had been into the room without waking him. That didn’t make sense. If Mrs OfAgalon had come in and found him sleeping she would have tanned his hide. But someone had to have left the tray of fruit and the glass of wine that were sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

He slowly reached for an apple and took a bite. It made him feel a little better, so he ate quickly, trying to get anything he could into his stomach. It was working! The more he ate the less his stomach seemed to hate him, the less his head pounded.

He took the wine and sipped it. He wasn’t stupid; he had easily connected the alcohol to the illness, but he thought it was perhaps a trade-off. You never got something for nothing, and the pain may be the price he had to pay to get that wonderful floaty feeling. Maybe if he drank it slowly he could maintain the drunkenness without getting sick. Maybe he hadn’t fallen ill because he had drank, but because he had stopped.

When he was reasonably sure he had his body back under control he stood and took in the room around him. The only real difference between the room as it had looked last night and the room as it had looked now was that someone had laid his clothes out for him on the little chair beside the table with the mirror on it. He didn’t see any of the cleaning supplies that Mrs OfAgalon had promised him. So he stood, smoothed out the blankets on the bed, moved the pillows, and tried to arrange it as nicely as it had been arranged when he had arrived.

When the bed was made, he moved on to his clothes and redressed himself quickly, taking small sips of his wine as he went. The sickness had dissipated entirely by the time he was fully dressed, so he picked up his wine and made his way to the door.

The knob would not move. He was locked in again.

He had expected as much, but he had also expected that he would have something to do today. But he had nothing he could be expected to clean with, so he stared dumbly at the door for a few seconds, sipping his wine, then tried something which he expected not to work.

“Mrs OfAgalon?” He asked the silence, and when he received no reply he tried, “Master?”

Nothing, as expected.

Xac sighed and looked around for anything to do, but without somuchas a rag, there was little to be done. He set his half empty glass on the dressing table and picked up the pitcher to empty and refill. There was a cake of soap on the sink, but without a sponge, brush, rag, or anything, he couldn’t make much use of it, so he rinsed the jug as best he could, refilled it, and replaced it near the basin, then did the same with the basin itself.

After a few minutes he went back to the sink and washed his face and arms there, though he was fairly sure he was supposed to do that at the basin, he didn’t want to get it dirty again.

Tick Tick Tick went the clock in the sitting room.

Xac wondered if he was very good for a few days if perhaps he could convince Agalon to let him into the sitting room and lock the door from the hall instead. He probably could. He couldn’t remember much of the night before, but he remembered that Agalon seemed to have taken a liking to him.

He walked back into the room and picked up his glass, took another sip, and thought he was beginning to feel the effects of it. The world was starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges, but he didn’t think that the one glass was going to get him full blown drunk, and he missed the feeling.

He walked over to the dressing mirror to make sure his appearance was up to the high standards of the house, and spent a great deal of time fiddling with his sleeves. He thought he probably wasn’t supposed to roll them up, but it was too hot for long sleeves. He couldn’t take it.

He finished off the glass and went to put it back on the tray. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with the food waste, but he didn’t want it there when Agalon got home. He hoped that someone would eventually come up and take it away, because there wasn’t very much he could do with it.

After a few seconds of staring at peels and cores he climbed back onto the bed, at the foot facing the wall this time, and stared up at the painting hanging there above the headboard. He had noticed before that it was a landscape, but hadn’t wanted to take everything in too quickly. He knew he would be here, in the room, for a long time, and wanted to try to have something to look forward to, something hidden that he could pull out if the boredom gave way to madness.

But he had given up that idea easily. So he leaned back on his hands and stared up at the painting. It was a landscape, as he had guessed from the few glances he had spared it, and it was very well done. It depicted the manor house and the fields stretching out behind it, with a bit of the barn peeking out, but with one glaring flaw. Whoever had painted the picture had neglected to add the slave quarters. Xac and his family were apparently not important enough to note. He felt some sort of way about this, but could not identify the emotion, so he allowed himself to fall backwards and began to count the ceiling tiles again.

There were sixty.

After he had grown bored with this activity he stood and walked the short distance to the wardrobe, then pulled open the one he believed belonged to Agalon. Xac wasn’t used to nice clothes and he thought that it was, at least, something to look at. He pulled open the doors and stared at the clothing hanging there.

Xaxac knew nothing of the Urillian military, and so assumed that Agalon must really like the color green. Nearly all of his clothes were green, and nearly all looked as if they were made for winter. He didn’t understand how Agalon hadn’t had a heat stroke; he had seen that sort of thing happen before, on the fields, to people who dressed too heavily or didn’t drink enough water. They would pass out and appear dead.

He stretched out the long sleeve of a jacket and ran his fingertips over it. The material was heavy and structured, but soft to the touch. It was completely smooth, with even weaving, until he got to the hemline, which was embroidered with gold thread. He liked the contrast of the texture there, and ran his thumb over it again and again until his ears perked up.

Someone was in the sitting room!

He hastily closed the wardrobe , put his hands behind his back, and stood at the foot of the bed.

The doorknob jingled, and he hoped and prayed that Agalon was back from whatever it was he did during the day, wherever it was he had gone.

But of course it wasn’t. It was Mrs OfAgalon, followed by two men dressed similarly to Xac himself, whom he had never met.

“Good morning, mam,” He said chipperly.

“Morning?” She asked with a huff, “It’s nearly noon. Don’t tell me you’ve been lying about all day?”

“You said you was gonna leave me stuff to clean with,” Xac said, “I ain’t had nothin to do. I’m bored.”

“He’s bored,” one of the men said to the other and rolled his eyes, “Poor little thing.”

He had walked to the wardrobes while he spoke, and the other man glanced at Xaxac as he followed him.

“What are y’all doin?” Xac asked as one man tilted the empty wardrobe heavily and the other moved to the other side and picked it up from the bottom. That action alone answered his question, so he asked, “Y’all want some help?”

The men ignored him and walked out of the room with the wardrobe.

Mrs OfAgalon made her way to the other wardrobe and opened it, and Xac watched her face scrunch up in anger.

“You didn’t even clean them out for us? You really haven’t done anything all day, have you?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to clean um out,” Xac said politely, trying his best not to let her get to him.

“The Master has ordered a new set from craftsmen,” Mrs OfAgalon explained as if Xaaxc should know this already, “He went out early this morning and is planning to return this afternoon.”

“Where’d he get furniture from?” Xac asked in confusion, “Ain’t nothin around here, is it?”

Xaxac had never been to town, but he did know people who went visiting on their Sundays off, and he had never known any of them to go to town. He didn’t think there was anything in the immediate area except more farms. There was, however, apparently a road, so maybe there was a town somewhere. Either way no one had told him to do anything.

“I’m sure that’s none of my business,” Mrs OfAgalon said as she began to take the clothing carefully out of the wardrobe and stack them neatly on Xac’s bed, which essentially cut his living space in half.

“You want some help?” He asked.

“It would behoove you,” She continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “To learn to mind your business. If something does not concern you, keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Yes mam,” Xac said, and stood there doing nothing while she unloaded the linens and stacked them on the bed as well.

He watched her in silence for some time as she repeated this action with the drawers, and he had no idea what he was meant to do with himself. He walked to the doorway and looked out of it to see that when the men had carried the wardrobe out they had left the door to the sitting room wide open.

“You want me to take this tray back down to the kitchen?” Xac asked, “I kinda don’t wanna leave it up here. It don’t look clean.”

“You stay right where you are,” she demanded, so Xac took a step away from the door, folded his hands in the small of his back again, and looked around nervously.

Mrs OfAgalon worked in silence, and Xac stared at her, trying to think of something to say to her. He didn’t really understand why she didn’t like him. Sure, they had gotten off on the wrong foot, but he hadn’t wronged her in any meaningful way; he had just avoided getting hit. That was a reflex. No one should be blamed for that.

But she was important. She was in charge. And he needed to get her to like him.

“I’m sorry I’ve not done nothin,” he said quietly, “I try real hard, I promise I do. I just… didn’t have nothing to clean with, and I got real sick. I think drinkin makes me sick, but Ag- the Master wanted me to drink so I did.”

“You’re too young to drink,” she said judgmentally. “And drunkenness is not an excuse.”

“I wish I could talk to my mommy,” Xac said, more to himself than to her.

“You aren’t a baby,” She scolded.

Xac sighed and unfolded his hands to play with them while he watched her work. After an unbearably long amount of time had passed, he tried another question.

“Are you scared of me?”

“Why on god’s green Xren would I be afraid of you?” She asked as if the question was ridiculous- but she did not portray that emotion very well. Xac noticed the way her voice shot up, the way she hit the wrong syllables, as if her voice wanted to tremble and she would not let it.

“On account of I’m a monster,” Xac stepped forward and leaned heavily on a bedpost, “Some folks is scared of shifters. They tell stories about us.”

“I don’t know what you’ve told the master,” Mrs OfAgalon said, and Xac noticed the way she refused to look at him, “But respectable folks don’t believe rumors started by petulant youths trying to lie their way into good graces.”

“It ain’t a lie,” Xac said.

“You are in severe need of a number of lessons,” Mrs OfAgalon said as if Xaxac was below her, was annoying her. “You have absolutely no idea how to conduct yourself.”

Xaxac didn’t really register this as an insult, though she had obviously meant it as one. It was true, the kind of truth that could not reasonably be denied, and therefore simply a fact. She may as well have called him a brunette.

“I wouldn’t raised up for it,” he agreed, “Nobody never said nothin about me workin here.”

“Do you feel the need to supply any space with endless chitchat?” Mrs OfAgalon asked, “Do you have a fear that if you were to stop speaking for a few minutes you would die?”

“Do you have to be so mean all the time?” Xac asked before he could stop himself, “Are you scared that if somebody was to like you you would die?”

Mrs OfAgalon turned around to glare at him, but before she could speak another voice rang through the room.

“Are ya up, Honey Bunny?” Agalon asked as he strode into the room and ran a hand down Xac’s shirt to smooth it out, “Don’t you look cute? How’d you sleep?”

“I loved it!” Xac said earnestly and leaned into the touch as Agalon wrapped an arm around him, “I ain’t never had a bed like that before! It’s so big and soft! I’m glad I had you with me, though. I was scared to sleep alone.”

“Yeah, I reckon you’re probably scared of lots of stuff,” Agalon agreed, “That’s actually why I come back up here. I thought about that and I didn’t want to leave you alone while they was up here takin out the furniture. You don’t need to be around a lot of new people until you get acclimatized. Did they wake you up?”

“No, Master, I was up,” Xac promised, “I swear I didn’t mean to sleep all day! I ain’t used to drinkin! I think it made me sick!”

“I left you a hair of the dog,” Agalon said as if that meant something, but Xac had no idea what, so he settled on a safe, polite response.

“Thank you.”

“Why are we back to ‘Master’?” Agalon asked, “I thought I was ‘Aggie’.”

Xac stared up at him in horror. He had no idea what he was talking about. Alice had explained to him how important the ranking system was. Surely he hadn’t been that stupid, had he? But he couldn’t remember much of the night before, so it was possible. Anything was possible.

“God above, they’ve scared the hell outta you,” Agalon said as he read the expression on Xac’s face, “Don’t be scared of Nacy, darlin, she ain’t gonna hurt you. Look, Honey Bunny, I know you’re skittish. I shoulda come up here quicker. I shouldn’t have folks up here without me. But we’re gonna get some new furniture,” he turned to smile down at him and laid a finger on his nose again, then took it quickly away, and Xac giggled. “I need somewhere to put the cute outfits I’m gonna get ya.”

“You don’t gotta get me a bunch of stuff, Master,” Xac leaned into his chest and snuggled there, then risked a glance at Mrs OfAgalon, but she was busy and completely ignoring him.

“Let’s have lunch,” Agalon said, “I have to head back out after we get the furniture moved and I’m starving.” He turned his attention to Mrs OfAgalon and said, “Nacy, darlin, can you have somethin brought up?”

“Of course, master,” She stood and walked away on command, and Xac stared after her, then looked up at Agalon and frowned.

“I don’t think she likes me,” He pouted, “When I first come here she tried to hit me.”

“She hit you?” Agalon asked, “When?”

“She didn’t hit me,” Xac said, “She just tried to. I jumped back.” He wrapped his arms around Agalon and buried his face in his chest, “She got mad because she wanted to take the clothes my mama made for me and I wouldn’t give them to her so she tried to hit me. She don’t like me!” He wondered how difficult it would be to make one’s self cry, and found that it was much easier than he expected when he thought of his mother, of the clothes she had made for him that he had lost, of how he may never see her again.

“Honey Bunny, everybody likes you,” Agalon assured him, and Xac felt his nails scratching at his scalp, “Shss, you’re just overwhelmed.”

After another few seconds of Xac crying into his shirt he spoke again, “Darlin, you must have got confused. She probably just didn’t want you bringing anything like that into the house. You don’t need it anymore. Here, shss, stop crying.” He pulled Xac away so that he could look down at him, cupped his face and tiled it up to force him to look into his eyes, “We’ll get you some new clothes, alright? And I want you to rest assured that nobody is going to hurt you. Listen, I have to go to work to supervise the fighters because the season is about to start, but when I get home we’ll have a nice evening together, alright? I’ll have someone come in and move these clothes out of our way.”

“I’m sorry,” Xac said, “I’m just,” he steeled his mind- and decided to lie, “scared of her!”

“Everything is going to be alright.” Agalon promised, then looked up as the two men came back into the room. He pointed at the wardrobe and said, “That one may still need to be unloaded. Careful, gentlemen, don’t hit anything else while you move it.”

He looked down at Xac, then stood upright, wrapped an arm around him, and continued, “Boys, actually, could I have a minute of your time while y’all do that? I’ve been hearin some rumors about my housekeeper.”

Xac leaned into Agalon’s side and hid his smile in the fabric of his shirt.