warnings: nooses (not in a suicidal manner), captivity, morally grey whumper, descriptions of hanging / loose / broken skin, nudity (non sexual and not described), implied pet / institutionalized whump Â
<3 iâm not so active on tumblr anymore but iâve been thinking about these boys a lot!Â
Jak huffs to himself, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. Stupid, stupid captain and stupid elf and stupid everything. The last thing he wanted was to look after the thing, yet here he is.
âJak, you seem rather interested in our captive. Or so Iâm told. Why donât you keep an eye on it today? The others tell me theyâre tired of seeing it everyday. Keep it out of our way.â
Yeah, whatever. At least itâs a day off from training. The spot heâd chosen off of camp wasnât so bad either. A quiet area, in front of the river and surrounded by woods. He sits on a stump, the elf kneeling next to him in the grass. A rope wraps around its neck, loose for now, but the threat of Jak yanking it tight persists. He wishes he didnât have to hold it.
âNice day, huh?â Jak says, looking over to the elf. It doesnât respond, eyes closed and head tilted toward the sunlight. He supposes it mightâve missed it after being tied up under an outdoor tent for days. Itâs fists are curled in the grass, like its afraid itâll float away if it lets go. âYou awake over there?â
The elf moves at that. Its eyes - lacking pupils, ugh - open, head turning to face the human. Jak cringes. Maybe he shouldâve let it stay like that. He hadnât really gotten a good look at it before.
Its ears are more mangled than he thought. Drooped down, tattered at the tips and crusted over with blood at the earlobes. As far as Jak knows, elf ears are supposed to stand tall. These look wrung and ripped to shreds.
Itâs skin, too, smooth yet dirtied with blood and grime. Itâs nose is slightly lopsided, neck littered with fingerprint bruises. Malnourished, too. It stares at Jak, blinking slowly, lips slightly parted.
âDo you talk?â Elves talk. Donât they? Jak is sure heâs heard them speak before. In their own language, yeah, but heâs heard English too. Maybe this one doesnât speak. It doesnât look like any elf heâs ever seen, anyway.
âYes, sir.â Its voice is clunky, like itâs trying to talk around its tongue. Maybe it isnât used to talking. âI can read, too. And count. I was known in my home as a scholar. I know how to do many things,â It says, carefully, like itâs testing the waters for Jakâs reaction. âAnd I will leave that at that, sir. Do with it what you will.â It dips its head again, seeming quite proud of itself.
â..Alright, then.â He glances out toward the river, if only to rid his eyes of the other. He doesnât like looking at it for too long. Itâs blank stare is bad enough, not counting the infected wounds and scars littered across its body. It doesnât look in pain, though. Maybe itâs gotten used to it? Or it doesnât feel it? He doesnât know how elves work, maybe it can heal itself and thatâs why no oneâs been tending to it. âDo you want to work?â
Jak keeps his eyes on the water, but he feels the elfâs eyes turn to him again. It hesitates. âI.. want to prove myself, sir,â It decides. âI can be helpful. I can do whatever you need.â It looks down at the grass. âI know youâre taking me back to the jail, though. Thatâs okay. Itâs your job. You seem like you are very good at your job. Thatâs a good thing to be. Back at home, I was-â
âStop.â Jak exhales, exasperated. âI donât care what you were like back at home. You clearly donât, either, we didnât find you at home. We found you running away.â
The elf makes a strange, sort of huffing-humming noise, fisting its hands in the grass once again. âYes, I know.â It says curtly, dipping its head and closing its eyes again. It doesnât speak, and Jak assumes the conversation is over. At last.Â
-
How do other elves do it? Aymer digs his nails into his palms, screwing his eyes shut. He wants to be useful, so, so bad, but whenever he tries he babbles on and on and no one wants an elf who talks. Heâs surprised the human hadnât beaten him black and blue for uttering a word, much less a conversation. Maybe it was a test? If it was, he definitely failed it.Â
No one wants an elf whoâs been to jail, either. Itâs just his impulses. He runs away, gets thrown into whatever jail finds him first, and thrown into a shelter the next day.Â
He supposes heâs lucky humans still think elves are useful enough to keep around. He knows many would rather they get killed off. Hunters, especially. The only thing that stops them from killing the elves they catch is the bounty. Aymerâs sure his luck will run out one day, though. Maybe itâs now. Maybe the human took him out here to kill him and dispose of him quickly. He glances up, seeing the humanâs eyes dart around the woods. Maybe heâs looking for a place to do it easily. The knot in Aymerâs chest twists painfully.Â
âLook,â The human starts, and Aymerâs ears twitch in response. âWeâre packing up to leave tomorrow morning. Youâre going to have to walk all day, and youâre already dirty enough as is.â He stands up, exerting lightest pressure on the rope around Aymerâs neck. The elf stands quickly, legs wobbling. âYou can wash off in the river. Itâs still and calm here. Just get the dirt off.â He glances in the direction of the camp. âAnd donât take too long.âÂ
âI, I wonât, sir,â Aymer hears himself say, stumbling over his words. The human leads him downhill, stopping at the riverbank. He stands there for a moment, as if thinking, then loops the rope around Aymerâs neck on a thin tree hanging over the river. âJust the dirt, like I said. Donât dawdle.â The human gives Aymer a look, then turns around. To give him privacy, he assumes.
âI wonât.â Aymer replies, far too late, stripping and stepping into the water. Itâs cold, but not unbearably so, and sways around his legs nicely. He can feel excess dirt caked on his skin already coming loose. He steals a quick glance at the sun, then starts to quietly clean himself. He wonders - no, no, theyâre still going to kill him. He knows it. Maybe they just.. want to wear his senses down. Or itâs going to be.. formal? So he should look clean?
None of this makes sense to him right now. But he will admit: it feels awfully nice to scrub dirt off his skin after so long.
