#self-depreciation

He sat with his back against the dining table, facing the creature he swore to watch. Common sense told him the food wasn’t bad, but it felt like sediment crushing between his teeth and mud sliding down his throat. Even looking at William was an effort. Depictions of the King had always been regal and dignified, but looking at him now, he looked like a leper so diseased no one would even risk tossing him a coin.

William woke up before midnight, sadly Peter was beginning to nod off and the sound of a man grunting awake startled him out of any sleep he could have ever hoped to achieve. He watched as William’s head bobbed weakly, face obscured by tendrils of dirty and oily hair, he was waiting for proof that the captive was truly awake.

“Argh…fucking bitch,” The gravelly voice seemed to whisper in the large space of the room and Peter’s eyes narrowed at the clear anger towards Rowan.

“Your head hurt?” He spat. “You feeling a little sore after getting cracked in the skull?” William forced his gaze up and blinked a few times to clear them of the bleary film blocking Peter’s face from him. He certainly thought Rowan sounded weird when he spoke. But of course he recognised the stern face of the hunter that choked him unconscious and knocked him out soon after.

“Oh, fantastic,” He groaned. “You’re back so soon? And I thought Rowan and I could talk more.” He smirked at the furious reaction his comment earned and winced at the effort.

“If I had the stomach I’d torture you the same way you tortured him, but I only kill animals, I don’t abuse them.”

“Oh, how clever, I suppose I’m the animal?” William mocked. “That must be where Rowan got that eloquence from. He sounded like an idiot every time he spoke in my presence.”

“I’m not in the mood to listen to any more of your poison than I have to.” Peter scowled, shaking his head softly. “You keep making noise and I’ll gag you with an ember.”

“I thought you didn’t hurt animals.”

Peter pushed himself to his feet and stepped towards William menacingly, he was fully prepared to silence this creature so he didn’t find himself caught in a conversation again. As he loomed over William, the man realised how utterly defenceless he was and attempted to backpedal.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry.” He exclaimed and Peter stopped. The shadow of firelight flickered over his face as he glowered at William’s tightly bound form, he wanted to continue forward and hurt him but, he couldn’t now that the victim had conceded. Part of him hated how weak he was.

“The next unsolicited sound from your mouth will be the last you utter for a long time,” He promised roughly, turning around to sit down again. “And if you speak to Rowan again, I won’t hesitate to break your jaw.”

That was a threat Alexander had not thought to use against him, and the idea of his teeth cracking apart with the force of whatever blow that would be dealt to him thoroughly intimidated William. He knew the hunter would have an axe lying around somewhere, at the very least. There were no doubt many weapons that could fracture bone within the vicinity, even while waiting for Rowan to bring him water he noticed the cast iron pots and cooking utensils, that would do more than enough damage to him.

“I only asked for some water,” 

While he wouldn’t be quite as brazen as before, he still couldn’t help his attempt to defend himself.

“Then why was he in tears when I came home?” Peter snarled, turning on his heel. “I left him alone with you less than an hour and yet you still managed to upset him so much he managed to knock you unconscious!” He shook his head angrily and scrunched up his nose in distaste. “He’s so innocent he can’t even bear to watch me prepare one of my kills, he’s never killed an animal in his life, and yet you managed to enrage him enough to risk killing you. Don’t you dare try and play innocent with me. Because I don’t play well.” He sat down again in his space and glared at William, eyes flashing with hatred.

“Now not another word. Unless you’re ready to be silenced.”

~ The bedroom door creaked open slowly just after dawn and Rowan poked his head out to glance at the room before him. Peter’s head was balanced back on his shoulder as he slept, his hair tousled around his face and supporting his skull, it didn’t look comfortable, but Rowan was afraid of trying to help him and waking him up. He already felt bad enough for making Peter sleep against the dining table as it was, he didn’t want to risk upsetting him.

Olivia grumbling softly from her place on Rowan’s bed and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was all right. She had been really quiet during the night, it was almost as if she suppressed her pain for the sake of Rowan’s wellbeing. She knew that Rowan would get upset if she was in pain.

Rowan slowly shut the door again and rested against it, hugging the bowl of food he found left for him to his chest. It smelled really nice, even though it was beginning to turn cold so he picked up the spoon tucked into the potatoes at the bottom and lifted it to his mouth. He always liked Peter’s food, it wasn’t ever particularly flavoursome, but it was so much nicer than the delicate portions of high-class meals or scraps that the kitchen would begrudgingly give him at the castle.

He had never been one to dream of lavish lifestyles with feather beds and fine wines. Even with William that dream turned to a nightmare. When he was young all he wanted was his father to be kind to him, then when he was on the streets he wished for a safe place to sleep and food, when he was in Lord Borin’s manor he only wanted somewhere to hide, he never wanted anything with Peter, and when he was with the garrison, he just wanted freedom, in whatever form it took. But his entire life all he wanted for his future was somewhere safe to live and a full belly, didn’t matter if the house was small or the food was poor, just some form of consistent safety.

Thinking about how safe he felt now, even with William only one room away from him, Rowan shuddered gently and relaxed against the wall, clutching the bowl tightly. A whole new wave of gratitude swept over him like a gust of wind and he had to push down the needy desire to see Peter and thank him again.

Then the memory of asking for a hug the night before reminded him of the source of his newfound sense of security. He was ashamed that he asked for something like that, that he savoured the feeling of Peter holding him, that he kept mimicking the sensation of Peter’s lips on his skin. He really was a whore. It’s not been more than a few months, and already he’s forgotten how deceptive those touches can be, and already craving more of them. William was right, it doesn’t matter who, he’s always looking for these people to support him.  William, then Cordelia, and now Peter.

Stop it. Please, just stop it. William isn’t right, he’s a bully. Peter’s right, he’s a bully.

Rowan took a deep breath and put down the bowl to run his hands over his hair. He needed another bath, he was dirty. That thought only upset him in another way and he shook it from his skull.

When he managed to clear his head he realised how the ice from outside was creeping into his skin once more and quietly scrambled back into bed, curling up in the residual warmth that the quilts had retained. It was an entertaining thought to imagine William tied against the wall while Rowan was wrapped up in warmth with food and his companion. He wanted to see William be hurt, but he couldn’t bear to risk being caught in another trap.