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Noah was bored, and when he was bored, he got restless, and when he was restless, he got dumb.
His mother was Brenna the Bloody, a warrior queen whose vassal lords controlled more territory than Noah could think what to do with. This place, theoretically her palace, was really more of a village, a cluster of wooden buildings that would take fifteen minutes to walk across even if you didn't stop anywhere. And yet Noah knew it all like the back of his hand, knew everyone in it who was remotely interesting, and since he would make a tempting target for his mother's many enemies, he wasn't allowed to leave it unsupervised. It didn't matter that he was a man grown and skilled with a bow and a throwing axe. Apparently, he wasn't trusted to take care of himself.
Brenna had returned from campaign a few weeks prior, which was briefly exciting, but Noah had quickly decided that she hadn't brought anything interesting back with her. Now, though, he was wondering if that assessment had been wrong. The slaves she'd brought seemed...different from the other slaves. Surely many of them had been enemy warriors like this -- captured warrior-slave had described half the people charged with raising Noah whenever his mother had been gone in his childhood -- but few had ever seemed so wild, like these. It was...intriguing.
One in particular had caught Noah's eye, so that night, he sent someone to bring that slave to him and then swore his guards to secrecy about anything they might hear inside his chambers. When the man arrived, Noah was sitting in a chair next to the fire with a huge old hunting dog asleep at his feet.
His mother was Brenna the Bloody, a warrior queen whose vassal lords controlled more territory than Noah could think what to do with. This place, theoretically her palace, was really more of a village, a cluster of wooden buildings that would take fifteen minutes to walk across even if you didn't stop anywhere. And yet Noah knew it all like the back of his hand, knew everyone in it who was remotely interesting, and since he would make a tempting target for his mother's many enemies, he wasn't allowed to leave it unsupervised. It didn't matter that he was a man grown and skilled with a bow and a throwing axe. Apparently, he wasn't trusted to take care of himself.
Brenna had returned from campaign a few weeks prior, which was briefly exciting, but Noah had quickly decided that she hadn't brought anything interesting back with her. Now, though, he was wondering if that assessment had been wrong. The slaves she'd brought seemed...different from the other slaves. Surely many of them had been enemy warriors like this -- captured warrior-slave had described half the people charged with raising Noah whenever his mother had been gone in his childhood -- but few had ever seemed so wild, like these. It was...intriguing.
One in particular had caught Noah's eye, so that night, he sent someone to bring that slave to him and then swore his guards to secrecy about anything they might hear inside his chambers. When the man arrived, Noah was sitting in a chair next to the fire with a huge old hunting dog asleep at his feet.
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George didn't handle defeat well, too strong-willed to accept such a fate; he fought until they overwhelmed him, dragged off kicking and screaming because he might prove more use alive than dead. And so he remained for the next few weeks, spitting and snarling in their capture, until a new guard came to drag him off somewhere new.
He dragged his heels the whole way, literally as much as figuratively. Spewed vitriol every inch, tried to escape no less than three times, but in spite of it all they got him to their destination. Deposited him inside the chambers of the prince, so they said, and left, so George was left staring at what amounted to a boy and a dog.
"'Prince', huh? You don't look like much."
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Probably not the nicest or most constructive first words to exchange, but Noah wasn't feeling especially nice. He started it, anyway.
He stood up from his chair, stepping over the massive hound, which didn't stir. He had stripped to the waist, leaving him in trousers and a fur girdle for warmth, his thin, straw-colored hair held back from his face with a tie. A knife was tucked into the girdle, a simple one in a simple sheath, sharp enough but meant more as a tool than a weapon. Despite being a man grown, he didn't grow a beard easily yet, but he did bear the mark of adulthood, a scar on his arm darkened with pigment and another on his back. Another long, thin scar marked his ribcage, and he was tall, but lithe and willowy rather than thick, like those he'd seen of George's tribe.
Since this slave apparently wasn't going to be respectful of his place, Noah didn't see any reason to respect him first, so he skipped over the name and the drink he might otherwise have offered. "Take off your clothes."
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"You try to have me killed, you're only gonna lose 'em. Plus, you wanted to have me killed you wouldn't have put in so much effort getting me here."
Empty threat only further proved by the next words out of the kid's mouth, which only earned him another scoff.
"And why's that."
ugh i'm sorry i'm so slow, i picked a shitty time to try to start a thread for my busyness level
"You heard me, slave. Take off your clothes."
totally fine! shit happens!
"Or what, little man?"
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"Or..." Noah was pretty well thrown, taking a moment to come up with a response, but he managed to regain his composure, frowning and squaring his shoulders. "Or you'll live long enough to regret it."
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"Don't think there's a day in existence I'd have any regrets either way, but you seem adamant enough to make a fool of yourself about it."
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"Do your people not fear death?" he asked, more curious than aggressive now. He still wanted his dick wet, but this aggressive refusal to play along was distracting. Noah couldn't understand it.
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"Why should I fear death? What comes after's bound to be just as interesting as things are here, only a different kind."
Hell, better than, maybe.
He considered the situation, though, the way the kid looked him over and the instructions so far, and when his next question came it was with a lazy, teasing tone. Designed to irritate while not caring much about the consequences.
"You want to fuck me or something, or d'you just like looking at naked men?"
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"I mean, there's something to be said for looking at naked men," Noah said, cocking an eyebrow. This slave was a sharp contrast to him, thicker and shorter and hairier, but it was pleasing. Exotic, almost.
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He was mostly hairless, his people being rather more sleek of build, although he wasn't without battle scars. Sheltered he might be, but he'd known a battle or two -- the most prominent was a long, thin scar along his ribcage, a well-cared-for sword cut. "So?" he asked, spreading his hands.
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"Don't look like much. All skin and bones, like a girl who hasn't bled yet."
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