In Gray's Shadow

Posted on 23 Jul 2015 @ 1:47pm by

2,509 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 09 - Empires
Location: Grayson's Residence/ Unknown Specified Location
Timeline: MU, 2 years ago - MD-1

ON:

Tyrion cried as he was transported away from the ship. He had been allowed to take a few personal items, but most of his personal belongings he left behind, in the hope he would return sooner rather than later. He felt sick, and alone; abandoned. Never in the past four years had he dreamed of being discarded like this, and he still couldn't understand what he'd done to even deserve this.

But he had new orders, and he would carry them out and regain his master's faith in him. The only thing he couldn't do, was follow orders that would compromise Grayson. And on his very first day at central, that earned him quite a beating from his new master. A tall and broad-shouldered hybrid of some kind. Tyrion could see the man wasn't fully Human but couldn't identify the other half of his genetics. The man wanted to know about his pursuits with Grayson, and Tyrion had kept his jaws firmly locked together, not breathing a word.

When his new master was through, Tyrion was locked away in a small room, which only had a bed and a desk in it, which was really his only requirement to work and sleep. The Betazoid curled up on the bed, feeling an ache in his stomach that he couldn't identify. He cried himself into a restless sleep, his dreams plagued with images of his half-Trill master and lover.

Over the following few days, Tyrion settled into a new routine of information gathering and delivering reports. He never spoke of his prior life, avoiding contact with fellow servants and painfully refusing to answer any questions. The life disappeared from his eyes and he became a different man. Quiet, recluse, just doing what he was told to do. He did keep up his old tabs, still working to keep Grayson safe and informed, but he never expected response.

On occasion, while out in the field, he did see Grayson but as he had been ordered to do, he turned away and disappeared into the crowds before his old master had even spotted him. He didn't even reach out to him to see or feel how he was doing. He did wonder, if Grayson missed him at all, but he didn't take the effort to find out.

Tyrion felt dead inside, and extremely lonely. He had his little adventures, with different kinds of men, but he never felt any spark, and there was no love lost for his various bedpartners. Most of which he needed information from anyway so it felt more like duty, than personal need anyway. He killed with precision, as he was expected to do.

He even shared his new master's bed, but he never went to the length of pleasing him as he had Grayson. He did, however, weave his way into the master's mind, learning whatever he could about him for future use against him. While he had never ever plotted against, or betrayed his first master, he didn't feel any kind of loyalty towards his current one. His new master wasn't a kind person, and many of his servants had disappeared over the past months.

Tyrion, feeling the need to build in some securities, feared for his own life, the way he was getting treated. There were days, where he wished he had opted for the airlock, it would've been a clean and quick death at least. Not this slow torture he was enduring now.

He was injured many times, ranging in severity from just bruises, to someone trying to kill him. He knew he was good at what he did, and that there were lower ranked servants that vied for his job. He had endured poison, and even a stab to his back, but he'd been quicker, and had survived both attempts on his life.

One night, several months after his transfer, he sat curled up on his bed after a hard day's work of information gathering from prisoners. He just hugged his legs after having shrugged out of his leather, which hung limply over the chair at his desk. His room had no windows, just four walls and a door, a floor space of maybe twelve square meters at the max. He sighed miserably, his right hand covering the blue rose over his chest, feeling a stabbing pain as though he was having a heart attack.

His subject had fought him, with hand and teeth but in the end he had prevailed and had extracted what he needed to know. But he was exhausted, and not in any shape to pass on the information to his new master. At least he had learned what other genetics his new master had. His victim, apparently, had been a prior lover and had learned a lot about master. He learned the man was half Orion from his mother's side, and his name was Hirad. He also learned the man had a relentless and vicious side that he hadn't seen yet.

None of this information would go back to Hirad, of course, and he filed it safely away. Now he knew for certain he had to be careful from here on, because he knew Orions could be vengeful. He had seen it with his own eyes while under Grayson's service, had seen an Orion kill someone with his bare hands, after somehow luring the poor woman in. Unconsciously, he shuddered as he thought of Hirad's hands on him, bruising his arms as he was held down.

A cool wind came into the room as the door was opened from the outside and he shivered a second time as it touched his bare skin. "Sit up," Hirad ordered as he walked into the room.

Tyrion straightened as he sat up, but kept his gaze towards the floor. He knew what was coming; he had to transfer what he'd found and it wasn't going to be pleasant. He was exhausted and he really needed to get some rest. "Please master," he began his plea, "not tonight. I'll come first thing in the morning, please I need sleep."

"You'll sleep when I allow you to," Hirad snapped, unrolling his black leather whip, threateningly playing with the thin end of the long strip. "And you report when I tell you to. Jones really let you slack didn't he? Think you're so special do you? Well, you're nothing. I know who you are Faye and you're nothing. No-one. The last of your line, a despicable line. And if I didn't have my orders to keep you alive, you would be dead." He casually flicked the whip towards the sitting man, catching him across the shoulders. Without pause or a blink of an eye, he flicked it forward a second time, more forceful now.

Tyrion flinched as the whip caught him first across his shoulder, leaving an angry red welt across his skin. He turned his head as the second one lashed bloodily across his cheek and tears sprang in his eyes. There was nothing he could say; he'd known for years that he was the last of his line. But to hear his abandoned family name spoken after almost five years, it hurt. And he knew that there'd be no more of his line. He, who didn't lay with women, he wasn't fertile anyway, he made sure of that. His tight leather outfit made sure of that. Or at least, he hoped so.

"Get up and come here," Hirad ordered firmly, casually letting his whip dangle towards the floor. The threat of it was sufficient and he relished in seeing the fear in his servant's eyes.

Flinching as he moved, Tyrion got to his feet and approached slowly. He yelped as his hair was roughly grabbed and his head was yanked back by the taller and broader male. Holding his breath, he waited, knowing the transfer of information was inevitable. Knowing, he lacked the strength after the long day he'd had. And especially, after holding himself together as he did now. Tyrion was afraid, and the fear was etched on his face.

Though he didn't require touch -being a full telepath-, the Betazoid knew Hirad did require it of him so he placed his hands on the half-Orion's face and closed his eyes in concentration. He was shivering as he stood in close proximity to his master, his own naked body almost touching with Hirad's bare chest. In a fleeting second, he remembered the tender closeness he'd shared with Grayson, and compared it to the rough treatment he received now. At least, Hirad wasn't capable of venturing into his mind, and had learned the necessary defenses to keep other telepaths out if he wanted them to stay out of his thoughts. On occasion, he had allowed Grayson into his thoughts, sharing memories. But those occasions had been rare.

Feeling his energy drain from his body, he transferred every memory of today's sessions to Hirad. When he was done, his hands fell away and he fell limply against Hirad's broad chest, praying he'd be left alone for the rest of the night. Broad hands held him up and pushed him away until he stumbled back onto the bed.

"Get two slaves to clean you up," Hirad grumbled, somewhat satisfied with today's result. "You earned a comfortable bed tonight, and a salt scrub."

Tyrion blanched, watching Hirad's smug expression. He knew exactly what this meant and he shook his head. He was too tired for this, he had no energy to spare. "I'm fine here master," he mumbled submissively, then cried out as the black whip struck him out of nowhere.

"I said get yourself cleaned up. Now, Servant Faye, and don't forget your status here. Which means exactly nothing, you do as you're told. And you just might live another day. Understand?"

"Yes master," the Betazoid whispered miserably, "I understand."

"Then go. Get cleaned up nice for me, and come to my chambers in thirty minutes. I will be expecting you."
"Yes master," Tyrion murmured and scrambled out of the room. When he reached the bathroom, he was received by two young Vulcan slave girls, who washed him up and scrubbed his skin with rose scented salt. He winced as the salt stung into his wounds, but let them do their work. There was no point in seeing them punished because he wasn't looking forward to the rest of the night.

Washed up and smelling nice, Tyrion entered Hirad's room exactly thirty minutes later, and climbed into bed. There would be very little sleep to be had tonight, and plenty of screaming and begging. Hirad was not an easily pleased lover, though Tyrion did his best.

The next morning, Tyrion woke up with Hirad's arms tightly wrapped around him, keeping him close. He was aching and he felt as if he could barely breathe. The lashes he'd received were burning, and there were numerous more across his entire body. Memories of the night were vague, thankfully, though the result was very much visible. His lower abdomen was in agony, and he wasn't sure he could walk at all. He squirmed and wiggled carefully, but as he moved the arms wrapped around him even tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe. "Master," he begged, his voice raspy, his throat dry. "Master please, I can't breathe."

Hirad, who was already awake, but feigning sleep, smiled to himself, watching his servant struggle. This was the fun part, hearing him - or any other - beg before he either killed them, or let them carry on with their duties. This one was particularly feisty, but Hirad reasoned that his previous master had just been far too soft on the man. He was a telepath, vermin, not even worthy of any kindness. He shifted his arms a little, feeling something give underneath and heard the muffled scream of his subject.

The Orion felt nails dig into his arms as the Betazoid servant struggled for his life, no matter how injured he was. An interesting observation, Hirad noted to himself as his arm wrapped around the younger man's throat, applying slow pressure. He felt the struggles cease, the pleas reduced to whispers until they ceased and the subject fell limp in his arms. Quickly checking him, Hirad observed the Betazoid still lived. Barely, but still lived, and that was the only requirement of this servant: to remain alive. His ultimate condition had not been negotiated.

"I have no further use of him today. Tend to his wounds, and see that he's fed, then lock him in his room. He displeased me, and he'll be punished. You two are to remain with him and make certain he does not leave his room. Do not speak to him, do not let him speak to you." He was interested to see how mere slaves would take this order, if they would take to a servant who had status of his own.

"Yes master," a small voice replied, and a young Trill stepped from the shadows, followed by what looked like his identical twin brother. Together they hauled Tyrion's limp and bloodied form from the bed and dragged him back to his own cell. They cleaned him, tended to his wounds and gave him a good hearty meal to eat.

The twins watched him in silence, as they'd been ordered to do. They barred his way as he tried to go for a walk and simply shook their heads as he cast them an inquisitive look. Tyrion gave a single nod in understanding and returned to his bed, curling up to get some sleep. If he wasn't going anywhere, and if he was going to be watched, he might as well try and get some rest.

Months went by where Tyrion was put through the same ritual at least once or twice per week, in an attempt to break him, but he refused to be broken. His loyalty to his first master only increasing, and his hatred for Hirad rising with each encounter. But he couldn't kill Hirad, it was a death sentence for sure, so he just kept up his daily routines. Interrogation sessions with prisoners, physical training to keep up his general fitness and strength, medical checks to make sure he remained healthy and strong, injections against diseases just in case and whatever treatment he required after a night with Hirad.

Almost two years had passed and Tyrion had changed from a scared and lonely servant, to an even lonelier servant. He had no friends, he worked only to keep himself alive and kept only one hope for himself. The only clothes he had were his black and red leather skinsuits, other than that he had nothing beyond memories that he painstakingly kept to himself. His body bore the scars of punishments and public humiliation. When he wasn't working, slaves stripped him to maintain the leather suit, and he was left naked in constant attempt at humiliation. Until one day....

OFF:

Tyrion
Grayson's Servant
Hirad's Servant
[pnpc T'Vanna]

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