Gunnar had been pleased to bring home a thrall at last. Very pleased. Although Ferawyn wasn’t a pretty female to make others jealous, Gunnar felt that he had done better in capturing a full-grown male than if he had captured some female. He hadn’t just snatched a weakling! Ferawyn was no warrior, but there was still more honor to be had in capturing a fierce male lion.
Keeping him was another matter. Gunnar hadn’t really expected how … intrusive … a thrall could be. Ferawyn was obliging enough to Gunnar’s irritable orders, but it was strange having someone else around all the time. Since leaving his siblings, Gunnar hadn’t had anyone nearby for extended periods of time. Ferawyn was often off doing whatever idiotic things he liked to do, but when he was at Gunnar’s side … well, it was strange, that was all.
But even though it was a small relief when Ferawyn was away, Gunnar had heard things about his new thrall. Things that just wouldn’t do. Gunnar approached the thrall, his eyes narrowed. Apparently the thrall was eager to escape – understandable, but not tolerable.
And even worse, he sang. Like some … some female! Nearing his thrall, Gunnar snarled. “Ferawyn. What are you doing?” The thrall had a perfect right to be out and about, but Gunnar was suspicious. Perhaps he had been out singing, disgracing Gunnar.
---
Pfft. Gunnar was just jealous. And he hadn’t heard Fera sing yet. The white lion had little doubt in his mind that the other would change his mind, just as soon as he had been witness to his Thrall’s melodious voice. But that wasn’t the point.
Today, Fera was staying put. It was certainly a strange proposition, especially to the pale lion, but he had since decided that he was going to make good on his promise to Zilly—if, in fact, it was a promise. It probably wasn’t, but it was close enough to it, and she had seemed so… excited, strangely enough, at the prospect that he was going to be waiting for her.
Of course, the lioness herself wasn’t really the reason he was staying—any lion or lioness who had told him the same thing would have been enough to stop him from escaping. What really enticed him was the thought of the perfect song, that magical, singular song that would make everything come together, not matter how raucous or terrible it was.
He was startled from his thoughts at the sound of a familiar voice, and Ferawyn’s bright eyes opened, his gaze casting about briefly before settling on Gunnar. Ah, Gunnar. Fera was never quite sure what to make of the other lion. To be fair, the brown lion had never really… mistreated him in anyway, and in return for that, Fera was happy—not entirely… happy, per se, but willing enough anyway—to remain subservient to the Reaver and accomplish whatever errands he wanted done (that had been part of the plan, to keep Gunnar thinking that everything was alright while he made his elaborate escape). But he was still, and always would be, the one who had dragged Fera here to this godforsaken place to begin with, and for that, Fera felt disinclined to forgive him.
“Nothing…” He answered carefully, noncommittally, while he wondered what Gunnar was up to. Hopefully, this had nothing to do with the escape plan. It would have put quite a damper on things if Gunnar had gotten wind of it.
---
The thrall’s response was careful, neutral. Nothing there for Gunnar to take offense at. The reaver scowled at Ferawyn. He had been hoping for a stuttered excuse, something Gunnar could snap at him for. The reaver knew Ferawyn was thinking about escape. He didn’t like that Ferawyn was being so sly about it.
Well, his little secret wouldn’t remain secret for much longer.
“A likely story,” Gunnar said sourly, frowning at the impudent white lion. If he hadn’t been plotting an escape, he had probably been singing like a fool. Or spending time with Zilly … or all three. Ugh. Gunnar wasn’t sure how he felt about the bizarre lioness, but she was undoubtedly a bad influence on an already soft-minded thrall. Gunnar smiled, baring his teeth. “Is my company not good enough for you, Ferawyn? Thinking about leaving me, are you?” He would deal with the escape plans first. The singing could come later.
---
The white lion’s eyes widened ingenuously. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Reaver,” he said, not altogether frankly, but if he was feeling panicked, the inflections in his words didn’t show it. Technically, it was true. Fera hadn’t been plotting his escape at that very moment… but that wasn’t to say that he hadn’t been for months. And the fact that it had been months was rather distressing as well. If it hadn’t been for Zilly, he was sure he would have hightailed out of the Stormborn’s blasted pridelands long ago.
Yes, he was convinced that his ruse could work, that he could indeed sing anyone to sleep and then slip out. The fact that he hadn’t managed to do it yet was nothing more than a reflection on his poor choice of target. Next time, though. Next time, he would choose a lion. There were less ways for a lion to manipulate him into staying put.
“Leave you?” Ferawyn added, with a slight roll of his eyes. “Why would I ever do that.” It wasn’t even a question, more a flat intonation that was more sarcastic than perhaps he had intended.
---
All that wide-eyed innocence only deepened Gunnar’s scowl. He knew the damnable thrall wanted to escape. Even if he hadn’t heard vague rumors of it, it would have been simple common sense. Among the Stormborn every lion strove to better himself, sparring both physically and mentally to maintain their places in the hierarchy. It was only natural that a male lion – wimpy as Ferawyn was – would desire something more than the role of a slave. Gunnar’s powers of imagination were not strong enough to put himself in the other lion’s paws, but he knew that no male lion could meekly accept slavery.
Ferawyn would just have to be trained better.
At the sarcastic tone, Gunnar finally had good cause to lash out. He snarled, his anger sparking at that disrespectful voice. “I don’t know why. I’ve heard that you sing like a female. You should accept your place like one!” The reaver lashed out suddenly, aiming a quick blow at Ferawyn’s head. He didn’t mean to truly injure the thrall, just startle and intimidate him.
---
And BAM, the lion’s paw smacked against the side of his head. Ferawyn snarled and stepped away. Confrontation was not something he particularly enjoyed, and in a pride chock full of fighting lions, it was always safer to keep away from a fight. But that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t prepared to lash back if given enough provocation. “What was that for?” He growled, although they both knew full well what.
He didn’t doubt that Gunnar was aware of his escapist tendencies. Anyone with half a brain would have realized that keeping a lion suppressed and enslaved when he hadn’t been the rest of his life beforehand was a trick, and Fera didn’t intend to break that easily. That simply wasn’t in his nature, and much as he knew that singing and the urges to remain peaceful made him much less of a “lion” than any one of the Vikings, that meant nothing when it came to the urge to survive.
---
Ferawyn wasn’t exactly displaying the proper deference, but at least he hadn’t burst into tears or started up with his sissy singing. Snapping at Gunnar was a reasonable way to react, although he should definitely be more humble. The reaver favored Ferawyn with a dark look. “You’re not an idiot, much as you act like one,” he rumbled. “You know what that was for.”
Gunnar was tempted, strongly tempted, to just smack the white lion over the head again. Ferawyn’s grouching and denials were irritating to listen to. Maybe if he beat Ferawyn in the head for long enough, the white lion would finally shut up. Or maybe he would lose what sense he had and become even more annoying.
A horrifying thought.
While other lions in the pride might have killed a thrall that got under their skin, it wasn’t in Gunnar’s nature to do so. He had brought Ferawyn here, and he felt a certain amount of … responsibility, perhaps, towards him. Gunnar took a menacing step towards the thrall, and tried a tactic he hadn’t used before. Talking. Ugh. “You are fed. You are sheltered. When I met you, you were afraid of lionesses,” Gunnar said, somewhat scornfully. “Stop your foolishness. You should be glad to be here.”
---
Ferawyn huffed. Clearly, Gunnar did not know what lionesses were actually like. Whereas Fera liked to consider himself privileged beyond most lions in that he understood the intricacies of the female mind, his captor seemed to have no idea. Lionesses. Were. Scary. And the day Gunnar finally realized that was the day the dark lion would be in for an awful surprise.
Still, maybe there was something here. Rather than whack him over the head again, Gunnar turned to an alternative tactic—one that no doubt worked much better on the pale lion. Violence tempted the sleeping beast within, the instincts that dictated that he retaliate. But words, words were different. There was a certain power held in words that calmed the white lion, made him more open to reason.
“I’m grateful for the food. I’m grateful for the shelter.” He replied, much less grouchy than he had been moments before. That damned smack. “But the point is, I would have to be grateful for either if I wasn’t here in the first place.”
---
Ferawyn had calmed down a bit. A moment earlier, Gunnar had thought the white lion might be ready to fight him … and lose again, surely, but fight nonetheless! An entirely unacceptable action for a thrall, and one which Gunnar was (secretly) grateful he wouldn’t have to deal with. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good fight … but fighting one’s thrall would be terribly embarrassing. He was supposed to be able to keep Ferawyn under control, damn it!
As strange as it felt to be talking something out, Gunnar grudgingly supposed he would have to give it a shot. His features still set in a frown, he considered how best to respond to Ferawyn’s words. If the white lion thought he was going to win his way free by sweet-talking Gunnar, he was wrong. Very wrong! Ferawyn was his thrall, imagining letting Ferawyn go was simply unacceptable. In Gunnar’s world, it was almost impossible. If a foreigner let themselves be captured, they were a thrall. It was a simple equation. Not so simple to the thrall in question, maybe, but it was certainly simple to Gunnar.
“I captured you,” Gunnar said slowly, as though patiently trying to explain this to a small cub. “Therefore, you are mine.” His frown faded slightly and he gave Ferawyn an assessing look. “I treat you well.” That was debatable, maybe, but Gunnar wasn’t particularly harsh for a Stormborn.
---
The treatment… debatable indeed. Although Ferawyn supposed Gunnar did have a point… There were certainly lions within the Stormborn under whose hand he would have chafed considerably more than he did now, and okay… maybe that sort of… relative good treatment deserved some kind of acknowledgement. But still. That didn’t change the fact that being a Thrall was no match for being a free lion.
“But you don’t see where that logic fails?” The white lion asked, genuinely wanting to know how. There was an egocentrism that existed within this pride—indeed, most likely all prides—that simply prevented them from seeing the world as any other lion would. “You captured me, therefore I’m yours… but only to the Stormborn. To everyone else… you captured me, therefore, I want to get out. Be free. You know, kind of like you.” Although he wasn’t quite sure if their definition of freedom was quite the same either.
---
Gunnar wasn’t used to being spoken to so frankly by his thrall, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Still, it was better than brawling with Ferawyn like an idiot who couldn’t control his own thrall. If talking, ironically, would get Ferawyn to shut up, Gunnar would just have to talk. He sighed. The brown lion just knew he was going to get a headache.
“Of course you want your freedom,” Gunnar said. He laughed slightly. “You would be a poor male lion if you didn’t. Still.” His voice was brisk now, businesslike. “You were beaten. This is your home now. If you have children, they will be Freeborn, and may become Stormborn themselves.” Of course it was desirable to be as free as Gunnar was, but Ferawyn wanted to leave, which was an alien concept to Gunnar. “I am free, and I stay here. It is the best place to be.” He said this quite matter-of-factly. Even though Ferawyn was just a thrall, he should be proud to be part of the Myrsky Syntynyt!
---
“Yea but…” He was about to launch into a much more detailed explanation of the difference between staying by choice and staying simply because he had to when he decided against it. Like it or not, Fera realized that he would, at some point, have to come to terms with the fact that it was unlikely that he would be drilling sense into Gunnar any time soon.
And somehow, he couldn’t quite see himself having children under these circumstances. A shame, maybe, but perhaps it was no great loss. Ferawyn himself had never had much exposure to the likes of the little things, and he had little idea how he would cope with them when presented with the opportunity. Still, he would have maybe liked to see little white miniatures of himself running about, being free. Not that it was any substitution for his freedom, but unfortunately, it seemed as though every passing day, there were more and more reasons for him to give up his desperate attempts to escape.
---
Biting back his impatience, Gunnar waited for Ferawyn to speak, to continue with his rambling and somewhat pitiable pleas for his freedom, but Ferawyn shut his mouth. Surprising. This talking was even more effective than he’d thought. It seemed a little unwarriorlike to talk things through, but it had certainly been worth it in this case. Gunnar felt quite clever for finding a way to deal with Ferawyn. Hopefully soon the thrall would quit his foolishness entirely and Gunnar could go about his business, happily ignoring his thrall.
“Good,” Gunnar said briskly, feeling much happier now that he had the upper paw on Ferawyn. “No more escaping. Now, about that singing…” It was tempting to smack Fera again, but that would be counterproductive. No, he had to remain calm no matter how distasteful the subject. “No more singing. It’s … womanly.” Gunnar couldn’t help wincing as he said it.
---
Well. It seemed as though they had reached a consensus of sorts, though how much it could actually be considered that was arguable. At the very least, they had stopped bickering, and that was enough for Ferawyn for now. He could accept his position as a Thrall to some extent—he had, after all, let the other lion beat him in a (debatably) fair fight, and now he was paying for it—but there were something things he wasn’t quite ready to do for the sake of being a “good” thrall.
Like his singing. If Gunnar wanted a more docile creature to do his bidding, Fera could only bid him good luck in his quest. As it was, regardless of how often it might make the brown lion want to whack him upside the head. Ferawyn was determined to continue doing what he did best.
“I wouldn’t ask you to stop fighting,” he said levelly, with as little signs of rebellion as he could muster. He was still trying to be reasonable, after all. “So I don’t believe it’s fair for you to ask me to stop singing.”
---
Keeping his temper was difficult. Very difficult. Gunnar’s struggle to keep from lashing out at the thrall was aided by Ferawyn’s calm tone of voice. It wasn’t outright rebellion, just more of Fera’s annoying bargaining. As though he had anything to bargain with!
Well, that wasn’t quite true. The thrall’s behavior was a reflection on Gunnar … so he did have a bit if a bargaining chip. If he continued prancing about acting like a fool, it would hurt Gunnar’s reputation and honor. Unfortunately the brown lion didn’t know how to stop him from being so idiotic. Smacking him wouldn’t do any good; Ferawyn would just start back up with his nonsense escape attempts.
“If people think you are womanly, they will think I am womanly as well for not being able to control you,” Gunnar pointed out, dragging the words out painfully. He hated admitting any kind of weakness or vulnerability, especially to Ferawyn. The reaver sighed. “Why don’t you sing more … privately? Or sing something good and strong – sagas and so forth.” Compromising with a thrall stung, but he had to keep Ferawyn shut up somehow!
---
He shrugged. “Maybe it would be healthy for you to get in touch with your feminine side,” he suggested. There was too much testosterone here, too much competition, and the white lion was convinced that sooner or later, all of these fighting lions would have terrible physiological and/or psychological problems to deal with. Not to mention that someday, the Stormborn’s traditional greeting was going to come true and somebody really was going to kill someone. Then s**t would hit the fan.
Or maybe it wouldn’t. In a pride like this, perhaps they would have just chalked it up to weakness. Or womanliness. Who knew.
Still, Ferawyn was more than happy to accept a compromise. He liked to sing, and he could more than entertain the Reavers with his song, and if that meant singing sagas and other ridiculously violent works, then he could do that too. It could even be fun. “Well, if you insist.” He said with a smile. An almost genuine smile too, because now that Gunnar was starting to show a less violent side, Ferawyn was beginning to imagine that maybe it wouldn’t really be so bad here after all.
---
If it had been hard to keep from smacking Ferawyn before, it was triply hard now. Get in touch with his feminine side?! If Gunnar hadn’t been so sure that Fera had some kind of mental problem, he would have been gravely insulted.
Still, he was pleased that Ferawyn had agreed to sing sagas. It might not exactly bring Gunnar credit to have a thrall that thought he was a bard, but at least Fera wouldn’t disgrace him. Not totally. If he had any sense, he would stick to songs of blood and glory and stop his blethering about flowers and sunny days or whatever it was he liked. “Good,” Gunnar said, smiling rather stiffly. He wasn’t able to bring himself to say ‘Thank you.’ Not yet. “And please do not accuse anyone else of having a feminine side. That might make other lions than I want to smack you.”
/fin!
