[What had he expected? A slave cannot be truly happy, cannot truly trust the one who owns them; Yuan should know this better than any. He doesn't know what he was thinking.]
[He was thinking--]
[--of holding someone who had needed it, and the low thrum of skyship engines in the background; of nightmares, and fears shared between them, and a promise that he would protect--]
[--of a respected enemy who could not be allowed to die like this. And that was where his error was: he had assumed, however unconsciously, that Kratos was no longer enemy.]
[Yuan settles over his writing and stares blankly. He could leave this for tomorrow, or the day after; but he is not really of a mind to. Now is the best time, while much of the camp is asleep and he will not be interrupted.]
[What does he say, to the families of those his slave killed?]
[A slave's life is not worth that of two good officers. If this comes out, Yuan must needs either kill Kratos himself, or his own life will more than likely be forfeit for protecting him. He fingers over bracelets and hair-beads and earrings and thinks of a family he does not and will never have.]
[Two letters must be done over for water damage. Yuan smears ink over the last two, rests his head in his hands.]
[Damn it. Damn him anyway. Damn his own traitor heart.]
[Yuan doesn't mean to, but he dozes off there, pen only loose between his fingers. He startles awake when it finally clatters to the ground. Where is-- when is--]
[It's late. Yuan automatically looks for Kratos before remembering. And then he remembers again, with a dull ache like emptiness, that Kratos is a Tethe'allan slave in a Sylvaranti camp that was recently attacked by Tethe'allans, and his owner is a half-elf whose only status is his rank. It will not be enough for some.]
[He can't deal with Kratos right now. It will, he admits to himself grimly, be worse if he finds Kratos dead come morning. With a grim sort of determination Yuan hauls himself up and stalks out of his tent to figure out where Kratos went.]
[The mess tent is his first check, since he was not specific and it is where he sent Kratos off earlier. He almost doesn't see Kratos; but he is well adjusted to looking for that particular shade of auburn. Yuan heads that way, jaw set. He will not raise hand to a slave, no matter his temper, no matter the offense. He will not. This resolve made, Yuan comes to a stop and looks down at the truly pathetic figure presented.]
[He feels-- sorry. Remorseful.]
[He quashes this under the sparking fury of letters he wouldn't have needed to write.]
Kratos.
[Perhaps it will be enough. Yuan doesn't particularly want to touch him to wake him.]
no subject
[What had he expected? A slave cannot be truly happy, cannot truly trust the one who owns them; Yuan should know this better than any. He doesn't know what he was thinking.]
[He was thinking--]
[--of holding someone who had needed it, and the low thrum of skyship engines in the background; of nightmares, and fears shared between them, and a promise that he would protect--]
[--of a respected enemy who could not be allowed to die like this. And that was where his error was: he had assumed, however unconsciously, that Kratos was no longer enemy.]
[Yuan settles over his writing and stares blankly. He could leave this for tomorrow, or the day after; but he is not really of a mind to. Now is the best time, while much of the camp is asleep and he will not be interrupted.]
[What does he say, to the families of those his slave killed?]
[A slave's life is not worth that of two good officers. If this comes out, Yuan must needs either kill Kratos himself, or his own life will more than likely be forfeit for protecting him. He fingers over bracelets and hair-beads and earrings and thinks of a family he does not and will never have.]
[Two letters must be done over for water damage. Yuan smears ink over the last two, rests his head in his hands.]
[Damn it. Damn him anyway. Damn his own traitor heart.]
[Yuan doesn't mean to, but he dozes off there, pen only loose between his fingers. He startles awake when it finally clatters to the ground. Where is-- when is--]
[It's late. Yuan automatically looks for Kratos before remembering. And then he remembers again, with a dull ache like emptiness, that Kratos is a Tethe'allan slave in a Sylvaranti camp that was recently attacked by Tethe'allans, and his owner is a half-elf whose only status is his rank. It will not be enough for some.]
[He can't deal with Kratos right now. It will, he admits to himself grimly, be worse if he finds Kratos dead come morning. With a grim sort of determination Yuan hauls himself up and stalks out of his tent to figure out where Kratos went.]
[The mess tent is his first check, since he was not specific and it is where he sent Kratos off earlier. He almost doesn't see Kratos; but he is well adjusted to looking for that particular shade of auburn. Yuan heads that way, jaw set. He will not raise hand to a slave, no matter his temper, no matter the offense. He will not. This resolve made, Yuan comes to a stop and looks down at the truly pathetic figure presented.]
[He feels-- sorry. Remorseful.]
[He quashes this under the sparking fury of letters he wouldn't have needed to write.]
Kratos.
[Perhaps it will be enough. Yuan doesn't particularly want to touch him to wake him.]