Does It Matter?

Maric wasn't sure what it meant that the first thing he noticed when he woke up was the lack of Dara's body against his. His squinted around, spotted Dara sitting at the end of the bed, and dragged him back over for a cuddle. Dara seemed tense, but Maric was too sleepy to worry about it. He was probably still upset about the thing with the bandits.

It was the itching of his bandage that eventually motivated proper wakefulness. During the night it had become twisted and bunched up, and with great effort Maric heaved himself up to change it.

Dara was watching Maric carefully as he unwrapped the bandage, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

"What?" Maric asked.

"Um," was all Dara said. Maric finished unwrapping the bandage and tossed it aside without taking his eyes from Dara. "Um," Dara repeated, but this time he nodded at Maric.

Maric looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then cast a curious look down at his wound in case that had something to do with Dara’s odd behaviour. Dara could sense injuries, after all.

But... there was no wound. There was a slight crusting of blood on his skin that proved it had existed, but there was nothing but pure, unmarked skin underneath. He stared at it in confused wonder for several moments before his mind started putting things together. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Dara's.

"You're a healer." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, because by now it was obvious. It should have been obvious all along, but Maric had been focussing on the wrong things. "You lied to me."

"I didn't lie," Dara insisted. "I just... omitted some things, and didn't correct you when you made incorrect assumptions."

"That's lying in effect and you know it," Maric growled. "You let me have you sit on the floor next to my chair, you let me train you to be a fucking bed slave!"

Dara flinched back. "I didn't think it mattered. I was broken, so it didn't matter what I used to be. I didn't think I'd ever be able to be what I was again. I'm sorry. I am. But this is better, isn't it, if I can be a healer? I can be so much more useful to you."

Maric shook his head, pure rage he couldn’t quite justify boiling beneath the surface of his skin.
"People will understand why you did what you did. You didn't know."

"That's not the fucking point!" Maric shouted, and this time Dara curled in on himself defensively as if he expected to be hit. Maric sighed. "Get out. I can't be around you right now."

Dara nodded hurriedly, his eyes wide, and headed for the door. He paused before exiting and said in a small voice, "Don't tell anyone yet, okay? It's still a fragile thing, and I don't know if I can get it all the way back."
And then he left, and Maric was alone.
Maric wanted to punch something, but he held himself back. Made himself sit still and pull his anger back in before he began to think things through. He couldn't assess why he was so angry until it was no longer ruling him.

He didn't care what people thought about him treating Dara as he had — at least not much — but it still bothered him a great deal that he’d done it. But why? He had simply treated Dara as any other slave would have been treated. Far better, really. Dara had certainly seemed happy enough with things.

If he’d known the truth, of course, Maric would have done things differently. He would have treated Dara differently. He probably never would have laid even the kindest of hands on him.

There was the old rule that you didn't fuck a healer because it risked damaging them, and healers were known to be fragile. Not physically — physically they were clearly amazingly resilient — but emotionally. And the first response of a healer to emotional distress was a loss of their abilities.

Most likely the sex had helped things. It had allowed them to get close and Dara to feel safe with him. The way Maric had thought of him, though... as a fun diversion, a novelty, something to be treated kindly but ultimately discarded when he became bored with it. He would have made sure Dara was properly cared for afterwards, of course, but that didn't excuse the fact that it had been a game to Maric.

And Dara had responded like any other slave. He had liked the attention. Maric had only ever met a few healers, and they had all been confident, proud things. No more than was their due, of course, but the contrast between them and Dara was dramatic. That was why Maric had ignored all the signs. In his eyes, someone couldn't possibly be so submissive and be a healer.

Could it be that healers, before they went through years of extensive training, weren’t that different in terms of demeanour from other slaves? Hundreds of years ago, before the war that had resulted in the enslavement of the Enth, had healers behaved differently? Had the Enth in general? How much of who a slave was came about through careful training?

Maric halted that line of thought before he could go any deeper. Things were how they were and there was no changing them. Wondering about what ifs wouldn’t help anybody.

As Maric’s anger faded, it began to be replaced with guilt. He had shouted at Dara. Was it really such a surprise that Dara hadn't wished to talk about his broken ability? It had been torn from him so cruelly, and along with its loss he had lost the respect and kindness it afforded him. And then Maric had come along and offered him a lesser respect and a lesser kindness and he'd accepted it gladly because it had been better than what he'd had. He deserved more than that, and it had nothing to do with his ability.

#

The moment the prince had started shouting at him, Dara had been set back once more on his path to recovery. If the prince didn't forgive him, didn't treat him with the same sort of personal kindness and care as he had been, Dara suspected he would go back to being as useless as he ever had been. More so, because the prince wouldn't be making use of him in other ways anymore.

What would have happened if he'd been honest from the start? Dara had no idea. He didn't suppose it mattered now. He'd made mistakes, but he couldn't quite confidently pick out where they were.

Would the prince still have brought Dara with him if he'd been nothing more than a bird with broken wings? Dara had no way of knowing, just as he didn't know what would happen now. Surely he wouldn't be cast aside now that he could potentially be of use, but would the prince still be willing to offer him what he needed? He wanted so badly to be that magnificent thing he once was, but whether he could ever recover to that level was still unknown.

Dara wandered along the dusty road, not quite knowing where he was going. He remembered how it had felt when he’d first lost his ability, after the horror had faded and he'd found himself broken. He'd felt empty and weak. Until then he had thought he was great, but afterwards he realised all he had ever been was a vessel for greatness. Decorative at best on his own.

Before long Dara made his way back to the wagon. It was ridiculous to think he'd be left behind after he'd just revealed his potential value, but Dara feared it all the same. The prince had been so angry. The last people he'd seen the prince angry at had been publicly whipped. It seemed unlikely he'd have something like that done to Dara, but it was impossible not to fear the wrath of such a powerful man.

When the prince's men asked Dara what was taking the prince so long, Dara claimed he didn't know. It was an obvious lie, of course. Everyone knew by now how much the prince enjoyed keeping Dara close, so that he was out here on his own alone was a sign that something was wrong.

It was about an hour after they were supposed to have left before the prince emerged from the inn, the look he gave his men clearly instructing them not to ask questions. He glanced at Dara, but his unreadable gaze didn't linger. Dara was left alone with his worries as the day's travel began.

#

Maric had been born and raised a leader, was used to being the one telling others what to do, so he had never quite known what to do when he was the one requiring direction. This was most certainly not a situation he'd ever been trained for. It was the greatest irony that the feeling of helplessness he was presently drowning in made him want to do nothing more than sink into Dara's arms for comfort. That wasn't an option, though, because Dara could no longer play the role of amusing diversion.

Eventually it was Brayan who Maric confided in while they rode side by side out of earshot of the other men. The faces Brayan made while Maric told his story were hardly reassuring.

"Well," Brayan said when Maric was done, "that is quite a mess."

"Yes, thank you. I'm aware."

"We could use a healer," Brayan pointed out.

"Of course we could. I'm just not sure what to do with him now."

Brayan shrugged. "What you were doing seemed to be effective.”

Maric sighed. "I can hardly continue treating him like a whore, Brayan."

"It doesn't sound like you were, for the most part."

Maric pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow in consideration. "Well, I can't have him kneeling on the floor for formal occasions. I can't treat him as though his greatest purpose takes place beneath my sheets."

"Well clearly there are some things that must change," Brayan agreed. "He was always more to you than an average conquest. That much was clear from the start. Give him the respect of acknowledging that. Let him use your name, give him a seat next to you at formal occasions. Find what makes him happy, makes him feel safe, and do that. It really isn't so hard."

Maric gave Brayan a smile. "Thank you. Clearly I needed the help of someone with more sense than I."

Brayan returned the smile without comment. He was wise enough not to agree.

#

By the time they reached their destination, the city of Givanon, the sun was already setting and Dara was just starting to wake up. He had spent most of the day sleeping after he’d been awake all night pushing his struggling ability to its limits to heal the prince.

Dara stayed in the wagon as activity blossomed around him, the prince's men gathering those of their belongings they would need for the night and servants taking horses. Part of him wished he would simply be forgotten. Things would be easier that way.

It was Brayan who eventually came to get him and led him inside the palace, up a grand staircase, and into a room. The splendor of the room clearly showed it was intended for the prince, not Dara.

"I'm not sure his highness wants me with him tonight, sir," Dara said, his eyes on the ground, before Brayan could leave.

"I brought you here at his orders," Brayan said, his voice surprisingly clear of anger or condescension. "There will be a party tonight. I suggest you start getting ready."

"Yes, sir."

"I also suggest you start looking me in the eye when I speak to you. Your behaviour is hardly befitting a healer."

Dara winced, but he raised his eyes to meet Brayan’s. "I asked him not to tell anyone yet."

"You can't look me in the eye, but you think you can tell a prince what to do?" Brayan smiled and shook his head. "He asked me not to tell anyone else. Even a prince needs someone to confide in."

Dara nodded, and then forced himself to raise his eyes to meet Brayan’s again when he noticed them dropping.

"I'll have a bath sent up," Brayan said before turning and leaving.

Dara sighed and sat down on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. He had forgotten how complicated being of value could be.

A bath was brought up a short while later and Dara quickly washed and changed into his clean uniform. After that, he had nothing to do but sit on the bed and wait for the prince.

#

While normally he would dismiss himself to spend private time with Dara as soon as possible, today Maric was stalling. Despite a full day's riding to spend in thought and the conversation he’d had with Brayan, he still wasn't sure how to handle things with Dara. How could he be, when it had turned out he didn't know Dara very well at all?

Eventually even Lord Nolen, the dull man who ran the palace, insisted Maric go to get ready for the party. It was unreasonable how tense Maric felt as he headed up the stairs to his room.

When Maric opened the door to find Dara sitting on his bed, it was almost startling to realise that Dara wasn't suddenly a different person. With all he'd hidden, Maric had expected to find someone unrecognisable hidden beneath Dara's outer shell.

Dara glanced up when Maric entered, but quickly dropped his gaze back to the ground. "Your highness."

"Maric," Maric said, remembering Brayan's advice. "You will use my name when you address me."
Dara hesitated a moment before nodding his head.

Maric took a step closer. "You won't lie to me again, not by omission or by failing to correct my assumptions. Do you understand?"

Dara nodded again, shoulders tense and eyes firmly on the ground. He was afraid, Maric realised. Afraid of him.

Anger rose up in Maric's chest, burning hot and with no particular target. He couldn't order fear away, though, and he certainly couldn't drown it out with his rage. He forced himself to calm down as he approached Dara.

Even so, when Dara flinched away from the hand Maric reached out, Maric's reflexive response was to growl, "Don't."

Dara freezing stiff and rigid was not an improvement. Maric smoothed a hand over Dara's hair. He'd comforted Dara once before. How had he done it?

He sat down next to Dara, pulled him into his arms, held onto him, and stroked a hand over his back. It was several minutes before Dara started to relax.

"We have both made mistakes," Maric said when Dara no longer showed signs of fear. "I am willing to excuse yours if you don't repeat them in the future."

There was a long stretch of silence before Dara said, "I'm not sure what your mistakes were."

Maric gave a thoughtful hum. He had been avoiding thinking about what might have been wrong about his actions, but he could feel the jagged edges of it scraping against the back of his mind. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” he decided on eventually. “All it achieved was to make you afraid of me and risk setting back your recovery. From now on, I’ll do my best to control my temper better and give you the respect that befits your true status.”

"My powers might never properly come back," Dara said. "The cut on you was only small, and it took me hours to heal."

"How transient status is for you," Maric said as he hugged Dara against his chest. "Is that what they told you, when they were trying to recover your abilities? That all would be lost if you were unable to? Even I know fear is a terrible remedy for a healer. You have clearly shown that all is never truly lost, and so I am restoring your status without condition."

Maric had expected Dara to be overjoyed, but it was several long moments before he responded. "I don't want what we have going to stop. I believe it's vital to my recovery."

"Not stop," Maric agreed as his hand trailed down Dara's stomach. "But change. You are not, nor will you ever be, a bed slave."

"I would have been a terrible bed slave," Dara murmured against Maric's arm as he shifted to allow Maric better access.

Maric's hand came to rest on Dara's crotch and he stroked a thumb across the growing bulge he found there. "Hardly something to find shame in. I wouldn't make a very good one either."

Dara buried a laugh in Maric's arm.

Maric's hand wrapped around Dara's erection as well as it could through the restricting cloth pinning it down. "What?"

"Well — mmh — you seem to do a fine job of servicing my needs in bed. But I suppose you might rebel if given orders."

Maric's hand rubbed up and down, feeling the hardness and heat of Dara through his uniform pants. "If we called them instructions I might not object. Would power dampen your fear?"

"You seem to have better ideas than I ever could," Dara said, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of greater stimulation. "What do I know but what my own hand can offer?"

"Very well. Here, sit up. On my lap, facing me. Good." Maric picked at the buttons on Dara’s pants one handed, deliberately pressing his knuckles against the erection straining against them as he worked to free it. His other hand pushed up under Dara’s shirt to stroke the soft, hairless skin that covered his chest. Dara’s thighs clenched, and he pressed forward against the hand slowly working open the buttons on his pants, a whimper escaping his throat as he desperately sought out further contact.

A knock on the door stilled Maric's movements, and Maric scowled in its direction. "What?"

"Clean bathwater, highness," a female voice said through the door.

"Fine, come in," Maric said as he turned back to Dara. As the slave entered and emptied a bucket of steaming hot water into the metal tub in the corner of the room, Maric returned his attention to Dara's buttons.

"Eyes on me," Maric instruction when Dara's attention began wandering to the woman.

"Sorry," Dara murmured as his gaze snapped back to Maric. He ducked his face to Maric’s shoulder and curved his body in closer, but the tension in him was of a different nature now, alert rather than restrained.

"You are sharing a prince's bed," Maric said as he released Dara's member from the constraints of his pants, finding him still fiercely aroused. "You will need to learn to ignore certain distractions."

Dara nodded and murmured his compliance, his forehead pressed against Maric’s shoulder and his hands gripping tight against Maric’s shirt. His only response when Maric gripped his shaft was a sharp exhale that tickled across Maric’s neck.

When the woman left Dara lifted his head, and after a moment Maric felt lips soft against his neck. When he moved his hand slowly on Dara’s member, Dara let out a gasp and his hips jerked up to meet him.

More than ever, Maric wished he could simply strip them both naked and penetrate Dara. In his imaginings, of course, Dara was nothing but ecstatic, rocking up and down on Maric's lap with his eyes squeezed shut and his lip caught between his teeth, a flush creeping across his cheeks...

The door opened again, admitting the woman and a slave boy, each carrying buckets of hot water. The sounds Dara had been making stopped and his body stilled as he leant in against Maric to cover himself.

Maric sighed and, as soon as the slaves were done emptying their buckets, pointed to the door. "Shut it behind you. Wait ten minutes before returning."

Maric waited until the door clicked shut behind the slaves before flopping back on the bed and pulling Dara down on top of him. He pressed down on Dara’s ass as he thrust up, creating friction between them where they both needed it.

"These clothes are clean," Dara reminded him, his words half gasp as his eyes flickered shut.

"Better take them off, then. And mine, too, I think. No sense keeping them on when I'm about to take a bath, hm?"

They had to pause in their affections entirely halfway through getting Dara's clothes off or the effort would have been wasted and his uniform no longer clean. Maric's clothes didn't quite manage to escape that fate.

If they'd had more time Maric might have waited for Dara to come down from his orgasm enough to lend him a hand, but they were already running late for the party. He worked himself quickly and efficiently, his eyes not leaving Dara's sex flushed face even as he spilled his seed on the bedsheets.

By the time the slaves returned, Dara had thoroughly hidden his beautiful body beneath blankets. Maric couldn't say he understood Dara's desire for modesty. Hadn't he shared a room in the barracks with several other slaves? There must have been nudity there at the very least.

Maric certainly wasn't one for modesty. There had been times at war when he'd brought Brayan into his bed in a room shared with a dozen other men and he’d gotten used to others taking care of their needs just as publicly.

Maric nuzzled at Dara's neck, his body naked and bared as it lay over the blankets that concealed Dara. "You should be proud to lay with a prince, love."

"It's not a matter of pride," Dara murmured, but when Maric raised expectant eyebrows at him he didn't elaborate. He sat, tense and hidden, until the slaves were gone and Maric was finally able to lure him out and into the large metal tub.

It was a pity there was too little time to wash Dara tenderly and slowly, to soak together until the water went cold. Instead they both cleaned themselves up quickly before dressing and heading downstairs to join the party.