#i bet gozukk will try

[whimperwoods]

Part 3 of Gozukk and Anna. Finally, Anna!

First part is here. Second part is here.

tw: slavery (past), tw: past abuse, tw: fantasy racism mention, tw: emotional numbness

Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles

****

Anna wasn’t sure what to do with herself in the empty tent. It was richly furnished, but mostly unlit. Faint sunlight filtered through vents in the roof, but it took her eyes a while to adjust to the dimness after the glare of the day outside, and even once they had, she couldn’t make out the colors of the elaborately-woven fabrics around her.

She kept her arms around herself for comfort, hunching her shoulders down because even in a tent more than large enough for one person, she felt safer when she could make herself small.

Her new master was still outside, and she couldn’t process any of that. It was like the lump of fear in her throat was choking out her mind, strangling each thought as she tried to think it. Her eyes watered, but as she breathed through her nose to try to keep the tears from falling, she thought about the way it had felt to cry, in spite of herself, in front of the orc chief.

His hands had been gentle. That part was certainly true. He hadn’t been angry at her crying. He hadn’t been angry about anything.

The tent was partitioned into two parts, but the room she was in was clearly a public one, furnished with a large, well-made rug and a generous collection of floor cushions, but also with a large table that held a map case and a carefully-organized set of cartographer’s tools.

Looking around, she decided it was safer to stay in the business half of the room, beside the table. She walked over, studying the solid tabletop and the well-made trestles holding it up. She knelt down next to it, taking a deep breath and trying again to think now that she was tucked out of the way and had less to fear.

She was quite certain she’d never have thought an orc tribe would mean safety, but she was also quite certain she’d never thought humans could be so cruel, even to someone like her.

Yes. The orc chief was gentle. That was a fact. He was gentle, and he was outside. Those were good qualities.

She curled farther into herself, like she always did when she was alone and not on display, kneeling beside a man drunk on his own power.

She closed her eyes, but found only memories of the caravan behind them, of kneeling beside the leader, looking into the fire and waiting to be hurt, again, for his amusement or someone else’s.

She opened her eyes and focused on the cushions on the other side of the room, counting them to give her mind something else to do, something else to focus on to chase away the fact that she was alone and afraid and had no idea what to expect.

By the time she could hear voices outside, speaking in their unfamiliar language, she had calmed herself down, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, but she had no new answers to any of the questions that mattered.

The woman who walked into the room was tall and thin, lankier than she’d expected, but upright and confident. “Did he leave you here in the dark?” she asked, sounding fond but faintly exasperated, “Give me a minute.” She started lighting the lanterns in the tent, illuminating the room with a warm, soft glow that revealed the rich colors of the fabrics around her.

Anna wasn’t sure what to say, but she was afraid to say nothing, so she just whispered, “Yes, ma’am,” hoping it wasn’t a mistake. Perhaps this was the chief’s wife. Perhaps she had a mistress now. She hoped this woman didn’t think she was going to - to - she tipped her head down and stared at the corner of the rug, studying the way its edges were finished and trying not to complete her own thought.

The woman squatted down in front of her, much as the chief had done, and Anna looked up in surprise, meeting the woman’s eyes. They were warm, lined at the corners in a way that suggested this was a woman who both laughed and cried, but laughed more often.

The orc woman reached up and tucked a strand of Anna’s hair gently behind her ear, and she breathed a little easier, recognizing it as what it was - just more proof that the only fact she could be sure of just yet was that these people seemed to choose gentleness first.

“My brother’s made a mess of things, I think,” the woman said, “He told me you seemed upset. Frightened. Wouldn’t tell me what he said, which means it was probably something foolish, but you don’t have to tell me, either. I’m just here to help.”

Anna felt tongue-tied, her brain struggling to keep up. Why were they helping her? What was help going to cost?

"He thinks you need medical help. Though why he asked me instead of the midwife, I couldn’t say. The healer’s gone with the scouts, but if you need more than I can do, he’s not the only one with skills around here.”

Medical help. That much, she could make sense of. “I’m alright,” she said softly, “He asked about my feet, but they’re -” she looked down, not quite willing to look the woman in the eye as she told a half-lie. “They’re not so bad. They hardly hurt at all.”

The woman reached forward and tipped Anna’s chin up. “And those bruises?”

Anna couldn’t look away. She took a deep breath to steady herself instead. “I can take them.”

The woman sighed, her hand dropping away from Anna’s chin. “Yes, he said that too. There’s good grit and bad stubbornness, you know. Make your stand for something you care about. You’ll be alright here.”

“Why are you helping me?” Anna asked in response, hoping the woman’s words had been a challenge and not a trick or a trap. “You don’t even know me.”

The woman smiled. “There’s a better question. Not sure I have an answer, though. You need it . . . or needed it, maybe, if all goes well. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not usually.”

The woman breathed out through her nose, half-laughing as if it had been half a joke, and maybe it had. “Well, I don’t see how that’s a problem with us.”

Anna looked down again. “I . . . didn’t mean to suggest that it was.”

The woman rearranged, sitting down on the floor with her legs tucked neatly to the side, and then reached over to put a hand on Anna’s knee. “Hey,” she said gently, “I’m Djaana. What’s your name?”

Anna felt suddenly too tall, up on her knees while the orcish woman was seated, even though she was pretty sure Djaana was still technically taller. She blushed, tucking her head down a hair farther, as if that would help. “Anna.”

She should have stopped, but instead, her mouth continued, “It’s short for -” before cutting off again. Her tongue felt suddenly thick, dead in her mouth. She hadn’t spoken Elvish in a long time. She hadn’t dared. “It’s a nickname, technically,” she concluded, instead, feeling a mix of shame and relief wash over her at the crisis averted.

"Anna. That’s a pretty name!”

Anna couldn’t be sure if Djaana meant it, or if she was just saying it as an excuse to keep sounding cheerful and gentle.

“Alright, then, Anna. My brother informs me you’ve got burnt feet and welts on your arms and there’s blood on the back of your dress he thinks means wounds underneath it. What hurts the worst?”

Me, she thought, whatever’s inside of me that’s me. It had been a long time since it had mattered what hurt the most, really. It had been a long time since she’d let herself care. But she needed an answer the woman could believe.

“I - most everything’s pretty old,” she said, “But - I guess my back? Master Kir, from the caravan was -” she didn’t know what to call it, “Angry yesterday. It was a bad day of travel. Hot weather, and wagons getting stuck.”

Djaana nodded. “We’ll start by getting that cleaned up, then. Gozukk will be worried if I can’t tell him exactly how injured you are, and there’s no reason to look and not fix. I’ll be back with some clean water. You just sit tight.”

Everything hurt. Nothing hurt. Her soul hurt.

Anna waited, her eyes closed, but this time, what was behind them was simply darkness, and peace, and her own breathing. She knew what the first thing was that the orc chief had said to her. It’s alright. You’re safe now.

Maybe she was.

#whump #hurt/comfort #d&d whump #slavery tw #abuse tw #fantasy racism tw #this was supposed to get into wound cleaning but then there was too much calming down and reassuring to do #also i am Offended that Djana and Anna have turned up in my head with such similar names because i did not choose for that to happen #maybe Anna will get her full name back at some point and things will be easier for me #i bet gozukk will try #anyway things are getting better and this probably isn't the end #new series who dis so lmk if u wanna be on the taglist

[whimperwoods]

Part 10 of Gozukk and Anna

Anna scares Gozukk instead of the other way around. Jak is one part guardian angel, one part Tom Sawyer. Azzor shows a softer side.

The masterpost is here and includes a cheat sheet with character names/relationships.

tw:  slavery (past), tw: PTSD,  tw: past abuse, tw: self-hatred, tw: self-harm implication (extremely vague), tw: hand whump (past, implied), tw: panic attack

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles, @bluebadgerwhump, @dragonheart905, @carolinethedragon, @whumpzone, @newbornwhumperfly, @cupcakes-and-pain, @much-ado-about-whumping, @winedark-whump

****

Anna could hear people talking outside as the time for lunch came, but every time she peeked out the front of the tent, she found herself unable to step through it. A large, boisterous group was talking and laughing, eating together, but everyone she recognized looked occupied.

Djaana’s circle looked friendly enough, talking and laughing, several with small children clinging to them, but she couldn’t imagine interrupting, couldn’t imagine they’d want her, and couldn’t bring herself to risk their anger.

Enzah’s friends were even more frightening, each of them armed, with shields strapped to their backs. The one Enzah seemed to talk to the most occasionally paused their conversation and casually accepted hugs from a string of children, which seemed like a good sign. None of the group seemed to be looking for someone to hurt. She kept trying to convince herself that they were safe. Surely, if Enzah was kind and her friend was kind to children, they were safe. But then  light glinted off a weapon or a shield, just beside where she was looking, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She closed the tent for the fourth time, collecting herself. She could do this. She had to be able to do this. It was just lunch. She’d been making and serving lunch for an entire caravan for months, and she’d never given up like this, never given out. But then, she’d always known what would happen if she did. She’d always known it would be worse to give out than to push through. Now - now she couldn’t convince herself that was true.

Another glance just showed that Gozukk was still somewhere else, away from the fire, and that Dumul, who she also remembered from breakfast, was still standing with Mukzod, who she couldn’t possibly face.

She stepped away, back into the room, and went to kneel on the carpet, trying to center herself, as if it would help, as if it would make her strong, as if she could make herself anything but useless. Her breathing was speeding up instead of slowing down, but of course it was, because of course she couldn’t pull herself together.

She bent over, pressing her forehead to the ground, and found herself rocking, pressing her head to the carpet and then back, down, back, down, back.

When the tent opened and light fell across her, she looked up, knowing her eyes were wide and panicked, knowing she looked pathetic, knowing Gozukk was seeing her for exactly what she was, and - and it wasn’t Gozukk.

Jak was already running toward her, his eyes as wide as her own.

“Miss Anna! What’s wrong?” he slowed before he could reach her and put both hands on her shoulder.

She couldn’t figure out how to answer, but that was apparently alright, because Jak moved one hand off her shoulder and smacked himself in the forehead. “Oof, nope! Sorry, Miss Anna, I forgot no questions. Do you need another calm-down cloth? I was gonna come ask if you needed lunch, but I think maybe you don’t need lunch right now.”

More questions. More questions, but she couldn’t just leave a little boy to figure things out on his own. She nodded, because it seemed easier than saying no, and he nodded back. Then he wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a quick, fierce hug that surprised her and ran away again.

He returned quickly, a damp rag in one hand and a heaping plate of mostly bread in the other. “Mama said I could come check on you and eat lunch in here as long as you said it was ok, but if you wanted to be by yourself I had to leave you alone, and she says I gotta make sure to get my work done, but it’s easy today so it’s no problem!”

She wondered if other people had trouble following how fast the boy talked, or if it was just that she was weak and stupid. Either way, she nodded.

Jak beamed. “Cool! I knew you wouldn’t mind! ‘Cause Mama said you’re prolly scared of people for a while, but I’m not scary.”

He walked straight over, placed the plate down on the rug, and sat down across from it. “I even brought lunch for both of us, I was so sure I wasn’t scary.”

“Th-thank you,” she managed, not sure whether she should look the boy in the eye, or whether she ought to discourage him. Did Djaana want him here, or did she want Anna to send him away?

“You’re welcome!”

Jak didn’t leave much silence unfilled before he continued, “Anyway, I asked Enzah what she thought you liked to eat from breakfast and she said I should bring you bread ‘cause it’s easy to be fair and then you wouldn’t try to eat less than everybody else, maybe, but that’s just as well, ‘cause I like bread just fine!”

She reached for a piece of bread and took a bite just as he seemed to be running out of breath, so that she wouldn’t have to find an answer, but she did manage a nod she hoped he would understand as more thanks.

She felt almost faint as she sat listening to the boy list everyone’s favorite foods he could think of and ate her bread. It was dizzying, sitting like this and trying to catch everything, trying to remember everything when her head was still so hollowed out and exhausted with fear and its remnants.

Gozukk apparently had a fondness for figs, and that, at least, she could keep in her mind. She needed to remember that one, and something about having something specific to note in the sea of words was reassuring.

She managed to keep ahold of what Jak was saying enough to prompt him with questions, feeling proud of herself as she realized that as odd as this was, it seemed at least to be going better than trying to answer questions and keep track of the conversation at breakfast had.

“You said you have work to do?” she asked, as he reached the end of an explanation of how much better he was getting with a bow and how he thought he’d be able to outshoot his friend Emve this evening even though Emve was older. (She wasn’t sure why he was convinced that tonight was his night, but it was better to understand some than none. Less dangerous.)

“Oh, yeah,” he said, sighing. “It’s not very interesting today. I’m just supposed to help gather dried dung from the aurochs for the fire. You could help, if you want! I bet you could do it. And it goes plenty fast already, so I bet if both of us did it it would go really fast.”

She found herself nodding, agreeing, before it could fully sink in or she could think about it.

They were out of bread, and Jak was fast, always fast, doing everything fast. By the time she fully realized what she’d nodded about, he was already on his feet, offering her a helpful and cheerful hand up.

She took it, only to find he didn’t let go. He led her by the hand out of the tent, grabbed a basket from beside the fire pit, and turned out toward the open land where the cattle were spread out.

It was strange, having a hand smaller than her own in hers. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, the last time she hadn’t been the small one, the fragile one, the thing to be crushed.

Jak’s hand held hers with a surprising strength, and a wave of cold washed over her, but she held herself together. He would not break her fingers. He could not break her fingers, probably, not like this, not without giving her a chance to pull away, and his hands were smaller than her own.

He let go when they were in among the herd, and she clenched her newly released hand, hard enough to press her fingers against the welt on her palm through the bandage and send a jolt of pain through it, familiar but manageable.

Gozukk didn’t threaten to break her fingers. He bandaged her hands, kissed her knuckles. Once, he’d kissed her left palm. Thinking about it made her blush.

Jak was practically skipping with excitement as he listed off the things he did around camp, things she should be listening to, things she might be expected to do when her maste- when Gozukk decided she was fit for work, things she could only half hear, her mind taken up with the unfamiliar landscape, the terrifying size of the animals around them, the pain in her right hand, the basket in her left, the past pressing in on her around the edges of the present.

She carried the basket while Jak darted around energetically, gathering balls of dung he seemed unafraid to touch. He’d told her she’d better not, because he’d told her that her bandages had to stay clean.

It was going to be alright. Her bandages were going to stay clean, and the dung was for the fire, wouldn’t be in her food, wouldn’t be ground into her hair, I didn’t think about that, Miss Anna, but don’t worry, I can do it so your hands stay clean!

It was easier and harder to breathe steadily out here. They were alone, away from people, and Jak was right. He wasn’t scary. Mostly. The aurochs were scary, but Jak seemed perfectly comfortable around them, calm and content, occasionally patting one affectionately on its flank.

Jak had said they would be quick, but the longer they were out in the field, away from the safe, soft dimness of Gozukk’s tent, the harder it felt to keep ahold of herself, to keep her breath steady, her mind clear.

She followed the boy, trying to listen, trying not to fade into a half-haze, but then, all of a sudden, there was shouting from camp, raised voices, running feet, and Jak’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

She should run. She needed to run. Something was wrong. They should go - back to camp? Away from camp? Jak stood still, and she didn’t know where to run. After all that, after all the speed all afternoon, Jak was still, and she found herself suddenly sobbing, directionless and lost.

Jak turned toward her, brow furrowed. “Whoa. It’s ok, Miss Anna.” He patted her arm, “You’re not gonna be in trouble.”

Oh gods. Trouble. Was she - would she - what if -

Her throat tightened, her breaths coming shorter, shorter, and then her head was reeling and her knees were buckling and she was on the ground, panting, on her hands and knees. Dirty little bitch. No better than a dog.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

Jak’s hands were on her shoulder, shaking it, but then he was wrapped around her instead, his torso pressing against the wounds across her back as he tried to hug her, tried to tell her it was ok, but his voice sounded scared, now, scared, like she was, like she should be, if he was scared.

She gasped for air and then tucked farther in on herself, a sob breaking loose from her throat.

There were heavy footfalls, close enough to hear through her ragged breaths, so close she should have heard them before, so close that how had she not heard them before, they were running, but they were close, close. Heavy footfalls, and close, and Jak - Jak was still here. Oh gods, she wasn’t the smallest thing here, wasn’t the smallest - wasn’t - wasn’t -

She forced herself up to her knees, breaking through Jak’s admittedly loose and awkward embrace, and grabbed his forearms. “Run,” she panted, “If it’s trouble, run.”

Jak’s hands grabbed her own forearms, almost instinctively, as if to support her. He was looking over her head, looking at the source of the footsteps, looking and not moving. She ripped her arms out of his grasp and shoved lightly at him, but it did no good.

The boy looked sheepish, all of a sudden, tucking one foot behind the other. “Oh,” he said, his voice calm in spite of everything, “Umm. Sorry, General Azzor. I, umm - I think Miss Anna got scared when she heard the yelling?”

General. General. Oh gods. A general.

Anna collapsed all the way onto the ground, curling up on her side, tucking her legs in to protect her stomach and her arms up to protect her head.

There was a heavy sigh, and the footsteps came closer. Then a new orc was squatting down beside her, only vaguely familiar as the one who had stood behind Gozukk when she was brought before them. He had a nasty-looking scar across his cheek, narrowly missing his eye, and his bare, muscular arms showed off more battle scars than she could count.

She was crying. She shouldn’t be crying. He hadn’t touched her yet. She shouldn’t be crying. Worthless bitch. She needed to stop crying.

“Jak, go get your uncle.” The man’s voice was a deep, rumbling bass, miraculously not angry, just very, very tired sounding.

The boy was running immediately, his small feet pounding against the dirt, and she was alone, and she was trying not to cry, and she was waiting for a blow, and then she could stop trying so hard to stop the crying, and that, at least, would be easier. He would hit her, and she would cry, and that would be easier. She sobbed again, flinching as she realized she’d failed, again, to quiet herself.

The man moved, rearranging to sit beside her. He ran a hand through his hair. “This is not how I thought your presence in this camp was going to go, gmeling.”* His voice was gentle, but still tired, and it didn’t make sense.

She pulled in tighter, tried to breathe, tried not to cry, not to antagonize him, not to ruin the small miracle of a general sitting beside her, tired instead of angry.

“If you are playing some kind of trick on my chief, I will gut you,” he continued, his voice still tired, calm, devoid of anger. “But if it’s any consolation, I hope he’s right about you.”

The man’s large hand reached out slowly and, as she flinched away, carded gently through her ratty, unevenly shorn hair. “He’s often a better judge of people than I am.”

She fought to get her tears under control, not to seem ungrateful. “Th-thank you,” she managed, half breathless.

The general stroked her hair gently again. “He’s better at this part, too. But at least now I’m close enough to see you’d have to be a hell of an actress for him to be wrong about-” he removed his hand, gesturing vaguely at nothing.

Gozukk arrived loudly, his feet thundering across the ground as he ran at a full sprint toward her. She flinched away instinctively, and Azzor made a little sound of surprise.

Gozukk’s knees thudded onto the ground beside her, and then his hand was touching her shoulder, cupping her face, letting go. “Anna.” He sounded winded, at a loss.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, not sure what else to say.

Gozukk’s sigh was heavy, not all annoyance, not all relief. “Just Gozukk, Anna. Just Gozukk. You’re alright.”

“Hmm, this is what’s passing for alright?” Azzor’s voice was warm, all of a sudden, joking, but she didn’t know to whom. He started standing up, but her master ignored him, and she wasn’t sure if she should, too.

Gozukk’s hands reached toward her, then stopped, frozen.

Azzor nudged Gozukk’s shoulder playfully with his knee. “Come on, Goz, help her up. We should tell the others you panicked about nothing before they get too far afield or spun up.”

Anna couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t understand the joke in his voice, the laughter, unless she was - something - she sobbed, losing control again, and her master half growled under his breath before he answered. “Now you’re winding her up, Az. Go tell everybody you were right. It’s a false alarm.

She had dropped the basket when her knees gave out, but it had landed on its bottom beside her, still full. The general scooped it up and walked away, more slowly than he’d come, shouting something as he went on his way.

Then she was alone with Gozukk, and it was the best kind of alone she’d been since she’d left the tent.

She reached her hands out toward him even before she sat up, reaching so he’d know - something - something - she didn’t know what it was she was trying to tell him.

He grabbed her hands, but his grip was loose, loose enough that she could slide her hands up to his forearms, feel him gripping her forearms instead, still loose, still gentle, his palms carefully avoiding the rings of bandages.

“Do you want me to carry you?” he asked, his voice all softness.

She didn’t know how to say yes, so she just nodded.

He scooped her up, and she closed her eyes and tucked herself up against his chest, trying to convince herself it was no different than the other times he’d carried her.

He started walking, and tears leaked from her eyes. Please, gods, let this be like the other times with him.

*****

*little hawk in orcish. He means it affectionately, more or less. More more than less.

#whump #d&d whump #recovery whump #panic attacks tw #ptsd tw #slavery tw #past slavery tw #self harm tw #JUST IN CASE #it's really not #but it tends vaguely in that direction #i promise she will eventually have fewer panic attacks and feel more stable #but it's also like... day 2 #the problem with azzor is that he does not have one single non-sarcastic bone in his body #i love him #but his default state is friendly ribbing with allies and biting sarcasm with enemies and that's just how it is #incidentally this afternoon was supposed to be a trip to the midwife but WHOOPS #lunch is hard and jak can't stay out of trouble #not generally bad/ill-intentioned trouble #but gosh that boy #you can't just TAKE ANNA SOMEWHERE and NOT TELL GOZUKK #also for reference i say gmeling is orcish but i literally made it up it's just sounds #but it may also be the only thing azzor ever calls anna in his life so *shrugs*