Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun was beaming down in the marketplace with little warming effect. Khadgar sat against the relative protection of a stone building, trying to conserve as much energy as he could. Next to him, uncomfortably close but providing a source of warmth, sat a smaller child. Probably in her ninth year or so, Stapa was even dirtier than Khadgar was. Slender, with a mass of dark curls, a dark complexion, and a perpetually runny nose, Stapa was still young enough to still pass for a boy.
Nobody paid the pair much mind as the marketplace began to quiet. They were waiting patiently for the day to wind down, when the sellers would close their stalls for the night. Oftentimes, old produce or nearly-spoiled foods could be bought for coppers, which was all that Khadgar could spare.
Stapa shifted next to him, nudging his shoulder as a fish hawker approached. The old woman was calling out without much gusto, “Fish sticks! Fish on a stick. Fish sticks!” The fish’ker waved a handful of the sticks in the air as she walked, letting the aromatic scent of dried, salted fish drift through the marketplace.
Khadgar didn’t have to look down to know that Stapa’s eyes were pleading, her mouth probably watering. He was hungry, too. He elbowed her back. “No.”
“I’m hungry,” Stapa whispered, tugging at his sleeve with her one good hand. Her other arm had been crushed in an accident, requiring amputation from the forearm down. She never behaved as though she were maimed, though, as proficient in stealing with one hand as some were with two.
“Stop it, Stapa,” said Khadgar, pushing her away again halfheartedly. “We don’t have enough money.”
“So?” she asked, her tone flat. “Fish’ker got a lot of sticks. She won’t miss a few.”
Khadgar sighed. “We’ll eat later.” At least, he hoped they would. It wasn’t Stapa’s fault that she was hungry – it was his. They hadn’t done well yesterday finding anything to eat except some old bread and meat dug out of a waste-bin, and they’d had to fight off rats to get even those scraps.
“I’m hungry now, Khadgar,” Stapa pleaded. Now he looked down at her, taking in the snot crusting under her nose, the brown eyes made even larger by her too-skinny face. He fucking hated taking care of children. He couldn’t even take care of himself most days. But when he’d found her, shivering and alone, he couldn’t just walk away. He’d taken her to the tiny space he called home and cared for her ever since. More than twice her age, she looked at him as though he were a hero. It killed him to let her down.
He sighed again. Damn it. “Ok. Be quick. Meet me in Wayside.” He stood, stretching the stiffness from his neck and walking nonchalantly away from the fish’ker. Stapa stood as well, drifting silently into the market. She had an uncanny ability to disappear when she wanted to. He lost sight of her in moments. Good. She’d make a good rogue someday, he thought, with a little training and a dagger.
Turning, Khadgar scanned the marketplace as if looking for someone. “Dennzial!” he called out, making sure his voice carried. “Dennzial, wait for me!” He jostled quickly across the path, weaving between two women carrying baskets of laundry, ducking past a fruit stand, and bumping square into the fish’ker. Predictably, she stumbled, nearly dropping her tray of wares and cursing.
“Mind where you’re going, filthy street rat!” she snapped, trying to retain her balance. Khadgar pulled at her distractedly, as if he were helping her rise while still looking for his fictional friend. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there…”
The hawker slapped his hands away, raining down ineffective blows as he backed away. “You’ve ruined my fish, brat. Are you going to pay for this?”
Khadgar ducked her blows easily, hands up to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry,” he said again, edging further away, preparing to sprint across the marketplace and rendezvous with Stapa in the nearby alley. “It was an accident, ma’am.” Stapa, of course, had crept close during the scuffle and stuffed several of the dropped fish sticks into her blouse before running away at full tilt.
Before he could move, Khadgar felt a heavy hand gripping his collar. Shit.
“How much does he owe you, madam fish’ker?” The man spoke with quiet authority that calmed the squawking vendor.
“Ten silver and half,” she grunted, eyeing the man. “Spoiled near half my tray, he did.”
Khadgar rolled his eyes. No more than a handful of sticks had fallen. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, twisting around to get a look at the man who still held his collar. Khadgar gulped, recognizing one of Stormwind’s guards. Off-duty, but still a potential threat. Khadgar avoided guards like the plague. They were nothing but trouble for street dwellers like himself.
“Here,” said the man, passing the hawker some coins from his purse. “That should make you whole.”
“He did that on purpose,” she accused, taking the money. “No-good street trash.”
“He said it was an accident. You’ve been paid.” The guard’s tone left no room for argument. “Good day, fish’ker.” Seeing she would get no more coin from Khadgar’s unexpected benefactor, the hawker moved away, still muttering under her breath.
Keeping his hand on Khadgar’s collar, the man led the way across the marketplace and down several alleys. Stopping in a quiet turnout, he released his grip and roughly pushed Khadgar to the ground. Sharp, dark eyes raked over him. “That was foolish,” the guard said at last. “Stealing in broad daylight?”
“I wasn’t stealing,” Khadgar said darkly. “Fish’ker ought to look where she’s going.” Fucking guards.
“No, you weren’t stealing, but your little friend was.” The man grinned at him unpleasantly. “Set her up nice and neat you did. So. Not a thief, hm?” He squatted down so their faces were level. “How do you make your living on the streets, boy?”
Khadgar’s mouth tightened. Guard or no guard, this man had no right to question him. He’d done nothing wrong. Seeing the other’s displeasure at his silence, he answered reluctantly, “I work at a washing house. In the trade district.” It was almost true, too. He did odd jobs for the wash house, but they didn’t need him for regular work. If he had a proper job, he wouldn’t be hustling fish’kers in the marketplace and they both knew it.
The guard reached out and trailed his hand across Khadgar’s jaw, settling on his throat. The grip was uncomfortably tight. “Oh? And what else do you do?”
“Odd jobs,” Khadgar wheezed. “We’re not beggars.”
“So she was your accomplice,” he said, smiling. “And you’re a working lad, eh? Looking for work now, are you?” The grip on Khadgar’s throat tightened.
“Fuck off,” Khadgar snarled, trying to push down the knot of fear growing in his stomach. He had dealt with plenty of bullies before. The best thing he could do was to show no weakness. “I don’t work the streets.”
“No?” The guard seemed amused. “What’s the going rate? Twenty silver? I just gave half that to the fish’ker for your debt.”
“I don’t want your money.” Khadgar suddenly glanced beyond the man’s shoulder, as if looking at someone down the alley. The guard looked back reflexively, and Khadgar kicked viciously as he threw himself to the side, scrambling to crawl away. The guard’s fist switftly met his jaw, knocking him down and snapping his head against the wall.
“Don’t be stupid,” growled the guard, aiming another blow at his torso. Pain blossomed in his ribs and Khadgar cried out, slumping over against the wall. Breathing was now causing a sharp pain in his chest, and he thought that something was possibly broken. His eyes grew wide as the man stood up and began to unbuckle his pants. “You owe me.”
No, this can’t be happening. Please, no.
“I know who you are,” Khadgar whispered in desperation, trying to catch his breath. The guard stopped his movements, frowning. “You’re a Stormwind guard. I’ve seen you on the docks.” Gaining courage, he continued, “If you touch me, I’ll tell the watch commander…” His voice trailed away as the man began to laugh. The ugly sound made Khadgar’s skin crawl.
“So you knowingly assaulted a guard, then? Tsk.” The guard finished opening his pants and began to feel himself under the cloth. “Do you want me to take you in? What’ll they give you for assaulting a guard? Stealing, too. Twenty lashes? Twelve weeks in prison? If you’re lucky.” His eyes were hard and sharp, his voice low. “Now.” He crouched again, reaching for Khadgar’s wrist and pulling his hand into his pants, moving unwilling fingers against the hardness there. “You want to get fucked, or do you suck dick?” His knee moved suggestively against Khadgar’s thigh.
Khadgar breathed heavily, his mind racing. An all-too-familiar feeling of helplessness was coming over him. He couldn’t physically overpower the guard; he couldn’t run away. He was running out of options. He opened his mouth, about to cry out for help even though the alley seemed abandoned, but the guard’s hand clapped over his face.
“Shhh…” soothed the guard. “Listen. You think I don’t know who you are?” Khadgar stared at him, eyes wide. “I’ve seen you on the docks, too.” The voice was mocking. “I know you don’t run with any of the street gangs. You’re alone, boy. I could kill you right here and nobody would ever care.”
This was true. Khadgar moaned helplessly and squirmed against the grip on his face. Two hot tears leaked down his cheeks, causing the guard to smile at his apparent distress. “Nobody but that little gimp what follows you around. Do you care about her?” The hand tightened. “Yes?”
Khadgar gave the barest nod. Not Stapa. Leave her alone.
“I know you do. Taking care of little beggars. You’re a good lad, aren’t you?” The hand moved cautiously away from his face. “That’s why I know you aren’t going to do anything stupid. Like call for help or try to get away. Because if you do, I’ll find her.” Khadgar shivered involuntarily at the rest of his unspoken threat. “Do you want me to hurt her instead?
Bitterly, Khadgar shook his head from side to side.
“Good. Drop your pants.”
Could he do this? No. I can’t. I have to. For Stapa.
“Alright,” he whispered, spreading his hands wide, defensively. “Let me stand up.”
The guard moved back, giving him a little room. Khadgar slowly started to rise, reaching reluctantly for the waistband of his pants, loosening the ties and sliding them towards his hipbones. The guard’s dark eyes followed his movements, leering. Then Khadgar snapped his wrists up, shouting a word of power as he reached for the arcane, and threw his hastily woven spell at the man. There was a flash of azure light that dissipated into a puff of smoke, revealing a very confused-looking sheep blocking the alcove.
Man and beast stared at each other for a heartbeat, then Khadgar was grunting, pushing at the sheep, trying to move it out of his way. The guard seemed to be keeping his wits about him much better than most people Khadgar had sheeped – which wasn’t many, really – and was leaning its weight against him, bleating angrily as it butted at him with its head.
Falling backward, Khadgar yelped as the sheep made contact with his painful ribs and kicked back instinctively. His foot landed with a dull thud on the sheep’s hind leg, and with another puff of bluish-grey smoke, the human guard reappeared.
Shit. Oops.
The spell was only good for about a minute, and only if the polymorphed person was left alone. Perversely, any interference with the sheep would cancel the spell, which Khadgar had known but had momentarily forgotten in his haste to escape. It had been a long time since he did any spellcasting, anyway. He was out of practice.
Khadgar opened his mouth to call another spell, but the guard slammed him into the wall again before he could speak the words, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through his body. Blows followed, striking his face and head and torso. Falling to his knees, Khadgar’s hands defensively covered his head. The guard pushed him down roughly, gripping his neck and grinding his face into the ground.
“So,” panted the guard, “You’re a mage.”
There was a tearing sound and Khadgar felt his shirt being ripped. The guard wadded the cloth into Khadgar’s mouth, wrapping another strip that might have been a handkerchief around his face to secure the gag in place. There was a clink of metal, then Khadgar felt his wrists being bound tightly behind his back.
Of course this guard is the type of asshole that carries cuffs when he’s off duty.
The guard flipped him over and stared into his face. Fingers played across his jaw again, sending a shudder down his body.
“You should have let me fuck you, boy.” The guard’s face was hard. The smile on his face didn’t go past his teeth. “You’re worth more than that now.” Jerking Khadgar to his feet, the guard wrapped his own rough, brown cloak around his prisoner, drawing the concealing hood downward over his face. “Keep your head down and your feet moving. Let’s go.”
Khadgar stumbled along dizzily under the guard’s iron-strong grip on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how this situation could get any worse, but was afraid he was about to find out.