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Corbin's eyes narrowed immensely when he saw Mir crying. No, no, this was not going to be tolerated. Corbin reached up, gently wiping them away, before lifting Mir up into his arms and pulling him close.
"That's enough for today," the king said softly, the halfling held close to himself. "We'll go see someone different later, okay?"
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(As would I!)
Dragomir just buried his face into Corbin’s chest, sniffling and scared and shaking as he was held, clutching to the king for comfort, too afraid to look up. He didn’t want to ever do that again, but he figured he’d have to….
(Uh oh, looks like the tailor might be getting F I R E D.)
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Corbin held Dragomir so tight to himself, his touch protective. He glared at the tailor for only a moment more, then swept out of the room, tilting his head down to whisper gentle, soothing words to Dragomir as they hurried back to the rooms.
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(Fired?? Damn son he's getting executed)
(By fired do you mean,,, lit on fire? becuase I'll do it)
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(I will as well uwu)
Mir cried softly as he trembled in the king’s arms, feeling utterly pathetic and worthless again. He relaxed into his touch though, and and was slowly calming at the gentle words, just glad his thighs were covered again.
(Fired?? Damn son he's getting executed)
(Is this a threat or a promise? Because I’d rather like to see a Corbin only series of events where he has the tailor executed without Mir’s knowledge….)
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(Promiseeee)
Corbin ran his fingers through Mir's hair as they continued through the halls, Corbin finally bringing Mir back into the halfling's room. The king held Dragomir close, sitting down on the bed with him.
"I'm so, so sorry…" The king still held Mir close. How often would this happen? How often would people hurt Mir behind Corbin's back, bring the man to tears like this?
“I-it’s fine… I’m sorry, I should be used to it by now…” Mir cuddled into his arms, wiping his face again, ashamed of being in tears for a second time in a single day. “It’s fine… It’s just part of being what I am….” He sighed and huffed for breath. “It’s just because I’m an ugly mutt to them…”
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"It's wrong, Mir, it isn't fine. I… I'm so sorry, I was right there and I didn't realize what was going on…" Corbin ran his fingers through Mir's hair, helping him wipe the tears away.
"I… It would be so much better if you never had to get used to it… I…" Corbin trailed off. "I want to make that world for you, Dragomir… for everyone."
(Boys your homosexual is showing)
(Oh my gods)
Dragomir sniffled and nuzzled into Corbin’s, chest. “He was just raised to hate my kind. Everyone of pure human descent is nowadays….” He sighed and calmed, sitting peacefully in the king’s lap. He then looked down to see what his clothes looked like, realizing he hadn’t even paid attention to what he had put on.
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The clothes were simple, quite close to what they had discussed. The sleeve was attached to a half torso around Dragomir's lower half, the pants almost the exact cut, just a bit too big in some areas. The shirt itself was more see-through in the torso and around the cuff, a deep red even there. The red of the opaque portion of the sleeve matched that of the flag of the country, and Corbin's own formal wear. The pants were pitch black, a golden color fading up from the edges into the main color.
"Still…" Corbin trailed off, his hand resting on Dragomir's head. Really, he thought it was a horrible thing his grandfather had done, but there was nothing he could do now.
Mir liked his new clothes even if the pants didn’t fit quite right in some areas. They felt much better than his old rags, and they were comfortable. He rather liked the shirt in particular. He leaned into Dragomir’s hand and closed his eyes at the soothing touch. He still shivered at the thought of going back. “When do we have to go back…?”
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"We don't have to until you're ready," Corbin promised. "And I'll make sure you don't have to deal with that man again, okay? We'll have someone else work with us." Corbin ran his fingers through Dragomir's hair, holding him close.
“Ok… But I don’t know if anyone will act any differently….” He closed his eyes, reaching up and rubbing the spot where the tailor had dug his finger into his chest, feeling completely saddened that he’d never escape the abuse.
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"Well… there's me, and the doctor too! She didn't mind at all that you're not fully human. I'm sure we can find someone, somewhere, who won't hurt you…" Corbin watched Dragomir rub his chest, worry coming to his face.
"What… what all did he do?" The king asked, voice soft. He really was worried for Dragomir, and furious at the tailor.
“N-nothing… Just dug his finger into my chest…” he sighed. “Pretty pathetic thing to lose my head over, huh? It just hurt…” He stopped rubbing the spot and realized a small bruise was forming there. He just looked at it disinterestedly. It wouldn’t be his first, and it wouldn’t be his last.
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Corbin, of course, didn't think the same way Dragomir did. He very much intended to do everything in his power to make sure this was the last bruise Dragomir ever received like this, and that was quite a lot of power indeed.
"It's not pathetic," Corbin assured. "It was obviously too much, seeing that bruise…" The king sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He was tired of this system that allowed so much worse to happen with so little consequences.
“It’s just a bruise, much worse could’ve happened. Don’t worry.” He cupped Corbin’s face in his small, delicate hands. “I’m sorry I worried you. I’ll try to be more careful to not tick off others. It was my fault, I aggravated him.” He was trying to say whatever he could to soothe Corbin, himself forgotten. He kissed Corbin’s nose lightly, smiling. “It’s over with now. So should we go the the doctor’s or do you want to stay like this for a bit?”
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Corbin cupped Dragomir's head in his hands in turn, his so big while the other's were so small.
"How was it you aggravated him?" The king asked softly. Still, he didn't push, letting the subject go. It was obvious Mir was ready to.
"Yeah, we can go to the doctor's if you're ready."
As Mir got off of Corbin’s lap he said softly, “I wasn’t silent and whimpered when he moved my arm. Normally if I stay silent, they’ll put up with me.” He was slightly amazed at how big Corbin was compared to him. He always had to look up to talk to the king’s face, and felt like he was staring up at a tree, he was so huge while he was so tiny with the delicate fae features.
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Corbin shook his head some, standing.
"A stupid excuse to hurt others," he commented. Mir's wound would have been obvious by the tailor took action, of course the halfling would have made a sound when it was moved.
Corbin couldn't help but find Mir's height… cute. He was just so small, the king always had to look down. Not to mention the man's features, so sweet…
Mir moved to hug Corbin’s waist, which was all he could really reach, smiling. “Well, it’s done with for now. I have some new clothes until you find a new tailor you like.” He then let go so Corbin could lead him back to the doctor’s, before remembering the footwear discussion and kicked off his old, hole-y boots and bringing his necklace back out of his short, glad the tailor hadn’t questioned it when he was ordered to strip.
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Corbin hugged Mir back, smiling some in turn.
"Alright, then," the king conceded. He'd deal with the current tailor later. At times, it really was hard for the king to remember Mir had served so well in the war, glad they had met and forgetful of the circumstances.
With that same smile, Corbin let Mir out of the room once the halfling was ready, his hand slipping into the concubine by name's.
Mir may be shy and scared now, but it was mostly because the war discharge and life’s abuse had broken him into a state of submission. On the field he had been fast, ruthless, and smart. Now he was scared of least chilliest tone of voice, ready to cower and submit at any moment. Mir smiled back at the king, not realizing he was special for being able to bring a smile to the king’s lips so often. He just thought Corbin was really nice and smiling. His bare feet smoothly went across the floor, the sound of his footsteps now absent with his shoes. There wasn’t even the slap of his foot soles against the floor.
