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Damian stared at the box in his hands, all delicately carved wood and golden corners and hinges, like a tiny treasure chest. He had been working up to this for the past few months, but it was still a step to take, and by far it was the biggest. It was the most significant gift in this series of steps, the only proper thing he could do for his Feather, to save the broken man. His mother had told him that Feather belonged to him, and yet so many continued to try to take his dear Feather away. He had to do something.
It had started small, at dinnertimes, with him encouraging Feather to take slightly larger than servants like him were usually allowed. Feather wasn’t just any servant, after all, he belonged to the prince and if the prince told that something was allowed, then it was. Besides, dinner was the biggest meal of the day and Feather hardly took anything more than his breakfast, he needed to eat more so he could stay stong. Feather was a difficult man to convince, especially with the anger of the lesser servants who envied Damian’s dear protector, but slowly he managed it. Then Damian pushed it for lunch and breakfast too, insistent that Feather needed more food, needed more strength so he wouldn’t ever fail his prince. That was all that was needed for Feather to scarf down more food, as much as Damian decided.
Then it was extra snacks, even if they weren’t supposed to be common, especially for servants - it was nearly textbook forbidden. Sure, no one ever said a servant couldn’t have one, but they had to be deemed worthy and given permission, and that never happened. Damian agreed with that, largely; most of the servants in Nanda Parbat and Bialya alike were not deserving of anything more than their basics, let alone rewards for bare minimum work. But Feather was different–he was more than just a servant, he was a protector and confidant, he was a friend–most important of all, he belonged to Damian. He wasn’t some common palace servant who worked the kitchens and cleaned the linens; Feather was what his mother called a valet, though Damian hated the word. It sounded far too simple for someone as special and precious as Feather was. Feather was a servant to the prince, he was special, and just for being worthy of Damian he deserved all the rewards that could be given.
So extra snacks it was. Damian started with healthy things, apples from the grounds in Bialya, bright red and sweet for his favorite person in the world. Of course Feather denied them at first, but Damian always insisted until he took them regardless, even if sometimes he saw that Feather oddly would keep them much too long before eating. He sometimes had to pester Feather into eating them before they went bad, and even then Feather seemed reluctant, insisting he could hold onto them for a few more days. But slowly the man seemed to break, and he’d laugh and say Damian reminded him of the mysterious ‘Dickie’ he sometimes talked about. Damian took that as a compliment. After all, Feather seemed to be quite fond of Dickie, whoever he was, always talking about how someday he and Damian’s father would come for the two of them. Damian knew that wasn’t true, he would only be sent to his father when he was old enough for his mother to decide it was time for him to continue his training elsewhere, but he let Feather believe it regardless.
It wasn’t just the healthy things that Damian prioritised as special treats, though; extra helpings of dessert, whatever baked goods the servants made, sometimes Damian would even order them to make something special for his Feather. He found that a favorite, something that inevitably made Feather tear up when Damian held it out, was hot cocoa - a special thing for Damian himself anyway, but the way Feather reacted, he had a feeling there was something deeper. He knew Feather had issues remembering lots of things, only remembering a few tiny things from before his first dip in the pit, but now they had started to come back slowly, in tiny little shards that Damian catalogued carefully. Either way, Feather deserved the special things, and maybe Damian enjoyed the wicked grin he could give the lesser servants when Feather got his special things. They should have tried harder if they wanted to be worthy.
Then there were the clothes. That had been when he had to tell his mother about it all, tell her that people were still assuming his Feather to be just a servant, and how helpless Feather was but to listen. To his surprise, she had been quite supportive. That was where the special robes had come from, the red ones with the real-gold embroidered trim, marking Feather as being of higher status than even those who often tried to make him obey. They matched Damian’s own, yet red instead of his preferred emerald green, so that no one could claim he was stealing and punish him. That was also when Talia had formally given the directive that outside of his main directive to care for and protect Damian, he was to listen to Damian and Damian alone. He was not to listen to anyone else, even Talia herself.
But even once Feather visibly belonged, other servants and the leaders would still attempt to belittle him and order him, even punish him if he wouldn’t listen. They got their own punishments when Damian found out, of course, but he was angry it was happening at all. How dare they presume to claim his beloved Feather for their own? Feather belonged to him and him alone. How could they ever have the arrogance to think they were good enough to master his Feather?
It was around that time too that Damian started to have Feather sleep with him. His bed was much larger, with a softer mattress and silken sheets, and the hard-as-rock lump in Feather’s room was far too little. Now it didn’t take much to get Feather to listen, he only needed to order and meet any protest with a threat of punishment and Feather would crawl right in. Damian knew he liked it deep down, just from how Feather relaxed beside him each night, arms wrapped around Damian’s smaller body and head against his chest. They were both safe like that, Damian shielded by the strength of his beloved protector, and Feather kept away from those who would overtrain him and abuse him.
Besides, Damian had to keep an eye out! Feather’s breathing got weird in his sleep, sometimes it seemed like he stopped, and Damian couldn’t risk it. And then there were the nights where Feather would get all stiff and start jerking and sometimes it lasted so long that Damian would almost rush to get his mother so they could put him in the pit again. And sometimes he woke up dirty and ashamed and Damian was the only one who ever deserved to see Feather like that, he would never allow anyone to see Feather’s body that way. FEather belonged to him and Damian would keep him, protect him, care for him, as long and as much as needed. Feather did so much for him, it was only right he returned it.
He remembered one morning, they had been getting dressed, and then he’d heard Feather start to cry. Feather had forgotten how to fasten the laces on his boots, only a week after he’d taught Damian that exact thing. Damian knew how the others would react. He could not let his Feather be hurt like that. So he’d knelt in front of his servant, ignoring the protests, and did them up himself. He taught Feather how once more later, when they had time, but that moment would never get out. He would not let anyone know the state of his Feather, for they would take Feather away and hurt him, and Damian would not let that happen. Feather was his, no matter what. They could not take his Feather away.
So now, here they were. He stared down at the wooden box in his hands, his last effort to make sure they all knew they weren’t allowed to even touch his precious servant. He held the box close to his chest and took a deep breath, he had to do this, he knew it would be fine. Feather would never resist, he could simply make it an order, there would be no choice. Besides, it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong, he was just making sure that his Feather was safe. It was as simple as that, Feather needed this, Damian needed to protect him from the idiots who still tried to take him. Damian would not let him be taken away or broken again simply because they could not take a hint.
“Feather,” he called to the man standing at his bedroom door, “come here, will you?”
Feather didn’t speak, it wasn’t something that was needed, but he stepped in and let the door swing shut. Damian trusted him to obey even without a verbal agreement. Feather was good. Obedient. The sound of it echoed in Damian’s mind as the man came close, like the sound of funeral bells, the final step too far underway for him to stop. He needed to do this, even if it was unusual for the servants of the League, and he wasn’t sure how Feather would feel. Well, it was also unusual for members to disobey or ignore Damian’s orders, so an unusual solution was warranted. Feather stopped in front of him, and Damian stared up, meeting those bright, Lazarus-green eyes that matched his own so well, yet still tinged with faint blue. “Yes, ‘amiri?”
“Kneel,” he said, and the man obeyed. Such a good servant.
Damian lowered the box so it was sitting on his lap, and moved his hands to the latch, still watching those bright green eyes. He ran his fingers over the carved patterns, smiling at the way Feather tracked the movements of his hands, soft and gentle against the wood just like they were on Feather’s skin. “I have a gift for you. No, shush, no protests. It’s not just a gift, it’s something very important. Something I need you to have and use for me. Do you understand?”
Feather nodded, eyes fluttering as he tilted his head up to look at Damian’s face instead of the box. “Yes, my prince.”
“Good boy,” Damian murmured in that soft tone he only ever used for Feather, and only when they were alone or he could get away with it. His thumb found the latch and flipped it up with a soft click of metal against metal, the hinge softly creaking as he lifted the lid. He didn’t take his eyes off Feather for a moment as he pulled the object from the box, dangling it between them.
It was a collar.
It was carefully made, Damian had designed it and his mother had sent off for someone to make it, a seamstress the highest of her caliber, since Feather deserved no less. The body was dark green velvet, sewn to an inner strip of black ribbon for comfort against the neck, a thin piece of memory foam kept between so it would fit comfortably. There were gold embroidered patterns that matched the patterns on Damian’s robes, almost appearing to be made from the same material. Thin, short, bright green lace edged the contraption, made of soft thread so it wouldn’t be too itchy for Feather to wear. Mounted in the middle was a golden d-ring with a tag hanging from it. The tag itself was a green rosette like an award ribbon, because Feather was a prize, because Feather was Damian’s prize, and because being owned was Damian’s prize for Feather. It didn’t say much, only that Feather belonged to Damian, and that no one else was allowed to touch him or order him around like a common servant. He was Damian’s and Damian’s alone.
There was another d-ring on the back, empty, next to where the collar fastened. The matching leash itched at Damian’s mind, but he hoped he would never need it. It only existed in case Feather someday decided to disobey, or if he ever really needed to prove to someone who the man belonged to. Damian anticipated it would be the second one, as Feather was a very good boy and very well trained, and Damian doubted he would ever even want to disobey.
Damian reached out, fingers tracing his big brother’s cheek. “Come here, Feather. Closer. Let me dress you.”
Feather’s eyes were wide, and Damian could see the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed, but he nodded regardless and leaned in slowly, eyes fluttering shut. The touch of Damian’s fingers on his cheek coaxed him further in, like he couldn’t resist the gentleness. Damian knew he couldn’t
“Good boy,” Damian murmured again. “Always so good for me, Feather. That’s why I got this gift for you. My big brother.”
His brother. Yes, Feather was his servant, but Feather was so precious to him, it was more than that. In one of the moments where Feather had more memories, he’d described his relationship with his older brother to Damian, and Damian felt it rang true. They were brothers, this is what brothers were. He felt like Feather’s ‘Dickie’ did, at least, from what Feather had managed to tell him.
His fingers were deft as he unfolded the collar, turning the inside to the skin of Feather’s neck and pressing it softly in. He threaded the belt-fastener through the buckle with utmost care, like making sutures, and slid the buckle tight against Feather’s skin. Not too tight, not enough to choke, but snug, a firm press against the most vulnerable part of Feather’s body, a constant reminder that he belonged. To Damian, that is.
“That’s it,” Damian purred, tucking the end of the velvet fastening into the holding loop, before moving his hands to Feather’s cheeks. “There you go, Feather. Now they won’t hurt you anymore. Isn’t that nice? They won’t bother you, won’t train you, won’t put their hands on you at all… You’re safe. My protector. You’ll never be forced to leave me now, they can’t take you away again. My big brother will stay with me.”
He let go, or well, one of his hands dropped, the other lowering to lift Feather’s chin. He kept pushing up until Feather got the hint and stood. Damian shut the box with a soft click before Feather could see what was still inside, sliding it onto a thin shelf on the nightstand. He scooted back then, further onto the bed, pushing his blanket back in the process until there was an open space in the middle. The invitation was clear, but Damian raised his hand anyway, crooking his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture for his beloved brother.
When the bed dipped with Feather’s weight, Damian moved closer once more, hooking a finger around the d-ring at the front of that collar and dragging him down. Damian pulled the blankets up around them, closing the bed curtains and blocking out the world. Now that Feather was properly his, he wanted some time with his Feather, his beloved protector and brother. He wasn’t going to let anyone separate them now. Everything was going to be okay now, no one would hurt Feather again. His protector was already so broken, Damian wasn’t going to let anyone break him further. He didn’t want to see that shattered, blank canvas of a mind that Feather had started as again, never again. So Damian would protect him in turn, like this, with gentle hugs and Feather’s head against his chest, with lies to keep him from training so no one could break him again.
“Rest, Feather,” he murmured.
“It’s not night yet, ‘amiri,” Feather answered, but Damian could feel the way his arms snaked around Damian, the way he pressed in close.
“I know,” Damian answered, running fingers through Feather’s soft hair and coaxing his head down under Damian’s chin. Such a precious thing, this man was, not just so cute when he was like this, but more valuable than any diamond or lustrous precious stone. He was worth more than all the riches in the world, than Damian’s position as prince of Bialya, as heir to the League, Feather belonged to him, and Damian was never ever going to let him go. “You need to rest, sweet Feather,” he repeated, running his knuckles over Feather’s spine, feeling each bump. “You trust your Prince, don’t you? You’ll be good and listen?”
“Yes, ‘amiri,” Feather answered automatically, because of course he did, he was such an obedient servant, so good for his prince.
Damian knew, he understood perfectly, why the others wanted to order Feather around as well, because Feather was simply so good and so willing, the highest caliber of servant. There was a reason Damian’s mother had chosen the broken boy, who no one else believed was a good choice for the heir-prince. She must have seen the potential buried in him that they could not look beyond the surface to recognize. Feather was brilliant, wonderful, kind and gentle yet ruthless when needed, obedient to a fault, everything the League would want of a royal servant. But they were not deserving of someone as perfect as Feather, not if they did not believe in him from the beginning. Especially as they continued to use him, ignoring the clear and simple orders of their highest superiors. No, they would only misuse and mistreat this precious broken boy, and Damian could not have that happening.
The collar was a necessity.
He would not let them touch what belonged to him.