The fact that Enjolras and his friends had been abducted over a year ago still hung heavily on his mind, today of all days, natural though it might seem, and the present situation seemed to echo it a little. In feeling if not in the scenery provided for this trip into the Dreaming. It reminded him too much of how things had gone before, not because he had been in thrall, but because he had been powerless, because Malicant had had him on his knees and at his mercy, and there had not seemed any way of breaking that sort of a hold, no matter what he did.
Enjolras had not been a stranger to fear, at home, he had been terrified at a few very specific occasions in his life, but he had moved through them using that terror to his advantage. Bold and courageous action, after all, did not require that a man be fearless, merely that he use his fear as something of a spur to action. Being afraid was one thing, and, long as one was not petrified, and used the fear to his advantage, it was not so bad. He had understood the fear of death as it applied to others of his friends, of losing those who were beloved to him, but those had served, in the end, to make him better.
The fear of being left at the mercy of someone, or something else, as he had been then, and at Malicant's, who knew better than anyone what could make him break and beg, had been new, and started after their encounter, and it had been the most common in the year and some time that had followed it. The fear of pain that might be caused if he disobeyed while held under the dark being's mercy was there too, but it was lesser, compared to the point itself. Still, he would have as soon avoided that all together if he could. Simply because one would not give in if they were hurt did not mean it would be pleasant. Simply because Enjolras might endure something like torture with a smile to show he did not care, did not mean he would welcome it.
THAT was nothing,though, left to a loss of agency, a single moment on one's knees crying for mercy, or worse, sinking into terrified obedience at the hands of one's enemy. Enjolras had feared a moment like that, woken up on countless nights, Malicant's name on his lips as the scenario had appeared before him, again and again, and he did not appreciate the reminder of it just now, particularly as his own mind seemed to be creating it.
For a moment, he paused, gathering his strength, and nerve all up at once again, then stroking one of his earrings for courage, glad he had worn the audacious scarlet waistcoat and the hoops today, for all the comfort that they gave him going forward. Surely Malicant would not dare try again, would have moved on to new and better tactics? Whatever ones he chose, Enjolras knew he must be ready, and that he must fight with every dying breath he had.
"Never." He vowed, striding forward, despite the fear of the unknown. "Whatever else, I shall not be a slave again."
Enjolras! Part One!
Enjolras had not been a stranger to fear, at home, he had been terrified at a few very specific occasions in his life, but he had moved through them using that terror to his advantage. Bold and courageous action, after all, did not require that a man be fearless, merely that he use his fear as something of a spur to action. Being afraid was one thing, and, long as one was not petrified, and used the fear to his advantage, it was not so bad. He had understood the fear of death as it applied to others of his friends, of losing those who were beloved to him, but those had served, in the end, to make him better.
The fear of being left at the mercy of someone, or something else, as he had been then, and at Malicant's, who knew better than anyone what could make him break and beg, had been new, and started after their encounter, and it had been the most common in the year and some time that had followed it. The fear of pain that might be caused if he disobeyed while held under the dark being's mercy was there too, but it was lesser, compared to the point itself. Still, he would have as soon avoided that all together if he could. Simply because one would not give in if they were hurt did not mean it would be pleasant. Simply because Enjolras might endure something like torture with a smile to show he did not care, did not mean he would welcome it.
THAT was nothing,though, left to a loss of agency, a single moment on one's knees crying for mercy, or worse, sinking into terrified obedience at the hands of one's enemy. Enjolras had feared a moment like that, woken up on countless nights, Malicant's name on his lips as the scenario had appeared before him, again and again, and he did not appreciate the reminder of it just now, particularly as his own mind seemed to be creating it.
For a moment, he paused, gathering his strength, and nerve all up at once again, then stroking one of his earrings for courage, glad he had worn the audacious scarlet waistcoat and the hoops today, for all the comfort that they gave him going forward. Surely Malicant would not dare try again, would have moved on to new and better tactics? Whatever ones he chose, Enjolras knew he must be ready, and that he must fight with every dying breath he had.
"Never." He vowed, striding forward, despite the fear of the unknown. "Whatever else, I shall not be a slave again."