Chapter Text
The warm breeze lifted the snarled strands away from your face, your tunic catching the wind like a sail on a ship, billowing around your thin frame. Lifting your face skyward, you squinted beneath the glare of the sun. There were no birds in sight. What was it like? Watching the world melt away below you, a distant blur of brown and green, tethered to nothing but the strength of your own wings.
You were plummeted back into your own body by the unsteady jolt of the horse’s hoof sliding into a dip in the road. Lilted sideways, you briefly clutched at the back of Jean’s shirt to prevent yourself from slipping off the horse’s back before releasing your hold with equal haste. Never having sat on a horse in your life, you were unaccustomed to its strange rocking stride. “Sorry, sir.” You murmured, fingers finding purchase on the weathered saddle cantle instead.
“Sir?” Jean chuckled as he guided the horse around a bend in the road. The formality had been a thoughtless reflex. Given the opportunity to lend it some thought, Jean didn’t look like a sir. The rough cotton of his shirt, the sun-bleached leather of his boots, and the muscle tone in his shoulders were all clues that Jean was a servant. The tanned skin on his forearms suggested he spent the majority of his time outside. While you sat tense and uneasy in the saddle, he was relaxed, at peace. Now you understood. He must be a stableboy.
Tree branches which arced over the road began to bow and bounce as the wind picked up. You wondered where exactly you were going, but you were without the nerve to ask. Jean directed the horse off of the road and onto a path leading up the hillside. The horse, having recognized the direction of home, hastened its easy stride into a purposeful march. Tall grasses transformed into thicker underbrush. Plants crowded in closer to the road. Looking over Jean’s shoulder, you could make out the distant shape of a building. With every step closer, it became evident that this was no common residence.
The manor house was massive. Skillfully constructed ledgestone walls were inlaid with broad leaded glass windows, framed with white trim, and topped with a steeply pitched roof. The structure loomed three stories high. The view from the front suggested at least twenty rooms, and perhaps more if the residence extended further back on the property. A large gravel courtyard stood in front of the house, with an elegantly carved granite fountain adorning the center. Neatly manicured flowerbeds lined the manor, complete with at a dozen flowers you couldn’t name. Left of the manor was a rectangular building with a roof that matched the main house. Stables, perhaps.
The horse came to a halt. Jean swung one leg over the horse’s neck and landed with a crunch in the gravel. “May I?” The brown haired boy asked, reaching both hands upwards. Any attempt to replicate that dismount would undoubtedly end with you on your hands and knees in rocks. You nodded. His hands gripped your hips, lifting with ease, and set you gently on your feet.
Your attention was caught by the sound of someone approaching. Turning around, you found yourself looking into steel gray eyes. The gaze lingered for only a moment before it slid away and he began speaking with Jean.
Five hundred. This man had paid five hundred silver pieces for you. You couldn't fathom it. This wasn’t your first time exchanging hands. Bought, sold to an auctioneer, and then bought again. Despite having experienced this countless times, you had never been sold at such a price.
Back on the auction block, you kept your head down. You didn’t want to entice attention, only clinging to the meager hope that someone would see your sunburned skin and calloused hands and buy you for use in the fields. That… and you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your eyes. There was a particular sort of person who bought other human beings. They wanted to see fear. To see the light in your eyes as it was extinguished, to break you down and crush you under their boot. They wanted to see the look in your eyes as they ruined you. When that foul old creature had started bidding, your feeble wish was obliterated. You could only squeeze your eyes shut, bow your head, and pray that whatever god have mercy and smite you where you stood, sparing your mortal soul.
Five hundred. You assumed you misheard. And then you heard it again. Your eyes had found obsidian hair and fair skin, shoulders set with noble poise. Did the heavens extend mercy to you and send you an angel? Or were you being deceived into thinking you were safe, helpless and ignorant as a fly in a spider's web? It wasn't clear. Whatever the case may be, there was no doubt in your mind that he had saved you from impending misery. The only hope was that the merciful act wasn't a ruse.
A tap on the shoulder roused you from your thoughts. “What’s your name?” You looked at Jean, and he gave a sharp nod in the direction of the man, who looked rather irritated. Had he asked several times before you noticed? “Y/n.” You said softly, instinctively dropping your gaze to the ground. Hearing an impatient click of the tongue, your eyes twitched upwards. “It’s rude not to look at people when they’re talking to you,” he stated. “I’m sorry, sir,” You whispered, fighting the urge to look away. He considered you for a moment, and then gave a heavy sigh. “You're free to stay or go, but if you stay, make yourself useful.” He said simply. With an expressionless face, he appeared indifferent to the absurd sum he had paid for you. Your mind was still clouded by his first words. You’re free to stay or go…
“Well?” His clipped tone demanded a swift answer. “I…” You blinked. Free? “I...” For a moment, your heart fluttered with longing. That was a word you only dreamed of. Faraway, unrealistic, and intangible. Then reality set in. Where would you go? You had no papers, money, or possessions. If just one person questioned your legitimacy, you would be shackled once again. Like it or not, freedom was only a fantasy. Survival…that was real. “I'll stay, sir.” You said quietly.
“Fine.” The man said dismissively, turning away from you. “Jean, take the girl to Mikasa and inform her of all the pertinent information,” He told the young man at your side. “Yes, my lord,” Jean replied instantly, grabbing hold of the second horse's reins. Turning on his heel, the man strode off across the yard, through the front doors of the manor, and out of sight.
“C’mon now.” Jean called back to you as he walked. Following close behind, you followed him into the building you had correctly guessed was the stables. When you stepped through the large doorway, you were greeted with the sight of a long cobblestone walkway lined with dozens of stalls. On the front of each stall was a heavy gate. Judging from the design of the dark iron hinges, they swung inward. Plank walls and iron bars divided the spaces, probably to prevent horses from leaning into the adjacent areas. Light streamed through the back of each stall, leading into what appeared to be a pasture. In the distance, you could make out the shapes of at least four other horses dotted among the greenery. Scanning the structure, the high wooden rafters which were strangely free of dust and cobwebs.
As Jean halted in front of the first empty stall, one set of reins dropped to the ground. The stableboy led the second horse on, passing three more stalls before stopping again. You lingered beside the first horse. Was it okay to leave it unattended? What if it wandered off? “Er…Jean?” You glanced uneasily at the creature. “Don’t worry. He ground-ties.” Jean waved an unconcerned hand. Looking back at the animal, you discovered the topic of conversation had propped one hind foot, lowered its head, closed its eyes, and promptly fallen asleep. It would seem your concern was unwarranted. Feeling uncertain about what to do next, you remained rooted to the spot, though you were no longer tethered by a lead of your own.
Distant clinks and snaps echoed off the walls as Jean’s hands moved with practiced efficiency over each clasp, buckle and strap that secured the tack to the horse. He lifted the saddle off the creature, which swished its tail impatiently, hungry eyes locked on the green pasture waiting beyond the confines of the stables. “You don’t have to stand while you wait. Take a seat.” Jean jerked his head towards a large wooden chest pushed against the wall. Whether wanted to sit or not, your feet instinctively obeyed, carrying you over to settle down on top of the chest.
Loops and knots that secured the horse to a ring hanging from one of the wooden wall posts were undone. “Why does that one need to be tied?” You asked, your voice hardly above a whisper. “Say again?” Jean glanced at you, pushing the gate open with his shoulder as he guided the animal through. You swallowed. “Why does that one need to be tied but the other doesn’t?” You forced your voice louder, pointing at the horse he was leading as opposed to the chestnut further down the barn, still peacefully dozing.
“Because,” Jean said as halter slipped off the creatures head, “She’s a pest.” Throwing Jean a look which could only be taken for indignant, the mare swung in the opposite direction and marched out into the pasture. “Such attitude.” Jean shook his head in exasperation, stepping back through the gate and sliding the latch shut. The corner of your mouth twitched. He hung the tack on the waiting rack on the wall, tugging a cover over the saddle.
The second horse took even less time than the first, completely unbothered by Jean’s various movements. He even had to nudge the animal in the side to get it to follow him into the stall. Unlike its moody companion, the chestnut moved with a lazy lumber to the corner of the stall. It peeked into a bucket hanging on the wall and, finding no food left inside, elected to resume its nap. Jean patted the animal on the shoulder with a fond hand before resuming his tasks.
After completing his work, Jean walked over to you. “Alright, time to head to the house.” Standing up from your seat, you followed the tall young man out the door and towards the manor. The pulse in your neck jumped high as you wondered what lay inside.
Kicking the toe of each boot against the exterior wall to dislodge any dust, Jean pushed the door open and stepped inside. Once through the threshold, your eyes stretched wide. Creamy white walls touched smooth granite floors. On the left, a staircase framed with fine mahogany woodwork curled upwards out of sight. Various elegant furnishings lined the long hall. The estates you had previously seen were cluttered with displays of luxury by owners compelled to flaunt their riches in every way they could. But this one was less... overwhelming. The fortune was expressed in subtle yet undeniable ways, from the ornate carvings on an ebony side table to the silver-gilded wood frame of a painting.
A distant clicking sound became louder as a figure appeared around the corner. A woman was walking rapidly in your direction, the sound produced by her shoes against the stone floor. Her most distinct feature was the stern expression on her young face, her mouth set in a flat line, and dark, serious eyes. Hearing a soft sigh, you turned your head to discover Jean staring at the woman with a dreamy look on his face. The woman came to a sharp halt in front of you, planting her hands on her hips. “Mikasa.” Jean greeted her brightly, unconsciously straightening his spine. His greeting was wholly disregarded. “Jean, who is this?”
The weight of a hand suddenly dropped on your shoulder, causing you to flinch. “This is y/n,” Jean said. “Y/n, this is Mikasa. She's the housekeeper of his lordship's estate.” Jean explained. Mikasa's gray eyes focused on you. Judging from the lack of blemishes or age lines on her face, you doubted she was older than you were. It was quite possible she was actually younger, yet she exuded an air of intimidation as she observed you. You dipped your head, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. “His lordship, er…” Jean hesitated. Your fingers curled inward against your palms as you waited in anticipation. “His lordship bought her this morning.” Jean’s hand slipped off of your shoulder.
So there it was. The wind changed and uneasy tension filled the air. “Bought?” One slender dark eyebrow twitched higher. “That’s right.” Jean remarked dully. No words were spoken for several seconds. Your eyes traced the seam that separated one tile from another on the floor. No need to wonder what Mikasa was thinking. Disgust. At the very least, disdain.
"That's... unlike him." Mikasa commented. Surprised, you looked up. She regarded you with a softer expression than her previous one, confusion and a tinge of compassion. After recovering from his awkwardness, Jean cleared his throat. "He instructed me to pass her on to you. According to him, she should utilize her time here and delegate her duties appropriately." Jean explained. "In that case, it will be done.” She nodded curtly.
Jean grinned, pleased that the matter had gone smoothly. “You should go. You’re getting dirt on the floor.” Mikasa whirled away, striding down a different corridor from where she had come. “Isn't she lovely?” Jean sighed, unfazed by her abrupt dismissal. A laugh escaped your lips. Someone was clearly taken with the dark haired housekeeper. “Y/n!” Mikasa prompted, having stopped in the hallway. Jean said, "I'd hurry if I were you. She's not the patient type." Hearing the door shut behind you, you hastened to follow her.
"Welcome to the Ackerman Estate." She breezed through half a dozen hallways without stopping. How did she manage to navigate through this maze so easily? You lost your bearings after only a few turns. Mikasa took a sharp left and descended down a stairwell. “What kind of experience do you have?” She halted at the foot of the stairs, taking a ring of keys from a hook on the wall. “Experience?” You inquired, pausing mid-step. "Work history, skills, education and so forth." She explained. "I worked in fields, Miss Mikasa. Physical labor. Plowing, planting, and hauling. Er…no education.” You explained. “No servants work?” Mikasa frowned. “No, ma’am.” You replied.
“I see.” A sigh sounded as she started off again. Mikasa was muttering something indiscernible to your ears as she proceeded down the hall. She stopped in front of a door that was indistinguishable from every other door lining the hall. The jangle of the keys reminded you of those in the auctioneer’s grubby hands. You turned your eyes away. Wooden plank floors and plaster walls indicated that this was the servants' wing.
The door swung open with a creak. Entering the room, she walked towards a dresser in the corner. "This used to be the housemaid's quarters." Mikasa explained. The tone of her voice suggested she did not remember the previous housemaid favorably. While pulling the bottom drawer open, she began rummaging through folded clothes. After shaking it from its folds, Mikasa held up what appeared to be a maid's uniform in front of you, similar in appearance to what she wore. It was a simple black dress with three quarter sleeves, white collar and cuffs, along with an apron trimmed in lace. “Fortunately, you’re about her size. This should fit you well enough.”
Mikasa turned and laid the clothing on the bed before returning to you. Once again, she studied you. "You cannot walk around this house in this state. Sit." Mikasa pointed to a wooden chair beside the dresser. Sitting down, you watched her stride purposefully out of the room.
This state? Looking down, it wasn’t difficult to gather her meaning. Dirt and grime covered every inch of exposed skin, fingernails jagged and caked with muck. You could only imagine the condition of your hair. In short, you were filthy. You hunched lower in the chair, opting to observe the room instead. The walls and flooring were the same as those in the hall. A large leaded window was situated opposite the bed and divided the wall into four squares of glass. The sun bathed the room in a warm yellowy glow.
Mikasa's heels scraping against wood marked her approach moments before she reappeared through the doorway. Under one arm, she held a metal wash basin, while the other held a bucket of water filled to the brim. She set the basin on top of the dresser and lifted a bucket above it, pouring until it was half full. “Let's make quick work of this.” Mikasa watched you expectantly, gesturing to the basin. Standing up from your seat, you approached her. As you cupped your hands beneath the surface of the water, you began to scrub your face, taking care not to splash everywhere. "And the hair." Mikasa retrieved something from her apron pocket and placed it beside the basin. A bar of soap.
A simple rinse had already tinged the water brown. After a minute, Mikasa released a small huff of impatience. “Honestly, we’re going to be here until dinner. Hands at your sides, head down.” Mikasa ordered, seizing the soap. She dipped one hand in the basin before scrubbing the soap against her palm until she had worked up a foamy lather. Despite her sharp tone, her hands were gentle as she worked the soap into your scalp. You squeezed your eyes shut as rivulets off water ran down your face. A mild scent filled your nose. Pleasant. Clean. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been clean.
After a minute of determined scrubbing, Mikasa poured water over your head until the bubbles were gone from your hair. After pulling a towel from another drawer, she squeezed the excess water out of your hair and patted it down with a second towel for good measure. Grasping your shoulder, she guided you back into your chair. A comb appeared in her hand. As she began her endeavor, you bit your cheek and remained as still as you could. The tines worked continuously through your hair until not a single tangle remained. Mikasa’s slim fingers tugged and twisted away behind you.
Returning to your line of sight, Mikasa lifted the basin of scummy water and marched to the window. Hesitantly, you raised your hands to your head, letting your fingers ghost over the intricate pattern she had woven into your hair. Unlatching the window and pushing it open, she chucked the water out. The sound of water splattering on the ground outside was cut off as Mikasa latched the window. You quickly put your hands on your lap. “It's crucial that employees look presentable during working hours, so please maintain this appearance from here on out.” Mikasa asserted as she crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed. Taking the maid's uniform from where it lay, the raven-haired girl pressed it into your hands. "Change quickly, and we'll throw away those rags."
Your tattered tunic and trousers fell to the ground as you slipped into the black dress. It hung just below the knee, leaving your lower legs and feet exposed. “Hmm. You’re going to need proper shoes.” Mikasa observed. She stepped closer to you, sliding her foot over until her heel was aligned with yours. The tip of her boot ended before your toes by about three centimeters. "No good. I can't lend you any of mine." Her posture straightened as she sighed. “Annie!” Mikasa called.
A young woman appeared in the doorway. “Yes?” She drawled in a voice that made Mikasa’s sound lively by comparison. The woman had pale skin, pale hair, and pale blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind a lock of hair. “Do you have a spare pair of shoes?” Mikasa inquired. “Yes.” Annie replied, disappearing from the doorway instantly. Within moments, she reappeared, clutching a pair of black lace up boots. “Thank you. I’ll have them back to you soon.” Mikasa took them from the girl. “Of course, Miss Mikasa,” Annie replied, “Is that all? ” Mikasa nodded and waved the blonde away. Throughout the entire exchange, the girl had not looked at you once.
“Try these on.” Mikasa placed them on the floor in front of you. Slipping your feet into them, you knelt to lace them up one at a time. “Do they fit?” Mikasa asked, watching with her arms crossed. You took a few steps forward. “Yes.” You lied quietly. “No, they don’t. I can see you sliding around." Mikasa replied. "Well, they'll have to do for today.” Mikasa waved a dismissive hand. “It can't be helped that you lack experience, but to be any good around here you'll have to be a quick study. Understand?” Mikasa’s grey eyes bore into you. It made you feel smaller. “Yes, Miss Mikasa.” You agreed quietly.
As you were accustomed to walking barefoot, the soles of the shoes felt strange and heavy beneath your feet. You practically wobbled as you followed Mikasa down the hall. Mikasa started climbing the stairs to the main floor of the manor, but paused halfway up. "I'll send someone to town tomorrow to get you shoes." For the first time that day, Mikasa smiled at you. Or at least, there was an attempt, which looked more like a convulsion at the corners of her lips. You could tell that her face was not accustomed to the expression. Still, you were grateful for the hint of kindness. “Thank you, Miss Mikasa.”
You never had the chance to sit again after that brief moment in the servant's quarters. In the remaining hours of the day, she guided you through every room of the manor, explaining the tasks and responsibilities that each room has. Floors needed to be scrubbed, lamps needed to be refilled, laundry needed to be done, furniture needed to be dusted, windows needed to be polished, rugs needed to be swept, fireplaces needed to be lit... the list went on and on. The thought of remembering it all left your head spinning. Throughout, Mikasa was stern, but not unkind.
Finally, Mikasa finished showing you how the beds were made and prepared for guests, announcing she could teach you nothing more today. A sigh of relief passed through your body, certain that if you were to hear any more lengthy explanation about how to neaten dust ruffles, your head would explode. As you silently followed Mikasa back through the halls of the manor, your disorientation was only slightly lessened compared to when you'd first entered.
At the top of the stairs down to the servants' hall, Mikasa glanced back at you. "Sorry, but you will not meet the rest of the staff tonight. We didn’t finish as quickly as I had hoped, so they will have already eaten and retired for the night.” She explained as she led you down the stairs and in the opposite direction. This time, you passed through a hallway that led to a kitchen.
The room was filled with pots, pans, kettles, cups, and cooking instruments made from cast iron. In the center of the room was a large wooden table filled with ingredients. Two women stood in front of a sink on the far side. Annie, the girl from earlier, was cleaning out bowls, passing them on to a brunette beside her, who chattered as she dried the dishes and placed them in a cabinet across the room. "The pot has two portions waiting for you, Mikasa." Annie pointed at a large pot on the stove and said, "It should still be warm."
Steaming soup was poured into a bowl and placed at a seat at the wooden table. “Go on.” Mikasa instructed as she served her own bowl. “Thank you, ma’am.” You replied, hesitating slightly before picking up a spoon. You had a good appetite, or the cook was talented, but for a simple broth soup, it was delicious. It was only self-restraint that prevented you from abandoning the spoon and simply pouring the food down your throat.
“Good?” said a voice next to you. You dropped the spoon, startled, onto the wooden tabletop. You turned your head to face the girl who helped Annie with the dishes earlier. “Y-yes.” You replied quietly. She licked her lips, not looking at you, but looking at your half-eaten dinner. “Sasha!” Mikasa said sharply, appearing behind her. The girl, Sasha, jolted upright as her eyes flared with alarm. “Stop being a scavenger and let her eat in peace,” Mikasa ordered. “Of course! Night!" Sasha flashed a wide smile and left the room. “To bed, Sasha, not the pantry,” Mikasa called as she settled into the seat beside you. "Whoops! Sasha passed the doorway once more, heading towards the servants' quarters. From her sideways saunter, she was obviously attempting to hide something from view, but the housekeeper did not comment on it. “I’ll introduce everyone properly tomorrow.” Mikasa said. The rest of dinner was finished in silence.
You finally found yourself alone in your own room. You have never had a room of your own, much less a bed to sleep on. The privacy was refreshing, but a little lonely as well. After changing into the nightgown Mikasa had laid out for you and set aside the oversized boots, you shimmied between the crisp sheets of the bed. Bedsprings creaked as you extended your arm to turn out the lamp. Darkness enveloped the room as the flame dissipated. The shape of the door, the furniture, and the lines of the room gradually became apparent as your eyes adjusted.
It was… comfortable. But comfort made you nervous. You were nothing to the people who lived on estates such as this one. Used, exploited, and discarded when broken. Jean and Mikasa were kind to you, but how long before you made a mistake and their tolerance wore thin? Quite possibly, you'll end up back on that rickety wooden crate, up for auction again.
The auction. What of the mysterious man that brought you here? Just who exactly is Lord Ackerman? Earlier, he had told you that you could choose to stay or leave. Why did he buy you, if he didn't care what happened to you? No other nobleman would behave in such a reckless manner. He was unusual, that was for sure.
Though your mind was flooded with dozens of thoughts, the events of the day had taken their toll, and exhaustion weighed heavily on you. Rolling onto your side, you took one last glance at your new living situation before closing your eyes.