(Meanwhile, somewhere within the brothel, Hagrid’s POV)
Meanwhile, within the brothel, Hagrid sat in his wheelchair with a small iron hammer clutched tightly in his only functioning hand, as his lone eye remained fixed upon the entrance door while the sounds of battle echoed throughout Ashfang Village, causing him to stare toward the entrance as though he expected death itself to come marching through it at any moment.
The old cripple had long since lost track of how much time had passed since the fighting began, because every distant scream, every war horn, and every clash of steel seemed to blur together into a single unending reminder that the safety he had always taken for granted no longer existed, as for perhaps the first time in many years, he found himself trapped in a situation where neither status, nor cruelty could guarantee his survival.
*Distant Scream*
As another scream rang out somewhere beyond the brothel walls, Hagrid instinctively tightened his grip around the iron hammer until his knuckles turned pale, because despite knowing full well that the pathetic weapon would accomplish nothing against a real warrior, simply holding it in his hand provided a small illusion of control, and at this moment, that illusion was one of the few things preventing panic from completely consuming him.
"Thath idioth Tasha! I told herrr to geth help fiftheen minutes ago!"
Hagrid muttered, as with every passing minute that Tasha failed to return, he found himself increasingly convinced that something had gone wrong, because whether she had abandoned him to save her own life or had been caught amidst the fighting herself, neither possibility offered him much comfort.
Either way, he had been left to fend for himself, and unless some miracle occurred soon, he could no longer see any path out of the nightmare unfolding around him.
*Creak*
Suddenly, the entrance door creaked open, as Hagrid felt his heartbeat burst out of his chest while his eye immediately snapped toward the doorway, fully expecting an enemy warrior to step through it.
However, much to his surprise, the figure that entered was not an enemy, but rather the slave boy Riven, as relief instantly flooded Hagrid upon seeing his face, causing much of the tension that had been building inside him over the last several minutes to disappear.
"BOY! IT’S YOU!"
He exclaimed in joy, however, that relief quickly transformed into anger as the familiar dynamic between master and slave immediately reasserted itself within his mind.
"Did I noth tell you to come home early thoday?"
Hagrid demanded, as his expression darkened noticeably.
"How dareth you disobey me?"
He continued, as though the village was not currently under attack around them.
Slowly rolling his wheelchair forward, Hagrid prepared to continue berating the boy, completely unaware that something about the way Riven was looking at him today was unusual.
"I will discipline you for thhis transgression lather, but for now I need you tho geth me to safety."
He ordered, as he pointed toward the door while fully expecting obedience.
Instead, Riven slowly began walking toward him, remaining completely silent throughout the entire exchange, as step by step he closed the distance separating them until he eventually stood directly before the wheelchair.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Then suddenly, Riven lashed out with his foot.
*THUD*
*CLANGGG*
The iron hammer was kicked clean from Hagrid’s hand before the cripple could react, as it flew several meters across the room before crashing against the wooden floor and skidding away across the boards.
For a moment, pure rage appeared within Hagrid’s eye, because no slave had ever dared to lay a hand on him before, however, that anger quickly gave way to confusion, before confusion itself gradually transformed into something else entirely.
Shock.
Because as his gaze slowly shifted away from the fallen hammer and settled upon Riven’s face, Hagrid finally realized that the boy standing before him was not the same docile slave he had grown accustomed to seeing every day, as the fear that normally filled those green eyes had vanished completely, replaced instead by a level of hatred so deep and so naked that for the first time since Riven had entered the room, Hagrid found himself unable to speak.
"Boy? What’s wrong with you?"
Hagrid began, as panic briefly slipped into his voice before he immediately caught himself and forced the fear back down.
"DO YOU WANT TO BE BEATHEN BY MY BELTH? ISH THAT ITH?"
He demanded in his usual domineering tone, as he desperately tried to project the authority he had always held over the boy, hoping that if he sounded confident enough, Riven would hesitate and fall back into old habits.
However, unfortunately for him, his words seemed to have no effect whatsoever as Riven remained completely unfazed by the outburst, as instead of lashing out or submitting, he simply leaned in closer and gently stroked Hagrid’s chin with the back of his hand, causing an involuntary chill to run down the cripple’s spine.
"This is exactly how you used to prepare them before a strike, didn’t you?"
Riven muttered, as the moment those words left his mouth, Hagrid’s pupils visibly dilated while recognition flashed across his face, because he immediately understood exactly what Riven was referring to.
Back in his prime, it had always been one of his favorite ways to break people, as long before the beating itself began, he would slowly stroke a brothel girl’s chin with the back of his hand while watching the fear build inside her eyes, deliberately taking his time and allowing her imagination to torment her with thoughts of what was coming next, before finally delivering the first strike once he felt she had suffered enough anticipation.
"N-No..."
Hagrid muttered, as he instinctively tried to pull away while raising his remaining good hand in resistance, however before he could retreat any further, Riven suddenly channeled Aether through his arm and swung the back of his hand across the cripple’s face.
*CRACK*
The strike landed with enough force to send Hagrid flying clean out of his wheelchair, as several teeth broke loose from his mouth while his body crashed heavily onto the wooden floor in a tangled heap, with blood immediately beginning to pour from his lips as the cripple stared up in horror at the boy standing above him.
"One...."
Riven counted in a cool and collected voice, as the moment the number left his mouth, Hagrid felt the horror inside his chest increase tenfold, because he immediately recognized what Riven was doing.
The count had always been one of his favorite methods of punishment.
After every strike, he would calmly announce the number before moving on to the next, deliberately forcing his victims to imagine how many more blows remained before the beating finally ended, as the fear of what was still to come often broke people far more effectively than the pain itself.
And now, as he listened to that same count coming from Riven’s mouth while laying helplessly on the floor before him, Hagrid suddenly realized that the boy was not merely seeking revenge.
He was deliberately giving the cripple a taste of his own medicine.