happilyeverbeginning | eternal betrayal (slave au)

The next wave of the revolution didn't begin with a fight, but with a prayer.

Samhain was already a prosperous and joyful time for the witches, with drinks shared and bonfires lit for days. But once the partying was over, the rituals and business began – for a solid week after the blessed night, witches from all over could invite themselves to the De Spell threshold and ask for an audience. Some came to offer blessings and aide, others asked for treasure and knowledge.

Daisy came for love.

Many witches had favorite slaves, some of the more lustful ones even bragging about having harems of them, it was hardly uncommon. Daisy's “favorite” had been with her since she herself was a child, as a playmate but still a servant to the very end. Donald was of the McDuck blood, and thus came at a cheap sale, and her parents were known to be thrifty. As children grew, so did their feelings, and Daisy wanted to be with Donald not as his mistress, but as his equal. Yet so long as he wore that collar, she could never be entirely certain whether he truly returned her love, or merely told her what she wanted to hear.

It was a selfish way to come to the realization about the horrors of slavery, but then, witches were selfish by nature.

Daisy knew that asking the Queen of the Coven to free all the mortal slaves was insanity itself – she'd have to take it step by step. Show her the uselessness of slaves in this day and age, that they could gain more by working with mortals than by weakening them. Here she stood with a caravan of other lesser witches, all of whom would be allowed to stay in the castle for a month at the least. Daisy hadn't told them her “wish”, which suited them just fine. Friends were nonexistent in the coven.

On this moonlit night, the small band of weak witches were permitted to enter, and Daisy kept having to jog to keep up – she was constantly in awe of the castle's size, of its grand majesty and beauty. No wonder the De Spells had made this their homeland, it was incredible. But there wasn't time to take in the sights, not when they had the Queen herself waiting. She caught up to the group once more, and sucked in air through her nostrils as the doors opened.

The oldest of the group announced them, and as they entered, they bowed and curtsied before the throne. Daisy was set to do the same – when her eyes caught the man standing next to the throne.

For half a maddening seconds, she thought it was Donald – but a quick blink corrected her, though the similarity was startling. He was old man, for mortal standards, with brisk whiskers on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. His arms were set behind his back, standing tall with a pride rarely seen in a slave, and Daisy was absolutely certain this was a McDuck. She remembered her place, and curtsied, hoping no one had noticed her pause.

This wasn't a coincidence. Couldn't be. It was fate, it was destiny, she was on the right path... her heart beat so loud she was surprised no one else heard it. But she'd need to use this chance wisely.

During the first few days, she kept to herself, studying the castle's layout and listening to the gossip whispered in the walls. Little by little, she wedged herself into conversations, eavesdropped on dinners and servant quarters.

“Ah, that one?” A warty witch mused after her third drink. “Scrooge, I think, yes... he's been around since... gods, longer than I've been here!” A throaty laugh. “Since he was a lad. She snatched him from a duo of traitors, so the word goes. A highly ranked-favorite, that one. Never been allowed to breed.”

“Made her husband jealous as the dickens.” A warlock murmured once he made sure the coast was clear. “'Course, he was never meant to stay for long... He got in over his head. Once she had a few eggs, he had an 'accident'.” A click of his tongue, showing how much belief was put into that word. “Can't say anyone missed him. Moron once accused Magica that her children were actually Scrooge's.”

“Privileged son of a bitch.” A young slave have snapped after he'd been easily bribed. “What's he got that I don't? Man's a geezer! How he isn't dead by now is anyone's guess. Sure, he does finances, math, hell, I could do that, if I had the library! But no, only Scrooge gets the library. A McDuck, of all people!”

Surprise after surprise after surprise. Daisy was overwhelmed. Scrooge's very existence at this point was strange – no breeding? Privileged education? And to be kept at a lover at his age... Daisy wanted to believe she had the answer. Yet guesses would only get her killed. She had to talk to the man himself.

That was the idea, anyway.

One late night she saw him head into the cellar, and followed without making a sound. She hid in the shadows, still trying to decide how to word her questions right. But after a few minutes, another paid of footsteps came, and Daisy held her breath.

“There you are.” There, without her royal regalia and magical artifacts, stood the Queen. She looked no less intimidating without them, and she walked up behind Scrooge. “I was wondering where you flitted off to.”

Scrooge kept to his duty, inspecting the bottles and jotting something down on a scroll. “I've been taking inventory, Mistress.” The words were normal – it was the tone that jolted Daisy. He almost sounded bored – an impertinent attitude would have gotten his tongue cut in lesser households.

“In that case, dock this one away.” Magica pulled out a bottle, glanced at it, and then affectionately ruffled his head feathers. “We'll be enjoying it tonight. Although...” She snuggled up to him, fingers trailing his chest. “We could fancy a sip now.”

Scrooge made another note. “You know I can't drink on duty.”

“Ah, fuddy-duddy.” Magica licked his cheek. “What if I ordered you to drink now?”

“If you wanted to, you would've already.” But now her flirtations were rewarded with an arm around her waist. “Your impatience will be the death of you, Mistress.”

“It would be the only thing that could kill me.” She laughed at her own joke before kissing him, deeply, and this was returned, deeply, and Daisy's head was spinning.

This wasn't the behavior between a slave and master, even if they were playing favorites. They were talking like an old married couple. If anyone else had seen this, they'd accuse Magica of being soft, of being weak, of...

It was insane. But possible.

… Of loving a slave.

Eventually Magica left – after several more kisses and murmurs of promised passion for later – and so did Scrooge. Daisy sat there, breathing deeply. She couldn't wait much longer for another chance, a better chance. The time was now.

She had never been accused of being terribly bright.

After an hour, she was at Magica's door, and didn't knock. There'd be no point, she would have been rejected. Magica was sitting on her bed, brushing her hair, wearing a thin violet nightgown – guessing from the sounds in the bathroom, she and whoever was in there – as Daisy had a doubt – had made love or were about to. Magica stopped, staring at Daisy, incredulous. It was probably the only thing keeping Daisy alive.

“M-Mistress Magica,” Daisy stammered, struggling to gather her courage, “I know this is an ill hour, but I needed your audience where no one else could hear! This a matter of utmost urgency, a demand only you can fulfill!”

Magica raised an eyebrow, slowly putting down her hair brush. “I imagine it must be. You've got ten seconds.”

So much for the speech Daisy planned. Best just to spit it out. “Y-You... you must... you have to free the slaves! It is within your power, and I know you desire it!”

Silence.

Then... Magica cackled. Daisy had always heard the word “cackled” but never heard the sound outright, just laughter, giggles, mirth. But no, this was definitely cackling. She didn't dare look at the bathroom door, though she knew it to be closed. Magica was laughing so hard she held her stomach, as if she could fall off the bed any second. Daisy's face burned.

“By the gods!” Magica wheezed, and then, once she could breathe, “Did you just request to be my court jester, girl? You're well-suited for the part!”

“I-I'm not joking!” Anger was hot in Daisy's chest. “We have no need for slaves in this day and age! It makes witches weak, not mortals! It's a useless tradition! You have the power to free them, and no one can question you! They wouldn't dare! Your word is law! Freeing them means... freeing yourself!”

Magica let out a few more laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, before resting her chin in her hand. “Indulge me, little fool. What makes you think I give a damn?”

Daisy's eyes dared to dart to the door, then back to Magica. “Because... because then you could be with Scrooge without judgment.”

There was no longer any entertainment in Magica's eyes. It was snuffed out like a wet candle. Daisy kept going. “I've seen the way you are with him! And... and you have to put on a show in front of others, but things don't have to be that way! If you outlawed slavery, he wouldn't be your pet, he'd be your equal! You wouldn't have to hide! You could let him make his own choices without fear of repercussions!”

Another long, tense moment passed before Magica leaned back against her headboard. “You think that's something I want?”

Daisy felt her breath stop. Surely, she didn't mean... “B-But, you and him, you wouldn't-”

“Whatever you think you've seen, whatever you're imagining in that dull head of yours, makes no difference to me. I am perfectly content with the way things are. Why would I want any of it to change?”

“But...” Daisy's mouth was dry. “But he wouldn't have to suffer anymore! Don't you love him enough for that?”

Magia waved a hand, closing her eyes. “You're dismissed. In fact, do us all a grand favor and leave the castle. I doubt we'll have much need of you.”

Daisy didn't leave. A hot, boiling anger built up in her soul. Her hands clenched so tightly she felt her nails digging into her palm. This wasn't fair. This wasn't just. Donald was going to keep suffering because of this woman, because of her greed and selfishness. Her body began to shake. There hadn't even been a look of shock or hesitation with Daisy suggested Magica loved Scrooge. How was that not enough? “You... bitch.”

The elder sorceress snorted. “Original.”

“His happiness doesn't mean anything to you?” Daisy's voice had lost its tremble. “He's still alive, no one's been allowed to lay with him, that means something! But you, you won't even consider...” She inhaled sharply. “No, of course you wouldn't consider his freedom. Because you don't want to think of what that could mean. That he could have a life without you.”

Magica opened her eyes. “Leave, child.” Her voice was dark and dangerous.

“That if he had a choice in any matter, he'd never be with you!”

The Queen was on her feet, lighting in her eyes, furniture in her room beginning to jostle and shake. “You dare-”

Daisy dared. “You know in your wretched black heart that if Scrooge was allowed to think and feel, HE WOULD NEVER LOVE YOU!”

In the bathroom, Scrooge didn't know what happened next, but he heard plenty. Blasts of magic, wood splintering, screams of fury and pain and blood, light flashed in the cracks of the edges around the door, winds was howling – he didn't dare move. It sounded as if it went on for infinity, but the reality was fifteen seconds. He'd learn later that Daisy escaped by the skin of her teeth, a miracle of teleportation.

“I WANT HER DEAD!” Magica was howling, her voice raw and horrid, to the witches and warlocks who had been woken up by the noise and were running past the bedroom doors. “I WANT HER FAMILY DEAD! ELIMINATE EVERY SINGLE TRACE OF THEM OFF THE MAP! BRING ME HER HEAD ON A PIKE!”

Even then, he still didn't dare move. Not until everything was quiet. This took longer – Magica was destroying her own room, still screaming, the windows shattering. But, eventually, the noise stopped. He waited an extra few minutes before finally opening the door.

Magica stood in the center of chaos. Her hair was matted, flickers of magic still crackling all around her body. Her hands were shaking, and Scrooge almost grabbed one.

Almost.

The sight of her tears stunned him too much to make a move.