Private Tales Fractures

[Oryn]

In the depths of despair, Oryn lay battered and bruised on the cold, unforgiving floor of the dank cell he'd called home for these past months. His mind was a whirlwind of agony and confusion, his body aching with every breath, just as it had done for so long now. As sleep threatened to overtake him, a harsh kick to his back jolted him awake, and he scrambled into the corner, his blackened hand raised in a feeble attempt to ward off further attacks.

"It's your lucky day, boy. You're free to go," the guard's gruff voice pierced through the haze of Oryn's mind, but he couldn't comprehend the words. Freedom seemed like such a distant dream, an illusion taunting him with its unreachable promise. A trick, his mind murmured. Don't trust it.

"Go?.." he rasped, his voice barely a whisper as he stared at the open cell door, unable to trust the reality before him. "No." he shook his head, his trembling hands clutching at the fabric of his torn clothing. "Nonononono.."

They're here to breeeeak yoooou, the voice sang in his mind.

"Shhhh." Oryn frowned, his hands covering his ears as though that would quieten the voices. He squinted up at the silhouettes of the guards here to collect him, whispering the words that the shadows in his mind spoke to him. "Trick trick trick..Pain. More pain..." How many times did they have to break him? Offering him hope only to snatch it away was a game they'd enjoyed playing with him.

The walls of his cell seemed to close in around him, suffocating him. "Let me be.." he whimpered, his words a broken mantra of despair. "Let me be.." In the suffocating silence, he found solace in the rhythm of his own heartbeat, a steady drumbeat echoing the ache within his soul. With trembling fingers, he traced the contours of his prison walls.

"Gods.. They might be better just leavin' the lad here.." another guard muttered, his words a distant echo in the darkness. But before Oryn could comprehend the meaning behind them, strong hands gripped his arms and dragged him from his cell, pulling him towards an uncertain fate despite his wailing.

"Probably.. But orders are orders. Erlking wants to see him," another voice declared, the words like ice slipping down his spine. And yet, his rigid body slumped in the grip of those who dragged him, a sense of calm settling over him. Today, he'd die.

In shadows deep, where whispers lie,
Death's icy fingers reach and sigh.
A broken soul, a shattered dream,
Lost in darkness, no light to gleam.

He whispered broken pieces of the lilting poem, he conjured, his lips curling as a nervous laugh tumbled from his lips.

"Finally.."

Midir

 

[Midir]

"No, leave him."

The two guards paused in the act of shovelling what remained of the fae male off the floor. They glanced at one another then back to The Erlking who sat atop the throne of bleached bones, calmly cleaning his hands of the blood that coated them. They knew better than to argue so they merely bowed and backed away, casting nervous looks at the corpse. It was a jarring reminder for the reason why The Erlking had ruled for all those centuries. Let them carry the story through the realms, Midir thought idly to himself as the guards took up their positions either side of the throne room doors again. Let the people know what happens to those who try to fool me.

Justice was one of the founding pillars on which the Autumn Court had been built. When fae and mortal alike tried to avert its course, he took it as an insult not only to the Court but himself. Midir did not take kindly to being insulted.

The doors swung open whilst he was still cleaning the blood from his hands. He didn't bother trying to remove any that coated his shirt or breeches for it was not that he disliked blood, just the feeling of it drying on his bare skin. The guards dragged the poor wretch in making Midir's lips press into a thin line.

"A little kindness, gentlemen," he reprimanded. The guards paled a fraction but their hold became gentler and rather than drag the poor male they turned instead to supporting him. "I believe I owe you an apology, Oryn."

 

[Oryn]

The guard's grip eased, and Oryn's body trembled with exhaustion and so much pain as he struggled to maintain his balance, his weakened limbs barely able to support him. The moment they let go entirely, his battered form crumpled to its knees with a muted thud, every movement sending fresh waves of agony rippling through him. His head hung low, a silent acknowledgment of his defeat and submission to the power that loomed over him. Of his willingness to die..

Death.. There was death here, close by. After so long in darkness, the light was too blinding for him to fully open his eyes, but the scent of too much blood was a heady assault on his senses. He assumed it would be his turn now, and so as the Erlking's voice spoke of apology, Oryn's dark brow knit together.

"My King?" His voice was a trembled, a broken melody of pain and uncertainty, barely audible amidst the oppressive silence of the throne room. Confusion etched his features, his head tilted in bewilderment as he struggled to comprehend the Erlking's unexpected gesture of contrition. He dared to lift his gaze, squinting against the harsh glare of the light that flooded the chamber. His eyes, crushed amber veiled by a curtain of dark waves, sought out Midir's gaze in attempt to convey his resilience, his determination to endure despite the cruelty inflicted upon him.

Another cruel trick?... Just kill me already.

 

[Midir]

"It appears... there was a mistake," contempt dripped from the last word and a muscle flickered in his jaw. Mistakes were not meant to happen, not in the Autumn Court. Not when it came to justice. It upset the balance the Erlking so strongly sought to uphold. That he was even admitting it to one such as Oryn was a mark of just how serious it was.

"The true criminal was uncovered. You are free to go."

 

[Oryn]

Free to go free to go free to go, to go free, go free to, go go go.. Oryn's mind ticked over as he stared back at the Erlking, and then turned his gaze upward to the guards that'd brought him here.

"A..Mistake.." his voice broke, and he turned his bleary gaze back to Midir, his teeth gritting rather than risk it all by spitting at his feet. Mistake, how many times had he screamed those words at those who tortured him, how many times had he pleaded, insisted his freedom. Mistake mistake mistake...

The shuck trembled where he knelt. He'd been so ready to die that he considered asking for a swift death even in the face of freedom. He was no longer whole, so broken that he knew his mind would never allow him to be truly free again.

He drew in a breath, quickly reminded of the thick scent of blood, and his head turned slowly toward the beaten body that lay in a heap on the flagstone. He had never envied a corpse before now..