A Midsummer's Saga Pt. 03

"Oh right, he can never have any sharp objects, or," he eyed the chains hanging from the ceiling, "or anything he can hang himself with. Take away his clothes, we'll get him something threadbare and safe."

The soldiers grabbed at Aerin's clothes, and he had neither strength nor hope to struggle anymore. They stripped him naked, pushed him inside the cell, and locked the door.

"I hope you'll enjoy your stay," Clement said to him, grinned, and walked away, the other men falling behind. Their steps echoed as they went up the stairs and into the foreroom. There were some more indistinct voices, and then the entry door was shut, far off.

The sound was like a wake-up call. Aerin sprang to his feet and grabbed at the iron grating. It was peeling but solid, and didn't move at all when he tugged at bar after bar with all his panicked strength. The lock in the door was likewise well made and he spent the next ten minutes looking for anything on the floor, a bit of metal, a piece of rock, a solid twig even, that could pick it or bust it open - but the floor only supplied him with ancient dust. He jumped high enough to grab at the grille of each window, but they were likewise sturdy. He poked at every stone in the wall, each one cold and deaf and unmovable. He took a searching look around the cell. Reality refused to change. There was no way out. He stared. The cell did not stare back.

He crawled into a corner, brought his knees to his chest and his fists to his forehead. He closed his eyes. The damp rock pressed against the skin of his back. His breath broke and he started crying, and tried to stop as the dungeon reflected back to him the echo of his voice. He'd die here, he thought. In some two weeks, Titulus would come here, torture him, and kill him. All of this because he was a stupid dumbass who risked his life for a dumbass flag and dumbass glory. Fuck you, sagas. Fuck you, bards. He's thrown away all his dumbass future. It was to end soon, and violently.

He looked up. High above him there was the stone ceiling, with the chains dropping from it. He waited for himself to calm down a bit. He pulled himself up to look out of the windows. He could see the chapel garden from the ground level, and the wall of the chapel itself, and bits of the castle wall which it connected to. His windows were sunk in large niches which limited his view. He could not see even the tiniest bit of the sky. He dropped down and slouched again in his corner. The cell was fairly bright with sunlight, but the sun itself he'd never see again in his life.

When Dodo entered the cell an hour later with a bale of straw, a blanket, and some old rags, he found his prisoner still there, looking with unfocused reddened eyes at nothing.

"Well," Dodo said, fashioning a bedding out of the straw, "I hope the bedding is comfortable and the new clothes fit! Oh, wait," he checked himself and tapped at his head. "No talking."

"No talking," he kept muttering to himself as he locked the cell behind him and disappeared upstairs.

*

These were exciting times. These were glorious times. War in the east, war in the south. Even as Titulus marched into Kontaria - a modest invasion of a modest land - the greater part of the Kingdom's armies crossed over to sun-soaked Redona, to finally bring that mighty foe to their knees. These were times for men to earn glory in war, and for everyone to bask in that glory. News from both fronts were eagerly waited for.

The meats were choice and the spices exotic and the wine finest, but the company more than made up for it. Clement kept coming up with eruptions of his ironclad wit. The notables from the city kept exchanging generic comments and crooning like a small herd of doves. And the two cavalrymen, despite their fatigue and injuries, were forcefully invited and made to feed all scraps of frontline tidings into the relentless maw of Lady Paula, to whose left a blank-eyed Gabrielle sat wishing for the merciful release of death.

"But I'm sure it was just a temporary setback, then," the unstoppable hostess inquired of Nicetas, who was having some trouble jabbing a marinated mushroom with a fork held in his sole functional hand.

"Well, obviously Titulus thinks of things like that. He used the same manoeuvre during Lord Fulerad's rebellion, and it brought us a great victory then. But separating the cavalry from the infantry is always risky, to be sure, my lady, and then the sudden rain came and we couldn't join together like we thought."

"Ah, it was because of the weather, then," crooned Paula, her chin rested on the intertwined fingers of her hands. "It was the verdict of the gods that the barbarians should have an upper hand that night, we must accept that." The soldiers grumbled in uneasy agreement. A servant came around offering the lady more wine, which she declined. Gabrielle, seizing the opportunity, intercepted him and topped up her glass, urging him to fill it to the brim. Paula went on. "Well, I'm sure a general of Titulus's brilliance will find it easy to change the course of this war and crush the Kontarians." She smiled when she mentioned his name. It wasn't her battle smile. It was genuine, heartfelt and trusting.

Gabrielle took a good long gulp of the wine. See, that was the problem with Paula. She really, really believed. She believed in the majesty of the Kingdom, in the divine right of the King, in the gods' harsh justice, in the ordained order of it all. This excursion into Kontaria Gabrielle believed to be just an easy grab for money and influence by Titulus - who was a skilled and courageous warrior and yet in many ways a common scheming crook - while also serving as a quick robbing raid to secure more resources for the war in Redona. But in Paula's eyes it was a holy war, another stage of some eternal struggle of good and evil.

Father Pelagius, the old bald priest who was the head of the castle's chapel, sensed Paula's mood and fawned to it as usual. "All the might and majesty of Harmen is behind Titulus, his victory is just a matter of time. The King is not taking this effort lightly. After all, while he himself went to Redona, he's left behind Duke Oren to supervise the war in Kontaria. And I don't think I'll be controversial if I'll say that in the whole realm, Oren is the second most important person only to the King!"

Paula nodded confidently, and Gabrielle looked on, curious. Did they really think that Oren of Haratraz calling the shots was good for this war? Did they sincerely believe in the man's impartiality? Were they ignorant, naïve, or just in denial?

"We're sure that we'll vanquish the Kontarians eventually," said Jovin with some reserve. "It might take some time though."

"Yeah," rejoined Nicetas. "Titulus will probably come around here to resupply, with Your Ladyship's permission, rest a bit, interrogate the boy..."

"Ah, the boy!" Lady Paula clapped her hands. "You say he tried to steal the Royal Eagle?"

"We found him right in the middle of our camp. He'd already laid his hands on it! Those guards are so lucky that the messengers arrived just then. Still, they'll never get out of latrine digging duty for as long as Titulus breathes."

"Capital!" Paula said. "But you see, this boy's behaviour is perfectly typical of the Kontarians. I kept saying this to our Lord the King for years. They're a bunch of thieves, rapists and schemers, they are uncivilized, and they lack any ability to think ahead. I mean he'd probably never seen a thing this nice in his life and just had to try and grab it!" She looked around the table, with a horrifying silent laughter on her wide-open mouth, tiny glittering eyes almost disappearing and the wispy eyebrows soaring. The guests obliged her by laughing and agreeing.

"Actually, their cavalry tactics in the forests are very precisely thought out and—" Jovin managed to say, before Nicetas silenced him with a kick to his bad leg.

"Well, I'm sure even the most barbarous people are bound to acquire some useful skill over the course of their unhappy history," said Clement, trying to smooth over the misstep, that in Behem a contradiction of Lady Paula certainly constituted. "Don't you agree, Princess?"

"Yeah." Gabrielle downed the last of her glass and with a hard stare communicated to Clement that it was in fact impossible to give less of a shit about the merits of a country of forest hobos than she, Gabrielle, was giving at the moment.

"Clement, speaking of that boy, you did arrange everything in the dungeon?"

"Yes, my lady. Dodo is keeping a full-time watch."

This appeared to please Paula, but one of the townsmen, an old man in showy red frock, looked up, uncertain.

"Dodo? Excuse me, your ladyship, isn't he that large man that's a bit... simple?"

Paula chortled. "And that's what makes him an excellent guard. He will watch over the prisoner exactly as he's told, and he can't be reasoned with, bribed, or begged to. Nobody can persuade Dodo to deviate from the orders that we give him. Well, maybe the King himself, if he ever comes here." She waved her hands like a giant crow. "Clement, tell them the story with the larder!"

The story was this: once Paula and Clement went to visit the villages for a few days, and left Dodo to guard the larder door. But they forgot to tell him that he was supposed to let the supplies officer in. On coming back, they found the men bruised, everyone dizzy with hunger after days of subsisting on berries and roots, and Dodo standing firm with his back against the door.

The guests chuckled the chuckle of people hearing the same story for the sixtieth time. Paula finished chewing on a piece of veal and returned to an earlier thought. "Yes, Dodo would have been a fit guard for the most cunning prisoner, not to speak of a Kontarian. Our guest is probably too amazed to have a roof over his head for the first time in his life to try to escape, anyway."

"Right," Clement said. "I'm sure we all agree that the Kontarians, though they may speak the same language as us, cannot be considered a truly worthy people or any sort of partners. I propose a toast to Titulus and his upcoming subjugation of that land!"

You all seem to have traded very well with the Kontarians before this war broke out, thought Gabrielle, using the toast as an excuse to procure more wine. All their cups raised high, the princess's eyes met Clement's again, and he smiled blandly. Gabrielle instinctively scowled and leaned a little bit back, pressing her neck to the collar of her dress. She couldn't explain it, but there was something about the polite, dull majordomo that always set her on her edge.

*

It was late at night when the dinner mercifully ended and Gabrielle was free to ascend the great balustraded staircase and retire to her chamber. The chamber was on the third floor of the Great Hall, fortunately quite a long way away from where Lady Paula was residing. It was in the corner of the building, and you had to traverse a good length of the hallway's long lush carpet to reach it. The only other resident of the hallway was currently the servant girl Mista, whose small room was adjacent to Gabrielle's.

Gabrielle entered and leaned against the door with relief. Lonely as this place was, it was a thousand times better than the company downstairs. Without anyone bothering her, she could at least remember that she was still her own person, and not Paula's toy.

The chamber was fairly cosy. Large windows opened to both exterior walls, framed with ivy on the outside. There was a red canopy bed, a matching carpet, a cabinet with a mirror, a fireplace - unused now in the warm June nights - and some other basic furniture. There was a basin with clean water on the table. Gabrielle splashed some on her face. She felt a need to purify herself of all the Paula-infested atmosphere of daytime. Wine was pleasantly buzzing in her head.

She pulled off all those white clothes that they made her wear and dumped them on the floor. Once completely naked, she flung open the window from which she could see some of the plains below the castle and the city with its flickering lights. She leaned out, rested her elbows on the windowsill, and breathed freely in. The night was loud with cicada song.

If there was any soldier making rounds on the walls that happened to look up at this moment, he was in for a spectacle, she thought. Not that any one of them would appreciate it, though. Her hopeful investigation of them in her first days here revealed to her dread that they were all of a tribe of male Paulas, mean-spirited and grouchy. No doubt the castle crew underwent a years-long process of careful selection to arrive at such a state of affairs.

She snarled out in frustration. She was fairly drunk. In the capital she'd now be finding a place with good lively music, and a good-looking boy to dance with. She nodded a few times to some rhythm in her memory.

She brushed her hair away to her back and ran her finger along her collarbone. On lucky enough nights, the boy she danced with would prove worthy of further attention, and she'd take him away and sleep him. Being drunk always made her horny. She ran her hands up and down her abdomen, grabbed at her breasts, let them bounce down. Damnit. Was there really nobody in this gods-forsaken province that was down to fuck?

She walked away from the window and jumped back-first at the bed, soft linens ballooning around her. She reached for her pussy, and set out to invoke the memories of the fine cocks that in better times had filled it.

She ran her fingers down her pubic hair, which even in this hopeless place she kept neatly trimmed in a thin strip - always be prepared - and downwards further, circling round her labia. Her other hand travelled smoothly along the expanse of her skin. Her thoughts flew to Philippe, the handsome son of that urbane old marquess. She pinched her nipple like he used to, sighing with approval as it hardened between her fingers. The other hand darted for her clit, circling, changing pressure, invading.

She spread her legs wider and readjusted herself. It's been a while since she's seen Philippe. She couldn't even picture him that clearly anymore. The pleasure ceased to mount; it took effort to focus. She anxiously looked for another fantasy.

Her mind immediately supplied her with the Kontarian boy, standing in the courtyard and looking scared, reddish auburn hair trimmed at the back and the sides revealing the neat angles of his head but falling freely over the forehead, getting into searching pale blue eyes - alright, Gabrielle, stop. This is just sad. How about Alex?

She still hated Alex, but damn, that was a great body and a great cock. Her leg twitched a bit just from her thinking about it, girthy and firm and soaring right before her eyes. Her free hand now proceeded more aggressively, with more pressure. The sex wasn't as good as the body, she recalled. The guy frankly was an idiot, too. It was pretty much his fault that she ended up in this fucking castle. She kept fingering herself mechanically, but she lost the thread again. Stupid drunk brain, turn me on, damnit!

That Kontarian boy again. Slim and tall, and moving with a kind of... Alright, how about Marc? That was before Philippe, even. Also, it was awkward.

The boy, the boy. She wondered if he looked good naked. He'd probably be well built, from all that stuff they do in the forests all day. She wondered if he had a nice smile, how would it light those eyes up. She wondered if he had a nice hard cock.

Her toes curled, then straightened. Her free hand brushed past the abdomen and then reached below where her other hand was working faster and with more conviction now, and she pushed two fingers inside herself, getting nice and wet.

She wondered if he's a good kisser. She imagined his tongue in her mouth, and her heartbeat and her breath both accelerated. She wondered if he's a te-ease. She wondered - her leg kicked out and she spread herself wider, and her back muscles contracted - she wondered what's his voice like. She wondered - fingers gliding freely inside her, dripping to the knuckles - she wondered - oh fuck - she wondered if he'd moan out her name - "oh fuck!" - as he came inside her!

The tension now subsided all over her body as she sank into the bedsheets. She still moaned out the next couple of breaths, until she calmed down. She raised her hand and saw her fingers glisten in the moonlight, before letting it fall freely on her stomach to join with the rest of her drained body.

That's a new low, girl, she said to herself. Now you masturbate to weird woods people. Let's just file this under shameful wanks and never think of this again.

Nah, said another part of her, deeper underneath. You are not ashamed at all. That was the nicest orgasm you've had in a while. You go! And if you wanna hear something funny, just imagine Paula's reaction if she found out who you just got off to and how much fun you had. She'd have an aneurysm on the spot!

Gabrielle did imagine it, and chuckled noiselessly. That made for two incredibly pleasant mental images that she came up with in quick succession. Who would have thought that this evening would end on such a high note?

*

At the same moment Aerin, unaware of the joy he's caused, was lying on his straw bedding and thinking.

What do people do in such situations? He fumbled around his head for all useful information he may have acquired in his lifetime. He remembered that saga of the hero Heges of Elis, who upon being captured by his enemies and chained to a wall by his ankle, managed to obtain a knife, hack off his foot, and hobble away.

Well yeah but my ankle is uselessly free, so fuck Heges.

For a thousandth time he considered whether it was possible to prey loose some bar or some stone, whether there was a flaw in the design of this dungeon somewhere. No, idiot, his inner voice replied, you know very well that this dungeon was built by smart people capable of constructing these huge structures, and they were certainly smarter than you who are a useless vain dumbass that's going to die!

He exhaled and shut down this current of thought, with some effort. He's spent the first hours of his imprisonment in panic and in despair. It was no help in trying to find a way out, and if there really was no way out, it was no fit way to end his life, either.

His guard, Dodo, was plainly and completely unreachable. Aerin did not know what his deal was, but he seemed to have no other desires than to perfectly obey his orders. There was still maybe a chance to outsmart him somehow.

Of course, if there was no chance to get out, he could still try to kill himself before anyone else had a chance to do it their way. This also seemed tricky. He could hardly strangle himself with straw. He could possibly climb the grating or one of those ridiculous manacles hanging from the ceiling and drop headfirst down, but though the ceiling was high, it didn't look quite high enough to do the job.

Still, he said to himself, if the worst happened and Titulus came here to torture him, was it really worse than what had already taken place? He's already lost his freedom. If there was no escape from here, his life was already over. He's lost it all. Everything that Titulus could offer him now was maybe a few days of pain, and what was that compared to the loss of all his days in the sun, a loss already sustained, if you really thought about it?

He wasn't entirely sure he bought this line of reasoning, but it had to do.

He pulled at his rags. They were some old jute trousers and an old jute shirt, coming apart at seams, thin and torn, of nondescript greyish hue.

He thought of his parents.

Did you think about the pain you'd cause them, dipshit, when you crawled into that camp? How did that scene play out, when they found out that their only son won't be returning home? Who told them? How are they now?