Prison Parlay

[Lord Raz Jiar]

Rhylzynar was uncomfortably aware of the approaching dawn. It nagged at the perimeter of his thoughts, constantly reminding him that he had tarried too long at the Palace of Thieves, and threatened to remind him of the futility of his endeavor. Yet Raz remained determined to not let the doubts overwhelm him, to prevent any dubious notions from entering his mind. Against everything he had believed possible, he had infiltrated the Desert Prison successfully, an accomplishment of which no others could boast. That notion of what he had already achieved returned Raz wholeheartedly to the effort at hand, his mind suddenly returned to his duty with all the ferocity that he possessed.

He had managed with as much deft skill and ease as he could manage to remove the insidious shackles that burrowed into the arms, ankles, and neck of his mentor, and that in and of itself represented something of a diluted victory. Raz had left the incriminating fetters in the hallway outside of the cell, as he knew that he did not possess the time to labor over secrecy. The second blue potion which he had given to Zhivko seemed to have eased the Sheikah's sporadic, labored attempts for air, though Raz did not harbor any delusions about the reality of his friend's condition.

If I ever see Azeari again... Raz pushed the vengeful notion away before it could take root and instead cast his eyes around the edge of the corridor, discerning if anyone had thought to check on the state of the guards outside the tower door. Seeing nothing, Raz quickly walked down the hallway and returned to the secret corridor that had delivered him to this section of the fortress. Cautiously emerging from it, Raz again scrutinized the surrounding area before emerging. This too proved unnervingly vacant, and as Raz strode towards the window of his original entrance he could not help but stare down the length of the adjacent hallway.

Turning his eyes down to Zhivko with concern, Raz started towards the window, measuring each step carefully. The nobleman, his senses entirely on edge, had just slipped onto the sill when the alarm sounded. Raz did not hesitate, having anticipated this development after he had not slain any of the Gerudo soldiers. Gripping Zhivko as securely and as gently as he could with his left hand, Raz flipped his right hand back so that the cestus faced the stone. Then, digging the metal-plated glove into the exterior wall of the prison, Raz pushed off from the window and descended towards the sands.

The shoulder muscles of the nobleman strained as they urgently attempted to slow his fall, though the pain did not register when Raz hit the ground, staggering forward several steps to prevent jostling Zhivko. With the alarms of the Desert Prison ringing in his ears, the adopted son of Duke Leovir Daast set the gaunt Sheikah in the saddle of the grey stallion and swung up behind him, spurring Sarpedon. The stallion, sensing the urgency, thrust his head down and transitioned forward, his powerful strides bearing them away from the condemning prison.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

"Whaddya think them Gerudos will do now?"

"Probably take all 'em shadow people outta the prison and cu' off their 'heads. Wai'....that's jus' one person, innit?"

"I'll show ye wha' tor'ure is, scum! Jus' wai' until they le' me outta 'here!"

"Shove it, Sheikah. Ain' nobody gettin' outta this place 'less they wan' us to."

"Well tha' didn' stop him from escapin', did it?"

"SILENCE!"

Sitting with his knees drawn to his chest in the rear of the cell, Fen absorbed the heated discussion between the other prisoners, abbreviated by the sharp command of the Gerudo guard and the crack of her whip. From what he had gathered and the rumors that had prompted the criminals to chatter incessantly, Fen implied that one of the most important denizens of the Desert Prison had somehow managed to escape, as it did not seem possible that a rescue could be successfully attempted in such a hospitable place. Nevertheless that notion, which the convicts surely held, did little to curtail the number of conversations inspired by the escape.

For Fen, this unforeseen development gave him a momentary distraction from the reality of his circumstances. By focusing on the arguments that passed between the men in the cells around him, as he implied that the vast majority were men, Fen had been able to distance his mind from the darkness which permeated his thoughts and the emptiness that greeted him whenever he endeavored to piece together the events that had led him to his place.

"Whaddya think, that all Sheikah know each other or somethin'? We ain' ants, ye know."

The guard, Fen realized, must have moved to a different sector of the corridor, for the argument resumed in earnest.

"Ye sure skulk around like 'em, wha' with all yer weird magics." The man in the cell across from Fen was obviously enjoying himself, and there was a smug edge to his voice as he taunted the Sheikah.

"Magic's go' nothin' ta do with i'!" The Sheikah snarled in response. "Ye'd think tha's all we can do by tha'!"

"Ain' it?"

"No it bloody ain'!" retorted the Sheikah, "Tha's just wha' them racist Hylians wan' ye to think!"

"Give it a rest, Duzzy," interrupted a third voice before the second man could continue the verbal confrontation, "We heard it all in the dungeons."

"Your name is Duzzy?" Fen heard himself unexpectedly blurt.

Silence resounded for just a moment, until the Sheikah, Duzzy, reacted to the unexpected intrusion into his ongoing battle with his fellow prisoners. "Kyedin Duesternis," he corrected, "'Course mos' people are too stupid to say tha', so Duzzy i' is. What about you, pretty boy? What did your unfortunate parents name ye?"

Fen hesitated for a moment before he seized upon the first name that he could conjure. "Fen Belamyr."

"I think i' fi's ye," the Sheikah declared, "Seems weak enough ta-"

Kyedin Duesternis sought to cut himself short as his door opened, but he was not quite quick enough, and Fen heard the distinctive sound of metal against flesh. Seconds later, as a scraping sound echoed from adjacent cell, Fen found his own door thrown open. Instinctively he cowered away from the guard, but the Gerudo roughly hauled him to his feet and threw him to the ground in the hallway along with several of the other denizens of the prison.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

Standing in the dark, dank hallway of the Desert Prison, Fen felt as though he should simply melt into the shadows that encased the fortress. Because of the single query he had spouted, he supposed, he now stood outside of the row of cells along with the other prisoners in this bloc who had dared to contribute to the argument. With his lip bleeding, from where the guard had struck him across the face after she had forced him into line, Fen kept his eyes glued to the floor, breathing shallowly as he attempted to make himself as miniscule as possible between the burly convicts on either side of him.

"I swear, if I hear one more sound from any of you, then I will cut out your tongues myself!"

The Gerudo soldier, whip in hand, stalked around the interior of the small circle, as though daring any of them to speak out against her. Fen felt a measure of panic welling in his throat, as he could not escape the notion that he had done something to fuel this situation, but tried to keep his face impassive. He tried to take his example from the more worldly inmates that surrounded him, for their faces were nearly expressionless, eyes staring straight ahead. Yet he found his attempt unsuccessful, and as he lifted his eyes the guard suddenly rounded on him.

"Do you have something to say, wretch?" she snarled, coming to stand inches from his face.

His windpipe constricting, Fen fumbled for a placating response. "N-I...just-"

"Insolent whelp!" The soldier struck him across the face again, and Fen recoiled, tasting blood as he staggered to maintain his balance.

"Wha' are ye pickin' on 'im for? 'E's dumber than a pile o' rocks!"

Her rage diverted, the Gerudo whirled on the speaker, who Fen assumed was the Sheikah. He was immediately struck by the odd pigment of the curly hair of Kyedin Duesternis, which reflected half blue and half white, as though he had dyed it and his natural color was returning. The Sheikah was also smaller than he had imagined, perhaps two or three inches shorter than his own height, and in truth did not seem in the least bit intimidating.

Slightly concerned, for Duzzy seemed to be at the center of the circle and thus the accusations, Fen started to whisper something to the man standing to his right, but cut his words short when another soldier appeared in the circle directly behind the Sheikah. Duzzy, however, seemed to sense the presence of the Gerudo, and he nimbly rotated away from her, despite the fetters that restricted his wrists and ankles. The Sheikah had intended to put himself on the opposite side of the circle from both Gerudos, though the maneuver would place his back against the wall, but he failed to see the third guard specifically placed behind two of the taller inmates. As he turned, the Gerudo pushed the men aside and drove the hilt of her scimitar into Duzzy's rotating abdomen.

With his breath blasted from his lungs, the Sheikah gasped as he stumbled away, trying to find his footing as the chains restricted his movement. But the first Gerudo, like she had planned, stood directly in his path, and she did not hesitate to take the blunt side of her own blade to his face. The Sheikah crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and the three Gerudos were upon him.

Desperately wanting to intervene, Fen clenched his jaw and tried to tell himself that such an act would only serve to worsen the situation. Besides, you don't even know who he is. He could be a notorious murderer! What if he deserves this? But he spoke up for me, didn't he? Conflicted, Fen balled his hands and forced himself to look past the spectacle and into the far wall. Though his breaths increased, the young man managed to hold himself in place and appear detached in imitation of those around him.

Sometime later, though Fen could not judge exactly the interval, for he had been focused on the rivets in the onyx wall above the cells, two of the Gerudos stepped back from the bloodied Sheikah. The third, apparently pleased with her work, dragged Duzzy towards his door and roughly cast him inside. The other two returned to the circle, and Fen could feel the hot breath of the first woman on his face as she returned her attention to him.

"Not a word," she warned as she thrust Fen back into the depths of his cell.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

In the constricted confines of the Gerudo Desert Prison, time seemed to have little forbearance. For Fen, one with hardly understanding of this concept or knowledge of from where he should start his recollections, life appeared to exist in a vacuum, a ceaseless circle marked only by the daily rations shoved under his door and the guards who patrolled the hallway almost ubiquitously. Since all the prisoners had been dragged from their cells, the Gerudo wardens walked the corridors of the south-eastern wing of the fortress frequently, disappearing only for a few minutes at a time when they rounded the corner or when the watch was changed.

Fen could not guess how many days had passed since the jailers had viciously displayed and reinforced their power over the inmates. Little light penetrated this section of the prison; there was only one hole in the cell at eye-level in the door, which, though it faced north, regularly failed to attract any substantial amount of illumination. Yet the blows that he had received to his face had healed, or nearly so, which led Fen to believe that at least a fortnight had passed. The swelling had nearly abated, though the bruised skin remained slightly discolored, and Fen found that he could properly close his jaw without an angry protest from the bruised bone.

And yet, Fen longed for the chance, any chance to be removed from the cell. The walls had pressed upon him in recent days, fueling a growing sense of entrapment that augmented daily. He was certain, despite his disconcerting lack of information, that no one should exist in a world where they could barely turn two circles without coming into contact with the walls that bounded them. It was utterly maddening, the thought that his world would continue to shrink until it consumed him, and Fen felt his chest constrict at the notion.

Deliberately avoiding any thoughts about himself, for they only served to further his building dread, Fen pressed himself against the western wall of the cell, leaning his dark head back against it as he attempted to wrest control of himself back from the darkness of claustrophobic panic. Truly it was not the dearth of space that disquieted him; rather it was the unyielding, unavoidable notion that he would never be liberated from the present circumstances that fettered him. As a result, Fen knew needed something to disrupt the monotony, something that would reconnected his fraying control with the world in which he lived. So the young man, against his better judgment, risked his physical health after the guard strode past his cell.

"How do you stand it?" he asked into the darkness, earnestly hoping that the actions of the Gerudos had not stymied the seemingly indomitable tongues of the other prisoners.

There was a pause, wherein Fen feared that he had indeed been abandoned to his fate, before the Sheikah spoke. His speech was slightly slurred, as though he had lost a tooth or cared not for forming his words correctly, but the sound of another voice greatly heartened Fen. "You realize tha' i's be'er in 'ere than ou' there," said Kydein Duesternis lowly.

"It doesn't drive you mad?"

The Sheikah started to reply but found himself countermanded by the man in the cell on the other side of Fen. "Mos' of this lot's already gone over the deep end, lad," he said, "So wha's there ta lose? Free food, attractive company. It ain' half bad!"

A couple of the other prisoners chuckled at the remark, and Fen found himself faintly smiling. Duzzy, however, was not similarly amused. "Some of us actually 'ad brains 'afore we go's 'ere, unlike-" The Sheikah's abruptly faltered, and Fen immediately feared that they had discovered. But then he heard the distinctive voice of Duzzy as it cursed his ribs and the unmistakable sound of someone shifting their position, though there was little comfort to be found on the dank floor. "Unlike you, Bojan," he finished, his tone noticeably acerbic.

Fen heard the named man, Bojan, inhale before beginning his response, but he abandoned it at once. The footfalls of sandals resounded from the opposite end of the hallway, ricocheting down the corridor, and the prisoners fell into silence. Slightly heartened, Fen returned the Gerudo guard’s warning glare into his cell with a look of remotest confidence. Though it could not hope to approach the scathing, murderous stare of Kydein Duesternis, it at least gave Fen a measure of reassurance that he could endure with what remained of his sanity.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

Acceptance arrived in stages. For Fen, one who lacked nearly all knowledge about himself, it threatened not to appear, threatened to condemn him to the encroaching tendrils of insanity that imprisonment supplied. Yet, the half-Hylian found that, given time, even he could begin to view his circumstances for what they were: the life which he now had to live. In the days of isolated convalescence, of pondering the nature of the cracks on the walls in the cell, Fen came to understand that he would gain little by bemoaning the situation thrust upon him. If he continued to grieve for what he did not possess, he only jeopardized himself, blinding him to any potential opportunity for escape. Too many hours had the young, dark-haired man spent in search of his missing past, and now he had come to understand where those contemplations would lead, as well as arrived at the conclusion which guided him, one that maintained he would not discover anything if he did not escape.

Yet, as Fen well understood, such a goal was incredibly lofty, even remote. Since the construction of the prison, only one man had escaped, and it was now suspected amongst the prisoners that he had received outside aid. Other whispers had implied someone gifted with magic, for inspectors had apparently appeared from Castle City and scoured the Prison to little avail. Fen, absorbing the whispered conversation that had passed between the other prisoners, understood that such an event was akin to a miracle, and that he should not, even in his dreams, consider such a fantasy.

What option remains, then? To overpower the guards? But what would be gained from that? On the rare occasion that we are released, it is only for a show of force and nothing more. I do not even know the layout of this place! How many more soldiers are there between us and the ground?!

Doubt fired in the pit of his stomach, gnawing away at his resolve, and Fen clenched his fists in response, struggling to supersede it. A path did exist, he forcibly reminded himself; it just remained elusive to discover. However, Fen understood that success would not be achieved without cooperation and so hazarded a raise of his voice.

"Bojan, how many days has it been?"

"Go' me, lad," answered the man in the cell to Fen's right.

"Six," supplied the more composed man from across the hallway, a man whom Fen had not heard speak for weeks.

The half-Hylian did not respond for a moment, as he thought he detected the rhythmic footfalls of sandals at the opposite end of the hallway. Digesting the information, Fen chewed on the inside of his lower lip for a moment. The implications of the absence of Kyedin Duesternis were not arduous to imagine, yet Fen did not wish to grant them any credence.

"If they intended to kill him, they would've done it here, correct?" It seemed superfluous to suggest, but Fen found that he needed the reassurance.

"Aye," Bojan confirmed, "They won't be tha' nice."Course he don' help his own cause none."

Fen managed a grin, for he had never met someone as contumacious as the ostentatious Sheikah.

"You intend to form a strategy, do you not?" asked the man across the dimly lit corridor.

Fen nodded automatically, but then, remembering that the motion could not be seen, spoke again. "You said he was one of the leaders of some guild, did you not?"

"The Red Raiders," returned the controlled, baritone voice of the other inmate, "Bunch of brigands, but successful ones at that."

Bojan snorted. "We mus' be in i' thick if we's takin' advice from that Sheikah."

Fen started to agree to the jest, for he had come to understand Duzzy's apparent lack of forethought, but fell silent when the definitive sounds of the Gerudo guard heralded her inspection. Leaning against the back of the cell wall, Fen met her suspicious glare without hesitation, waiting for the opportunity to resume the conversation that could potentially facilitate the ramifications of their escape.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

"Why is it that you have not acted? What fetters could possibly anchor you to indecision so strongly that they have condemned you to complacence?"

Fen, aware that the voice was directed at him, raised his dark head in search of the source of the accusations. Ahead of him, a tall, fair-haired man sat upon an obsidian rock, gazing thoughtfully at him. The serene sea surrounded the bolder on all sides, yet the man appeared not the least bit nonplussed and reclined with his hands behind him, though his attention was riveted on Fen. Overhead, a half-full moon provided the only light, just enough so that Fen could discern the features of the man.

"Did you not hear me? Or have your ears also succumbed to idleness?" An undercurrent of irritation colored the man's tone, yet it was not thoroughly discourteous. It seemed to Fen as though the man were goading him, prompting him, to act in spite of his apprehensions.

"What if I should fail?" he asked dubiously into the darkness. "The consequences would surely be severe."

"And what are the repercussions of indolence? Will you simply allow yourself to rot here for the rest of your days, nescient of what might await you?"

"But the others...."

The man smirked. "They desire freedom even more than you. A man possessed of intelligence would value their incarcerated insight, as they-"

The grating crescendo of opening to the door of the block of cells replaced the man's voice, and Fen found himself once again staring at the dank, colorless walls that surrounded him.

"Duzzy," muttered Bojan.

Wondering if it was true, Fen stiffly clamored to his feet, stretching away the soreness that slumber upon the stone floor incited. Moving towards the door, he could clearly discern two pairs of sandals striding down the dim hallway. Yet a scraping sound accompanied the footfalls, and suspected this was what had prompted Bojan's assertion. A moment later, the cell to the left of Fen, silent this past week, was jerked open, sending metallic vibrations through the walls which held Fen. Rotating, for the small slit in the door would not yield any information, the half-Hylian pressed his left ear to the slab of stone which joined his cell to that of Kyedin Duesternis.

"What? Nothing to say? After our little chat I thought I might have to remove your tongue to stop its driveling."

The superiority in the Gerudo's voice was palpable, and Fen reflexively flinched when he heard her roughly throw the Sheikah into the cell. Kyedin Duesternis offered no audible response, save his attempts for air, and this made the soldier cackle in smug delight.

"Alright boy, let's see what you know."

Before Fen could react, or transfer any whispered information to Bojan, the Gerudo yanked open the door to his cell, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and, with a sword at his spine, directed him down the hallway.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

Fen altogether expected the dark floor that rushed upwards to greet him, and the lean, dark-haired young man reflexively extended his hands to catch himself before he collided with the soiled, sloping stones. He need not have bothered, though, for the sandaled foot of one of the guards immediately struck him in the chest and sent him sprawling into the muck. His stomach leaping into his throat, Fen thrust his eyes upwards, refusing to gaze at that which had wetted his clothes, and scrambled to recover his balance. One of the Gerudo soldiers who had conducted him in, however, promptly pushed a foot against the back of his left knee, sending him back to the floor, and jerked him, by the hair, into a kneeling position.

"What is your name, wretch?"

Divorcing himself from his stomach and the dampness beneath his knees, Fen looked across the dimly-lit cell and titled his head slightly, despite the pressure from the Gerudo, to view the speaker. This woman, unlike the principle commandant of the Desert Prison, whom Fen had seen only once, was more darkly tanned than the other Gerudo that he had encountered, so the Half-Hylian assumed that she hailed from the Palace, which Duzzy had described for him, at least from what knowledge he claimed about the lair of Thieves.

However, Fen found his observations abbreviated when the second of his two captors again delivered a blow to his chest, blasting the wind from his lungs. Understanding his oversight, Fen quickly corrected himself. "Fen Belamyr," he responded, trying to recover his air.

The Gerudo from the Palace walked forward, nimbly slipping between a set of cruelly spiked chains which hung from the ceiling. "Perhaps you possess some intelligence, then, Fen Belamyr," she observed condescendingly, "Though I suppose it is possible that you simply do not wish to share the fate of your companion."

Confusion consumed Fen, but he understood enough of the protocol of the Prison to restrain his voice.

"Why are you here, urchin?" The other Gerudo, standing in the far corner, was obviously impatient, and Fen, when he turned to regard the principle enforcer of Desert justice, could understand some of her irritation, for the reek that hung about this cell seemed unequaled.

Yet she had asked a question that he could not possibly answer, and the half-Hylian felt his chest constrict with panic. If he did not respond, he knew, he would incur the wrath of these Gerudo, but to offer a lie would certainly earn him a sterner punishment.

"Answer me!"

Fen felt the sting of braided leather as it ripped through the fraying remnants of his tunic and burrowed into his skin, and he subsequently tasted blood when he bit down on his tongue, refusing to utter a sound. Only when felt certain that he could contain himself did he glance up at the Gerudos. "Murder," he replied through clenched teeth.

"Of course," answered the first Gerudo, the officer who hailed from the Palace, "And did that offense, per chance, come at the directive of an ambitious noble family in Castle City who hoped to liberate a certain prisoner here? How convenient it would be to have someone perfectly placed on the inside, someone who could combine their arrival and his escape."

Again, Fen failed to respond, for he recognized that the accusations, no matter how ostensibly ludicrous, could actually be true.

"Your recalcitrance gains you little," said the overseer of the Prison. "Perhaps a day or two in this lovely abode would loosen those restraints?"

Fen, immediately wondering what had become of Duzzy, paled slightly, yet he did not answer the slender Gerudo soldier and clenched his teeth, assuming that he words he uttered would condemn himself to more stringent abuse for the breech of conduct this women apparently thought he had made.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

In the darkness of the Desert Prison, Fen understood. During the hours in which he had remained in this vile, repulsive, cell, he had come completely and wholeheartedly to the realization that these Gerudo treated each criminal unfortunate enough to be conducted into their midst with the same level of cruel callousness. The soldier from the palace and warden of the Prison had, Fen understood, sought some information about the prisoner who had escaped, thus their attention had settled upon the newest arrivals, those within whom resided the most recent contact with Castle City, however remote. It was not atypical, Fen had to concede, to suspect that someone had been planted within these new arrivals precisely to facilitate the liberation of the other prisoners, yet it was unreasonable, he decided, to seek the information in the way that they had.

Hanging in the lightless cell, the fetid stench wrapping around him like a petulant wreath, Fen turned his thoughts toward the nature of the desert warriors, desperate to separate his mind from his present circumstances. His arms, supported by chains at his wrists, held him aloft, and the burn in his shoulders remained insatiable. Feeling had left his legs, for which he was rather grateful, but the position in which he had been placed restricted his breaths, confirming the inherent cruelty of the Gerudos for Fen. Determined to attempt to ignore the pain, Fen, clenching his jaw, looked through the barred walls of the cell without seeing and forced himself to consider further the Gerudo.

I had not thought it possible that an entire race of people could be motivated by such malice, yet can I truly judge their entirety but what I have witnessed here? Is it not possible that some could be truly beneficent? What if these women are just representatives of a rapacious, radical sect intent upon subverting their entire society? But is it even possible for me to discern such a thing? What do I even know of the world? No! I have to trust my judgment! Or at the very least accept that the other prisoners possess much more experience than I do. They are living creatures, just as I am, and they do not deserve to reside in such an existence, just-

A stab of pain rippled across his chest, sending a spear through his diaphragm, and Fen inhaled reflexively, tensing in the chains. He managed to force the discomfort aside, however, and returned his mind to the subject of the prisoner who had been held in this cell. Certainly his existence had been direr than Fen's own, judging by the state of the cell, yet the half-Hylian could not help but wonder if he had not committed a similar offense, if the incarcerated Sheikah had not been so very different from himself. In either situation, Fen decided, he certainly did not deserve the torture to which he had been subjected.

The half-Hylian, unable to acquire any rest in the chains, found himself again speculating over the possible means of escape from the Prison, when dim lit suddenly brightened the room, mitigating the ubiquitous darkness slightly. Wearily, Fen raised his dark head, unsurprised by the Gerudos who greeted him.

"Enjoyed your stay?" asked the commander of the Prison snidely.

Fen, concentrating upon not crying out against the pain in his limbs, did not respond.

The commandant moved to strike the prisoner, but the palace soldier intervened. "I do not believe this wretch possesses anything of value," she responded, as though thoroughly disappointed, "So we should stop wasting our time with this filth and focus on the next man."

The commander nodded reluctantly and then signaled two of the other soldiers, who promptly entered the cell and removed Fen from the chains. His arms fell like weights to his side, and Fen could not physically respond as the Gerudos dragged him out of the tower, underneath the deprecating sneer of the Palace soldier and the Prison commander. Without pausing, they pulled him along the rough stones until they returned to his windowless cell, roughly casting him inside. Beneath their mocking snickers, Fen panted for air, his hands clenched at his sides.

Then, all at once, the youth found that he could ignore the viscid fluid which clung to his legs no longer, and he dragged himself to the bucket in the corner of the cell and vomited. His stomach, utterly revolted by what it had seen and to what it had been subjected, heaved, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the Gerudos. Fen, clinging to the sides of the bucket, could only swear silently, cursing the injustice of it all as his eyes watered and his entrails rolled.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

"Do bear in mind that valor is relative, that it does not manifest itself in the same way for every person in every situation."

"Does that include an establishment such as this?"

The fair-haired man, this time seated in a wooden chair, folded his hands before he spoke again. "Are you asking if inanimate objects contain bravery? If so, then perhaps you ought to first ascertain the condition of your sanity." The man paused, observing Fen with concern, and then raised his voice once more. "If you inquiring as to whether courage can be found even here, then I would agree, but only if you make so, only if you devote yourself to that goal which you seek..."

In the far corner of his cell, Fen was hardly aware that day had broken. On most occasions, the only light that heralded the start of another cycle of the sun emerged when one of the guards happened to open the door to the adjacent hall, which contained one of the only windows on this level of the Desert Prison. For some, this could confirm the notion that they had not, in fact, entered into a place of eternal torment, for time still moved with regularity.

Yet Fen did not rise to examine the hour, to move to the small slat in his door through which the food was delivered. His body felt dense, his legs unwieldy, and a stabbing pain speared through his side with nearly every breath he took. The half-Hylian, his eyes crusted, did not wish to contemplate his circumstances at that moment, nor the ones he had left behind since the prison commander and the palace soldier had interrogated him. The viscid stench still clung to him, still clung to his nostrils, and in truth he could not evict the gruesome images from his mind, contrived with a need to rationalize his own circumstances, to put into perspective what he had endured as compared to the escaped Sheikah.

Unwilling to return to that place, the groggy youth's mind drifted once more towards the sight which had become something of a companion: the fair-haired Hylian for whom he had no name.

"Ye've been mighty quie' in there. They didn' bruise ya tha' bad, did they?"

The voice of the Sheikah, Duzzy, interrupted Fen's intended slumber, though the half-Hylian remained slow to respond. "I've been better," he answered after a moment, his raspy voice sounding hollow in the darkness of his cell.

"'E did be'er than you, Duzzy," whispered Bojan, "Didn' 'ere a word from ye fer over a week!"

"How long did those wenches keep me in there?" The Sheikah retorted heatedly. "You'd been silent, too, if they'd hung you that long! And I didn' puke me guts ou', neither!"

"By Nayru, Duzzy," said man across from Fen, "Give the lad a break. He's hardly more than a child."

An expletive emanated from the Sheikah's cell, but, for once in his life, Kyedin Duesternis declined to continue the contest which he had started. Instead, he redirected the clandestine conversation towards Fen. "Look," he said, "I know it weren't like 'em Goron hot springs, but it coulda been worse. At leas' we weren' in there as long as tha' other Sheikah. Poor soul."

Fen, his sweaty visage pressed to the floor, hardly found comfort in the words.

"Real inspirin' speech there, Duzzy," remarked Bojan, "Beau'iful, tha' were."

The Sheikah started to respond, to defend himself against the human's vicious slander, when all the prisoners heard the sound of the guard making her rounds. Immediately they fell into silence, their conversation halted by the threats that had become commonplace on the part of the Gerudo guards. Yet the words the women spoke, the ubiquitous derision and scorn which spouted from their mouths, did not reach Fen. The half-Hylian, cringing against the burn in his lungs, coughed to clear his airway, and then rolled into his back, his mind slipping away into darkness.

[Duke Jealfen Daast]

The only light on the platform radiated from the whites of the half-Hylian’s eyes, opened to their fullest extent as they personified the terror which now consumed him. Barely able to draw breath through his constricted throat, he spun in a frantic circle, so that his right eye might receive a panoramic view of the dire situation. Desperately he assessed every angle, every facet, curve and crevice of the walls that surrounded the platform, yet even in the darkness Fen knew that he could never hope to reach them, as they were at least fifty feet from the circular, solitary platform.

He was trapped.

His heart, racing wildly, abruptly morphed into ice as the half-Hylian, his focus now fixated on the narrow strip of land which connected the platform to the cavern ledge, retreated to the farthest edge of his prison, wishing that he possessed any weapon at all. Yet he knew, despite that frantic, pleading thought, that even all the blades in the world would be of little use to him now. The screeches of the monsters sent paralyzing shivers down his spine, and Fen braced himself, futilely struggling against the reality that death strode in the midst of the horde. He did not know how they had found him, how they had located the cave, yet he understood purpose clearly.

The fleshy, humanoid creatures, howling with bloodlust, advanced on him, lurching out on the platform towards him. No discernable features existed on the faceless creatures, but Fen had seen their clawed hands, more talon-like than the fingers of a man, disembowel the others, shredding their innards and destroying their face, transforming them into one of their own while death consumed him. He would be lost, he knew, lost to the darkness which surrounded him.

“Fight them, Fen!”

Though the voice, its echo ricocheting off the walls of the fathomless cavern, had not come from a visible source, Fen recognized it instantly, and his body, unconsciously, was suddenly in motion. He charged the first monster, rotated, and drove his right shoulder into its chest. As it fell, he planted his left foot and, using it as anchor, twisted his body and yanked the faceless demon around by its right arm, so that it slammed into the next oncoming creature. Fen, without pausing, pivoted and thrust a fist towards the monster moving to his left, and, as it staggered, he instinctively swung behind it, using the dazed creature as a shield against the forthcoming member of the horde. Using all the strength he possessed, Fen forced both fleshy beasts over the side of the platform and then skittered to the left, aware that more were upon him.

His momentum and his confidence faltered when one of the monsters, leapt atop his shoulders from his left side. Fen staggered beneath the weight, desperate to dislodge it and deflect the attacks of those that had encircled him, but he had left his chest exposed in his frantic effort and felt the clawed hands of the monster rake across it. Fen screamed, in agony, in denial of death, and kicked out at the monster, even as the one atop him drove its talons into his back.

Then, all at once, the humanoid demons retreated. Fen, hardly able to stand from the blood that had pooled beneath him, barely registered the light that suffused the cavern and the figure striding towards him as collapsed onto the platform. Yet before he fell onto the sanguine-covered metal surface of the platform, a set of strong hands had grasped him beneath his shoulders and gently lifted him to his feet.

“Fight them, Fen,” urged the voice of the fair-haired Hylian.

On the floor of his cell in the Desert Prison, Fen Belamyr gave a violent, hacking cough and stirred slightly as the two Gerudo guards dragged him out into the hallway.