Good men don't turn to alcohol to drown out their misery.
Darien knew this adage all too well, but what he wished to do was exactly just that; picking up the mug resting on the tray of rations in front of him, he raised it to his lips and downed the contents in one swift breath. Feeling the all too familiar heat rising in his throat, he let out a sigh, the contentedness in his voice belying his remorse for events past, and resignation to circumstances present.
Perhaps, long ago, he could have been perceived as a "good man" in the eyes of many. However, after the Eve of Calamity, the actions that he had taken, the principles and people he had sacrificed, the trail of destruction he had ushered unwittingly unto his own country... it would be hard for anyone to consider him a man of honor and integrity.
Harboring no wish to remember past events, Darien closed his eyes, in an attempt to receive the only other solace provided to him in this place. Yet, just as he was about to drift off into slumber, he heard the clinking sound of keys approaching nearer and nearer to him, as well as a voice echoing down the corridor.
"You're still holding on, after all of this time? Admirable perseverance, but it won't help much, I'm afraid."
Raising his head, the only other part of his body that he could move besides his right arm, Darien could make out a slim figure walking towards his cell. Even before he could get a clear view of the person's facial features, Darien couldn't help but find a scowl emerging on his face. Although she wasn't close enough for the light to illuminate her countenance, he knew her identity all too well.
After all, she was the reason why he was currently in such a damnable position.
Ruby-red hair, azure eyes, a flawless hourglass figure. Outside, she had the appearance of a beautiful and delicate maiden; traces of her mother could be seen in her beguiling eyes, while her eyebrows danced with her father's wisdom. Her hands were soft and tender, her body equally supple. If any man caught sight of her, they would be easily bewitched by her exterior appearance, resembling a faerie that had descended to the mortal world.
Yet, looking at her, no tender feelings emerged within Darien's heart. Instead, he only felt scorching anger, wishing that he could tear off the hypocritical face in front of him, and expose her true self to the world.
"Lydia. Have you come to mock me once again?" Darien asked, muttering under his breath. He could feel the heat rising to his face, and his left arm involuntarily began to swell, the ash-white sigil on his left hand beginning to glow.
Lydia shot Darien a sorrowful glance. "Why are you so cold? We were pretty close, weren't we? Although, I guess that was a long time ago."
Darien set his jaw, focusing his attention on quelling the glowing sigil. He had nothing to say to a turncoat, no wish to confide to a wretched traitor.
"No response?" She asked.
The only answer that she received was the clicking sound of his restraints.
Lydia grinned in amusement. "You never change, do you?"
Peering into his haggard eyes, Lydia smiled coldly, drawing her saber. The man in front of her really cut a sorry figure; three of his limbs were chained to the wall by fetters made from Dunselen steel, his silver hair was dirty and tangled, and his beard unkempt and wiry. His skin was pale, his expression haggard. It was clear that he hadn't seen sunlight for quite a long time.
Once, he had been a renowned warrior, a legendary man who played a major part in the Aoeloran Empire's resistance of the invasion after the Eve of Calamity. Now, bereft of dignity, he was nothing more than her captive, simply a reward given to her by the High Consulate. She could do with him as she pleased.
Although Lydia thought it was a pity, she had decided to summarily execute him today as he remained stubborn to a fault, refusing to reveal information on the whereabouts of his companions even when staring death in the eye. Since he refused to be a useful asset to the party whom she swore allegiance to, then the only ending that befell him would be death.
"Do it," Darien said, realizing her intention. "No matter what torture you place me through, I won't tell you anything."
He knew that this day would soon come, and had long come to terms with his situation, making his final prayers. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder, if he hadn't taken that wrong turn back then, would things have turned out much differently...?
Lydia sighed, realizing that he meant what he said. "Really, it's quite a shame."
With a quick thrust, Lydia pierced Darien's heart, spilling his lifeblood all over the cold floor. Flicking her saber to remove his blood, she solemnly placed it back into her scabbard before walking back upstairs, signaling to her servants to clean up the body in the prison cell. She had already wasted too much time on him, doing her best to convince him to switch allegiance on account of her liege's orders. She still had a mountain of other tasks to sort through, yet no matter how tired she was, she had to persevere - in order to achieve her innermost, dearest desire.