The discreet noise of rats rustling somewhere in the cell woke Aethel once more. He had dreamed the same bleak repetition of the last three days...or two, it was hard to keep track of time in a well of darkness. It started with the eyes, then the tree with the horrible face, and finally the speech of the creature, which Aethel always forgot as soon as he opened his eyes.
On the first day of his arrest, or rather, when he woke up in the dark for the first time, he had been completely lost. Screaming for Manfrid or anyone who could get him out of there, until giving up and crying for a few hours, nothing made sense and all the events mixed up in his head. For a long time he poured all the doubts of that terrible place, all the sadness and fears of his situation into little puddles of tears.
And after experiencing a few nights in a luxurious nobleman's bed, the move to that damp and uneven floor, full of stones that hurt in a tiny space was abrupt, serving to feed the discomfort, in the first day, that and his instinctive fear of the dark made him whimper huddled in a corner of the cell.
When he saw the walls outside the cell lit up in dull orange light a day ago (or was it two), he understood that outside was some kind of tunnel carved out of stone. He heard boots marching down the corridor, but those stimuli only made him move away to a darker corner of the cell, he was able to discern his memories and he felt that he had been there before, he already knew that a harsh and cruel voice would scold him.
- Where's m'lord's little monkey? - His voice was slurred, as he was probably drunk
The light intensified until it blinded Aethel for a moment, and he covered his eyes. When his vision returned, the Lonely Fort's dungeon guard stood before him. A plump but tall man, with pockmarks on his flat face and one stark white eye, he wore long-rusted mail. He was laughing like a pig and holding a torch in one hand and a wooden plate in the other.
- You've been a good little monkey today, no noise, no crying, here's the reward - He said as he threw the plate carelessly at the hungry boy.
The more he listened to that hideous voice the more his fear turned to rage, that guard was an abominable man and Aethel knew it the moment he beheld him. He didn't even went to the plate until the guard got tired of it and departed with a laugh as hateful as his existence; "niuc niuc niuc"...
But the hunger was stronger than his pride and Aethel crawled to his plate, a cold and suspect cabbage soup awaiting him.
Maybe a lot of time had passed since that first "visit", perhaps not, measuring time in the darkness and isolation was almost impossible.
The only beneficial part of the time the guard came was having some time metric, as he made his visit twice a day, with a large time gap of many hours between one and the other, so Aethel was sure he had a meal in the morning and one at night.
Of course this wasn't the case every day, sometimes the bastard didn't show up all day, sometimes he just showed up to mock and throw bones. Not to mention that the person who was preparing that food must not like Aethel very much for some reason, that "food" almost always gave him a stomach ache that left him in agony all day.
As time passed Aethel became more and more feverish and weak, Heltor probably wanted to kill him indirectly. And after all that was where it all began, Heltor, since the last conversation between them, Aethel was sure he knew something about the incident in the forest, he knew something about his mother's death, and obviously only he had the power to place him in the dungeons. Sometimes Aethel found herself dreaming of running away from that place and asking her father why.
Aethel knew why, he was a bastard. A blot on Heltor's nonexistent honor. After a lot of time he started to ask himself why Heltor didn't just killed him earlier, he doubted that somebody would care, but again, maybe he tried...
Hatred grew deep within him in the dark cell, a lot of times he imagined Heltor, the pig guard, even all of those servants and chambermaids that looked at Aethel like he was a monster, they tried to hide it for some reason but Aethel could see it in their eyes. He imagined all of them suffering in the worst ways. But then reason came, and he remembered that he was probably going to die, forgotten forever. In just a few days he gave up on eating, trying always to think about how his mother was and have that final comforting thought if he died eventually.
It was on one of these dark days (Aethel always wished they were the last) that Aethel heard the usual sound of boots in the tunnel again, after a long time. The Pig Guard was apparently tired of his own mockery, and had long ago noticed the always untouched food in the exact place where he threw it, so he didn't make a point of paying visits.
But something wasn't right, the steps seemed hurried and the dull light of the torch didn't emerge from the shadows, the person was panting. Aethel promptly pricked up his ears, controlling his breathing and staying motionless in a corner of the cell. One of the only perks of rotting in that seemingly underground dungeon was the variety of boulders a prisoner could defend himself with, an obvious oversight but Aethel guessed those cells hadn't been used in a long time. And besides, the guard never gave an opening to take a well-placed stone in the skull, but it was the boy's only protection.
The footsteps stopped.
- Boy... - A husky voice murmured.
After so many days in that place, it was strange to hear people other than the guard, and it took Aethel a few moments to recognize that timbre. When he found out who it was he couldn't believe it, until then he was sure he was going to die alone listening only to his own breathing.
- Kid, are you there or not!? - his voice trembled.
- Manfrid... what are you doing here? - Said a weak and hoarse voice that Aethel could hardly believe was his own.
- Thanks to the Seven! -the urgency in his voice was palpable-quick, you only have one chance boy and it's now. -
Aethel heard the sound of keys in the darkness, and a subtle metallic creak, his heart seemed to want to burst out of his chest. Even in the short time he'd known the old man, and on the few occasions he'd spoken with Manfrid, the boy had formed a strong bond with the Maester. He was the only one who didn't treat him like a freak when he visited to check on his health (although he dodged Aethel's questions), what the Maester was trying to do at that moment moved the boy deeply.
But it was too late. Staying in a cell for weeks, eating poorly, having nightmares, hearing voices that weren't there, seeing blue eyes spying on him in his peripheral vision, and being treated badly beyond the reach of his stone, all of that had crushed any motivation to escape or real will to live. And at the end of the day, would Aethel have any real reason to try to flee?
No, there was no refuge in this world, and even if there were, it wouldn't be worth it. That would definitely lead to a later death for Aethel, and likely Manfrid's as well. And if there was, it wouldn't matter because nothing held Aethel to that life, the place that should have been his home was a prison, his family was a ghost and a psychopath, and everything was unknown and scary.
- Boy! - despite always whispering, the rush in Manfrid's voice was increasing.
- Maester, I can barely stand up - he began to say after hesitating for a few moments, - it's no use, if Heltor finds out, you're a dead man -
The old Maester's pause indicated surprise, perhaps he expected a frightened, whimpering little child, who would leap to safety at the slightest chance.
- Listen to me Aethel, Heltor and his pretend wife went hunting, it's the first breach that fucker gives in weeks, you have one chance - footsteps echoed in the cell - it was hard work and risky but I managed to send Murtho away, if you I don't come, i'll to get you myself... -
- If you do that - interrupted Aethel - I will resist and scream, and we will both be dead -
- Why would you do this madness boy - now Manfrid was irritated - what did this cell do to you -
- I'm not in a position to escape, and even if I was there's no place in the world for a runaway bastard - it was strange to say those things in such a weak and childish voice - I'm not going with you, I'm sorry -
Manfrid was about to retort, but Aethel cut him off with sudden force and clarity.
- But there is another way you can help me - The Maester was silent so Aethel continued - Tell me about my mother, everything - Aethel struggled to say the second part - and about Heltor too, without softening the truth, please - Aethel's heart rumbled, yearning for the answer.
- Boy.. -
- Please, at least this I deserve to know, and we have little time, close the cell, if Murtho returns, say that you only came to exchange a few words -
The old man took his time to say something, probably saddened and impressed by the boy's conviction.
- I hope I can convince you in the end," he whispered low enough for Aethel not to hear. -
Since his youth, Heltor had always been reclusive and moody, perhaps because he was isolated from other nobles his age, perhaps by choice. He had never excelled at any talent worthy of his position, and living as heir to a house forgotten by the rest of the realm didn't help his relentless quest for greatness either. And for that he craved, the old Maester always saw it in the young Tor's eyes, and of course all that need to excel came from his continued failures to find a knight who would accept him as a squire, or a betrothed, or the validation of his dad.
There was little to be said of Heltor's father, only that he was negligent and full of vices. That had definitely influenced his son. The years passed and Heltor grew more and more embittered and explosive. And in one of his youthful follies, he ran away from the Fort.
After a long time, years, he returned with what in his head was his destined bride. The girl he had brought was probably from the Summer Isles, Manfrid had no idea how he had achieved such a feat, being a rickety and temperamental adolescent when he left. But he didn't come back the same, he was healthier than ever, strong and even smiling, he had become a man many years before.
His "betrothed" seemed to play an important part in this change, in many ways she commanded attention, there was an exotic beauty in her ebony skin, in her black-purple eyes, she was thin and beautiful in sight, her hair was curled in a strange way. She had loved Heltor blindly. But it was all too much for the populace, the soldiers, servants and of course Heltor's father, Thorold.
To disappear for years and bring back a foreigner, a woman so odd-looking that could barely speak the Westerosi language, that infuriated Thorold. Stupid rumors began to fly that the girl was a sorceress straight from the ports of Asshai. And of course the girl, Jhala was her name, was pregnant. Manfrid was in the Great Hall when Thorold gave his order.
- I am not devoid of mercy, even the Father in his justice knows how to give second chances - He had said with disgust - But I cannot tolerate that a bizarre whore, a monkey from Essos or any far filth remains under my roof, let it to have it's pup, but I want it far away from you - He shouted at Heltor - you've sullied this house's honor enough, you will remain in the Keep even if I have to arrest you. -
The Fort's maids tended to Jhala for the next few months, and Heltor didn't seen her for a long time.
Until
that one day Jhala and Heltor's chambers were found empty. For a while a handful of soldiers that Thorold had, searched incessantly for Heltor (his only heir) and his beloved, but in vain, since at the end of two days his son was back, alone...
Thorold had failed to find a betrothed for his heir, and died weeks later in grief and disappointment before deciding what to do with his illegitimate grandson. Naturally Heltor inherited his father's position, and so he could "raise" his bastard in peace.
- Of all the places in Westeros, an isolated stronghold in the Stormlands is the worst place for someone with a Dornish appearance to live. So naturally you were an outcast around here, and the rumors about your mother's "witchcraft" weren't much help.
Aethel was silent, processing all that information and once again it seemed that he already knew most of the story, but had forgotten. Perhaps the Aethel of before had managed to squeeze something out of the Keep's servants. When the penny dropped he felt a deep sadness for his mother, "Jhala" thinking continuously of her name, she loved a man who didn't deserve her, and all she got in return was despise and death...
Sadness easily turned into hatred.
- One more thing boy - Said Manfrid - technically I am responsible for the health of everyone in the Fort, and I followed the pregnancy, childbirth, and the few days that Jhala stayed with you -
- And I tell you - continued - that you were the most valuable thing to that woman, I believe she loved you more than ever loved Heltor. And you can bet, the last thing she would want is for you, Aethel, to die in a filthy pit like this -
- Manfrid st...- Said Aethel
- Shut it! - interrupted Manfrid - she would want you to live, to travel, to love, to find her homeland. So if you still have some sense left, and you care about her wishes, get up and let's get out of here -
Manfrid's words cut deep, even in that dark place Aethel saw a glimmer of hope and the feeling grew in him. He would never again throw his life away so easily, the life someone had loved, even when so long ago.
Aethel staggered out of the cell with difficulty, stumbling over the pebbles that had been his uncomfortable companions for so long. Manfrid's arm reached out into the darkness and helped him
- We rattled on for too long, by the Seven, let's hope Murtho is still distracted - Manfrid said as they advanced through the tunnel.
- How did you distract him? -
- Well, let's say I brought a very... pleasant person to keep his mind elsewhere - said the Maester a little embarrassed - but in case things go wrong, I can protect us -
Aethel seriously doubted how an old man and a child would fare, trying to flee a stronghold with armed men. But fear fled the boy's heart, even if his destiny was death, he would die trying.