As the guards left Jorren at his house, his anger simmered, a deep sense of helplessness gnawing at him. Alysanne, his wife, approached with caution, worry etched across her face.
"What do we do now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Jorren's frustration boiled over. "I don't know, Alysanne!" he yelled.
He slumped into a chair, feeling defeated, but Alysanne refused to give up hope. "King Elric said Davos would only be imprisoned for a day," she reminded him gently.
But Jorren's mind was consumed by fear of King Aelon's wrath. "It's not King Elric I'm worried about, Alysanne. It's Aelon. That bastard hates me. He probably knows by now that it was his children who picked a fight with my boy. But his hatred for me is so strong, he's willing to do anything to wipe my bloodline from the face of this world," Jorren muttered bitterly.
Determination flashed in Jorren's eyes as he stood up abruptly. "But no one will touch my boy," he declared fiercely. "Alysanne, pack everything. Get the horse ready. Go to your father's house. He will take care of you."
Alysanne's eyes widened in alarm. "What about you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Jorren's resolve hardened. "I have to get our son back, no matter what," he replied resolutely.
"But you remember what they said. If anyone finds out who you are, you'll be a target. Not even King Elric can hide you," Alysanne pleaded, her voice filled with concern.
"I can't stand and do nothing while they destroy my son's life," Jorren insisted, his jaw set in determination.
Alysanne embraced him tightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jorren, promise me one thing," she said softly.
Jorren met her gaze, waiting for her to continue.
"Promise me you'll come back alive. You and Davos," Alysanne implored, tears glistening in her eyes.
Jorren's expression softened, and he nodded solemnly. "I promise," he vowed.
Night fell upon the beautiful city of Vaeloria, shrouding the land in darkness. The only sound piercing the quiet was the anguished cries of Davos in his prison cell. He berated himself, lamenting why he hadn't kept his words in check, why he had to talk back. His father, whom he had always seen as a pillar of strength, had to beg, a sight Davos found more painful than anything he had experienced. "I'm sorry, Father. It's all my fault," Davos cried out, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls.
In the adjacent cell, a voice spoke up, attempting to quiet him. "Quiet down, boy. You'll scare my children away."
Davos, consumed by his inner turmoil, snapped back, "Shut up!"
The response was unexpected. The ground shook with heavy footsteps approaching Davos' cell. A figure stood before him, towering and imposing, his face obscured by long black hair. Chains adorned his arms and legs, a testament to his captivity.
"What's your name?" the man asked, his voice calm yet commanding.
Davos, intimidated by the imposing figure, stammered, "I-I don't have to tell you anything."
Undeterred, the man repeated his question, "What's your name, child?"
Feeling a mix of fear and resignation, Davos finally answered, "My name is Davos."
The man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound echoing through the prison. Without another word, he turned and walked back to his cell, the chains clinking softly with each step.
Davos watched him retreat, his heart still pounding with fear and curiosity.
After a moment, Davos gathered the courage to speak again. "Who are you?" he called out to the mysterious figure.
The man paused, his back still turned towards Davos. "Grendor," he replied simply, his voice carrying a weight of experience and weariness.
Davos furrowed his brow, intrigued by the enigmatic response. "What are you in here for?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Grendor turned slightly, enough for Davos to catch a glimpse of his profile. "Petty things," he answered cryptically.
Confusion clouded Davos' thoughts. "Like what?" he pressed, eager to understand.
Grendor chuckled darkly, a sound that sent shivers down Davos' spine. "Murder," he replied, his tone devoid of remorse.
Davos recoiled, a mix of fear and fascination swirling within him. "Why did you do it?" he asked, unable to comprehend the motives behind such a heinous act.
Grendor turned to face Davos fully, his expression unreadable. "You know, most people never ask why. They get straight to the accusation," he remarked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Davos shook his head, his father's teachings echoing in his mind. "My father always taught me not to judge but to try to understand," he confessed.
Grendor's gaze softened slightly at Davos' words. "Great man. What's his name?" he inquired, genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Jorren," Davos replied without hesitation. "Jorren Sandrik."
Recognition flickered in Grendor's eyes, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. "You're Jorren's son," he mused, as if a puzzle piece had fallen into place.
Davos leaned forward, eager for answers. "You know my father?" he asked, his voice tinged with hope.
Grendor's laughter echoed through the cell, but there was a darkness in it that sent a shiver down Davos' spine. "Go to sleep, boy. You have a long day ahead of you," Grendor said dismissively, turning away from Davos once more.