The heavy iron door slammed shut behind Leon, echoing ominously in the dimly lit chamber. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and lingering traces of old, dried blood. Flickering torches cast wavering shadows on the rough walls, creating the illusion of movement where there was none. Leon's wrists were bound tightly behind his back, the coarse rope digging into his skin. Two guards flanked him, their grips firm on his shoulders as they propelled him forward.
At the center of the room stood Havran, his silhouette sharp against the subdued glow. Without the lord's imposing presence, Havran's usual restraint had given way to a more sinister demeanor. His eyes gleamed with a cold intensity, a predator relishing the opportunity to toy with his prey.
"Leon," Havran drawled, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "We find ourselves in a familiar situation, don't we?"
Leon met his gaze steadily, refusing to show any sign of fear. "It seems so," he replied evenly.
Havran circled him slowly, his boots scraping against the stone floor. "You've been quite the enigma. Always so helpful, so... cooperative. Yet trouble seems to follow you like a shadow."
"I do what's asked of me," Leon said. "Nothing more."
"Is that so?" Havran stopped in front of him, leaning in close. "Then perhaps you can explain the latest... inconveniences we've encountered."
Leon remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Havran's smile faded. "The servants have vanished," he continued, his tone hardening. "Not one or two, but all of them. And coincidentally, you were the last to have any significant contact with them."
"I wasn't aware of their disappearance until you mentioned it," Leon responded calmly. "Perhaps they grew weary of their treatment here."
A swift backhanded strike sent Leon stumbling, the metallic taste of blood seeping into his mouth. The guards tightened their grip, holding him upright.
"Spare me your wit," Havran snarled. "I know you're involved. The question is, how deep does your treachery run?"
Leon straightened, regaining his footing. "I've been loyal," he insisted. "I've tended to the needs of your men, ensured their health. Why would I jeopardize that?"
Havran regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and disdain. "Because some men crave more than what they're given. They harbor delusions of grandeur, thinking they can outsmart those in power."
He gestured to one of the guards, who stepped forward and delivered a heavy punch to Leon's abdomen. Pain shot through him, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to utter a sound.
"Where did they go?" Havran demanded.
"I don't know," Leon replied, his voice strained but steady.
Another blow landed, this time to his ribcage. The air rushed from his lungs, and he fought to stay upright.
"You're testing my patience," Havran warned. "We can continue this all night, or you can save yourself unnecessary suffering by telling me what I want to know."
Leon took a shallow breath, his eyes locking onto Havran's. "I have nothing to tell you."
Havran's expression darkened. "Very well. Have it your way."
He nodded to the guards, who released Leon's arms only to shove him roughly onto a wooden chair. They secured his wrists and ankles with leather straps, pulling them tight enough to cut off circulation.
From a nearby table, Havran selected a thin blade, its edge gleaming menacingly. "You see, without the lord here, I have certain... liberties in how I conduct interrogations."
Leon watched him approach, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the fear coursing through him, he forced himself to remain outwardly composed.
Havran traced the blade lightly along Leon's forearm, not yet breaking the skin. "Pain can be a powerful motivator," he mused. "It strips away pretense, reveals the truth hidden beneath."
He pressed the tip of the knife into Leon's flesh, a bead of blood forming where metal met skin.
"Where are the servants?" Havran asked again, his voice low and threatening.
Leon stared straight ahead. "I don't know."
Havran's grip tightened on the knife. "You're a stubborn man."
He made a shallow cut, eliciting a sharp sting. Leon inhaled sharply but remained silent.
"Perhaps you need a stronger incentive," Havran suggested. He signaled to one of the guards, who exited the room briefly before returning with a small iron brazier filled with glowing coals.
Leon eyed the brazier, understanding the implication. Havran intended to escalate the interrogation, employing methods designed to break even the strongest of wills.
"You can end this," Havran said softly. "Just tell me what I want to know."
Leon closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself. "I have nothing to say."
Havran's jaw clenched in frustration. "So be it."
He retrieved a pair of tongs, using them to extract a heated metal rod from the brazier. The rod emitted a faint hiss, the air around it wavering from the heat.
"This is your last chance," Havran warned, holding the rod uncomfortably close to Leon's face. "Where are they?"
Leon met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I don't know."
A muscle twitched in Havran's cheek. Without further hesitation, he pressed the rod lightly against Leon's shoulder. Searing pain tore through him, but he refused to cry out. The scent of singed fabric and flesh filled the air.
Havran stepped back, examining his handiwork. "Impressive," he remarked dryly. "But everyone has a breaking point."
He nodded to the guards. "Perhaps a change of scenery will loosen his tongue. Take him to the lower cells."
The guards unfastened the straps, hauling Leon to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to stand, refusing to show weakness.
As they dragged him toward the exit, Havran called after them. "We'll continue this tomorrow. Let him contemplate his situation overnight."
The guards led Leon down a series of winding corridors, the air growing colder and more oppressive the deeper they descended. Finally, they reached a row of damp, narrow cells carved into the stone walls. They shoved him inside one, the heavy door clanging shut behind him.
Darkness enveloped the cell, broken only by a faint sliver of light seeping through a tiny barred window near the ceiling. Leon sank to the floor, his body aching from the abuse. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Despite the physical torment, his mind remained clear. He knew that Havran's brutality was fueled not just by a desire for answers but also by a need to assert dominance in the lord's absence. Havran relished the power, taking advantage of the opportunity to exercise it unchecked.
Leon allowed himself a moment to assess his condition. The burn on his shoulder throbbed painfully, and his ribs ached from the blows. Yet, he took solace in the fact that he had not betrayed the servants' escape. Their safety depended on his silence.
As he sat in the darkness, fragments of memories surfaced—faces of those he had helped, the quiet gratitude in their eyes. Mara's determined expression as she prepared to lead the others to freedom. Petyr's resolve to avenge his sister. These thoughts fortified his resolve.
Time passed slowly in the isolation of the cell. The cold seeped into his bones, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. He shifted positions periodically to stave off stiffness, each movement eliciting a reminder of his injuries.
Footsteps echoed faintly from the corridor, growing louder as they approached. A small hatch in the door opened, and a guard slid a tin plate of stale bread and a cup of water into the cell.
Leon regarded the meager offerings. "Thank you," he murmured, though the guard had already moved on.
He sipped the water carefully, savoring the coolness against his parched throat. The bread was tough and dry, but it provided much-needed sustenance.
As he ate, he contemplated his next move. Havran would not relent easily. The interrogation would intensify, and Leon needed to find a way to endure without compromising his mission.
The sound of distant voices drifted into the cell—a murmur of conversations, the clanking of chains, the occasional shout. The underbelly of the camp was alive with the suffering of others, a grim reminder of the consequences of defiance.
Leon pushed aside the encroaching despair. He focused on his breathing, steadying his thoughts. He had endured worse in the past, survived trials that had tested the limits of his endurance.
"One moment at a time," he whispered to himself.
Hours blurred together, marked only by the subtle shifts in light filtering through the window. Sleep came in fitful bouts, interrupted by nightmares and the discomfort of his injuries.
Eventually, the sound of approaching footsteps roused him fully. The cell door creaked open, and two guards entered.
"On your feet," one ordered curtly.
Leon rose slowly, his muscles protesting. The guards seized him by the arms, escorting him back through the labyrinthine passages to the interrogation chamber.
Havran awaited him, his expression unreadable. "I trust you've had time to reflect," he remarked.
Leon remained silent.
"Perhaps today you'll be more forthcoming," Havran continued. "Or perhaps not. Either way, I have all the time in the world."
The guards secured Leon to the chair once more. Havran approached, a sinister glint in his eyes.
"Let's begin."
The hours that followed were a blur of pain and endurance. Havran employed a variety of methods—pressure points, calculated strikes, psychological manipulation—all designed to break Leon's will. Yet, despite the escalating torment, Leon held firm.
At one point, Havran leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. "Why suffer needlessly? Tell me what I want to know, and this can end."
Leon met his gaze with a quiet strength. "I have nothing to tell you."
Frustration flashed across Havran's face. "Stubborn to the last."
He stepped back, pacing the room. "Very well. If you won't speak, perhaps someone else will. There are others who might be more... persuadable."
A flicker of concern crossed Leon's features. "Leave them out of this."
Havran smirked. "Ah, so there is someone you care about. Who is it? Give me a name."
Leon clenched his jaw, realizing his misstep. He forced his expression back to neutrality. "There's no one."
"Too late," Havran taunted. "I'll find them, whoever they are."
He turned to the guards. "Search the records. Identify anyone with whom he's had frequent contact."
The guards nodded and exited swiftly.
Leon struggled against his restraints. "This is between you and me."
Havran chuckled darkly. "Everything is interconnected, my friend. Actions have consequences."
Desperation gnawed at Leon. He could not allow Havran to target others in his stead. Yet, revealing information was not an option.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Havran, listen to me. You're seeking answers in the wrong place. The servants left because of the conditions here, not because of any orchestrated plot."
"Convenient deflection," Havran retorted. "But insufficient."
Leon searched for a way to divert Havran's attention. "Consider this: while you're focused on me, real threats could be emerging elsewhere. The camp is unstable. The guards are discontent. Morale is low."
Havran paused, his eyes narrowing. "What are you implying?"
"I'm suggesting that internal issues pose a greater risk than external ones," Leon explained. "Perhaps your efforts would be better spent addressing those."
Havran studied him skeptically. "And why would you offer such advice?"
"Because it's the truth," Leon replied earnestly. "I've tended to your men. I've heard their grievances. Ignoring them could lead to further complications."
A moment of uncertainty flickered in Havran's expression. He was aware of the growing unrest among the guards but had dismissed it as trivial.
"You expect me to believe you're concerned about the well-being of this camp?" he challenged.
"I have no desire to see unnecessary suffering," Leon said. "From anyone."
Havran regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye."
He paced slowly. "Very well. I'll consider your words. But make no mistake—I haven't forgotten our primary concern."
He signaled to the guards, who released Leon from the chair but kept a firm grip on his arms.
"Return him to his quarters," Havran ordered. "Under watch."
As they escorted him out, Havran called after him. "We'll speak again soon."
---
Back in his quarters, Leon was acutely aware of the guard stationed outside his door. Escape was now more complicated, but not impossible. He needed to act swiftly.
He approached the small window, gazing out at the encampment. The atmosphere was tense, the usual rhythms disrupted by heightened security and pervasive unease.
A soft tapping caught his attention. He turned to see a piece of parchment being slid under his door. Cautiously, he retrieved it and unfolded the note.
"Stay strong. Help is coming."
There was no signature, but he recognized the handwriting—Mara's.
A faint smile touched his lips. He wasn't alone.
Leon moved to his desk, formulating a new plan. If he could incite the guards' discontent to a tipping point, it might create the distraction he needed.
He began drafting messages, coded to sow seeds of doubt and encourage dissent among the ranks. Slipping them into places where the guards would find them, he hoped to ignite the spark.
Time was of the essence. Havran's suspicions were growing, and the lord's return was imminent.
As night fell, Leon prepared himself for the final phase of his mission. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but he was resolved to see it through.
"One way or another," he whispered, "this ends soon."