elfhame | Cult AU

A good ten feet down, Bene barely hears Colin over the small distressed noises he's making, gripping the ankle he twisted on the way down-- he was fortunate that's the worst that happened, but he's still in a pit.

"Colin," he gasps, trying to prop himself on the dirt wall, seeking purchase and only pulling down more after him. "Colin!!"

He doesn't know what he's asking for. A magic rescue of some kind, one that he knows neither Colin nor himself can provide.

There's one more trick up Colin's sleeve, but it won't get Bene out of the pit either. Footfalls are coming closer, many of them. He has to wait until the last possible second.

Shaking, he grabs the tarp, bunches it up as best he can and offers it like a rope. It's still too short, but maybe Bene can find a way to reach it.

The attempt at doing so is sad: Bene tries to jump once, but doing so on just one foot is too difficult, the other curled to keep weight off his ankle.
He tries again, but only succeeds in grazing it with his fingertips, otherwise simply pulling more dirt down into his face. Pausing to rest (and cry), he hears the sounds of the approaching captors and gives a low, miserable groan.
There's no way he's getting out of here in time.

Colin waits, waits, waits, waits until he can practically feel the heat of a body, before magic ripples out from him mightily. Everyone in its blast is suddenly frozen, unable to move. It won't last long. Colin casts about for anything that might get Bene out of there, but every heartbeat that passes (and they pass quickly) brings him less time to act. He looks up. The gate is so close.

He reaches out, taking a second to heal any injury Compassion can find in Bene. Then he leans down.

"I have to go," he says shakily. "I have to find people to bring back and rescue you. I promise I'm coming back. I love you so much."

A sob of despair mingles with one of relief as Colin heals his ankle, and Benedict continues to reach, even as he knows it won't make a difference.

"I love you," he manages to choke out, unable to compose himself to say more-- and they both know that even if he did, he'd probably just beg Colin to stay. Better to leave it like this.

"I'm coming back," Colin says one more time, suppressing a sob, before hauling himself to his feet. The first two steps are slow, like walking in water, until he finds the motivation to work his legs faster and leave behind the two people he loves most in the world.

And secretly, in the most shameful place of his heart, he is relieved that he can go even if the others cannot.

About ten seconds later, he is nowhere in sight, and the guards move again. The one nearest the pit calls for someone to find a rope. Ewan straightens with a growl and strides forward, barking orders for people to search the woods--people, not merely the guards. Thirty seconds later, a famulus appears with a rope. The praestes lowers the rope into the hole.

"Hold on," he says unnecessarily.

"Don't go," Bene whimpers quietly into the dirt wall, listening to Colin's footsteps fading away. A wave of nausea overtakes him, and he crouches down, squinting up at the people above him.

Though he hesitates for a perilously long time, he eventually grips the rope; if he doesn't accept their help, there's no guarantee they won't just leave him here to die.

"Good. Put your foot right there, there's a spot you can use as a toehold." The praestes points. The entire climb up takes some time, with teamwork, numerous backslides, and two guards to grab Bene's hand and haul him up the rest of the way. But the instant Bene makes it to the top, Ewan is there, waiting patiently for him to catch his breath.

Filthy, scared, and miserable, Benedict returns to the surface and straightens, watching Ewan in a wary sulk as he does his best to brush the dirt off his hands and face.

He's still here, yes, but they can't make him like it.

Ewan's face could be made of stone. Another guard steps behind Bene and takes him by the arms. Ewan has no anger visible on him when the back of his hand cracks across Bene's face.

Immediately beginning to struggle when grabbed from behind, Benedict's mouth is open to protest when Ewan's hand makes contact. He gives a cry like a beaten dog, surprised and horrified, his eyes full of outrage when he lifts his head again.

The same hand clenches into a fist by the time Bene has raised his head and comes at him in a jab, breaking his nose with little effort.

"N-- AAUGH," comes a more pronounced scream, with a drawn-out wail right after the fact, blinding pain searing through Bene's whole face.
He struggles again, this time with more animal desperation than snippy resentment.

"No more," he sobs, "please!"

There's a good reason he's never been a spy.

Heedless of those pleas, Ewan strikes out again and again, hitting jaw, cheek, drawing blood, blackening eye, before taking a small, lightweight truncheon from his side.

"Hold him tight," he says, still utterly calm. The guard behind Bene wraps one arm around his throat, arching the prisoner's back slightly.

It doesn't take long for the actual verbalizing of protests to stop, replaced by a wordless litany of whines and cries that grow breathier and fainter with each new blow.

His eyes are too swollen or blinded by blood to look at his tormentor anymore when he's held fast, now simply struggling to breathe through his ragged sobs.

Eventually, Bene is released and allowed to slump to the ground, but the blows still rain down, bruising ribs and, with a kick, breaking at least one. At last, there's silence except for Bene's own sobs and gasps, and it seems like it might be over. In fact, Ewan is merely thinking.

"Hold him," he tells the praestes with him, who kneels at Bene's head and pins his wrists to the ground. "Hold his legs," he tells another praestes, "and take off his shoes."

The truncheon is put away, and there's the sound of a knife being drawn.

Bene savors the freedom, however brief, of being on the ground, but his immediate attempt to wriggle away is blocked with a moan of despair.
His lips too swollen to form words beyond 'no', he continues to struggle with all his limited might; and driven by instinct, the Fade, or terror itself, suddenly his shard flashes. A barrier erupts around him from it, knocking aside everyone who was holding him as he curls up within, as surprised as they are.

The bad news is, they'll still be here when it goes away.

There's a palpable gasp from the guards around him, except for Ewan, though even he fell back very suddenly when the barrier went up. And very suddenly, no one quite knows what to do. This isn't magic, as one of the mages proves when he can't dispel it. Ewan eventually murmurs in the ear of one of the guards, who nods and quickly walks away. Moving in front of Bene, Ewan shows him the knife...and slides it back into its sheathe.

Slowly, Benedict gathers what has happened. He looks stiffly around, then back at Ewan, only one eye partially opened and trained fearfully on the Praestes.
Frozen to the spot, he remains even as the barrier flickers and goes away, the fingers of his left hand clenching and unclenching as though he may try to do it again, on purpose, if driven to do so.

Ewan doesn't move a muscle, only remains quietly squatting at Benedict's head, looking faintly smug. The reason becomes clear when a steel-cold flash cuts deep into the sole of one foot, then another, both cuts deep and pooling with hot blood. It is a crude form of hobbling, but effective, in Ewan's experience.

The man Ewan had whispered to holds the bloody sword and comes to stand by him to receive further orders.

An anguished scream rips from Benedict's throat, his shard flashing once again but, this time, its barrier dissipates instantly with only the slightest pushback against his attackers.
With his broken rib causing pain in every breath with or without raising his voice, he breaks down again, curling into a ball and waiting. Perhaps they'll kill him and get it over with.

"Take him to a cell," Ewan says levelly at the other guard. "In the morning, send a Famula to tend to only what must be tended to. There is to be no magical healing, understood?"

"Understood," replies the other guard, who crouches down to scoop Benedict up and carry him like an ill child away from the scene of so much pain.

"It's over," he says in a father's gentle but firm tone. "Did it help to carry on like that?"

At this point, there's little left to do but weep, which he does. Taking care to not press his face against anything, even his hand, Bene sobs brokenly, the hurt going far past anything physical: is this how Colin felt, that first time he left?
He might be back, he might not. Either way, Bene will always have the memory of watching him disappear from view and leave him to his fate.

The cells are cold; there is nothing in them except a chamber pot and a thin blanket. The Praestes sets Bene gently down on the floor, gives him a slightly pitying look, and reaches out to his face. With a quick motion, he sets Bene's nose in place and steps back.

"Get some sleep," he says as he ambles out, seeming not to care in the slightest how unrealistic a goal that might be.

Cult AU

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