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Languishing. That is what Foolish has been doing. He’s been languishing.
All day. All night. Laying around in this tower. Pacing back and forth in the top chamber, pretending like he isn’t going crazy, making up stories and songs to keep himself busy until his captors decide to finally let him out again. Not that they ever will. The moment they learn the totem thing isn’t just his looks but also, like, a powerset, they’re going to keep him forever. Ohhhhhh gods, they’re gonna keep him forever.
At least last week had been fun. It’s been a while since he’s been in a tourney. Eret’s challenge had driven him a little insane, too, but it was nowhere close to the insanity he’s inching towards as they speak. That was fun insanity. That was “do a challenge your best friend gives you because you want to prove you love them” insanity. This is “boredom and misery and the shit that happens when you lock up a fully-awake demigod for some stupid reason” insanity.
The cut he’d received absconding from Eret’s chambers in the wee hours after the tourney is fully healed over, too. He doesn’t even get that reminder of how great freedom had been, even if he got injured in the process. No cuts during the tourney! Immortal demigod competes in a challenge and leaves without a scratch! But as soon as he tries to leave through a window instead of, like, a door, like a normal person would, he falls twenty feet and gets a cut that would kill, like, most people. The things he does for love. Gods alive. Gives up his invulnerability two lifetimes ago so they can come back and this is the thanks he gets. And then he had to go all the way back to this tower and lock himself in again. Ughhh.
Tomorrow and tomorrow creeps at this petty freaking pace. He’s going to lose it.
It would be nice if the windows weren’t boarded up. Then, Foolish could sit on the window seat and look out at the valley and surrounding mountains and watch the world go by, or something. But, no, instead, all he gets is a hatch with a rope, so that his captors can send him food every few days. He had only been able to break out for the tourney because his captor’s wife found it so romantic that he’d wanted nothing more than to make the king’s youngest smile. And he did! But then he locked himself back in here and will never see them again, ever.
Outside his boarded-up window, a bell rings; someone’s pulling the rope to send food up. Foolish looks up despondently from his undersized fainting couch and wonders what slop they’re bringing him this time.
Usually, what happens is that the bell will ring the entire time the food is being hoisted up, consistent and steady, for about a minute. Foolish will open the tiny window, retrieve his food, and the bell will ring for another five seconds as the rope falls back down. This time, though, it doesn’t do that. The ringing is inconstant, stopping and starting over and over and over again. Must be something heavy. Maybe they’ve got a squire doing it.
Good my lord, the squire must be saying, skinny arms unable to pull the rope in full. In Foolish’s mind, the kid’s only, like, fourteen – just old enough to no longer be a page, but nowhere close to actually having any muscle. Good by lord, they’re saying, looking over at their fel knight astride his fel horse, what villein is atop this tower, that you must so send up such quantities of foul food?
Nay, the knight replies, shaking his head. He’s wearing a full suit of armor, because he’s evil and a jackass. Nay, squire, not a villein. Were he a villein, his work would be closer than this dogshit valley hamlet. Nay, this man is our prisoner, and a powerful one at that; we must keep him locked in this tower, so that he does not turn our keep into a series of smoldering craters in revenge for his capture. When thou art old enough, thou shalt become his keeper, as I have been, and as my mentor was before me.
What happened to your mentor, my lord? the squire asks, still pulling the rope arm over arm. They’re struggling, yanking where they can. They’ve neglected their weightlifting. The bell rings in bursts, sudden and quick. They’re so bad at this.
The guy in this fucking tower smote him soooo bad, the knight responds. He doffs his helmet and holds it over his chest. He’s got a really stupid mustache and everything. It makes him look like an asshole. He’s super powerful and we forgot to enchant the window to make his lightning powers not work, so the last guy got turned into a smudge. Yeah, that one, right there. One second, he’s there, and the next, he’s literally just ash blowing away in the wind. It was so fucked up.
Oh, shit, that’s crazy. The squire stops pulling again, growing tired from the effort. Like, fuck, he could super kill us if he wanted, huh?
Aye. The knight nods gravely. He could. Thou wouldst be wise to rememb–
Hang on. Wait. Hold the fucking call. Someone’s breaking into his tower.
Foolish scrambles back as someone begins hitting against the wooden slats covering the window. First, there’s just a crack, then another, then another, and then the planks are splintering apart as the blade of an axe finally pierces through. Sunlight pours through the gap. The axe swings down again, this time with a grunt of effort, and more wood falls away. Outside, a voice, out of breath, grumbling under it yet, and so very familiar, says, “I swear to the fucking gods, every day, you manage to–”
The axe pulls back, replaced by a crowbar. Metal screeches as the planks are pulled from the windowsill; Foolish catches sight of a rope and a finely-ringed hand.
“Foolish, dear?” the voice calls. His heart might stop. It drops to the bottom of his chest; they’re going to be so mad at him. “Can you help pry these off, or do I have to do the whole damn thing myself?”
“Can’t–” Foolish croaks, barely able to even approach the window. “There’s– enchantments.”
Outside, Eret groans in annoyance. “Of course there are. Gods, of all the people to be beholden to–”
The crowbar retreats. After a second, there is a flash of white light, and the runes lining the windowsill vanish in a puff of smoke. The rest of the wood falls away with little more than a pull, now, the magic having been more than half of what kept it up. With each plank removed, the image of Eret, having used the food pulley rope to climb the tower, becomes clearer and clearer. As soon as there is enough space, she pulls herself through the window, landing in his prison chamber.
Shit, he should have cleaned up in here. It’s a mess. It’s so obvious that he’s been languishing, especially over the last few days. It’s not the kind of place a noble should be, especially not one like Eret. He’s, like, actually important, he’s got titles, he’s got standards, and even more importantly, he’s Foolish’s best friend, so obviously Foolish wants to impress him, but–
His train of thought is cut off as Eret strides forward, crossing those few meters left in the room, and yanks him into a fierce embrace. For a moment, Foolish is too stunned to move. As soon as he realizes what is happening, though, he hugs them back just as tightly. They’re here. They found him. Ohhhh, fuck, he’s getting teary already.
Her fingers comb through the hair on the back of his head like she had done last week, once the two of them were alone and the tourney was firmly his. She had commented then that his hair had gotten long. As it stands now, she’s just holding him, and that’s more than Foolish could ask for in almost any recent circumstance.
After a moment, Eret pulls back, and abruptly strikes the center of Foolish’s chest with a palm, sending him stumbling back.
“Are you fucking stupid??” they say. Ah. Yep. Here’s the thing Foolish wasn’t looking forward to. Them being so mad at him for leaving. He opens his mouth to reply, but Eret barrels right through. “You compete, you get all this fame and glory, I finally have you back, and then you vanish in the middle of the night to return to captivity in a tower???”
“I–” He doesn’t have much of an excuse, does he. “I was– I am honor-bound to–”
“Honor-bound???” They rake a hand through their hair, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. “Gods help me, honor-bound. You’re honor-bound to return to the keep where a minor enemy lord has you imprisoned, all because you didn’t let the prince get kidnapped almost a year ago? Your sense of honor has been admirable in the past, domnei something to be envied, vows sworn to your prince in utmost faith, and yet–” They’re shaking their head and starting to pace, gesturing as they speak. “Every day– every day, you find new ways to live up to your name. Every day I ask myself, why, why did the gods call him Foolish, why did they not call him Courage or Gentilesse or Chivalrous, and then times like this remind me why.”
Weakly, Foolish protests, “They were going to–”
“Yes, darling, I know, they were going to wage war if they didn’t get their captive. I know, I was there, it was me they were trying to capture. You’re lucky you bleed gold, it made you so much easier to track. As soon as we realized the trail was headed this way–” She shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. It’s at this point that he realizes she’s in travel leathers and true adventurer’s garb, tools strapped around her waist and a visible knife holster on her leg. “Amaris and Eglantine’s troops are dealing with them now. My people are at the base of this thing, waiting for me to give the all clear that you can actually come down. We’re not in danger from them, they barely even have a fief at this point.”
Eret sighs, walking forward again and straighten the collar of Foolish’s tunic and brush stray splinters from his jerkin. He cups his face in both hands, looking up into Foolish’s faceted gemstone eyes, fond as anything.
“You’re such a fool, my friend,” she says; there is no insult behind it. Foolish’s hands hesitantly find her waist, settling just above the toolbelt. She smiles, thumbing over the apple of his cheek. “You’ll not escape me again. You know that, right? If I find you’ve left through my damn bedroom window again, I’ll be very cross. I’ll find the tower you’re being kept in and leave you there.”
“I will not, my liege. It would be grave an insult to cross you such.”
“And yet.” They pull him down, kissing him on one cheek, then the other, before resting their foreheads together. Foolish closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Okay. Okay. “Shall we return you home, sir knight?”
“Yes, my liege.”
The sunlight is fucking bright as Foolish climbs down the tower, but at least he isn’t languishing anymore.