Caoimhe peered nervously down at the blond prisoner, clutching a damp rag between her white hands. He had not regained consciousness since she had been in to tend to him early that morning. The skin on his forehead had turned black from where he had been burned. Simply looking at him made her want to cry. She reached out and gently touched the multiple stab wounds near his shoulder. It had started to turn green, and she feared that the infection was beyond her skill to heal.

She leaned back on her heels, wondering how Edan, whom she had known since they were children, could have done something so cruel. As a boy, the captain of the guard had been quite the pusillanimous creature, screaming for his mother when the chickens started to chase him, or refusing to walk down the street when the rain set in and the worms came out. But now…

She looked back to the unconscious Hylian. His well-muscled chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. His face – chiseled with high, defined cheekbones – was creased in distress. He must have been having a nightmare. She reached out and brushed his blood-matted locks out of his face.

"It’s all right," she whispered, trying to be soothing, though she felt that she, too, needed to be soothed at that moment. "You’re going to be alright. I’ll find a way to treat your wounds, I promise. You don’t deserve this."

If her words had any effect at all, the inanimate man did not show it. She took her cloth and began to dab at his forehead, upon which beads of sweat had begun to form. She wondered if he was getting a fever, for it was far from hot in the dungeon. If he truly did have a fever, then he would not survive more than three days.

"I’ll be back in a minute," she whispered.

She ran from the dungeon, taking care to lock the door behind her lest Kearney lose his short temper. The hallways were dark and empty, though it was only early in the afternoon. The only other living soul she met was the guard at the entrance. He nodded and smiled as she hurried past.

She knew Kearney would kill her if he knew where she was going, but what other choice did she have? The king clearly wanted his prisoner alive – at least for the moment – but she could not keep him alive unless she consulted the only person she knew who could save him – who, coincidentally, was one of the many people Kearney detested. The sorceress Circe was the only person in the city who knew the uses of every medicinal herb ever discovered. Some often said she had even discovered some of them herself.

Nobody acknowledged her as she passed, as she rarely left the castle for anything, and as a result nobody knew who she was. She did not particularly care, either. She already had the only people she needed: Edan and the king. She did not need anything else, except, now the she had met him, the Hylian prisoner. He was quite intriguing, if not rude for shunning her despite all of her attempts to aid him in every way she could. She hoped he did not expect her to be able to help him break out of the dungeon, for that was far beyond her skill or ability.

She paused at the door of the Circe’s house to straighten her skirt. She was about to knock when the door swung open. In the postern stood a short, white-haired woman with spider-like wrinkles creasing every visible part of her face. She stared up at Caoimhe for a moment, her one green eye sparkling.

"I was expecting you," she rasped. "Do come in. It’s getting cold, and I already have more arthritis than I can handle."

Caoimhe stepped inside. It was sweltering in the small, one-room house, and it smelled strongly of exotic herbs. Circe sat down slowly on a rickety old chair, using her knobby walking stick for support. Caoimhe stared around uncomfortable, not sure what to do or say, or how to stand.

"I won’t bite," said Circe. "You’re one of the king’s servants, aren’t you? As I’m sure he couldn’t have sent you, I would surmise that you came here of your own accord. Am I correct?"

"Yes," Caoimhe nodded. "Please do not turn me out before I have had a chance to explain."

"Child, I would not turn you out for the world," Circe assured her, waving one gnarled hand in the air. "I know what the villagers say about me; that I am a horrible old vulture, centuries old, and that I eat the livers of newborn children. None of it is true, of course. I am only eighty-seven, and newborn children are simply too adorable to dine on."

"I was not insinuating any of that!" Caoimhe cried. "I desperately need your aid. His Majesty’s latest prisoner-"

"Ah, that Hylian, yes?" Circe murmured.

"He is sick," said Caoimhe. "I don’t know what to do. I thought you might have a remedy of some sort…"

"Dear girl, I could not go within a foot of Kearney’s castle without being speared like a pig for the slaughter," said Circe. "As much as I would like to help you, I cannot. I don’t know what ails the boy. I cannot make a remedy without first examining him."

"Is Kearney’s wrath really worth one good man’s life?" Caoimhe cried despairingly.

"Perhaps the Hylian would prefer to die?" Circe suggested. "Kearney usually treats his prisoners quite well. I wonder what this one has done to incur such hatred from the king, if the degree of your agitation is any indication of his illness. You can only expect worse torture for the future. Do you really wish that upon him?"

Caoimhe bristled. "I do not expect that he would be a coward and take the easy way out of torture. I am begging you, Circe. I will explain to the king my reasons. He will understand. He must understand…"

"Very well, very well," Circe said, with more flapping of her hands. "Get me my cloak and basket. But if any harm is inflicted upon me on account of Kearney’s temper, I blame you."

"I understand," Caoimhe nodded.

She took a ratty-looking green cloak off the hook by the door and helped Circe put it on. The two went outside. Black storm clouds were beginning to roll in, covering the watery rays of sunlight. Caoimhe expected it would rain, but once again, that did not really matter, since she seldom left the castle.

They hurried across the square to the castle. The guard, not recognizing Circe, let them in without trouble. Once inside, Caoimhe opened the door to the dungeons and motioned for Circe to pass quickly. The dark, narrow corridors were unoccupied except for a few soldiers who were too lazy to question who Circe might be.

"He’s in here," Caoimhe whispered, unlocking the cell door. "I don’t know if he’s conscious yet."

She pushed the door open. The hinges squealed loudly, and she winced, but the pale figure on the floor didn’t move. Circe frowned and went to kneel next to the Hylian prisoner. She pressed her fingers to his throat, checking for a pulse.

"By the Goddesses, he’s been branded," she breathed. "What did he do to deserve such a terrible punishment?"

"He attempted to escape," Caoimhe said sadly, kneeling also. "He was caught by Edan, the captain of the guards. Kearney is just so… unforgiving. I don’t understand why he feels it necessary to be so cruel."

"You speak of the king as if you know him," Circe murmured. She was already rummaging through her basket.

"Yes," Caoimhe nodded. "His sister married my brother Caedmon, so we were on friendly terms for awhile, at least until his sister died."

"You mean the Princess Evelyn," Circe whispered.

"You know of her?" said Caoimhe.

"How could I not?" said the old woman, shaking her head. "The very reason Kearney does not like me is because I was unable to save her after she gave birth to a son. I tried everything I could, really, I did. But it wasn’t enough. The child died, too, if I recall correctly."

"I see," Caoimhe said softly.

Circe sighed and went back to dealing with Link. She cleaned out the wound on his shoulder and covered it with strange smelling leaves and a reddish paste, then rubbed ointment with a foul scent on the burn on his forehead. He would moan every so often, but did not stir.

"I don’t believe there is any lasting damage," proclaimed the witch. "He does not have a fever, either, though it is rather cold in here. Make sure Kearney does not inflict any more harm on him until he has recuperated at least somewhat. Of course, the ideal would be to not harm him, but we cannot control the king, can we?"

"No, I don’t believe you can," growled a voice from the doorway.

The two women glanced up. The king himself was standing there, blocking all light from the corridor. His eyes burned like coals beneath his bushy black eyebrows as he regarded the pair, no doubt cooking up some kind of cruel punishment for their dissention. Caoimhe, who normally would have cowered, gathered her wits and rose to her feet, prepared to make an appeal for the lives of Circe, Link and herself.

"My liege, the Hylian is severely injured!" she said to him. "I did not know how to treat his wounds, and had no other choice but to send for Circe."

"He is a prisoner!" Kearney thundered. "He has no right to be treated like a normal person! Do you intend to make fools of us all?"

"With all due respect, Your Highness, you did say that you wanted him alive, at least for the time being," she said, as kindly as possible. "I was only trying to honour your request. I am sorry if I angered or offended you, but there was nobody else to turn to. Please understand. He would have died had Circe not been here to help him."

"A burn to the forehead is hardly lethal," Kearney said dismissively. "But you shall all pay dearly for your insubordination. You will only be forgiven if you get down on your knees and beg for mercy."

"If that is what I must do, then I shall," said Caoimhe, doing as he had requested. "But if you feel it truly necessary to punish anybody, then punish me. It was my fault."

"Oh, get up, you foolish thing," Kearney snapped. "The only one I want to hurt is the Hylian. There is a brazen look in his eye, and he must be tamed, or he shall overthrow us all. Edan!"

Caoimhe watched as the captain and another soldier hauled the incapacitated Hylian to his feet, not fully understanding how one man could overthrow an entire nation when he had been broken so. Kearney also exited, with the swish of his cape, leaving the two women alone. They were both silent for a moment. Then Caoimhe turned to the older woman and said:

"I wish there was a way for me to save him."

"Why are you so keen on saving that one in particular?" Circe demanded. "I’m sure there are other innocent men in here that you feel little to no compassion for. Do you fancy the Hylian?"

"Perhaps just a little," Caoimhe admitted. "But I save my compassion for him because he is here for the most abominable of reasons. If only you knew, Circe, your heart would break for him, as his has been broken by she whom he loves. I cannot believe that a woman could betray one who cares for her so much."

"Then tell me," said Circe, leaning forward in interest. "Why is that boy here? I am very keen on hearing his tale."

And thus, Caoimhe began to piece together what she knew of the Hylian’s circumstances, while Circe listened with a zealous ear, absorbing information as though it was her very sustenance. But though neither said it, they both prayed that the Hylian would not suffer much more pain – and that King Kearney, for once, might exercise the slightest bit of mercy.

Author’s Notes: That was the big chapter of original characters :S Don’t hate me. And no, this is not a Link/Caoimhe story. In fact, there will be little to no romance. Just plain torture and then war. Muhuhu… I hope you don’t find this boring.