Link grimaced, feeling as though Edan was going to rip every last strand of hair out of his head at any moment. The captain had hauled him roughly to his feet by his blond tresses, and now Link could feel blood trickling with agonizing slowness down his cheek. He raised one chained hand to brush it away, nauseated by having to see his own blood once again.

"Get up, cur!" Edan roared, landing a slap on the Hylian’s face. "Take your punishment like a man! I suppose all Hylian soldiers are as weak as you?"

Link did not answer. He opened his eyes and stared hard at something on the ground, something only he could see, his brow furrowed. Edan tsk-ed impatiently and threw him to his knees on the stone floor. Link winced, the nerve ends throughout his legs tingling without cease.

"What do you want me to do, my liege?" he hissed, turning to the king. "I will brand him until his face is nothing more than a melted piece of flesh, if that is your desire. I hope you have something painful up your sleeve."

"Control yourself, Edan," said Kearney. "I know you are eager for bloodshed, but we will have none of that yet. Today we will be dislocating shoulders." The king turned to smile menacingly at Link. "Are you scared yet, little elf?"

"Terrified," Link said, staring hard at the king.

To his own ears, he sounded brave and confident, but his heart was pounding wildly inside. He was tempted to put his hand over his chest to ensure that Kearney could not see each beat under the skin, but he succeed in containing himself, knowing full well that such a thing was impossible. So he just stared into Kearney’s black eyes, trying to look as courageous as possible.

The king smirked and pulled a rope down from a wooden structure, on which was attached a conglomeration of levers and pulleys. The guards commenced the operation of tying the end of the rope so tightly around his wrists that he feared his circulation would be cut off.

"And if you feel the need to scream, please don’t hesitate," Kearney snarled. "It’s been so long since I’ve heard a man articulate his pain in such a feminine way."

Link glared at him. Edan pushed him up the stairs to the top of the wooden structure. The Hylian stared down to where the others were standing. The ground seemed so far away, and he could already imagine how his bones would splinter the way Kearney had promised. That had, of course, been the king’s intention: to tell him what he should expect so that his imagination would run amok, therefore prolonging the suffering.

Link watched as Edan turned the crank on his left, his gaze never leaving the Hylian’s face. Link supposed the captain wanted to see his fear. But he would show none by voluntary action, no matter how badly he trembled or how much cold sweat ran down his back. He felt his feet leave the ground, and soon sensed the strain of the rope on his wrists. He was supporting all of his weight on those fragile joints.

The crank stopped turning. Link stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, the few seconds he spent suspended in the air seeming like an eternity. Down below, he knew that Edan would soon release the crank and let him fall toward the floor. He felt sweat trickling slowly down his cheek. The more he thought about it, the more torturous it became, until he wished Edan would let go just so he could brush it away.

Almost before he realized it, the captain of the guard had let go of the crank, and he started falling rapidly toward the ground. His stomach leapt into his throat rather unpleasantly, though the trajectory lasted for just a few seconds. Right before the tips of his toes could touch the ground, the rope pulled taut and he heard the most horrible of cracking sounds come from the region of his shoulders. Pain raced like wildfire through him, and it was augmented by the strain of the rope on his arms. He could not suppress a scream of utter woe that would have brought anyone with a heart to their knees with grief.

He vaguely heard Kearney barking orders at his soldiers. His head swam from pain such as he had never felt in his entire life. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to lie down or vomit up the limited contents of his stomach. He was aware of someone untying him, and once he was free, he did the latter.

"That is absolutely disgusting," said one of the soldiers.

"Go get Circe or Caoimhe," snarled Kearney. "I would prefer Caoimhe, but the witch would probably have a better knowledge of what to do. Don’t touch him, you fools!"

"But sir…" said another soldier. "I thought you wanted to torture him."

"Yes, but I want to talk to him," snapped the king. "And he won’t be able to talk if he’s delirious."

Link let his head fall back on the cement floor. His mouth tasted like bile, but it was nothing compared to how he felt. His arms were burning as though somebody was stabbing him repeatedly with a knife. Why didn’t they just kill him? He didn’t have anything left to live for, anyway.

A few minutes passed, and his head was lifted up onto somebody’s lap. He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of the girl whom Kearney had referred to as Caoimhe. She was crying.

"Look at what you’ve done to him, Kearney!" she cried. "He didn’t do anything wrong!"

"Duke Javier wants him killed," spat the king. "I don’t care whether or not he did anything wrong. I’m not foolish enough to make an enemy of Hyrule. And don’t refer to me as ‘Kearney’. It’s ‘my liege’ or ‘Your Majesty’. You are no longer royalty." He turned to leave. "And you have my permission to stay until I decide whether or not I forgive you for my sister’s death, Circe."

Then he was gone, followed by his lackeys. Link let his eyes droop closed. He felt one of Caoimhe’s tears splash onto his cheek, mingling with his sweat and blood. Her hands were gently stroking his hair, and it was somehow soothing.

"Why are you helping me?" he whispered.

"Because this is not fair," said the young woman. "I don’t understand why he is going this."

"Nevermind that," said Circe brusquely. "I’ve always thought Kearney was a blundering fool, and this only adds to the large pile of proof to back my conviction. Just look at this mess! I’ll try to take away the pain, lad, but I can’t guarantee anything. A great deal of damage has been done to your upper torso. I’m going to try to snap your arms back in place. Caoimhe, girl, put that piece of leather between his teeth, and hold his head steady."

Caoimhe did as she was told. Circe rolled up the sleeves of her tunic and leaned over Link, gently holding his shoulder with one hand, and his arm with the other. She smelled faintly of herbs that were familiar to him, but he could not put his finger exactly on what it was. He bit down hard on the piece of leather between his teeth, bracing himself for more pain.

The witch successfully snapped both limbs back in place, and while Link swore internally, it did not hurt as much as the initial dislocation. When she was done, he lay panting in Caoimhe’s lap. She was dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth.

"Is that better?" asked Circe.

Link nodded. "Yes… thank you…"

"Good," the witch smiled. "And now to deal with this wound in your shoulder." She tapped on the hole in his upper chest. "This is absolutely disgusting. I would die if I had this festering thing in me. I’m going to sew it up, although I doubt that Kearney will leave you alone long enough for it to heal. That man is such a fool."

"You will be killed if you continue to talk about him that way," Link said quietly.

"That’s why I never liked this country," Circe said, shaking her head. "You can’t speak the truth without getting your head lopped off. Anyway, you’ll have to bite down on this leather again, unless you enjoy the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly by a needle."

She spent five minutes sewing him up, keeping his distracted with talk of how foolish the king could be. Link would have commented himself had he not been busy with the leather.

"And what about you?" Circe asked. "Perhaps it’s wrong of my to delve into your personal affairs, but I’m curious as to why you’re here. Caoimhe told me you were Hylian, but I didn’t believe her at first."

Link sighed. "I was sent here as a spy by Queen Zelda herself. She said something about the Kegan government planning to attack Hyrule. I came here only because I lived to serve her, but I personally didn’t think the Kegans were capable of waging war, what with their economy. And then… this happened…"

Circe nodded. "Were you in the army?"

"I was a lieutenant," Link answered. "But I won’t be returning to Hyrule if I manage to get out of here."

"Because Zelda betrayed you?" Circe prompted.

"Yes…"

"We don’t know the whole story," the witch cautioned. "We can’t be jumping to conclusions until we hear her side of the story. I hear she’s marrying Duke Javier of Tenethan in three and a half weeks."

Link said nothing. He didn’t want to think about Zelda. It hurt too much, even more than the physical pain he had been put through. But he couldn’t believe that she had betrayed him on her own. Somebody had to have manipulated her. When – or if – he ever escaped, he would kill whoever it was who could have done such a thing. And he already had a good idea of who had done it.

Duke Javier of Tenethan.

Author’s Notes: … Hmm… It’s really hard to find torture methods that don’t involve shoving large objects up Link’s arse. Because the pear would probably kill him, and I don’t really like the thought of putting Link’s arse on the cradle. And the Iron Maiden is nasty. Anybody know any good non-killing-but-painful torture methods?