The darkness pressed in on him from all sides. He lay on the damp stone floor, too weak to move for the pain that seemed to throb through his entire being. Every bone in his body protested when he gave the slightest shiver. The nauseating stench of the herbs Circe had spread over the wound in his shoulder did nothing to aid his queasiness.

The door groaned as it swung open. Link didn’t look over. He could tell who was approaching him by the sound of shuffling, hesitant footsteps. A moment later, Caoimhe knelt by him with Circe’s basket in hand. She placed his head in her lap, as she had done on previous occasions when tending to his wounds. To him, it was a comforting gesture. She smelled of the plains in summertime. It reminded him of home. But was home now a place where he belonged?

"His Majesty wishes to see you this afternoon," she sighed as she inspected the stitches in his shoulder. "He is holding a banquet. I have no idea what for. Perhaps some important people from overseas have come to discuss matters of import and export. In other words, things I don’t understand."

"What do I have to do with it?" Link asked weakly.

Caoimhe shook her head. Tendrils of her dark, wavy hair caressed his cheekbone as she leaned over him. She had scooped out some of the reddish paste that Circe had used previously and began to rub it in over his stitches. He hissed at the burning sensation that it caused.

"I’m sorry," she said. "But it will help with the healing process, I promise."

"Why are you helping me?" he demanded abruptly. "You’re risking being punished by the king."

"I’m not helping you any more than I’m helping any of the other prisoners," she said. The evasive tone of her voice convinced Link that she wasn’t quite telling the truth. "This is my job. I do as the king asks, and I don’t talk out of line. It’s the only way to keep my neck out from under the executioner’s axe."

Link didn’t pursue the topic. To argue would only be a waste of the precious bit of strength he was fighting to keep in his grasp. He closed his eyes and let Caoimhe get on with her business. She worked diligently, her touch similar to the soft brush of a butterfly’s wing against one’s skin - ethereal but comforting. He remembered how he would sit in Hyrule field, more than a year ago, enjoying the feeling of velvety grass under his fingers as he waited for one of the winged beauties to land on the tip of his outstretched finger. It seemed like a dream to him now. Had it even happened at all? When he tried to envision his home, it was as if a grey storm cloud rolled in over his brain, blocking the memory from his mind’s eye.

"There you go," said Caoimhe soothingly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "I don’t know what else I can do for you. Edan… he should be here soon."

As if on cue, the door to the cell opened further. Link inclined his head to find Edan’s bulky mass filling the doorway. His body was void of the battle gear he usually wore, and he was instead dressed in what ressembled commoners’ clothing. The Hylian sighed and let his head fall back against Caoimhe’s lap.

"At least it’s not an execution," he murmured.

"You’ll be wishing for one before His Majesty is through with you," Edan growled. He strode forward and grabbed Link’s arm. "Get up, whelp! His Highness demands that you have an audience with him!"

"Edan!" Caoimhe exclaimed. "Can you not see that he’s injured? You must be gentle with him!"

"Silence!" Edan snarled. "You have no right to speak to me that way. You have other matters to attend to, haven’t you? Run along, then!"

Link saw tears well in Caoimhe’s big, brown eyes, but was in no position to try to comfort her. She ran past them, covering her face with her hand to prevent them from seeing her distress. He was forced to forget about her when Edan gave his arm a sharp yank, coercing him to follow. He was led up the dark hallways that he had become familiar with in his short stay in the dungeons.

Unexpectedly, he was not led to the throne room, where Kearney spent most of his time. He was instead taken up several flights of stairs to an intricately carven door of wood. He stared at it, wondering how the king could afford it when his country was in such a state of economic turmoil.

Edan reached up and knocked. After a few seconds, Link heard the king give permission to enter. The captain of the guard turned the doorknob and shoved the Hylian inside, then closed the door again behind them. The room was very dark. The heavy, velvety maroon curtains were drawn. The only light came from a kerosene lantern next to the extravagant bed, in which the king himself lay. The maroon covers were drawn up to Kearney’s bare chest.

"Leave us, Edan," he said brusquely. "Make sure the preparations for tonight are underway."

"Yes, sir!" said Edan.

He bowed himself out of the room, leaving Link alone with the king. He stared at around at the room. The walls, ceiling and floor were made entirely of a dark wood which he could not identify. They had all been varnished and polished, and as a result the entire place gleamed dully in the faint light. Eventually, his eyes came to rest on Kearney. His black beard had been trimmed down to a goatee, and though he looked younger, his eyes still had a ferocious glint in them.

"Come closer," he growled. "I can hardly see you."

Link swallowed hard. "Perhaps you should have some more light, then. If you opened the curtains-"

"Silence!" Kearney roared. "What gives you the right to speak to me that way? Come here right now, or the guards outside will have you torn to pieces."

Link had no choice to obey. He shuffled over to the bed. Kearney had sat up fully, and the blanket had pooled around his waist. His skin was very dark, but only as a result of long exposure to the sun. The rings around his fingers were no longer present. Link suspected he had taken them off for more comfort as he slept.

Once he reached Kearney’s side, the king reached up and grabbed the chain dangling from the manacle around his neck. Link, trembling with dread, raised a hand to strike Kearney lest he attempt something the Hylian would most definitely be unable to deal with. But before he could strike, Kearney reached up and grabbed his thinning wrist in one powerful hand.

"Ah ah," he murmured. "What did I tell you about being ripped to pieces…?"

With one merciless tug on the chain, Kearney had pulled Link’s head down enough to let their lips touch. Link whimpered and attempted to pull away, but Kearney’s hand on the back of his head was just too strong. The king’s lips were soft, though they were pressed hard against his, and he tasted the way Caoimhe smelled, but he was repulsed all the same. He was not specifically against kissing another man, but he was most certainly unhappy about kissing his torturer.

He tried again to pull away and, to his horror, Kearney bit down on his lower lip to keep him from escaping. He felt his blood gushing out over his chin. It splashed down on Kearney’s bare chest, like spilled wine, and perhaps that was what Kearney though it was, for he kissed Link’s with more vigour. He felt weak. The taste of his own blood and saliva was sickening.

"Don’t," he moaned once Kearney had released him. "I don’t want…"

"Silence," said Kearney forcefully, pressing a finger to his broken lips. "I will tell you of your assignment now. In one week, Javier of Tenethan will be here to make certain that you are dead. Today he has sent representatives to ensure that you are indeed in my possession. I want you to serve me my wine tonight at dinner. And you will be on your best behaviour, is that understood?"

"Don’t speak to me like I’m a child," Link spat.

"You’re right," Kearney murmured as he brushed a tendril of golden hair out of Link’s face. "You’re a man. At least, you look like one, despite the fact that you often act like a child. But no matter. I still want you, and you will be mine this afternoon. Now, don’t squirm! I won’t hurt you."

He flipped Link down to lie underneath him. The Hylian was trapped by the king’s greater weight, and was unable to squirm out from between his torturer and the velvety blanket on the bed. So instead, he just closed his eyes and tried to go numb as Kearney descended upon him.

Author’s Notes: o.O; Please don’t flame. I warned you! It’s the only incident of it’s kind in this story, so even if you skipped this, you can still read the chapters to follow.