It was with a heavy heart and dampened spirit that Link carried in the jug of wine that evening. The dark hall was lit only by a candelabrum suspended high overhead. It shed a dully, eerie glow over those seated at the long, crude wooden table in the less-than-luxurious dining hall. The delegates themselves were upright people with grey beards, wearing grey robes. Their lack of imagination did nothing to brighten their surroundings.

Link knew he looked like a wreck, with the thick black stitches in his shoulder and the reddish-black scab on his forehead. Now he had a limp to add to the show, thanks to Kearney’s attack on him only hours before. His brown pants ended, frayed, mid-calf. Javier’s lackeys would no doubt be pleased with his appearance.

There were other servants stationed throughout the room, but he did not see Caoimhe or Circe. Even had they been there, they could have done nothing to help his situation, but he would have liked to see a friendly face nonetheless. He felt uncomfortable and clumsy in front of the Hylian strangers.

"Is this the whelp?" growled one of the representatives, looking him up and down. "He looks as strong as a bull."

"Yes…" Kearney agreed, cocking an eyebrow. "And he has the stamina to match."

The king’s eyes fell upon his face, but Link did not meet his gaze. He could still feel Kearney’s sweat on his skin, and barely managed to suppress a shudder at the memory.

"Then why did our lord send him here?" demanded the representative. "Why kill off such a strong, fine young man? And a lieutenant, no less?"

"I’ve no idea," Kearney answered. "Perhaps you should ask Javier yourself."

The emissary waved aside the comment. "We did not come here to discuss Javier’s legitimacy, my liege. We are here to discuss what will happen should you fail to execute the prisoner by the end of next week. The queen of Hyrule, Zelda, has decreed that Kega will be invaded if you do not meet the demands of her fiancé."

Link’s insides turned to jelly. So it was true after all. Zelda truly did mean to have him killed. It wasn’t all some big, cruel lie concocted by Kearney to torture him even more; it was a truth created by Zelda herself. But… why?

"Invaded?" Kearney repeated, black eyes glittering. "That is a rather harsh punishment, isn’t it?"

"Kega is one of Hyrule’s closest allies," spat the emissary. "Blatant disregard of Her Majesty Zelda’s wishes is treason. You will pay the price for such actions."

"Fear not," growled Kearney. "His body will be naught but ashes by the time Javier arrives here next week."

Link was silent, absorbed in his own thoughts of himself as a pile of soot. The mental image would have amused him had his circumstances not been so dire. He mostly marvelled at the fact that these men could speak so freely about his even fate though he was standing right there in front of them. It was as if he wasn’t even a person – and that hurt. He wondered how a body weighing roughly one hundred and seventy pounds could so easily be transformed into something so insubstantial by way of fire.

"Dog!" Kearney barked, addressing Link. "The wine, if you please."

He limped forward, daggers stabbing through his lower back, and prepared himself to pour the crimson liquid into the king’s glass. Kearney took hold of his wrist before he could actually tip the jug, causing him to drop it in surprise. It shattered to the floor, spraying wine everywhere and prompting everyone else in the room to jump. The eyes of all sitting at the table were locked on him.

Kearney picked up the steak knife from in front of him, turning Link’s arm so the soft flesh of its underside was exposed. The Hylian stared down at the king, blue eyes questioning.

"If you scream," Kearney growled, low enough so that only Link could hear, "I’ll have you tarred and feathered in the streets, do you understand?"

The tip bit into his flesh. Blood pooled up around the blade and began to run in rivulets down his arm, following the path Kearney was making with the knife. He bit his lip and watched the crimson liquid drip into the king’s glass. He didn’t glance up at the others in the room lest he lose his composure, but he wondered if they thought that Kearney’s treatment of him was in the least bit inhumane.

Kearney’s eyes burned into him, challenging him to make a noise of any kind. He kept his mouth shut, grinding his teeth to stop himself from whimpering. He had endured war injuries of the same kind, and was used to it. If the king though he would be unable to handle such torture, then he was wrong.

"My liege!" piped up one envoy. "Perhaps you should refrain from making such violent displays at the dinner table. If you must abuse him, please save it until he is back in the dungeons."

Kearney growled and plunged the knife into the tabletop. Link cradled his bleeding arm and watched in horror as the king took up the cup filled with his blood and raised it to his lips. The Hylian gripped the table with his good arm to stop himself from passing out as he observed his life dribbling from between the king’s lips. Nobody else looked perturbed, however, and he was forced to keep his composure without any outside help.

"You are dismissed," Kearney snapped, glaring up at him. "I will be down to see you later. I must deal with these simpletons first. Edan!"

The captain took Link by the upper arm and jerked him from the room. The two hurried down the stone passageways to the dungeon, one pulling, the other following. They did not stop until they reached Link’s cell, where Circe was standing, her basket of herbs and remedies on her arm.

"I suppose there’s more for me to fix now," said the old woman as she eyed Link’s arm. "I still can’t believe you would condone such actions, Edan. What happened to the little boy I knew? Why have you changed so?"

"You are the one who has changed, Circe," Edan growled. "This man is our enemy. We must do with him as Javier has asked, or it will mean the destruction of our country. I do not want to see that happen."

Circe raised an eyebrow. "Then why, pray, does Javier not dispose of this man himself? Why must he send the lad here to be executed?"

Edan was silent. Circe frowned at him momentarily, then turned her attention to Link, concerned over his newest wound. She took his arm, her grey eyes sweeping, calculating, over the laceration.

"Stitches," she sighed, shaking her head. "Run along now, Edan. I can’t work with you hovering over my shoulder, and I’ve no doubt that His Majesty has some other task for you to complete."

"Make sure he goes in the cell," Edan snapped, then stalked off.

Circe growled and led Link into the cell. He followed, not really caring anymore. He knew that escape was next to impossible. Kearney had doubled the guards after his last attempt to flee. But he didn’t understand why they just didn’t kill him, especially since their country was in trouble because he was still alive.

"Can you take the stitches like a man, or do you want me to knock you out?" Circe asked jokingly, knotting a piece of string on a needle.

Link didn’t answer. He merely extended his arm, face expressionless, waiting for the needle to pierce his skin. He heard the old woman sigh as she shifted closer, and a moment later, when the needle really did pierce him, he just cringed, as though it was nothing more than a mosquito bite.

"Lad, there’s something troubling you, and I can see it," she said, working diligently as she spoke. "It’s more than just this wound. Kearney took you away somewhere this afternoon, didn’t he?"

Link said nothing. The old woman didn’t need to know – she would never find out. He would refuse to open his mouth until Kearney killed him, and by then it would be too late for Circe to learn what had happened. He had never feared death before, and he still didn’t; in truth, he would not really mind dying, especially after what Kearney had done to him. It made him feel helpless, like a child lost out in a storm. He didn’t like it. It was unsettling.

"Link, lad, look at me," Circe said gently. She took his chin in her wrinkled hand and turned his head to face her. Her dark eyes were glimmering with something like – anger? Sympathy? He couldn’t tell. "Forgive me for being so blunt… But did Kearney have his way with you this afternoon?"

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t break eye contact, either. Circe must have taken his silence for an affirmative, for she sighed and finished up with the stitches, looking severely disheartened. She turned back to him once she was done putting her things away and held out her arms. He gave her a questioning glance.

"Come here, Link," she said quietly, wiggling her fingers for emphasis. "I won’t bite."

He reluctantly moved toward her, and once he had gotten close enough, she enfolded him into her arms. He froze for a moment, then settled into her motherly embrace, inhaling the comforting scent of tangy herbs and the smell he often associated with elderly women. He had never before been held by a mother, but Circe was so close to the real thing that he felt he was finally experiencing it at last. The events of the past week suddenly overwhelmed him, and he broke down. One tear slipped down his cheek, and he forced himself to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the rest.

"I feel so foul…" he whispered.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Circe answered, her breath tickling his scalp. "It wasn’t your fault. None of this is. Don’t you ever blame yourself for it, and don’t you ever believe that you deserved what happened. The ones who should be faulted are those who sent you here, and those who are carrying out the orders that were given to them. Don’t cry, lad. Circe is here for you."

He nodded and closed his eyes, feeling safe and comfortable for the first time in a week. Circe held on to him, and didn’t let go even when Caoimhe came in, wondering what was going on. She only let go when Edan returned several hours later to announce that Kearney wishes to see him once again.

Author’s Notes: Hmm… Oh, and "wtf, people??" whoever you are, in case you didn’t know, torture happened ALL the time in the Middle Ages. And it does play a the role of catalyst for future events in this fic. Thank you for exercising your ignorance, and good day. Okay, anyway, no more sex.