They threw her in a hole in the ground.

In The Hall through a small doorway at the end of the corridor that held Roor's rooms, down some damp and narrow steps that twisted down into the earth that held a single wooden door at the end. Made of a heavy sturdy oak and covered in metal rivulets with a small metal grate at eye level, the base was mouldy and rotted, a testament to its lack of upkeep that spoke of its disuse. 

The two men heaved the door open with a scream of stressed wood in a warped frame and Roar steered her through it.

She stopped in the middle of a small, damp windowless room, the walls made of packed earth, the floor covered in wooden planks and new straw, placed, she assumed, before she came.

She turned and watched the two men struggle to close the huge door, and when it finally fell closed upon her she felt a chill seep into her bones. Roor stared at her through the grate, naked regret shining within his eyes, then he turned a key in a lock and walked away.

As soon as he left, Marcie began to panic. Her breathing hitched and she sucked in deep breaths to calm herself, her hands wringing. She began to pace around the tiny room. 

It was three strides wide and four long, her head skimmed the ceiling.

She kicked all the hay into a corner and marched from wall to wall. At least there did not seem to be any rats.

Her only light source was the faint light the came through the metal grate in the door, she drank in its weak sustenance gratefully, using it to calm herself.

Dara had perked up at her distress but now she quietly shut down her thoughts until he was a but a whisper on the edges of her mind and he would know nothing of her predicament and would not try anything untoward.

The light from her little grate slowly disappeared and she was left in a strange darkness that not even her enhanced eyes could penetrate.

With nothing better to do, she shuffled around, blindly piling all the straw into a makeshift bed. Then she curled up onto of it, pulled off her shirt and lay the thin material over her self and slept fitfully. Dreams of angry faces bearing down on her, watching her with undisguised rage and contempt.

She was jolted awake in the morning, by the scream of the door closing on her again. She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the grate, just in time to see Roors tiny son Armin scurry back up the stairs, she shouted to him but he did not respond. Too scared of The Witch she thought, her lip curling in anger. It was not so long ago that Armin would gaze at her unembarrassed on the rare occasions she would sing in the Tavern. She vaguely remembered him being born for Goddess sake!  Had sung at the party that had followed (Roor having two much older daughters and lost hope of having a son). She had watched Roor's face split into one of his rare smiles, heard his booming laugh as Armin made his first steps through the village square, had played with him any number of times around the lake, she had even danced with him  last Passing. Had she shown him any reason to be afraid of her then? She stamped her foot angrily in a childish manner then sighed aggrieved when she saw she had put her boot in a small bowl of porridge on a tray with a pitcher of water, a bread roll and some preserve. She slumped down on the floor, cleaned her boot with some hay, salvaged the porridge and ate it slowly and carefully, licking the bowl clean. She drank a little from the jug, just enough to sate her thirst but left the roll  and preserve and remaining water, unsure if she would get any more food. 

Her anger subsided after she had eaten and all she was left with was sadness. Or, more accurately, hollowness. Emptiness. She was aware she might feel better if she let Dara back into her thoughts, but she was afraid of what he might glean and, she had no doubt, that if he knew where she was currently, he would rip the ground apart to get her out and all would be lost.

She dozed on the straw, allowing her mind to wander, so that she might be walking through the ancient trees of the forest not a prisoner in a pit. She was jared from her illusion by her stomach rumbling and smeared the preserve onto the now stale roll, washing it down with a little water, then lay back down to dream away a few more hours.

The light was fading again when she heard feet on the steps. She leapt to her feet, brushing hay off her trousers quickly and peering through the grate to see who it was.

A pair of boots appeared, then trousers, then a narrow waist, followed by a loose fitting shirt open at the collar over wide shoulder where golden hair tumbled.

"Breen!" she gasped in delight,

Breen's eyes lit up when he saw her, then the glow faded as he remembered the situation. He hurried to the grate and Marcie reached her fingers through the mesh towards him. He closed his own around hers awkwardly through the barrier and she sighed in relief at the physical contact. He took in her dishevelled appearance with wide eyes,

"Oh Marcie" he breathed sadly,

"I am alright" she said, but her voice wobbled a little and she berated herself for her weakness, Breen noticed and his lip curled in anger, he glared back up the stairs,

"Goddess damned morons" he muttered, "Witchcraft! Who ever thought of this is..." he struggled to find the words, "...everyone curses the real Witch but still go to her for remedies, shes probably the reason most of the fools here are alive and yet when they get a whiff of magic from someone who done no harm..." he grew quiet, his forehead pressed to the grate, Marcie was just happy to see him and breathed in his familiar scent, a welcome reprieve from the damp mouldy stench of her cell.

She searched around for something to talk about, desperate to keep him with her,

"How are you here?" she asked, "The traders..."

"We saw em off as far as we could go but had no trouble, not even from wolves" he face clouded a little "But the men did nay wish to stay in the forest for very long, so we high tailed it back home as fast as we could, barely slept, kept constant watch" Marcie finally saw how tired he was, the dark circles under his eyes, how his cheekbones stood out more than usual, she felt sick that she had been too wrapped up in herself to see how much it hurt him to be here and not in bed resting. Breen continued "Got back at day break and heard from everyone that you been accused of being a witch and thrown in this...hole" he cast his hand around with a shudder,

"But it will all be for naught" he said sternly, "They are calling for witnesses and you know there are those who will vouch for your character, I will be among them, you will not burn"

Marcie went cold.

She thought of burning. A practice she had only heard of in books and stories told around camp fires. She shuddered,

"Would they-" she swallowed "-would they really burn me?" she said in a small voice,

"No!" Breen growled, then he slammed his fist on the door, causing Marcie to jump,

"No, i will not allow it" he held her gaze, "Do you hear me Marcie? I will not allow it"

Marcie felt the words like a weight upon her and she did not know whether to be happy or sad. She sighed, suddenly so weary she leaned against the door for support,

"Why do you care so Breen?" she asked softly, "You should not"

"Do not tell me what I should or should not do Marcie" he said sternly, then he sighed and said quietly,

"You are family, I would do this for any of my family"

Marcie absorbed his words, then cocked her head, "No you would not" she said,

Breen looked away, "No, i suppose not" he mumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair,

"I-" he cleared his throat, "Marcie, you-" he figited and went and sat on the bottom step, his arms wrapped around his knees, Marcie watched him take a deep breath and, without looking at her say,

"You are the only one who understands...what it is to be different" he ran his fingers through his hair again, "No one here knows what it is like, they do not accept me because in their hearts they know me to be abnormal, and...a part of me..." he slid his hand inside his shirt and rested it on his heart, "A part of me, wishes to be like them, that if only i did things differently" he grabbed the ends of his hair and stared at the golden locks, "If I just cut my hair..."

"They would not care" Marcie found herself saying, she tossed her own blonde hair over her shoulder and narrowed her green eyes, "They would still sense other and it is enough for them to sense it, and it colours their entire judgement of you" she rested her forehead on the grate and closed her eyes, "It might feel so easy" she whispered, "And yet it would make little difference" she opened her eyes and looked at Breen, he saw her,

"And so, if the result is the same, then do the thing that makes you happy, because after all, only you can"

Breen smiled sadly and yet a little of The Glow seemed to seep into his face,

"You are a good friend Marcie, my only friend"

"What about Justyna?" she asked, always curious about their peculiar relationship,

Breen shrugged, "She is an incredible woman" he smiled, "She made me an offer, as soon as I became of age and my...predilections... started to become gossip. No one would have her, too plain they said, too wrapped up in her herbs and experiments, so I said yes and my mother was overjoyed!" he grimaced,

They sat in silence for a while,

"She wants a baby" Breen said all of a sudden,

Marcie perked up, "Justyna?" she asked,

"Yeah"

Marcie thought that would be wonderful, but heard the uncertainty in Breens voice and wondered something,  "Can you...um..."

Breen shook his head sadly,

"I tried. On our wedding night, nothing worked" He hung his head, " She cut herself on her thumb and left a little blood on the sheets when mother came to inspect" he rubbed his head, 

"Well...does it have to be your baby?" Marcie asked,

"She says yes, she says she would never get away with taking another man to her bed even if any wanted her. And...she wants it to look like me."

Marcie sat down in her cell, she wanted to look at Breen but she was so tired she had to rest.

"Have you spoken to Dafne?"

"The Witch? No. We cant risk anyone knowing, it would get out"

Marcie laughed ruefully, "You clearly do not know Dafne very well if you believe her to be a gossip in any way" she chuckled, then she remembered a jab Dafne had thrown Breen's way once and her ability to know many secret things,

"In fact" she said unable to keep the smile out of her voice, "I believe she has been waiting for you to come to her with this exact problem for a long time"

Breen was quiet for a while, then Marcie heard him say, "Huh"

And she smiled properly, wondering if she would be seeing a tiny version of Breen soon, then she thought about how she might well be burned for being a Witch within the next few days and she sobered quickly.

They chatted away amicably for hours through the door until Marcie heard Breen stifle a yawn and remembered that he was running on very little sleep and the light had long since disappeared. After a little coaxing he agreed to rest but looked at her with so much regret she felt tears gather,

"The...trial-" he said as though the word tasted bad, "It will be held at midday tomorrow, try and...ready yourself"

Marcie nodded, then as he turned to leave she whispered "Thank you" and he was gone.