Mikal

The Western Kingdom - Vausterland

Darkness engulfed him like the Black Demon Sea. The clash of steel still rung within his ears. The stench of blood filled his nostrils and its taste was heavy and raw in his throat. His whole head throbbed with terrible pain, dreadfully intensified in the right half of his face. He heard distant voices. A man was speaking. Then a woman. And then a sudden light flashed into his closed eyes.

Thudding footsteps approached him. His heart hammered greatly but he remained still in his place. His body was too weak and drained to try moving anyway. He tried to open his eyes. He did not know why he found it so difficult to open his eyes! He hardly managed to open his left eye slightly, while his right one was tightly and stubbornly shut. He slowly raised a shaking hand towards his face. He could hear the clanking of metal as he moved his hand, and he realized that he was chained. Why am I chained! As his trembling fingers reached to his eye, they landed on hard thick bandages that were tightly wrapped around the right half of his face.

"Do not touch that if you want to heal quickly." A gentle voice spoke in a foreign accent. He looked up towards the speaker. He still could not see clearly, but he could make out the form of a woman with long black hair. He had never seen this woman before. She was a winged one, perhaps a healer.

"Where am I?" He whispered in a weak choking voice as he tried to scan his unfamiliar surroundings. It was not his room. It was small and dark and barren. He was not at home. As he moved his head to have a better look around him, it throbbed so dreadfully that he thought it would explode. He moaned and his hand reached for his aching head.

His heart stopped in horror as his fingers touched the sharp ends of unfamiliar cropped hair. He quickly snatched at his head and he found his hair ending abruptly before he had a chance to hold it between his fingers. He trembled as he realized that his once long glorious locks were no longer sliding leisurely in his palm, and ragged cries escaped him.

"I am sorry about this," the woman said gently. "You had a fever and you were dying, so we had to cut off your hair to cool you down."

It all came back to him suddenly. The last thing he remembered was that large ferocious warrior who was so determined to kill him, swinging his brutal blade right into his face. His heart sank and his hand involuntarily reached to his bandaged face once more.

"What happened... to my face?" Mikal asked in a shaking voice. The woman only lowered her head with a troubled expression in response. Fuck! What was that supposed to mean? Mikal's heart pounded hard and his hand clawed at the bandages.

"Please, stop touching that." The woman said as she hurried to stop him. She had barely touched his hand when he suddenly grabbed her by the neck, glaring at her in both dread and fury. She screamed. And the next moment the door opened, guards storming into the room.

Strong hands knocked him down in place, saving the terrified woman from his attack. He grunted in pain and squirmed uselessly as the guards shortened the chains around his hands, legs, and wings. His head throbbed harder and the room spun around him.

"I told you to call me right away when he wakes!" a man growled as he walked into the cell, just as the guards were done tightening the chains.

Mikal still very weak and dazed, turned slowly to a hazy vision of a large man with long dark hair. Vilfred? His eye widened hopefully as he thought he saw his big brother.

"But he just woke up now, my Lord," the woman responded timidly. Mikal tried to have a better look, but with only one eye and a terribly spinning head, it was impossible.

"Good! That's very good!" the man said, his voice quite deep and strong. Mikal's heart fell. No, that was not Vilfred.

Mikal did not notice when the man approached him, until he found the large wingless figure towering over him. He looked up, and he could vaguely see a familiar strong face with a sharp jawline, curtained by a mess of long black hair, and a pair of black eyes staring down at him. Mikal's heart sank. It was Tristan, his sinister lips curved into what Mikal could tell was an obvious smirk. But why was Tristan here? Have they lost the battle!

"I promised to grant you the honor of becoming King William's slave!" Tristan taunted. "Nice haircut by the way."

A sudden wave of dread washed over Mikal, and he did all he could not to break down. No, this can't be happening. His body shook and tears welled up in his eyes. Tears of fear and despair. He was scared. Very scared. And he realized how far he was from home. Sick, and weak, and chained. A prisoner in the hands of a dreadful enemy. An enemy who now stood leering down at him, apparently with intricate plans of revenge. Mikal's head reeled at the thought, and the next moment he fell back into dark oblivion.

He did not know how long it had been since the battle. Short flashes of foggy memories slipped in and out of his mind. He could see healers coming and going. He could hear himself crying in anguished pain as they cleaned and closed the deep cut in his face. He could feel the searing fever devouring his whole body, crushing his bones, and draining his mind. He could hear voices and whispers, but he could not make any comprehensible words. He could not even see who spoke. Or perhaps it was him who mumbled non-sense in his oblivious state.

He stirred as strong arms held him up. And next, a sweet moistness touched his lips. His eye opened slowly, and he found Tristan frowning down at him with a hint of concern while he held a cup of water towards his lips.

Water. Of all the luxuries and joys Mikal had ever experienced, this was the most precious moment in his life. Water. He drank thirstily out of the cup Tristan offered him. He had been mostly unconscious since he fell in battle, and he probably hadn't been drinking or eating properly all that time. That was when he realized that he was starving as well. Just as he thought of it, he found the healer approaching him with a gentle smile and a warm bowl of soup.

Tristan helped Mikal sit up properly before securing his chains even tighter. Mikal frowned. How was he supposed to eat now? But he found the healer reaching out with a spoon towards his lips and he realized that he was going to be fed like a child. He turned his face away, offended, despite his starving body that begged him to give up his pride for a moment.

"Please, you must eat," the healer said gently.

"Unchain me!" Mikal commanded, his voice hoarse from both lack of use and anger.

Suddenly, Tristan grabbed him by his short cropped hair and forced his face up to meet his glowering eyes.

"You are in no position to give commands here!" Tristan growled and Mikal flinched at this sudden outburst. "Let me make this clear, in case you still don't get it! You are a prisoner. You have no rights, and you definitely make no demands. Now eat your food willingly, unless you want it shoved down your throat!" Tristan released Mikal's hair and gestured to the healer to do her work.

"Make sure he's well fed," Tristan ordered as he walked to the door. "I want him sound and healthy before we get word from the North."

"What?" Mikal looked up behind Tristan in alarm. "What word from the North!"

"What did you think?" Tristan said as he stopped at the door, turning his head to look back at Mikal. "You are being held prisoner here in return for Grytia. We are sending out a message to Lord Bernard."

"Bernard?" Mikal blinked back, utterly disturbed by the fact that it seemed that Bernard was still alive.

"Yes. We are requesting a meeting to negotiate." Tristan smirked. "Let's see how much you're really worth!" And with that, he left the cell.

Shit.

So Bernard's forces had succeeded in taking Grytia, and now Tristan wanted Grytia back in return for Mikal's life.

Fuck.

He was fucked. He would never stand a chance. Because apparently Bernard was still alive. And Bernard had wanted Mikal dead in the first place.

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How do you feel about Mikal's situation? Do you think he can be saved?

What is your impression of Tristan?

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