This one is a piece that probably exists more in the middle of a story. However, what that bigger story is, I don't know yet, which is why none of the characters have any names. Still, I felt like I had some powerful scenes here.
She could hear the chaotic noises from beyond her cell door and knew exactly what it was. How humiliating, she thought as she pulled on the chains and manacles that bound her to the stone wall. Again, they did not budge.
She had only been there for two weeks, and already her strength was drained. She figured she could break these chains and escape on her own, but her captors chose not to underestimate her. They only fed her once a day to keep her strength down, and it was awful, bland porridge that had to be fed to her by a disgusting prison guard who talked to her like she was his pet. Perhaps there are downsides to having a reputation.
As the noises of violence grew closer, she yanked her chains again, which had now become a frustrated and useless gesture. She felt like a helpless animal, and it irritated her completely. Her! The Great Assassin of the Khazaldan! Weak! And in need of being rescued like a child! Her shame drove her to a blinding rage that only manifested in tears, and she could do nothing about them, despite knowing that crying would only make her look more pathetic.
A sudden, short gurgling sound stole her attention, and she saw a body fly past the tiny, barred window in the wooden door of her cell. Then she saw a face take a look through that window, one she almost recognized, but couldn’t tell right away, perhaps because of the tears still filling her sight. However, when she heard the person speak, she knew that it was exactly who she thought it was, and she clenched her teeth tighter in frustration.
“She’s here,” the deep voice rumbled. “I’ll take care of her. You go find the leader.” A few other voices indistinctly agreed. After the sound of some footsteps racing off, a moment of silence fell on the dungeon. Then, the cell door burst off of its hinges and landed in front of her, and in the ensuing dust cloud, a large figure stepped forward. Knowing who it was, she looked down at the stone floor, feeling defeated and ashamed.
“There you are,” the large figure said, walking into the room and over the fallen door, his heavy booted footsteps echoing throughout the cell. “Let’s get you down from there.” His voice was gruff, but kind, and not condescending.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted, pulling away from his outstretched hand. This only made him pause for a moment, though, before smiling and reaching up to one of the metal braces on the wall. With a grunt, he yanked the brace off, which lowered her enough to touch the floor with her feet. Then he walked over to her other side and pulled the other brace out, allowing him to pull the chain through her manacles. She emptily watched as the chain that had bound her moments ago move rapidly between her wrists until it disappeared. The large man tossed the whole line into the corner, making a racket and bringing her back to her senses.
“I didn’t need your help!” she shouted, wrapping her arms around herself, the manacles still on her wrists feeling cold against her skin.
“Uh-huh,” he responded, used to her protests. He stood by and watched as she took a few weak steps, and when her strength failed her and she started to fall, he stepped in and caught her, his large arm around her waist.
“Let me go!” she cried, trying to push him off, but he ignored her, instead picking up her weak frame and gently placing her over one of his shoulders.
“What are you doing? Put me down!” she protested, banging her fists on his head, but he could barely feel them.
“Nope,” he responded, and proceeded to carry her out of the cell.
“Stop! Put me down!” she continued, “I am the Great Assassin. I will not be rescued like some helpless princess!”
The man stooped low through the cell portal and into the hall outside her cell. A few guards lined the walls, dead from her rescuers’ attack. The man merely stepped over them and made his way up out of the castle’s dungeon.
“Stop this! Why won’t you listen to me?” she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes once again.
“Because your father ordered me to bring you straight to him. He’s outside the ramparts right now,” he answered calmly. This made her stop screaming, as the indignation was now too much to bear. My father!, she screamed inside her mind, biting her lip in shame.
Within minutes, the man’s large stride had taken them out of the dungeon, across the courtyard, and through the front gates. She could hear more chaos deep in the castle walls around her, but could tell that she was being taken away from it. She twisted her body around to see where he was carrying her, and saw several reinforcements lined up and ready to move, all carrying the flag of her father’s kingdom. The pair made their way around them and directly to a large tent in the kingdom’s colors where she assumed her father must be.
Once again, he stooped low to enter into the tent, facing a group of men standing in front of a table, discussing with each other. They stopped once they saw the two enter.
“Here she is,” the large man said, and he pulled her from off his shoulder, gently placing her on a pile of pillows gathered in one of the tent’s corners. One of the men from the group stepped forward, his eyes wet.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “You may now go join the rest of your team.”
“Yes, sir,” the large man responded, and started to head out.
“I don’t owe you anything!” she shouted at the large man, who stopped and turned to look at her.
“Of course,” he said, smiling. This only made her look away in a huff, choosing to not watch him leave the tent.
The man who had separated from the group then knelt down to get a closer look at her. “My daughter,” he said, smiling and crying at the same time. She refused to look at him, disgusted with his show of weakness. And she wasn’t the only one.
“My liege,” said one of the men at the table. “We’re all glad your princess is safe, but we need to get back to the task at hand. We’re wasting way too many resources here. We won’t-”
“I AM A FATHER BEFORE I AM A KING!” shouted her father, standing and raising a finger at the man who spoke. The silence that followed was heavy and thick. Then he spoke again, in a quieter, but no less menacing tone. “I haven’t seen my daughter for three years! I will have this moment! If this bothers you, then I suggest you leave. We’ll meet again in two hours.” He continued to stare them down, and eventually, they all set down their cups and pointers, and made their way out of the tent. Once they had all left, he finally turned back toward his daughter, who was still looking away, biting her lip and playing with the threads of one of the pillows.
“Are you okay?” he said gently, looking down at her.
“I’m fine,” she answered stiffly, pulling at another thread.
Her father sighed. He then saw the manacles still around her wrists. “I can at least get those off of you,” he said, walking to another corner of the tent and opening a chest. After rooting around for a minute, he found some lock-picks, then walked back over to his daughter and sat on the tent floor in front of her. However, before he could lean forward to help, she deftly took the picks from him.
“I’ll do it myself,” she insisted, defiant, but unable to hide the exhaustion in her voice.
The king just smiled, sighing again, as he watched his daughter easily unlock the metal bands and toss them aside. Despite having her strength drained by imprisonment, her dexterity was still incredible. She was still his daughter.
The two of them sat there in the tent for a moment, not saying anything. The sounds of battle hummed in the distance. An errant fly buzzed near the table. Her fingers picking at the pillow threads. All noises that distracted the king from deciding on what to say next to break the awkward, but not unexpected silence. When he finally felt he had the right thing to say, she cut him off.
“There’s nothing I want to hear from you,” she said curtly, still not looking at him.
“Honestly, can you really blame me for worrying?” he asked sardonically.
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