First a cracked window, then many splintered pieces of what had recently been a fine and heavy wooden chair, and now a small pile of shattered dining ware joined together in a heaped graveyard of destruction. Every small item that Niklas could get his hands on would be first beaten and bent terribly out of shape, before being jammed beneath the sill of the window, or into the lock of the large door, and then torqued with all of the strength that the little man could muster, until they had finally broken too much for even this final use. As he wrenched his salad fork free from the lock on his door lock and took in its thoroughly broken and mangled flanges, Niklas grunted in exasperation and slumped back to his seat on the floor.

“Excuse me, sir?” Came a muffled voice from behind the heavy door, causing him to jump. “If you push your dishes and your tray beneath the gap of the door, I could take them from you.”

It was the young, weak voice of a shy and awkward teenager–likely that of the lad who had brought the imprisoned Count his food hours ago while accompanied by those two brutish guards. Niklas took his tray and arranged it with the plates and bowls it had come with–minus the tableware which he had just destroyed–and slid them out beneath the gap at the bottom of the door. However, as he felt the grip of the other lad fall upon it on the other side, however, on his own side Niklas held onto the thing tightly!

“Do you know who I am?” He demanded of the servant, whose breath caught in his throat loudly enough to be audible through the door.

“You-you are the Count, my Lord! The Count of Petrice!” Was stammered out in response.

“Are you aware of the severity of the punishment that comes with knowingly holding a Noble against his will?”

The lad did not respond to that, so after a moment of silence, Niklas continued. “It's the gallows, lad! You’re all going to swing for this offense–unless you let me out of this room right now!” But despite his best efforts, his voice sounded more pleading and desperate than threatening and authoritative.

Suddenly, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength of his own, the lad wrenched the tray free of his grip! He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he left, but then he broke out into hurried footsteps that grew fainter as he took off running back down the hallway, leaving Niklas alone once again. The dejected prisoner sighed at this development and fell back to his previous position on the floor once again, cursing internally as he turned his current predicament over in his mind.

Damn it all! I must find a way to get out of this room before that miserable excuse for a Lord does too much damage..!

He scratched the back of his head in frustration. Then a small intrusive thought entered into his mind, one he usually did his best to suppress, but couldn’t now due to the boredom and anxiety of his current situation.

I wonder what Uldred is doing right now...

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Lady Merida still looked about at the halls of Castle Petrice with no small amount of awe. Though it had been decades since she had last visited, some part of her had been sure it would still be the same dusty, shadowy place that it had remained throughout her upbringing there. For her to see a flame dancing upon every candle they passed, which all together illuminated a spotless and gleaming interior, gilded with colors she had never been aware were present under years worth of of grime…, Why, the scale of the transformation brought even this notoriously cold and strict Lady-Mayor to a momentary state of breathless wonder! She did recover herself quickly, however: partly in order to maintain her composure as any Noble should strive to do, but also because she did not want to give the old Butler any further satisfaction. The man in question was currently staring up at her and mischievously wiggling his large eyebrows, so she was admittedly not off to the strongest start.

Some fifty paces down the hall Belfort stopped before another pair of large wooden doors. They were not as big as the ones which led inside from the courtyard, but were still sizable enough to be somewhat imposing.

“Here is the Office of the Countess. She is currently–excuse me. She is currently within, attending to her work…” Merida and Gregory exchanged a concerned look, as the Butler seemed to become a bit choked up at that comment. He cleared his throat before he continued “...I shall show you to your guest rooms now, and after you’ve settled in you may find the Countess here at your leisure.”

The trio then made their way into the ballroom and up the long central stairs to the second level, turning to the right and heading down the first of two corridors. Ser Gregory maintained his concerned and quizzical look the entire way, though now it was mostly centered upon his charge. Lady Merida swayed unsteadily the further they walked, growing uncharacteristically weak with every section of the Castle which they passed through, often letting out small, poorly-suppressed gasps as well. He had never seen her act this way before, and he soon found himself hovering one large hand in the air just behind her back, ready to catch her if she fainted, which seemed increasingly likely!

Lady Merida, on the other hand, was stuck in a perpetual state of awe, to the point where she felt like she may have been transported to another world entirely! Every part of the once-gloomy Castle had been dusted, cleaned and polished to a shine. Those dreaded halls which still featured within her nightmares had suddenly become grand enough that they rivaled the opulence of the manor of the Duke of Lionel, the finest place she had ever laid eyes on… at least, until now. As they made their way down that second-floor hall she was met with the familiar and unsettling scrutiny of dozens of her ancestors and relatives who had long-since passed, who lined this hall in the form of dour and stoic portraits; no amount of cleaning could ever make them pleasant to behold. She stubbornly righted her posture and stuck out her jaw as she passed between them, as if attempting to scoff at those leering paintings which had troubled her so during her childhood.

Finally, butler and guests alike arrived at the doors to the guest room where the pair would be staying. Belfort held open the door and stepped to one side politely so that they might enter first, and as she stepped inside the room Lady Merida could not help but let her jaw fall open! For like the rest of the Castle, the space was spotlessly clean, the beds were freshly made and their linens appeared comfortably plush, and the usually sparse and barren interior was now artfully filled with fine furniture and elegant decorations!

Merida could do nothing but stumble back weakly into the waiting and massive arms of Ser Gregory, who easily held her upright. He looked back over his shoulder to speak to the aged Butler who was now setting their luggage upon one of the beds with the utmost care.

“I think we shall need to take a few moments of rest. The Lady is… tired from the road, I think.”

Belfort replied only with a bowing nod, dexterously backing through the open door before finally shutting it behind him. But as just as the door was drawing to a close, through the small remaining sliver of space he met Merida’s eyes, and he could not help but show her his widest, most irritatingly satisfied grin before the door clicked shut at last.

For some indiscernible reason this exchange left Lady Merida feeling a looming feeling of utter defeat as she hung limply in the arms of her massive Knight and she hurriedly pushed away from him and placed her hands upon the wall to steady herself instead.

“My Lady..?” Asked the confused and worried Ser Gregory.

She sighed heavily in reply. “It’s nothing, Gregory... It’s nothing.”

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The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

After a few long, dull hours of waiting, another meal arrived at Niklas’ door. The guards were much more prepared now than they had been for their first attempt, and had readied countermeasures against him. As the young servant lad opened the door just enough to place the tray onto the floor inside, at his back the guardsmen raised the heads of two spears, so that if Niklas had thought to charge them again he would have found himself pierced through. The three of them eyed him warily for the entire event, but Niklas made no move from where he sat upon his opulent bed. He now had a much better idea of where his true opportunity for escape lay, and it was not yet at hand. However, throughout the delivery of the food, his keen gaze followed the form of that young servant who carried it. Though he could not make out the lad’s eyes beneath his long and bushy fringe, Niklas could tell the unrelenting scrutiny left him quite unsettled.

The door then slammed shut once again, and only then did Niklas make his way over to collect that silver tray and its contents. Once again, it was laden with a veritable private feast compared to the Count’s usual fare: mouthwatering thick-sliced fried bacon, honey-glazed and roasted root vegetables, a buttered load of freshly baked herbed bread, a cup of hearty and steaming stew, a colorful dressed salad, and a large fruit tart for dessert. Topping it all off was a tall, empty glass and a bottle of expensive wine.

I wonder if he is forcing such pleasant meals upon me as part of some nefarious scheme... Or, perhaps, there is simply no quality of food inferior to this stocked within the Castle?

No matter Lord Borney’s intentions, Niklas was quite sure that the tray and all its contents were bought off of the backs of those peasants whom the Mayor’s men extorted daily Indeed, he knew for a fact that many of these foodstuffs must have been imported at great expense, since they could not be found for purchase within the County. Nonetheless, if Niklas wanted to conserve his strength to escape this gilded cage and begin cleaning up Coronton, he would have to eat.

I swear I will make it up to you all! You will have your recompense, every last one of you! He silently promised, his heart going heavy with guilt even as he took a bite so juicy and succulent it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

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After a couple of hours had gone by it was beginning to grow dark once again. Niklas had long since finished his torturously delicious meal, and was now idly sipping upon his third-or-so glass of wine.

Another full set of tableware lay strewn chaotically about the room now, more casualties of this conflict between the Mayor and the Count. The once-pristine utensils were now mangled and bent at terrible angles from Niklas’ continued and futile attempts at using them as tools of escape. Perhaps if Niklas had any previous experience with the picking of locks, or other such slight-of-hand tricks, he would already have long since freed himself, but instead all he could manage was to send another pair of silver forks to the refuse pile. He had a little more success with using the butterknife: by striking its dull tip against the already cracked pane of the window, small chips of glass had flown away, and now a couple of small holes allowed a chill breeze to flow freely into the room. Unfortunately, one final hard strike had caused the blade to snap suddenly and clatter to the floor, leaving Niklas with only its wooden handle and the tang within.

I suppose the only real option is diplomacy, then. Thought Niklas, resigning himself to his secondary plan while taking another sip of the wine. No sooner had he finished it than did the telling sounds of light, skittish footsteps pitter-patter up to the other side of the door.

“I-I shall take your tray and your dishes away, my Lord!” Came the familiar voice of that shy youth, muffled slightly by the door.

Niklas stumbled over to his side of the door, just across from where he heard the voice emerge, feeling wobbly and slightly flushed from the alcohol. Once again he slid the tray and the remaining empty, unmangled dishes beneath the crack of the door, and once again he waited until he felt the other young man’s hands grasp it before he tightened his grip to hold it in place!

“What is your name, lad?” He asked.

There came no immediate reply, but he felt the lad tug a few times upon the tray in an urgent attempt to free it. Niklas felt a small measure of gratitude then, that the person his captors had sent to wait on him was likely the only other person in the whole castle who was just as spindly and feeble as himself.

“Are you ignoring an order from your Count, lad..?” He asked after another moment of silence, attempting to imbue his voice with hint of authority.

“It… It’s Alvin, sir!” The lad finally stuttered in reply, his voice going a bit shrill with fright.

“Alvin, then.” Niklas said. “Alvin, do you have any family here in this Castle?”

Even through the thick wooden door of his cell, Niklas could make out the telltale sound of a nervous gulp.

“... The mayor, sir. He’s my Uncle.”

That information caused Niklas to cock one eyebrow. “Well! You’re the Mayor’s nephew! Tell me, son: do you like your Uncle?”

Another long, hesitant pause ensued, and Niklas could almost hear the gears of contemplation spinning in the young man’s head as he carefully considered his next words.

“...He feeds me, and puts a roof over my head, sir.”

“Well, that’s not what I asked.” Niklas tutted, harshly tugging the tray back out of the young man’s grasp. “I asked if you like the man!”

Beneath the door Niklas saw thin fingers wriggle desperately towards the tray, which nonetheless now lay just beyond their reach. “No, I d-don’t! H-he beats me terribly if I do not complete my tasks!” He cried out, more to vent out his distress, than to answer the question.

“Well!” Niklas exclaimed then, interrupting the lad’s loud, panicked breathing. “Have you ever considered, Alvin, how nice it would feel to stick it to that bastard? To get some revenge and free yourself from living beneath his thumb along with it?”

The wriggling fingers halted then and drew back from the crack under the door. “I… No I’ve never thought of that, my Lord. This castle is all I know, and if I went against my Uncle he’d just throw me out onto the street to starve!”

Hearing that, Niklas sighed heavily. “Listen, son. I told you before, that when this is through, everyone involved in this… scheme of your Uncle’s is likely going to hang.” He heard Alvin’s breath catch in his throat once again as he continued. “But you don’t have to, you hear me? I can speak to your innocence and save you from that grisly fate… But first, you’d have to save me from mine.”

No further motion could be seen or heard from behind the door. Alvin was likely knelt there, pale and frozen just out of sight, his anxious mind working furiously to decide what his best option would be. After a long, tense moment without any further action, Niklas pushed the tray slowly forward beneath the doorframe and clear to the other side. speaking more gently as he did.

“... Once this is over, you could come to stay at my Castle. I’ll give you food and a room, and if you lend me your service you’ll even get spending money! I doubt your bastard of an Uncle is paying you for your work.” Alvin only grunted then in confirmations.

Niklas was silent for a few moments longer, allowing his words time to sink in before he made his final plea to the lad. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “You save me lad, and I shall save you. Deal?”

Alvin did not reply this time either. Instead, the tray was yanked suddenly from Niklas’ fingertips, and he heard the young man clamber to his feet, and then his quiet footsteps pitter-patted back down the hall from whence he previously arrived.

Once again, Niklas fell back to rest on his arms, just as he had after their previous exchange, and he breathed out a guttural sound of pure frustration and exasperation.

Gods dammit! He cursed to himself.

But then… another pitter-patter!

The returning footsteps swiftly grew louder until they stopped just outside the door. And then Alvin’s muffled voice rang out between them, and while it still shook in his nervousness, bolstering it now was a spark of fiery determination.

“M-My Lord Count? I’ll do it!”