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blackmuirreigncontinuation · 7 months

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The Blackmuir Reign: Chapter 24

CW: Interrogation, bad caretaking, injuries made in interrogation, execution mention, extortion

Due to the tireless work of the knights and indentured servants of the lords, Therrin, and a few carefully-select nobles were safely able to move back into their castle rooms, and out of the grassy tents.

Despite this, Therrin had found no sleep that night, nor had Saxon, who had been sitting in a guest room with a guard stationed outside. It was funny, in a humorless sort of way, that the countless nights Therrin had slept in Saxon’s bed, the nights he put all of his love and trust into the man, had now transitioned to Therrin not even being able to reciprocate the favor.

He had the power now, more power, than even the Osier family had over him. He held the crown, not some royal title and shipyard, but everything. He felt the flames of power once more rise up, but the water of his own irresponsibility dulled them.

He had lost Matteo.

He had the key of peace between his captors, and his crown. And he lost it.

More than that, he had Matteo. The boy whom he once hated, and yet now would do anything to protect. And he lost him.

The feeling in his belly shifted, twisting to an undistinguishable rage.

He would find whoever took Matteo, and he would make them suffer. The noose would be too good for them. His nails had bent, nearly ripping the fluffing of his bedsheets. Fuck, he needed to talk to the girl.

He looked to his window passingly, only to notice the pink and orange image. It was dawn Had he really been up all night? He shut his eyes and rubbed hard at his face. He could not sleep now.

Therein hastily got up, walking through his bed chambers, and down the hall to where he saw his guard stationed outside the guest door. He bowed to him, and Therrin nodded back, tersely. A small smile coiled into his lip. He would never get used to the power of it all.

He raised his fist to knock upon the door, attempting to soothe his nerves as he did so. He knocked.

Apparently Saxon had also gotten no sleep. From all of their friendship, their closeness, their intimacy, Therrin had found himself knowing the many faces of Saxon Osier. Including when he had been up all night, worrying. That happened some, back at Castle Osier, when they’d drink their fill of strongwine, and a rather loose-lipped, Saxon would whisper his concerns of taking over after his father passes. His concerns about being a good lord, and good spokesman for his lands.

Therrin often thought of those talks years thereafter, as he lay in his royal bed, next to his crown, and his hostage-guest Matteo Osier. His brother.

Saxon bowed to him, and Therrin, briefly, frowned in distaste. “Come, Lord Osier, we have matters to discuss.” Therein sighed as he led the man down several corridors, into an area they could have some privacy.

A strange quiet followed, for a moment, as they entered the room. It was not uncomfortable, despite Therrin imagining that it would be so whenever his thoughts grazed on Saxon the previous weeks.

After a pause, Saxon managed to break the silence. “We must talk to the girl again. She is our only lead, our only hope of finding Matteo.” Therrin could only nod in response, licking his lips as unease settled in his belly. “But…” Saxon continued, with careful control, and Therrin was once again reminded of their past, and the pain of the present. Despite how close they were, there was no mistaking that he was king, and Saxon was a mere lord.

The way Saxon was dictating his words with such grace was reminiscent of when Therrien had just taken the crown, and lords from all corners of his lands had come to show their respects, showering him with shaky good graces, and submissive bows. Nevertheless, Saxon continued.

“I believe it would be a wise endeavor to approach her differently. You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. What do you suppose I come in initially, bargain with her? Whilst you wait out of sight? I know, as do many others, that you are a good man, but when people see strangers, especially strangers in power, they don’t hope for the best. They prepare for the worst. Perhaps if it’s me, alone, who speaks to her, she will be more forthcoming?” Saxon proposed, once again, trying to keep the imploring notes out of his tone. Therrin had all the power.

Despite his anxieties, Therrin nodded, letting out a shaky breath as he did so. “Yes, yes I think that may be a wise decision.” With that, he let out a small side-smile. Warmth spread into Saxon’s heart, at that. Despite all that happened, despite all they had been through, something about Therrin’s demeanor told him that he was still the boy he loved. The same ward from the north, always smiling. The feeling sunk once he remembered their situation, and his heart, once so warm, had panged at the loss of his brother. Despite him hearing the news a year ago, the pain of his alleged death was still fresh.

With that settled, Therrin led him down several sets of stairs, and across the courtyard- where workers were still trying to repair the damage of the siege- until they had finally reached the dungeon. The prisoner had been moved here, once it was confirmed secure, to ensure she had no chance of escape. As they descended the final steps, they heard a soft wailing.

Therrin decided to place her, temporarily, in the rotting cell in which he found Matteo.

It was a long walk to the end of the dungeon, but with the urgency in their quickened paces, they were there in record time. Therein held back, so as not to be seen.

The girl sat, huddled, and crying as she held her hands outfront. From this angle, Saxon could see that her fingers were misshapen, curling out like the twisted reigns of a spooked horse. Therrin had broken three of them, on their last visit. He cleared his throat and kneeled so that he was at eye level with the girl.

“I can wrap those for you, if you’d like.” The girl didn’t respond besides continuing her sobs. Saxon breathed out sharply. He wanted to throttle her, to shake her back and forth until she relinquished where Matteo was to be found. But he could not do that. He had to keep a clear head. He had to show the girl that they could help each other, and remaining tight-lipped would only cause her more pain.

Saxon thought the girl would continue to sob nonsensically, until she slowly looked up, a sharp reproach in her eyes. “Truly?”

Saxon felt his eye twitch. Even if his offer was disingenuous, he would still be well within his rights. This woman knew where his brother was. True, the girl sat here cradling broken digits, but who knows what hell Matteo could be facing this very minute? He swallowed down his contempt and anger. “As long as you help me, that is.”

The girl frowned, glancing from side to side; as if she was scared the very walls would grow teeth and eat her where she sat. “I can’t.” She whispered, and Saxon was shocked by the anguish in her soft voice.

“Why?” Saxon pressed. “You must tell me. What good does it do to sit here in a prison cell, wasting away? Tell me what you are afraid of, and perhaps the King will have mercy on you. Do you truly want to continue to face His Majesty’s ire?” Saxon continued on, darting his chin down to ensure he looked into her eyes.

She cried harder.

“Please understand… They will kill them. The usurper king can not help me, the only ones who can help me now are God and those who have my siblings. I can not gamble their lives, I refuse to do so. If that means that the hangman’s rope is my fate for my disrespect, then so be it.” She grit her teeth, practically snarling at the Osier lord.

So this woman knew what it was like, after all. Saxon’s heart panged at their shared misery for their family. Saxon waited a moment, pondering.

“And what if I brought you their heads? These beasts who have your siblings? I understand what it is like to lose a sibling, it is not an easy feat.” Saxon said, trying to not make it sound as if his voice was pleading.

The woman only scoffed. “You, one man? Lord or not, those men will eat you alive. You haven’t the men or recourses to seek these wretched men, though I appreciate the confidence.” She smiled sourly. Saxon opened his mouth to respond.

“He might not, but the King has plenty of resources and more.” A deep voice said. Therein stepped out from the empty cell nearby, and into clear view of the prisoner.

The woman drew in a harsh breath, and skittered back as far as the chained restraints would let her. Therrin internally smirked, feeling once again the mixing of his own power, like a warm meal on a cold, snowy night. His crown’s ruby reflection glinted off the metal bars. He squatted down.

“Do I have your word, if I find these men, and ensure that your siblings are safe, you will tell me what you know of the whereabouts of Matteo Osier?” He asked, huskily.

“Yes.” She managed to stammer out. “Yes, I swear it.”

“Good, otherwise, your fate will be the executioner’s blade. I do not tolerate liars, especially not to my face.” He let the threat settle for a moment before continuing. “Now, who is it that I am supposed to seek?”

“Vicor and Tam Farry. They are brothers, and the wickedest of the sort. You will find them at the edge of Brentwood, fifty yards before Farrow Lake. they have a small settlement there. They are well armed, with ten men armed with dead soldier’s weapons.” She rushed, spittle flying from her mouth at the speed that she talked.

“Good.” Therein looked deep into her eyes. “If I find out you have been lying to me, your fingers will be the least of your worries.” With that, the childhood friends left the dungeons. By the first set of doors, he grabbed the attention of one of his guards. “Find a healer, make sure the furthest prisoner is looked over. Instruct them to wrap her fingers, but don’t unleash her manacles.” The guard nodded, running to follow his order.

Saxon didn’t know how to feel, seeing Therrin’s power. He was used to being the powerful one, the one who wasn’t a prisoner ward. Nausea rose in his stomach, despite his best efforts to avoid the feeling.

Therein stopped another guard, one that had followed him from a week before his siege. “Ratfort, I need you to rally Rosen, Lark, Brently, Yen, Agosti, Phillips, Clarkson, Drewe, Grigiry, and Vat, quickly now.” He repeated the instructions on how to find Vicor and Tam Farry, and instructed him to bring him back in bondage so that the king himself may question them. These were some of his most trusted nights, behind Rudy. He knew he could put his faith in them, for their unwavering trust was nearly unparalleled.

Therein found his thoughts once again drifting towards Matteo. If he was still alive, he had hoped that he was, at the very least, not being injured too badly. A southerly brat who was percieved to have been dead for the past 2 years was sure to grab all the wrong kinds of attention.

He felt anger rise within himself. He unconsciously bit his lip in an exposed snarl. He felt a tentative hand wrap around his forearm, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned, knowing already who it was before his eyes laid upon him.

Therrin knew everything about Saxon. He knew what his skin felt like, and that he had a mole on his right wrist. He used to tease him about it in the fields, when they would spar, hidden away from the Osier guards. He looked at it now, before glancing to meet his dark eyes.

Saxon seemed to not know what to say for a moment, before his expression steeled and he breathed out a quiet “We’ll find him”.

It was odd. In the short time that they had been reunited with each other, their moments would shift between a hesitant noble speaking to his king, and two lifelong confidants, who had once shared their deepest secrets- and their sheets.

They were approached by none other than Drewe and Grigiry, running towards them. They had bowed slightly to their king, but it was a bit hard to decipher based on the speed of their lungs, their army bobbing.

“Your Grace, urgent news!” They genuflected hurriedly, waving around a letter frantically.

Therrin took the paper, sharing a look with Saxon, disheartened when he could no longer impeccably read it, as he could in the days of their youth, under the juniper trees.

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blackmuirreigncontinuation · 1 year

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The Blackmuir Reign: Chapter 23

Authors Note: Hey guys so I'm adding chapters to this story but the original 22 chapters were done by @deluxewhump so make sure to check those out for context!! I'm kind of new at writing so please be kind :)

Matteo tilted his head against his prison cell's cold and unyielding wall. While it was comfortable enough, not nearly as bad as the brig would be, it still made his stomach churn. Issy kept him close, near his own chambers, as the brig would be accessible to any half-drunken scum who decided the Osier ward needed more vengeance or even an unwelcome nightly visitor. Matteo shivered once again, despite the low-funded sheepskin blanket covering himself.

He could feel the harsh lash of the waves on top of the barnacle-infested ship that he was captive on. It’s pattern was firm and relentless, just as the beating was that he received from the ship’s own crew. His mind wandered to Henry as he thought of the ghosting welts, added on top of his former lover’s. His skin bristled and prickled at the thought. He could not let his mind wander to that crown-bearer without letting Therrin into his mind.

Therrin, who was in the perfect position to rectify Matteo’s old behavior, with a switch in one hand, and the key to his cell in the other. Therrin, who by all rights, could have taken his revenge for the 10 years of hell that Matteo had put him through. Therrin, who did no such thing. Therrin, who fed him, gave him actual clothes rather than the rags he was accustomed to, and he who comforted him when Henry once again rose to attack, in his deepest and darkest dreams. Therrin was kind, despite everything. Matteo felt tears prickle in his eyes, but he paid them no mind. After all the tears he had shed in the last 3 years, a few more would do no harm.

A part of him still believed it was all a trick, just as Henry had done to him. One day, when Therrin had all of his trust and love, he would open his eyes just to be back among the rats along the rack, deep down where no one ever heard his screams. However, once he looked into the new king’s eyes, he knew that would not happen. He looked at people with kindness, not like things only alive to do with as he wished, as Henry had. Perhaps, the fact that he was not raised as some royal heir, who could have anything he wished at the snap of a finger, had helped with that. His humility. Or at least Matteo liked to think so, at the very least. In the deepest depths of his own mind, he knew he longed to be needed. To not be just some secondary noble son. He hoped that, despite his past childish actions, Therrin could save him once again, and perhaps continue his merciful behavior. The tear fell.

Just then, he heard the steady pattern of footsteps, coming up to his holding chamber. The well-used knob turned, without the warning of a knock, and Issy welcomed himself inside. After 3 years away, it was jarring to see a man with the same features of his homeland, even after seeing him several times already. In his hands, he held a rusted pewter cup, filled halfway with ale, accompanied by a plate of rationed down food. A single slice of salted pork, attended by a handful of dried grapes. The pirate set the plate down beside him, and Matteo couldn’t help but flinch at the sound.

Issy made a sound that reminded him of a scoff mixed with a laugh, teeth freshly stained from bitegrass. “Easy now. It wouldn’t do any good to damage my chances of a healthy randsome, now would it?” At the less-than-enthused face that Matteo made in response, Issy simply rolled his eyes. “Eat up. After supper, you will help send word to Blackmuir forces to ensure we reach a breakthrough. I’ll keep my head and recieve my fair sum, and you will return to your beloved ward. Everybody wins, as much as they can, in this world, anyhow.” Matteo felt bile rise in his throat in anticipation and anxiety, but forced himself to swallow it.

—

The two had sat down, once again, at Issy’s writing desk. The pirate knew plenty of his letters, but his penmanship was sloppy at best. His hand quivered when he wrote, too much bad memories from his old employer. Not that he would tell the Osier welp that, of course. But even so, he could not write this letter. It had to be Matteo.

Frankly, Issy, as well as his men, needed money. They had been able to skate by well enough, but a noble ransom was a godsend, and not an opportunity he planned to waste.

So, Issy had instructed Matteo to write what he wants the king to know, but to not be too forthcoming, as if he put Issy or any of his crewman in danger, he would get yet another kiss of the whip, a replay of what had happened a few nights before. Matteo, upon hearing this, tensed and nodded, as pale as the ghost of his dead captain.

Matteo fingered the rusted quill, trying to quell his shaky nerves. If he looked close enough, he swore he could see a name engraved on it, in navy print. He shuddered as he realized it must have belonged to the captain whom the crew had dispatched, and tried to turn his attention back to the prompt at hand.

He could not be too intimate in this letter, the pirate, as well as other middle-men, could surely read it. He could not pour out the deepest thanks that were prevalent in his heart for Therrin’s mercy.

King Blackmuir, he wrote, This is Matteo Osier. I am currently being held for a captor’s sum aboard a pirate ship. They want no bloodshed, but only a fair trade. Myself, alive, for-”

Matteo stopped himself. He must get the logistics squared away before completing his letter. He looked up to his captor. “How much do you want? Where would you like to meet?” He asked softly.

Issy simply scoffed. “How much do you think your worth? The second son of a minor southerly noble? Like the runt of the pig litter being sold for an ounce of pork.” He laughed to himself, as if he was the funniest man in all the world, and Matteo could once again see his black and vile teeth, before settling. “Gold. I want half a pound of it.”

“Gold? You think the king will give you half a pound’s worth of gold?” Matteo was incredulous. Once again, he felt his hatred rise for the greedy little bastards who called themselves pirates. Issy frowned.

“He’d Better, if he ever wants to see the ward from his schooldays again.” Issy’s eye twitched, and he got up quickly. He only walked across the room to grab a pewter cup of ale, but Matteo’s heart still skipped a beat at the movement. “Tell him to meet me at the shipyard that lies just north of Silshead.” Issy continued, “Warn him that I will be well-manned, and if he tries to hang me or any of my crew, he will never see you again.” His eyes were like wood, harsh and scaly. Matteo returned to his letter.

We are to meet at the shipyard near Silshead. He wishes half-a-pound’s worth of gold for my safe return. He has more than a full crew, and strongly advises a fair trade takes place.

I hope this letter find you well.

Matteo hopes the silent “please rescue me” can be read from beyond the paper, but after so many years with Henry, he knows never to get his hopes up.

With that, the letter was signed.

The following morning, Matteo awoke to find themselves docked, and could see out of a porthole that the letter was given to a messenger, whilst some of the pirates treated themselves to the brothel nearby.

Matteo curled up in his hard bed, and let more tears fall.

#blackmuir reign #medieval #medieval whump #pirates #pirate whump #prisoner whump #captivity whump #power dynamics #power imbalance #royal whump #whumper turned whumpee #pirate captor

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