Pain of the Past (a Preminger fanfiction)

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Preminger had not slept. He had not eaten nor had he taken the time to rest since the riot in the square. When William went down, he felt survival instincts kick in, and though he'd hated himself for it, he ran. He'd heard that shot and felt his body seize up in such fear he had not known since he was a boy. When William fell, he had been sure that he was dead, and so he ducked and hid for cover.

Because the truth was, Preminger was not a fighter. He was not a solider or a leader or the man to save the day when the chips were down. What he was, was a survivor. And so he ran. And he'd hated himself every step of the way.

When he'd tucked himself away behind the cover of crates and snow, he could feel the guilt budding inside of his chest, only fully taking hold when the fighting had died down and the guards had lifted William from the ground. His body was limp and the white of the snow around him was discolored a vibrant red. He looked dead by all means, and Preminger felt bile burn at the back of his throat. But then a curious thing had happened; the guards had carried William away.

For a moment, Preminger sat quiet, feeling the cold wetness of the snow seep through his clothes and the sting of the winter wind against his face. The adrenaline coursing through his veins finally wore thin and, suddenly struck by the weight of what he'd just seen, he keeled over to vomit in the snow. The sound of the gunshot was still echoing in his ears along with the screams that had followed, the angry voices, the weeping in the streets. But they had carried the body away. William was still alive.

So, on shaky legs, Preminger had lifted himself from the ground, filling his lungs with the icy night air and hardening the resolve that settled in his bones. He'd made a promise, and it was one he intended on keeping. Some things, some people, were worth risking it all for.

And that was how he'd ended up in the inner city for the first time in his life.

The blizzard had given just enough cover for him to slip through unnoticed, just a shadow in the stormy night. The winds and snow had died down as dawn broke through and by midday, the sun was blazing, though there was still a crisp chill in the winter air.
Preminger made his way through the winding streets of the town, passing through silently as the townsfolk began to emerge from their homes, sweeping at the powdered snow from the streets. Above it all, the palace loomed like the great face of a mountain, seeming to mock him from somewhere high above.

In truth, he had no plan. His mind had been reeling all night and all morning trying to come up with the possibilities that could allow him access into the prisons, but they were sure to be heavily guarded. Even more so now that they held such known prisoners. Guilt had begun to claw at his insides once again, replaying the scene of the previous night again and again behind his eyes. Exhausted, he leaned against the cobbled wall of one of the buildings, hanging his head and letting his shoulders sag.

"Just let me get him out of this," he whispered, digging the tired heel of his palm against his face. "Let him live and I swear we'll never set foot here again."

"You alright?" a voice suddenly broke through his brooding. Preminger immediately straightened, turning to see who had come to join him.

It was an older woman, her silvery hair twisted back into a bun and a deep crimson shawl draped over her shoulders. She did not look like royalty, but there was certainly a different air about her than of the common folk in the lower village. Preminger supposed briefly that this was how most people appeared in the inner city; with a soft and healthy glow and clothes that were more than rags stitches together out if necessity. He wondered if her dress had been one of Madame Carps.

"Fine, yes. Just tired." He responded, and hoped his own clothes didn't give him away. The woman nodded as if she understood, before casting him a friendly look.