Yo. I wanna give a shoutout and hello to @protroll1526 for spamming my notifications and honestly making me feel better, and everyone else for commenting and voting. Warning, this chapter is going to get a bit violent, so if that's not your thing, sit this one out. And here, have a meme. I made 12, so imma give 1 each chapter.
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Fletcher fixed the rim of his hood and sighed. It had been three weeks since the meeting with Verity, and after escorting the four teenagers home, Arcturus and Elaine had left departed. They had not seen them since, and they were running low on provisions; so Fletcher and Seraph went out to the nearby town to get some. They had been there for two hours now, and Fletcher, wet and cold and tired, just wanted to go back to their barn. As they were getting the last of the products, they heard scuffling and commotion behind them. They turned.
Two men were groping and punching each-other in the muddy street, cursing and spitting. A rough crowd of people milled about, shoving to get a better view of the brawl.
Fletcher and Seraph were soon caught in the midst of people and pulled in. Fletcher grabbed Seraph's sleeve and hauled them out, getting severely knocked and pushed. When they emerged, they were ruffled and creased. Seraph's eyes shot to Fletcher's head, and quickly reached up to attempt to grab the hood that had fallen from his head. He was too late. Random people had caught a glimpse of him, and began murmuring,
"That's Lord Raleigh, isn't it?" The two summoners ran for it, threading through small lanes between houses to escape. They heard angry shouting behind them, and a sharp, white light suddenly thrown shadows over the walls they were passing. Fletcher attempted to pick up pace, but was suddenly knocked on his front. His head thumped the ground, and everything went black.
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Fletcher groaned, his mouth stark dry. He coughed and blinked his sticky eyes open. Darkness greeted him. he tried to bring his hand down to rub his eyes, until he found he couldn't. Looking up, manacles chained his arms to the wall above him, and chains wrapped and clinked around his feet. He shifted his weight on his ass and grimaced. Everything hurt, especially his head. He could feel something crusted and dry on his forehead. He glared around the dark room, and saw a dim figure with him, also in chains.
"Seraph," Fletcher croaked, voice quavering. He coughed again. The figure stirred, and wheezed.
"Fuck. What the fuck." Seraph responded, cursing. Fletcher saw Seraph's head turn to face him. He watched as Seraph came to figure out what had happened to him, as Fletcher had done moments before.
"We fucked up good." Fletcher mumbled. Seraph groaned in agreement.
They sat in the cold and dark, talking sparsely. Fletcher couldn't tell how long it had been when light spilled into the room like a flood. The two teenagers squirmed and shut their eyes, trying to shy from the bright attack. A laugh echoed around them.
"I see the rats are awake at last." A smooth voice spoke. Fletcher forced his eyes to adjust, and looked up. There stood Zacharias Forsyth, Rook close behind. They shut a door behind them, and Rook hung up the lantern he was holding on a hook. They looked down at Fletcher and Seraph in glee. Zacharias reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife that glinted evilly in the lantern-light. Fletcher swallowed the little amount of saliva in his mouth.
"Now," Zacharias said, waving the knife under Fletcher and Seraph's nose, "Let's all have a bit of fun. You are going to behave, and tell us what you know, and me and Rook are going to play around with you for a bit." He grinned menacingly. Fletcher looked him in the eyes, summoning the most courage he could.
"What would you want to fucking know?" He said, sounding braver than he felt. The looks in the eyes of the two older nobles made Fletcher want to curl into the wall.
"Whatever we want to know, you'll give us," Rook said. He stepped forward and grabbed Seraph's throat, "I don't normally get my hands covered in dirt like this, but I think I'll enjoy this." He swung his other hand at Seraph's face and backhanded him. Fletcher heard the boy moan in pain. Fletcher kicked and growled in his restraints until he felt an immediate agony in his left shoulder. He shouted out and looked at the cause of pain. Zacharias' knife was embedded in his shoulder, delicately dripping Fletcher's blood. Zacharias' meaty hand grasped the weapon and twisted it, tearing the flesh and skin in Fletcher's body. He screamed and kicked at his restraints again, but this time for his own suffering. He felt the knife be removed, scraping against the sensitive wound. He faintly heard Zacharias laugh. All he could focus on was the searing pain that was now gushing red. His hair was yanked and his head was forced back. Fletcher looked upwards to Zacharias.
"Where are the other two, the half-breeds?" Zacharias asked, grazing Fletcher's throat with his blood-tinted knife. "WHERE?!" He shouted. Fletcher wheezed and spat at the man. He would never give up his friends like that, even when being threatened like this. Zacharias hissed and brought a knee to Fletcher's abdomen. Fletcher breathlessly cried out and sunk in his chains. His throat was seized by Zacharias' hands and was restricted. Fletcher's eyes bulged and he kicked. When the hand was removed, Zacharias exclaimed,
"You know, I find this quite sweet. You humiliated me and tried to get me locked away. I don't appreciate that; good thing now is that I get to have fun with you." Fletcher's shoulders were grabbed, and blow after blow was delivered to his chest and stomach. One even went up to his face, and Fletcher choked as blood welled from his mouth. He cried, knowing that the man delivering the hits would not stop. Fletcher knew in the back of his mind, behind the pain, that this going to take a long while.
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Fletcher received this type of treatment for two more days. During his own dose of torture, he didn't realise that Seraph also suffered the same fate. By the end of each day, when the nobles left, the two teenagers were wounded and covered in blood. Every time fletcher moved his left arm, bolts of fire shot all up and down his limb. By the second day he had learned to keep it immobile. He also now sported a long cut down his legs, bruised ribs and an arm that had multiple deep scratches, as if a wild animal had taken a disliking to it. Nearly his whole body was sore and hurt. His shirt had been disposed of, shred and torn by the knife Zacharias frequently used. His jacket, too, the one he got off Berdon when he fled Pelt.
When the door opened, Fletcher instinctively tensed his muscles, ready for another beating, or to hear Rook and Zacharias' chilling voices. He received neither. Instead, he heard gasps and swearing, and heard the clicks of chain locks being undone. His arms fell to the sides, and both his muscles that were used to being in that position, and his shoulder wound, screamed with pain. Fletcher bowed his head and groaned deeply. He felt the chains on his feet be yanked off, and suddenly fletcher's body was picket up and thrown over something soft and solid, yet it moved with grace and fluidity. He heard voices around him, but didn't pay no mind. With his good arm, he grasped whatever he was on top of. He screwed his eyes firmly shut, and felt cold air assault his bare back. He clung on to whatever bore him, and felt consciousness slip from his hold.
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Fletcher awoke with a start and shot upwards. He was met by a dull pain his whole body. He coughed and was pushed back into a lying position. He was surprised to not find himself within the chamber Zacharias and Rook had put he and Seraph in, and it took him a minute to remember had had happened. He finally opened his eyes, looking to a pale ceiling above him. A head shot into view. He recognised it instantly.
Sylva.
He tried to form words, but all that came out was gasps and mumbles. A finger was placed on his lips. A tear fell from Sylva's face and splattered on his.
"Don't. You don't need to speak, Fletcher. You're fine. You're safe. So is Seraph. It's ok." Fletcher let out a shaky breath. He pulled himself upwards and swung his feet around. He looked at his surroundings. He was laying on a two-person bed, with Seraph sitting beside him. The other noble was conscious and seemed to be previously talking to Othello, who stood beside him, but now was looking at Fletcher. Seraph smiled at him. His lower body was wrapped in blankets, much as Fletcher found his in, and random bandages adorned his body. Looking further around, fletcher saw that he was in a stone-walled room, and in nearby chairs sat Elaine, Arcturus, Arthur, Rowan and Verity. They all smiled warmly at him, not speaking in fear of overwhelming Fletcher. Sylva was the first to speak.
"We found you in the town you two went to get supplies in. A guard must have saw you, for you were in the local dungeons. Arcturus, Elaine, Verity, Arthur and Rowan went to save you. We're sorry it took us that long to find you." She whispered, hugging Fletcher's torso. He grabbed her violently and embraced her with all he could. She spoke into his ear again.
"You've been out for five days; Seraph told us everything. We healed you best we could; only your shoulder will bear scars. Oh, Fletcher, I'm so sorry." She wept into his shoulder. As she cried, a mix of sadness, relief and mourning crashed in his chest. He hugged her tighter and felt a lone tear slide from his eye to his cheek.
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Thanks for reading, and don't forget to comment and vote. Also, I'm going to fucking shoot Wattpad for giving me loads of technical difficulties.