Tipping the Scale

The price of Idealism (1/3)

Once again, the orange light that had turned her surroundings golden only minutes before, had disappeared. Leaving her behind, swallowed in a darkness so deep, that it made her mind play tricks on her. Lidea understood that disallowing any candles within the prison was done on purpose. 

Yet another way of tormenting the criminals locked within its walls. The lack of distraction created a stage to be filled by whatever demons haunted a person. If she had learned something while being here, it was that no persecutor was as efficient as your own mind. She had long before lost the ability to sleep peacefully but the silent darkness seemed to only spur on her restless thoughts.

Flashes of memories kept passing her by, showing her the many battlefields she had stood on.

The pain, the blood, the anger. She saw the men that had followed her. Men that had become her friends as they had stood at her side during all these years. All of them were dead now. Some of them died while fighting, others had been executed when the royal army had finally concurred them. Now, she was the only one left and she could still hear their screams of agony. 

A familiar voice rang through the screams, asking her if she thought that everything had been worth it. It had been one of the last conversations that she had with old sir Rhodry. He had looked tired and fear had been etched into the lines of his face. Lidea could still remember her own defensive response. She had told him not to talk nonsense but to focus on the fights ahead.

A cruel and dishonest answer to a question that had been shared by many among them, her being one. She had started her fight out of idealism. Believing that others would soon see her cause and join her. Only fourteen, she had been too young to thoroughly understand the implications of her actions. No help would come, as it had been a fight which had been doomed from the start. 

Her father's men must have known, however they still decided to follow her lead and ended up paying the ultimate price for it. If she had known what she knew now, would she have chosen to do the same? Had she not better toed the line as her mother had wanted her to.

If so, then maybe all of them would have lived.

A silvery light illuminated her cell, distracting her for just a moment and breaking her depressive line of thought. She was surprised by its strength and imagined that it had to be a full moon or a phase near to it. It must have been cloudy the previous nights as she hadn't noticed the light before. If it was a full moon, than she had been here for at least a month. Though she had counted the days at first, she had long but stopped after she had lost any hope of escaping.

She had been foolishly convinced that an opportunity would arise soon enough. That her guards would slip up as time went by and when they did, she would escape. However, the more days passed, the more she understood that there would be no openings. The guards knew full well, that if she made her escape, the king would have their heads instead. She was too important a prisoner. 

An aristocrat that had dared to stand up against the royal line. A person with the status and money to threaten a king, and a suitable candidate for commoners to rally behind. He had to make an example out of her. No wonder that she had to wait so long for her execution. The king probably wanted to turn it into a spectacle, showing the whole country and especially the nobles, what happens with someone that tries to challenge him. 

She wondered if any had been tempted to do so. Though she doubted that many of them cared about their kings morality, many must have desired the power and money becoming of his standing. He must have looked weak, as he got eluded for years by a noblewoman, or rather a young girl lacking any military experience. Thinking about it in this way, she was surprised that he hadn't lost his position already, but then again she supposed that the church would make sure that their puppet would stay in place.

Her attention was drawn by a soft rhythmic sound. For a moment she wondered if she was imagining it, but the sound of footsteps became clearer as whoever was walking through the dungeon drew near. She closed her eyes, trying to catch any details. Food came once a day, at a random time when there was daylight, not now. For the rest, she never heard anyone. Not even other prisoners, so she assumed that they had kept her separated in a different hallway of the dungeon. 

This was the first time that the daily routine had been broken. It sounded like multiple people, she thought at least three. She recognized two pair of footsteps as those of the guards, their metal boots causing a distinctive clanking on the stone floor and the bundle of keys ringing with their every step. But she also thought to hear another pair, softer but becoming clearer as they neared her door. Someone wearing leather boots perhaps. Did she have a visitor?

The only ones who would even be interested in her existence, would have been her mother or sister. Both of which had looked down on her, stone-faced, while she had been dragged in front of his majesty to receive her sentence. She doubted that they would show, the king would keep eyes on them, anticipating them to try anything. For any other nobles, it would almost be a death sentence to come and find her.

Intrigued she stood up, stretching her stiff limbs and wondering how long she had sat in the same position when she heard the lock at her door being opened.
"Time for confessions!"