The Iron Crown

9: Florin

Florin was growing tired of waking up. His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. He reached up to rub at his eyes, only to be met with the sight of blood spotted bandages. He flexed his fingers. Something was...wrong. He stared blankly at his own hands, trying to piece it together.

Seven fingers. He only had seven fingers.

Both his little and index finger were missing from his left hand, his ring missing on the right. And he was missing a sizable chunk of the tip of his middle right, too. It didn't hurt; if anything, his body was numb. He couldn't even feel his legs, pinned beneath the weighty blanket. Florin gritted his teeth and eased himself up into a sitting position.

The room was large, more akin to a hall, if anything. A dozen or so beds lined the walls, made up with clean white sheets and identical green blankets. A curtain had been half pulled around his bed, as though to grant him some privacy. Bright lanterns cast a warm glow throughout the room, flirting with the daylight trickling through a large window that overlooked a courtyard. The sounds of people chatting and laughing below were muffled by the thick glass to leave the room in an eerie but peaceful quiet.

Where was he? He remembered he'd been with Saoirse, and he'd stabled Willow and Noctis. There had been another man - an elf, or a dwarf? He couldn't remember which, or maybe it had been both? Florin groaned. For a few minutes, he sat there, contemplating all that had led up until that very moment. Then, he threw back the covers, fully intent on finding out just exactly where he. Florin froze.

From the knee down, his right leg was gone. The bandages were clean, wrapped tightly around the stump.

"Well," he mumbled. "at least it doesn't hurt anymore." Florin sat back into the pillows, defeated. He would have no chance of outrunning the hounds and the guards when they came, now. He was dead. The thought did not upset him as much as he thought it would. He supposed, maybe after the month of torture, that an end to it seemed almost a blessing. He just hoped they would be swift in dealing the final blow.

He didn't hear Estel make his way in - not until the elf was tugging the blanket back down over his legs and patting him on the shoulder. Estel gave a soft smile.

"I'm sorry, Florin," he said, as though speaking to a scared child, or a wounded animal. "They did what they could to try and save it." How was he to react? Cry again, shout and beg, demand they fix it? Florin simply shrugged, tipping his head back to stare up. The ceiling glittered, like a thousand white stars all blurring together to form one flawless sheet. "Someone will be around a little later to discuss your options with you."

"Throw me to the hounds," he said softly. "It's what you said you would do, wasn't it?" Estel's face dropped.

"Who told you that?" the elf asked. Florin swallowed, trying to wrack his brain for the memory. Someone had said it or had something similar. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words died on his tongue. Estel frowned. "Was it Griga? Was that why you toppled his horse?"

"Horse? Who's Griga?" Florin wheezed. His head was beginning to pound, throat dry. Estel's scowl only deepened. "How long was I out?"

"Six days, give or take. What is the last thing you remember?" Estel pressed. Florin told him, recounting the night they met as best he could recall, up until he'd fallen asleep back at Saoirse's house. All the while, the elf looked as though he was sucking a lemon. Estel sighed, swiping a few loose strands of hair from his face. "Ah, well. Griga will be here soon, we'll see what he says happened. Perhaps that will jog your memory a little?"

"Perhaps." If he was honest, Florin doubted he would remember. A heavy fog had descended, his vision blurred in the corners. He wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, but he knew it likely wouldn't help him too much. It didn't matter. He didn't particularly want to talk about it anymore. "Is Saoirse alright?" The elf as quiet, for a moment. Thinking over his words, it seemed, as though he were about to step on a landmine.

"As well as she can be," Estel said. "She is worried about her family, but I've got her writing a report for the leader here. Keep her occupied." He paused. "Your parents, are they back in the city?"

"My father is. He's a captain, in the Aegis guard. My mother passed when I was younger."

"He must be worried about you," Estel pried. Florin snorted and shook his head. He couldn't understand it himself, why his father would let the madness continue. What could he have done, to have his father disown him like this?

"If he was worried, he would have found a way to call off the hunt."

"Could something have happened to him?"

"No. My father - the Aegis guard are the elite of the city watch - I can't even think of what would be able to knock him down. There was this sickness, went round the city few years back? He caught it. He was up after a day like nothing had happened." He was rambling. Despite everything, the memory brought a smile to his lips. They'd been so worried, after he'd returned with the cough. The guards who had accompanied his father had told him to prepare for the worst. His father had seen it as little more than a day off, and they had spent the day cooking together. He'd been back off to training the next day as though nothing had happened. Florin swallowed, and again, shook his head. "I must have done something awful, for him to abandon me." Florin could not read the elf's face. There was a glimmer of...something, in those golden eyes - pity, perhaps? Or maybe it was closer to distain. Florin's lips curled. He wanted to shout, scream, that he didn't want anyone's sympathy - nor could he understand why both Estel and Griga seemed to hold some contempt for him.

Estel sighed. He turned, the movement almost exaggerated, looking over his shoulder. Behind the curtain.

"Your story does not line up with what he is saying, Captain," he said, and as the figure stepped around into view, Florin's heart stopped.

The man was one Florin knew all too well - they had spent many late nights sparring, when his father was occupied. Captain Hollow was an imposing man, easily seven foot and built like a bear. He was, easily, one of the best fighters on the city guard despite his hair and beard being a dulled silver. He was clad in black, fur trimmed armour, a hefty black cloak slung over his shoulders. He must have arrived relatively recently - there was still snow, collected across his hood and on the bottoms of his boots.

Florin couldn't breathe. He was trying, but it was as though he was underwater, and his body instinctively refused. His heart was squeezing, ribs moving in to crush his lungs. The roar of blood in his ears drowned out whatever it was the man said. And Hollow was speaking, lips twitching, flashing bright white teeth. Like he was snarling. Florin could almost image those fangs, in his neck. Where the thought came from, Florin didn't know, but it settle like a rock in his throat. He couldn't shake it, couldn't stop staring. He wasn't what he seemed, he was wrong, unnatural. He had to be stopped. Florin's hand crept to his waist, searching for a dagger that was no longer there.

Estel reached out to steady him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Florin blinked. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been staring, unwavering, at the man. Hollow smiled a little, as though trying to put him at ease. But those teeth...

"Florin," the elf started, his voice soft - as though talking to a scared child. "Captain Hollow is only here to help you. He wants to understand what is happening just as much as you do."

"What is happening?" Florin tried to keep the desperate edge out of his voice as he turned to Hollow. "Please, Captain. I don't understand." Captain Hollow was silent and still. The smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes died on his lips.

"Your father is dead, Florin," the man said. "You killed him."