The Warrior Son and the King's Daughter // Rainimator AU //

Chapter 9

\\April 25th, 18:00\\
The Frostbourne Kingdom, Overworld.
Rain

  I stir and open my two-toned eyes. I nearly cough with how dry my throat is; I must have been asleep for a while. Despite my odd position and being attached to the wall, I slept decently. I've always been rather familiar to sleeping whenever and in whatever situation that I'm allowed it, so being able to sleep sitting up and attached to a wall doesn't shock me.

  I am alone in this cell right now. I guess they wanted to separate the End Princess and I. That seems fair, after all, they assume we're conspiring together maliciously, so separating us is the logical thing to do. It's sweltering in here in comparison to the numbing cold from above the ground, even with the change of clothes.

As I begin mentally waking up from my nap, I hear footsteps echo and bounce off the stone wall terribly, making me feel as if I am in a cave. I do not know how close the guards are as their footsteps boom and armor sharply moving, and weapons clanking down the hall.

  I can't help but think about the Princess in this moment. Despite being read our rights while being in captivity, she may not know how the Frostbourne prison system works and will assume the worst; at least I have the comfort of knowing the worst that could happen, and their interrogation methods. This intentionally intimidating environment is probably not exactly helping either...
They know who she is. With how dangerous it is to have her here, they'd be stupid to hurt her. I tell myself to ease my worry. She'll be fine.

  Suddenly I hear a set of keys clank in the lock to a heavy iron door. I instinctively straighten up and look at the door as I try to get a good look at my interrogator, despite the fact that deep down, I already know who it's going to be.
  In walks just who I assumed; the Frostbourne Grandmaster, my father, Ser Patrick. His face scares me, his jaw was clenched so tightly I worry about my dad's teeth, his face was contorted with so much rage that looks like it'll cause a lot of jarring pain later. His steps were heavy and loud as he walks up to me.
As I expected, he was without his usual heavy armor, and instead changed into a black shirt and jeans. It's a rule here that you aren't allowed to wear your uniform in an interrogation, if you can prevent it.
"My Lord, are you sure you wish to be alone with the prisoner?" One of the guards questions from the doorway.
The other continues for their partner, "He's been deemed a village-wide Security Threat! If he tries anything, we won't be there to protect you."
Well, time to add that to my long list of nicknames, I guess: Kid, Dragonslayer, Young Councilor, a Security Threat.

He doesn't take his eyes off me. "I am sure as day, sirs," He answers back to the weary guard in a very stern tone of voice. He waves them off, "You can leave us."

The two guards look to each other and turn around to leave. I can hear the keys jingle as they lock and the footsteps don't stray too far from the door, only a few feet.
My father straightens up and begins pacing the floor, it is a habit he has picked up from his predecessor, Sir Theodore, and he normally does when he is stressed. I'd say something, but honestly, what can I say? What could I possibly say? My father, Commander Hilda, those guards, the whole Frostborne assume I betrayed them for the End King. There's so much I need to say, not just to clear my innocent but for the safety of the village, yet not enough words in my head to explain what happened.

I watch my father pace the room back and forth, again and again, without a single word. I wait for him to speak. I wait for him to demand I explain myself for what he was told; to for yell at me for betraying humanity, turning my back on my own kind, turning my back on the people we lost in order to get this far; however, he doesn't, he just keeps pacing back and forth endlessly.
  Waiting, waiting, and waiting, until I finally ask, "Aren't you going to say anything, Sire?" I whisper quietly, just loud enough for him to hear. My voice comes out cracked and broken like an old recorder.