Change of Plans--A Heart no Kuni no Alice FanFiction

Part 13: The Prisoner

Hey guys, just wanted to add a quick note up here before you started the chapter. This part has a change of POV, and I wanted to give you all a heads-up so I wouldn't cause confusion. As of right now it's the only part I've written that has a different POV, and I'll try to keep it that way. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
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The prisoner had been pretty much forgotten since his initial incarceration. No one really remembered, and to be brutally honest, no one really cared anymore. Time's a funny thing in Wonderland, and so no one had truly kept track of how long he had been there. The only one who remembered he was there was the jailer, and he barely even remembered to give him his three meals.

"Why should we care?" the black mask whined to the white-masked Joker as they traipsed down the stairs. "He's completely off his rocker anyway. Just let 'im starve to death." White didn't answer. It was true though that the prisoner was, well, "nuts" by normal standards. Being locked up in the dungeon hadn't affected his mental state-at least, not in the normal way. They'd only heard him crying once, which surprised them considering what he had been wailing about. Something about a brother waking up and escaping bonds of slumber. Since then he'd been pretty much normal-which was abnormal by their standards. He was very quiet and well-behaved, murmuring a polite "thank you" whenever his meal was brought to him. The only thing he'd asked for was stacks of parchment and charcoal sticks. What he did with them, whether it was writing or drawing, was of no concern to the Jokers.

But what was even weirder about him was that he sang to wile away the hours. And it wasn't any song that either of the Jokers knew. They were strange, lilting tunes that had a weird 'bounce' to them, if you could describe it that way. Some of them were slow and mournful, while others had that bounce they couldn't really put their finger on. Sometimes Joker found himself tapping his toes to the rhythm of the song he happened to be singing at the time. One song talked about a girl named Mary who showed her legs and drowned with a soldier boy. Another strung weird sounds together and talked about whiskey in a jar, not a bottle. They were very strange songs indeed.

As they drew nearer to the prisoner's cell, they could hear his warm baritone reverberating softly through the chamber. This time he was singing a slow, somewhat wistful song that spoke of his longing for home, wherever "home" happened to be for him. He was obviously not from Wonderland, but he had remained tight-lipped about where exactly he had come from. Despite that, his song spoke volumes about the place that he had come from-all of them did.

I've met some folks
Who say that I'm a dreamer
And I've no doubt
There's truth in what they say
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer
When all the things he loves are far away

And precious things
Are dreams unto an exile
They take him o'er
The land across the sea
Especially when it happens he's an exile
From that dear lovely Isle of Innisfree

The prisoner glanced up as Joker stopped outside his cell. A warm smile broke out across his bearded face as he stood up and bowed to his jailer. "To what do I owe the pleasure, White?" he asked politely, straightening up again. His accent was as strange and lilting as the songs he sang so incessantly. His dark brown hair was scraggly and unkempt, just like his long, untrimmed beard, and his clothes were threadbare and dirty despite having been fine and beautiful when he arrived. They had also fit him much better on his first day, though now they hung limply on his deteriorating frame. Despite all this though, he still seemed to have an air of freshness and cleanliness. Maybe it was the confidence in his stance that made him appear less bedraggled than he truly was. Or perhaps it was the easy, gentle light in his grey-blue eyes that made him look so at ease in his tragedy of a home.

"Lunchtime, prisoner," Black growled from White's hip as White unlocked the door and entered the room. The prisoner heaved a sigh of relief as he came forward and took the tray from him. The bones in his strong, calloused hands were sticking out more and more by the day.

"I've told you not to call me that, Black," he said gently as he set the tray down on his rickety cot. He sat down on the edge, taking the hard bread on the plate and nibbling at it thoughtfully for a moment. "I know that you don't like me-and let me assure you that I'm not terribly fond of you either-but I would much prefer it if you called me by name." He then took a large bite out of the bread, chewing it and nodding appreciatively. "Much softer today," he murmured once he had swallowed.

White rolled his eyes. Even in his pathetic condition, this man still tried to play the role of lord or Duke. It was almost admirable the way he hung on to his sanity and hope. "You're a prisoner," he said coldly. "Why should I bother to remember your name?" The bearded man simply blinked at him owlishly as he chewed, his expression a mix of polite irritation and gentle amusement. White huffed and leaned against the wall of the cell. "I'm surprised you still haven't lost your mind," he told the man thoughtfully. "I'm curious as to how you do it."

The prisoner laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "I've already lost my mind, White," he said darkly. "I've just chosen to pretend that I'm sane to keep myself from sinking into despair." He rolled what was left of the bread in his hands, staring at it pensively. "At this point," he murmured, "I've accepted the fact that I'm going to be trapped in here for a very long time. For exactly how long, I'm not sure. But there is very little chance that I'll be released." He shoved the last of it in his mouth and chewed it slowly. "There is every possibility that I may die in here," he continued, "but I try not to think about that too much. That's why I sing-to distract myself."

Sounded reasonable enough...for a madman. White sighed and took the empty tray from him as the prisoner removed the dish and and cup and put it next to him. Tucking it under his arm, he pulled the cell door open and walked out. "I'll be back later for the dishes," he muttered as he locked the door. He stalked away from the cell, leaving the prisoner to wallow in his thoughts. What a nut, he thought to himself. He's going to snap any day now.

As his footsteps died away, the bearded man heaved a tired sigh and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, completely ignoring the food beside him. Soon his breathing became slow and even and his eyelids flickered the tiniest bit. His head drooped until his chin was almost resting on his chest. After a moment, a sad, slow smile appeared on his face. Tears fell from behind his closed eyelids and into his dirty beard. "Hallo, Ronnie," he murmured to his empty cell.
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Author's Note:  Thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments.  I appreciate every single one of them!