The Guardian of Farenborne

Chapter 3: The Dungeons

The air was musty, the walls wet from the recent drown pour. Faylin held the torch far from his body as his other hand held the parcel close to his chest. He could not risk it. The parcel was the only way the dragon would speak to him. If he lost it, then his venture down here would only be in vain.

Steadily, he went down the stairs, careful not to step on any cracks. It was the first time he had even heard of the dungeon's existence. The only source of punishment were the public humiliations. Farenborne was a mostly pacifistic county—they did have the occasional war, here and then, but besides that the country had found ways to go through more diplomatic negotiate. The king had always told his people that after the event, the prisoners would be sent to labor camps to become good samaritans, but now, as a young adult, Faylin could see how much of a blatant lie it all was.

As he reached farther into the dungeon he could see strange contraptions inhabiting the place. Old, rusty torture devices were used in the place, some of which still had decaying corpse still attached to them. It was sickening. Faylin had to hold his urge to vomit and cry all at once, and saddest part was, the corpses, those who still had not decayed completely, were all undeniably elves.

When he the stairs finally ended, Faylin held the torch high, and placed it on the holder, lighting up the desiccated prison. He cautiously approached the first cell, his eyes squinting to see any sign of the dragon. There was a figure, at the corner of the cell, his large back pressed against the wet, cement walls.

"It is you, is it not?" Faylin asked, his voice echoing within the place, and in response the body shifted, the man's chest heaving up and down. "I have brought you food. Horse meat," he clarified, his arm  stretched out with the parcel intact. The man had risen, and it was for the first time Faylin understood how easily the dragon towered over the him. Lazily, he walked over towards the boy, his ponderous becoming louder the closer he came to him.

"Please, do not bite me," Faylin pleaded, the parcel still in his hand. The dragon made no verbal response, and roughly grabbed the meat from him, throwing it on the floor besides him.

Golden eyes stared at him, and the elf could not help but be mesmerized by them. They were like two gleaming stars that embedded themselves in flesh. Faylin wondered if perhaps he had really stolen stars for eyes. It was a stupid question and Faylin knew it, so he didn't dare ask.

"If I wish to bite you, I will. I do not keep promises with a kind that enslaves others," the dragon said, his voice gravely from sleep.

"I am not here to haze you. I want to help you." Faylin grasped the metal bars tightly, his eyes meeting with the dragon's amber ones. "Please, believe me."

"Where is your mark?" It had been the same question the king had asked him a day ago. He had not expected it, but dutifully, he lifted the waist band of his garment and slid it down to show the man.

It was the same unknown emotion that gleaned in the dragon's eyes. The man forcefully grabbed Faylin by the hip, his jagged claws digging into the elf's delicate skin, causing it to bruise. "It hurts, please let go," he whimpered, the pain excruciating.

But the dragon only gripped harder, his sharp nails impaling the poor elf and then, suddenly bit him right on the mark, making his pale leg bleed. "Why? Why did you do that?" Faylin demanded as he held onto his leg, cleaning the blood off with his long shirt.

"For a guardian, you are naïve. I approved of our bond, but do not fret, it will only be temporary," he scoffed, picking up the parcel from the ground, the blood from the meat seeping through the paper wrapper.

When he was born, everyone told him he was special, though they always failed explained how or why. Even now, he still did not understand the role of the guardian.

"I do not understand. How can our bond be temporary?"

"I will make the witch undo what she's done to me. And when I'm done, I'll rip her throat out." The dragon did not even bother to open the package, instead he opened his mouth, devouring the whole thing within seconds.

"That was ten pounds of meat!" The man licked his lips, savoring the flavor of the meal.

"Not enough," the dragon replied, walking back to his corner. Faylin stood there in awe, the man's body completely blended with the shadows of the cell while his vivacious golden eyes stared back. The little elf gulped, still curious about the man's curses.

"Are you still in pain? I have some salve in my room—"

"Do not waste your pathetic medicinal herbs on me. It will do me no good. Now, leave me be, before I decided to make a snack out of one your pretty fingers." The elf backed up a few steps, frightened by the dragon's words. He knew he meant them.

"Alright, " Faylin whispered cautiously, backing up against the walls of the stairs. "I'll leave you be, goodnight."

But the dragon, as expected, made no effort to respond, he sat still in the corner of the cell eyeing the elf with his florescent eyes.

Faylin took a hold of another torch making his way up the dungeon's staircase. When he was at the top, he looked down one more time, then closed the steel doors, leaving the man  alone in the murky darkness.