Protector

stranger in the shadows

I stared up at the dirt ceiling, wishing yet again that there was a window in this cell. Closing my eyes, I focused my other senses on the clamor above. I could hear men running left and right, yelling orders at each other and weapons clanging against each other.
What were they after?
Most likely it was a who. I listened to soldiers pass for a good while longer before I heard a shout that rang above the others,

"We've got the girl! She's dead!"

My heart dropped at the cry, my mind immediately going to Imogen, the poor, dark-haired girl who didn't belong in a cell. My head churned, chock full of questions and that lingering grief that never went away,  snatched one question in particular and pulled it to the front.

'Why?'

She must have just been a servant girl who knew too much.

I got at least a partial answer fairly soon after that. About ten minutes later, the prison door opened, harshly flooding my world with light. With that light came a group of guards and a figure with a sack over their head. The figure was being carried by chains and looked they'd been dragged through the dirt the whole way here. One of the guards pulled out a key and opened the cell door. The prisoner was thrown unceremoniously onto the muddy ground, then chained to the wall like me. Brushing my hair out of my grimy face, I saw one of the guards give the figure a hard kick to the gut before another voice told him to stop. The room was still for a second, then the man who'd spoken a moment before kicked the poor soul in the leg, causing them to let out a muffled groan. I could tell by the way they reacted that they had a previous injury there. That same man then dismissed the other guards. I knew him all too well.

Commander Kippenger.

Kippenger and his whip were the reason for many of my scars and wounds. Crouching, he placed a knife at the figure's throat, but instead of drawing blood, he tauntingly dragged the knife down to slice off their shirt, which I now noticed was covered in blood, then their boots. Finally, off came the sack to reveal a the face of a boy about my age who looked like he'd been dragged through hell and back again. While his chest was covered in cuts and bruises, his face had its own gallery of injuries to exhibit. His bright green eyes, still somehow showing no fear, shone with a deep sadness. There was something about those eyes that made my heart ache with a memory I had kept tucked away in a corner of my mind.

Who was this stranger in the shadows?

{If you have made it this far, I thank you! This was so much fun to write. Don't forget to vote and comment!}