Second Lowest Cell

== Summary ==
== Full Text ==
=== Part 1 ===
This was even less pleasant than he had imagined, and that was saying something. He thumped his head back against the wall of the cell, fuming silently in the dark. A y-shaped chain ran directly behind him, one end connected to the wall, the other two strands cuffed tightly to his hands. The small divided y-portion of the chain was long enough for him to touch his hands together in the front, but not long enough to straighten his elbows out straight before him.
The restricted mobility started as a slight ache in his shoulders and neck, and then his arms, and then all of him, and then that sensation became far more than an ache. His legs were free at least, but he still could do little but sit or stand, so tension started cramping his lower limbs, too. Leaning straight against the wall provided some relief to the strain of his position - if “relief” meant slightly less completely uncomfortable.
Of course, he learned all this about his position through touch. The darkness penetrated.
There was nothing else inside the cell besides him and the chains. No place to sit or sleep, no place to relie… no, don’t think about that one.
He sat there scoffing, though, that these jailers thought this would subdue him. What was a little darkness? A few days of hunger? Limited movement?
The more time lapsed, though, the more the darkness and the hunger and the immobility entered his mind. He kept trying to force away that realization as falsehood. But there the truth was. Throbbing.
It’s been more than three days, he thought, almost wanting one of the despicable jailers to come to taunt him or feed him whatever crap prisoners ate here. He was no good judge of time, but this… this dragging sluggishness had to have been longer than thirty-six hours. Maybe?
He tried to occupy his mind at the never-ending, ever-stretching timelessness. Nothing worked. And right as he was ready to start shouting into the darkness angrily… an impossibly bright light came before him. 
Dish of food.
End of three days.
Gods, everything feels so slow.
=== Part 2 ===
He found himself dozing. He could not stay alert. Nothing to do. His mind had gone through all possibilities of how he might escape and had conjured no great ideas. There was nothing left to think about except fury and anger and a desire to kill everyone involved in High Central. Starting with Tree.
Better to try to sleep through this existence. The darkness behind his eyelids was more comfortable than the darkness of the constant dark.
Though it was really, really hard to actually sleep. Seated against the wall with his arms behind him was no good position for rest. It still hurt. A lot. And whenever he woke up, he was even more stiff and sore than before.
So back to sleep.
=== Part 3 ===
It was bright.
So bright.
And it was in his cell. Just a few feet beyond his reach.
He tried peeking. Groaned. Shut his eyes immediately. Brought up grubby fingers to shield the light. Peeked again with one eye. Shut it again. 
Kept trying on and off. That light never left.
It was… once his eyes adjusted… a dragon. A little one, glowing with its own internal light, similar to a Fireworm, perhaps a cousin to it. But it did not radiate warmth like the Fireworms. A shame, he thought. Then it could be my heater as well as my lamp.
It took him a long time to realize that there was something tucked under its wing.
It can’t be.
 "Come here," he croaked at the dragon with unused vocal cords. He sounded like he was grunting like an animal rather than actually using human speech. But whatever sound he made, it perked up and stared at him with interested.
He wished he were better with dragons. Like his wife. What he wouldn’t do to be with her now.
But he had company now and he focused very resolutely on nearing the small reptile toward him. “Come on,” he tried, and this time it somewhat approximately human speech.
It scuttled forward.
"That’s it…" He reached toward the dragon. The chain brought him short and he cursed, bent elbows jerking angrily at the restriction.
The dragon, startled at the movement, stopped moving.
"NO!" He forced his voice to calm. "No no no no no. Come here, that’s it."
The dragon slipped right to his feet, and Haddock, very cautiously, brought his hands again forward to reach for the dragon’s wing. He grabbed the small, thin material under its wing, the crude writing utensil, and unrolled the equally unsophisticated scroll, which might have been torn from someone’s tunic. Some of the words were smudged, but most were still readable. The dragon’s glowing light made the reading possible.
This is […] Grounded Du[…]eon prisoner. I trained this d[…]gon to send messages to and from […] I’m looking for King Haddock. Please send my dragon along with this message and pen so he can find her. Your Majest[…] if you find my letter please tuck a new message under my dr[…] wing.
The king stared at the message for a long, long time. He felt… awakened.
He grabbed the writing utensil, sat down, pulled up his knee, and began to communicate with humans again after far too long a time.
=== Part 4 ===
He was feeling pretty pleased with himself. From behind the hair that was growing well over his eyes now, he watched dragon scuttled off yet again to deliver another message to the prisoners above. The cell turned to complete blackness again, but it no more bothered him. We’ll be able to get out of here soon, he thought. It was almost enough to make him smile.
Category:Events
Category:Pre-Season
Category:Gareth Ragnar Haddock the Second