Shattered

Chapter Three: Judge, Jury, and Executioner

A/N: Sorry this is late. Not very good quality, either; I'll go back and edit the other chapters at some point in the future, then post new chapters. Once again, my apologies. (These blasted allergies aren't helping, either.)

It had been three days. Three long, trying days since the death of the Bane, since Gregor's fight and subsequent imprisonment.

For Gregor, it was not long enough.

At first, he had been wondering whether Ripred had been lying, or, as the rat seemed to do quite frequently, holding back information. However, Gregor trusted that, between ragers, Ripred would not lie about such a thing.

Plus, didn't the Council want to execute him for not following one of their prophecies? Hadn't Nerissa been the only reason that he had survived?

If there was one thing about the Underland, it was that they really loved their prophecies. It wouldn't be that hard to kill a worthless Overlander to ensure that Sandwich's words would be followed.

When the Warrior has been killed

The line echoed through his head, haunting his thoughts and his dreams. Various images and scenarios, where the Bane ripped out his throat or killed him in some other, horrendously gruesome manner, constantly sprung up. It was all Gregor to do not to vomit. The vicious, throbbing scars on his chest didn't help too much, either.

Nerissa had brought him a copy of the prophecy after Gregor's first day in the dungeons, along with some medicine for his chest. Apparently, he had been out for two or three weeks, enough time for opinion to polarize amongst the Underlanders. Most likely, it was a hopeless case; Sandwich's words were much too revered, and would definitely be carried out. Ironically, Nerissa, a seer herself, was the only person in Regalia supporting Gregor. Not even Luxa (the thought of her brought pangs to his chest not associated with the scars) would spare him. At least, that's what Ripred said, when he came over to visit.

Now, Gregor was sitting in front of the Council, hearing the charge of treason brought onto his head.

"...bringing a dangerous rat underneath our tunnels..."

Honestly. It was Ripred that had brought the Bane beneath the tunnels, not he. How would Gregor have been able to miraculously spirit a rat of that size into the dungeons, then kill it? How was Gregor supposed to have coerced the Bane in the first place, with no access to it and no record of leaving Regalia during any of his trips that summer?

"We shall now vote on the fate of the Overlander. Queen Luxa, what is your say?"

Oops. He hadn't been listening, and had missed the chance to defend himself.

Gregor looked up for the first time that day, locking eyes with Luxa, who had the final say over his life. Luxa would spare him, right?

Truth be told, he was doubtful. The unyielding stone that he met with was nothing like the warm smiles and laughter from just a couple weeks ago, during Hazard's birthday.

Or was it all an act?

He was driving himself insane with all the questions and self-doubt. Luxa would spare his life. He knew she would. After all they had been through, there was no way she would act any other way.

Her mouth opened, and slowly, her verdict was spoken.

"Gregor the Underlander, you are hereby sentenced to death for treason."

Gregor resisted the guards who attempted to drag him back into his cell to prepare for execution. Instead, he locked eyes with Luxa. The purple that had been so soft and beautiful, that had laughed, was replaced with something cold and hard.

In one fluid motion, Gregor ripped off his shirt, exposing the still-red scars. The audience gasped at the sight, but the Overlander didn't notice. Her eyes, full of disgust and anger, was all that he could see.

In that moment, hatred was born in Gregor's heart.

XXXXX

Eyes open. Sense of vertigo. Pain. More pain.

Wrists chafing.

Rope.

Thoughts. Not coherent.

Couldn't think.

Cliff.

Stake.

Shirtless.

Silence.

Words. Someone speaking.

"...shall now be executed for treason..."

Wasn't his fault.

Not his fault.

Wrong. He did nothing wrong.

Right?

Wrong.

No tears. Dry eyes. Dry cheeks.

Sword.

Slice.

No more ropes.

Shove.

Falling.

Falling.

Wind.

Impact.

Darkness.

XXXXX

"Gregor the Overlander... awake..."

Blearily, Gregor opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings to the best of his ability. It was almost pitch black, but Gregor could barely make out the form of a person, standing over him, and a bat in the corner.

"Overlander. You must bathe and dress. You are needed."

Gregor's head spun with dizziness and exhaustion. Hadn't he been executed? Was this heaven?

How many times have I been woken up in the past few days? he wryly thought. Can't I just catch a good night's sleep?

Then, he stood, and all of his sarcastic thoughts fled, replaced with...

...no pain?

Gregor looked down at his chest, but was unable to see his scars. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling for the now-familiar five scars, but they were gone, replaced with smooth, uninterrupted skin.

What the hell had happened?