WARNING: This is a Darkfic. This story contains imprisonment, torture/violence, rape/non-con, despair, psychological abuse, and major character death. If you have a problem reading about any of these subjects and/or if these are triggering for you, for your own sake, please do not read ahead.
The next few weeks continued in this pattern. Some days, the guards raped him. Others, they tortured him. More often, they left him alone in his cell, with little but the clatter of the tin plate shoved under the door to distract him. A guard would come by every now and again to empty his waste bucket or refill his water. And though Alistair considered attacking the guard while the cell door was open, the pain from his injuries and lack of strength made it a struggle to even stand most days, and the door would shut before he could even reach the guard.
Alistair continued to struggle when they took him out of the cell, but the spirit he put into his efforts waned, as they only succeeded in robbing him of his few ounces of strength. He wondered if his will was breaking, if exhaustion meant submission. So he kept struggling as much as he could, to convince himself that he still had the will to fight, even if he lacked the energy.
Each session at the bloodied table was different. Sometimes they dragged sharp daggers lightly across his skin or dripped hot wax slowly onto his flesh. Other times, they hooked him to a rack, pulling his limbs to their limits until he was sure his arms and legs would rip from his body. When the guards found they had gone too far, a healer – a downcast-looking elf with dark circles under his eyes – would come to undo the damage they had done to him, even taking away some of the welts and scabs from previous torture sessions. Alistair almost wished the guards would overdo it more often, as the days when the healer came were the only ones where he would return to his cell without any pain.
Alistair had lost count of the days, but it had surely been a few weeks after that fateful Landsmeet when he felt something familiar and foreboding pulling at his spine when he awoke. At first, it was difficult to place the feeling; it had been a long time since he'd had any sensation other than pain, cold, or hunger. When he realized what it was, his eyes widened and he threw himself at the metal bars of his cell.
"Hey!" he called desperately. "Somebody! There are darkspawn nearby!"
There was no answer, but it seemed there were more shouts and screaming than usual.
The feeling of the taint was overwhelming. It seemed the darkspawn must be everywhere – thousands of them swarming around Fort Drakon. Around the city itself, perhaps. And if Alistair closed his eyes, he could hear something. Something that had always been in the back of his mind, but now brought strongly to the fore. The song of the archdemon.
"No…" he murmured, then railed at the bars again. "Somebody! Let me out! The darkspawn… the archdemon! Please, I'm a Grey Warden!"
He knew he would never be able to lift a sword in his condition, much less defend himself against a single hurlock. But the prospect of going into battle once more, of an opportunity to die with honor fighting against the Blight… It was better than wasting away in this cell, tortured and defiled, waiting for a rescue that may never come.
Rescue… Tangi! If the darkspawn were here, she would be too, he was sure of it. Knowing it was almost too much to hope for, still he prayed that one of his friends would somehow be nearby and hear him. "Help! Let me out! My name is Alistair! I'm a Grey Warden! Please, someone help me!"
He alternated between yelling at the top of his lungs and sipping at water to ease his throat. He continued this way for hours, pleading into the air that someone hear his cries. Loud, armored footsteps sometimes sounded beyond the doors to the hallway, and Alistair yelled louder, but whoever those soldiers were, they were gone almost as quickly as they came.
Suddenly, the whole prison shook with the force of a powerful blast. Alistair tumbled backwards, landing painfully on his backside. He listened, wondering what could have caused such a blast, and he heard shouts of surprise echoing faintly through the stone corridors. After a moment, Alistair closed his eyes, listening again. The archdemon's song was gone.
"She did it…" he said in a soft voice, bittersweet tears coming to his eyes. "She actually did it." He gave a small, sad smile and sighed, leaning up against the stone wall. "I guess she didn't really need me after all." The tears fell from his eyes.
o.O.o
It took two days for the guards to come back, and it had been three days since he had last been fed. He had thankfully had the foresight to tuck away bits of previous meals in a dark corner of his cell for such an occasion. But when the tin of food came, he still devoured the bread and meat within scant seconds of receiving it. The guard watched him eat for a moment before turning away.
"Wait," Alistair called around his last mouthful of food.
The guard paused. "What do you want?"
"I just… I wanted to know what happened a few days ago. The Blight's over, isn't it?"
"Yeah, your Grey Warden buddies killed the archdemon. Up on this fort's tower, in fact."
Alistair blinked. "Tangi was here? In Fort Drakon?"
The guard barked a laugh. "The elf leading the charge? Yeah, she was here. She might've seen ya too, if the darkspawn woulda come through here. But you're too far down, and they were heading up." He smirked. "Too bad for you, huh?" With that, he walked away.
Alistair's heart sank with disappointment. "Yeah," he muttered. "Too bad for me."
o.O.o
The days continued as they had before, and once again, Alistair lost track of time. It seemed as if he were living the same three or four days over and over, the only real indication of time passing was the growing of his beard and hair, now hanging in dirty clumps about his head.
There came a day when they brought him to the familiar table. For once, he didn't struggle in the least, but merely dragged his feet as he shuffled along between the guards. They locked his manacles to the table as usual, and kicked his feet apart. They had taken their pleasure from him so often by then that there was usually only a momentary discomfort at the first man's entrance. Alistair waited, listening to the first guard prepare himself with oil.
Something was different when the guard pushed deeply into him. Alistair's eyes widened, and he gasped at something that was decidedly not pain. The other man began a slow rhythm, each thrust brushing up against a spot deep within him that sent shivers up through his spine. Alistair bit back a moan, and to his horror, his body began responding to the waves of pleasure rocking through him.
One of the other men noticed. "Hey, look," he said, laughing and pointing at Alistair's growing erection. "He likes it when he ain't flailin' about."
"You like that, you dirty whore?" the guard pumping into Alistair breathed in his ear. He punctuated the sentence with a few hard thrusts.
Alistair just barely kept another moan from escaping his lips, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep silent. Pleasure. It had been so long since he'd felt it. He had tried on several occasions in his cell, alone with his thoughts of Tangi, but the biting cold kept him from maintaining an erection for more than a few minutes. Here, in the torture chamber filled with the warmth of flaming torches and moving bodies, his erection sprang forth with renewed vigor, until Alistair's hands itched for want of relieving the pressure.
The guard's pace grew faster now, harder. Gasps and groans came from Alistair unbidden. It just felt too good to try to suppress any of it. He hated himself for wanting it, even as he had to keep himself from begging for more. Soon – too soon – the other man spent himself and immediately withdrew, leaving Alistair feeling empty and wanting.
Another man stepped up behind him. "You want more, dirty whore?"
Alistair trembled, refusing to speak.
"We can always leave. There are plenty of other prisoners." The guard gripped a handful of Alistair's hair and pulled his head back. "Do you want more?"
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded his head, too ashamed to give words to his desire.
The guard released him, giving a grin that Alistair couldn't see, but could hear in his voice. "There's a good girl."
The other man thrust into him hard, and Alistair gasped at the renewed sensation. He groaned with every slap of their hips against each other. It wasn't long before Alistair spilled his seed onto the stone floor, but it was short and unsatisfying as his cock went untouched. The guard did not cease pumping into him, and Alistair's erection returned within minutes, willing and waiting for something to touch it.
But nothing did. No one did. As soon as the second guard spent himself, another took his place. Bolts of pleasure coursed through Alistair as one guard after another took their turns, his voice ragged from shamelessly begging for more. His cock was impossibly hard with want, the tip weeping with viscous fluid, and Alistair thought he might go mad with need for release.
The men, having had their fill, turned towards the door, laughing.
"Wait, no!" Alistair cried. "Where are you going?"
"It's suppertime," one said simply, looking back at him with malicious glee. "We took too long with you."
"Don't worry," another said. "We'll be back for you in a couple hours."
"No, please!" Alistair called after them. "Just release my hands! Please!"
They closed the door behind them, their laughter echoing in the corridor, leaving him slumped over the table, helpless and aching with need.
Bitter tears fell down his face, cutting rivulets through the dirt. He had to be broken now, he was sure of it. He had no thoughts of revenge, no will to fight. All he wanted in that moment was for one of them to come back and unlock his wrists so he could bring himself relief. And he hated himself for it.
