A/n: So this one's a bit odd. Like the dungeon prompt, it's not canon. I hope you will enjoy anyway
The girl was back. She'd brought friends: a tall, spikey-haired fellow and an elegant woman with nobility's arrogant look. They were arguing with the guards about something, but he couldn't quite hear them over the buzz of blood in his ears.
His lungs were starting to fail him. It wouldn't be long, now. He wondered what would take him first: the thirst, or the lack of breath as his raised arms squeezed his chest?
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wood. They hadn't broken his legs, which was no kindness. It only made the dying slower.
Most of his audience had come once, stared for a long time, and never returned. The girl came by every day, more than once but only briefly, as if she was checking on his progress. As if she didn't want to miss the moment of his death.
He wondered who of hers he'd killed. She was young, so probably not her husband. An older brother, maybe, or a father.
There was a sharp pain in his chest and he choked, trying to draw breath and failing. Drowning on dry land.
Ah. Not the thirst, then.
He let himself fall.
And then he was falling – no, sliding – the relentless pressure holding him in place was gone and he gasped reflexively. Air rushed into his lungs and it hurt so damn much that he almost wished he was back on the cross. He was on the ground, suddenly, and there was noise and motion and a woman's voice snapping instructions, low and angry. Firm hands were probing him, competent and gentle, and something cool and soothing was smeared across the rope burns on his wrists and ankles.
He forced his eyes open.
The girl was kneeling over him. Her eyes were blue, brilliantly so: blue as butterflies, blue as gemstones, blue as birdfeathers. She lifted his head, gently, and held a waterskin to his mouth
"It's alright," she said softly. "Just go slowly."
There was water against his lips and he gulped it in reflexively. She took the skin away before he was anywhere near done.
"Swallow," she chided. He did. Then she brought it back. He remembered to go slowly this time.
Eventually the waterskin was empty. She set it aside and took out a handkerchief, wiping at some of what had spilled down his chin despite his best efforts. He leaned into her touch despite himself; it had been so long since he'd known gentleness.
"…why?" he asked, dreading the answer.
She seemed to freeze. Her gem-blue eyes closed, and the world seemed a little dimmer for it.
"…Father would never have wanted this," she said finally, voice cracking with unshed tears.
He closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Rest," she said, as if she hadn't heard him.
