Halt's heart was beating out of his chest with each step down the long, winding stairs. Alda's hand was attached to the back of his jerkin, but it had no need to be. Halt would have done anything for Will, even descend into the depths of hell or venture into the frozen wastelands that nothing ever left alive. Even if there was only the mere possibility of Will being alive, Halt would search for him until he could search no longer. So the seemingly never-ending trip to the dungeon was almost nothing.
What was bugging Halt, however, was the fact that Will could already be dead and Halt came for nothing. It was clear that this was a revenge plot. Alda had ruined Horace's life by forcing him to betray everything he held dear, but what about Will and Halt? What was Alda going to do to them? Halt was accustomed to responding to sudden danger, but he was not used to realizing he was being led into a trap and could do nothing about it.
Finally, they entered the dungeons. Halt was proud to say he had been there only once in his lifetime, and it had not been in the state it was in now. The walls were crumbling and mossy, the torture devices, which had not been used since Duncan's predecessor John, were rusty. The worst part however, was the smell. Mold, wet copper, and rank terror confronted Halt's nostrils. He hated the smell of fear, it was desperation and urine and sweat and steel. He wondered if the fear was coming from Will...
They didn't go far into the dungeons. In fact, the door they stopped in front of was one of the first. Halt could hear dull moans of pain from inside the cell, and a sharp scream followed them. Halt's fingers clenched numbly in a fist. He knew that was Will. He just knew it! "Alda, open the door," he growled, but Alda just grinned and shook his head. Another small shriek escaped the room. After forcing Halt to wait a bit longer in a display of his overpowering control, Alda finally threw the door open dramatically.
A grunt much like that of wounded animal parted Halt's lips as he looked inside the room. A shirtless Will was dangling from the ceiling, his wrists bound to a metal bar running an inch below the ceiling. Scarlet tears meandered around his skin, stemming from various lacerations and deep purple flowers were already beginning to blossom on his stomach, chest and shoulders. Jerome stood next to him, an unforgiving smile on his thin lips and a bloody razor-blade clutched in his pale hand.
Halt had expected to see Will. Maybe not this bloody and bruised, but he had expected to see him. Halt had not, however, planned on seeing the third person in the room. It was Pauline, standing tall and elegant despite her situation. She did appear a little frazzled though. Her gray-blonde hair was drifting away from her ponytail and her eyes displayed a little panic. A reluctant-looking Bryn stood behind her, an unused knife dangling from his fingers. It seemed even criminals had issues hurting someone as beautiful and pure as Pauline.
"I think it's about time to pull out your longbow and that one arrow..." Alda suggested maliciously, and Halt suddenly realized what Alda's master plan was.
"No, no, no, no, no..." he whispered. He couldn't believe that someone could ask him to choose between his wife and his son. It was the cruelest thing he had ever witnessed, let alone been a part of. He drew the arrow and put it to the string, but couldn't bring himself to draw it back.
"Go on, shoot! I've been told you never hesitate, nor miss. Don't make a habit of it now!" teased Alda, with a touch of venom. Halt shakily pulled the string back to full draw, but the point swung back and forth. Will had much more left to live for, but Pauline was the love of his life. Will, who had been seemingly unconscious, raised his head and croaked.
"Halt. Halt, you need to shoot me. I won't mind, I swear," His brown eyes met Halt's, pleading with him to give in.
"Will is in his prime Halt. If you don't shoot me, I will never forgive you," Pauline stated cooly, and Halt saw steel in those eyes. But he couldn't. He couldn't.
The draw slipped a little in his sweaty grip and a his heart stopped in a moment of terror, thinking he had just killed his wife. And in that moment, he knew he couldn't. The point swung to Will. Halt let the draw drop a little more and then released it. He heard a meaty smack and closed his eyes. He had shot his son.