Sic Semper Tyrannis, chapter 2
Title: Sic Semper Tyrannis
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Word Count: 6,620 / 20,000 (?)
Spoilers: Guy's past, Fabre's role in the Hod war.
Summary: A slight twist of fate. Sync infiltrates the ferry after cursing Guy in Chesedonia, and when Luke is attacked, the others are forced to question why. This chapter contains torture/violence/non-consensual sex.
Chapter 1
Sic Semper Tyrannis
---
Screaming, the end is near
So rest in peace cause we’re the ones that put ourselves here
Water rises, now hold your breath and count down
This ship of sinners and saints are just waiting to drown
---
"What the hell is taking so long?!"
From her seat at the dining table, Princess Natalia suppressed another sigh and gave her fiancé a measuring look. "Really, Luke, just sit down. Father is discussing the situation between Kimlasca and Malkuth with the Fon Master and Colonel Curtiss. Surely you understand that what happened with Guy is a minor-"
Luke whirled on her, his aimless pacing halted on the spot. "Minor?! Guy isn't minor, Natalia!"
Natalia rubbed her forehead with one hand. "That is not what I meant. Consider the issue from my father's perspective. We could be in the process of stopping a war. To the ruler of an entire country, the imprisonment of a servant isn't something one would deal with first. Try to be more patient."
Luke glared, arms crossing angrily. "How am I supposed to be patient when Guy's locked up like that?! I want to talk to him, not sit around waiting to find out what's going to happen! Why can't I talk to him?!"
The princess looked just as annoyed with him. "Because he tried to kill you. Our fathers are concerned for your safety."
Luke snorted, going back to pacing. "If they'd listened to Ion in the first place, they'd know it wasn't his fault!" He didn't sound as sure as his words implied.
Natalia noticed it, gaze softening just a little. "I'm sure there's an explanation, but... he said a curse slot could not control the person-"
"Shut up!" Luke snapped, hand lashing out wildly at nothing. "It wasn't Guy! It wasn't!"
She responded with a cool look, shaking her head. "Either way, there's nothing we can do until my father and the colonel have come to an agreement. Why don't you speak to your father about it?"
"I did," Luke grumbled, brushing a hand through his hair in irritation. "He said he was looking into it. But now I'm stuck back here, and I can't even see what's going on!" He paused, then glanced over at her, his expression almost... pleading. Almost. "Hey, Natalia, you do it."
She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me! Go check on Guy!" He put his hands on his hips, leaning in. "You can go outside, unlike me. Besides, Uncle will listen to you. Tell him that Guy's more important than some stupid letter."
"Luke, that's completely inappropriate!" Natalia stood, shooting him a glare that just screamed disapproval. "You know that I can't do such a thing. Such an important meeting cannot be interrupted." She saw Luke already formulating a rather emphatic protest, and quickly added, "If you insist, I suppose I could see how he is."
"I do insist," Luke muttered, averting his eyes, trying to conceal his relief. "I want to do it myself... damned guards."
Sighing softly, Natalia ignored the barb and stood, brushing off her dress. "I'm going to see Aunt Susanne first, and then I'll head back to the castle. You should do the same - she worried herself sick when you disappeared."
Luke grumbled something unintelligible as she left the room, instead flopping impatiently into a chair to wait for her.
Dammit, they'd better let Guy out soon. There's nothing to do around here without him or Master Van...
Despite his words, he couldn't quite shake the odd feeling of both urgency and... fear? Was it fear? No...
He felt a weight hop onto his lap, and suddenly a pair of concerned black eyes were staring him in the face. "Master, don't worry! Everything will be okay!"
Luke stared at the cheagle for all of five seconds.
"GET OFF ME, THING!"
"Mieuuu..."
Yeah, he decided, stomping Mieu to the floor, Guy'll be fine. He always is.
---
He was kicked awake the second time, jostled by the impact, his bleariness the only thing that kept him from crying out. Lifting his head, he was greeted once more by the dark-eyed dungeon master, who studied him for a moment before giving his head a rough shake. "Wake up," the guard demanded - rather redundant, Guy thought dizzily, since he was already awake, "His Grace is here."
If he hadn't already been conscious, that certainly would have done it. Fabre was back.
The duke didn't look angry upon his return; on the contrary, he seemed almost pleased. Guy cursed inwardly, keeping his head up as much as he could, intent on meeting the eyes of his enemy. A neccessity, of course.
"So," Fabre began, his tone calm, almost relaxed, "It seems there is a story after all."
"Who... told you that?" Guy managed, lips parched. He licked them gingerly, and tasted blood.
Duke Fabre gave him a measuring look, then his eyes shifted to the dungeon master. The man stepped forward again - it took a great deal of Guy's willpower to keep from flinching - and grabbed Guy's left arm, the one he could still move. "Are you certain?" Fabre murmured.
Guy swallowed, braced himself, and said nothing until a sharp, wrenching pain made him scream. Honour be damned, that hurt.
"You're going through a lot of trouble to conceal something I am already aware of," the duke commented, as Guy coughed, arm hanging limp at his side until the guard set it back into the shackles.
"Why don't... you tell me... what you know?" Guy gasped out, breath quickening. The pain wasn't going away, and he could feel the bones grating together beneath his skin.
Fabre set free a low chuckle. "And be more cooperative than you? I think not. Consider it an order, then, servant of my household."
"You're the... one who's... doubting that," Guy shot back, lacking the venom he'd liked to have shown because he was too busy remembering how to breathe. Priorities and all.
The guard reached up towards his fingers, and he did flinch. There were plenty of other delicate bones to break.
"Show a little caution," Fabre said quietly, keeping his distance, looking vaguely bored. "This man is skilled - he knows how to shatter bone in ways that even a high-level seventh fonist couldn't cure."
Guy closed his eyes at that, distantly feeling that loathesome hand close around one of his fingers. Right hand. Sword and screwdriver. Two of his best friends. Luke was another. None of them were with him now.
He wondered, trembling faintly against his will, if Tear's fonic hymns could repair the damage. If she'd help him. She would if Luke asked her. She would.
... If Luke wanted to.
... Of course he wanted to.
... Right?
"Where... is... Luke...?" he whispered. Fabre motioned with one hand, and a finger snapped.
... Maybe Tear could fix that. He'd have liked to have her around about then.
Oh, and Luke. Definitely Luke.
"Luke is safe," Fabre answered him. He hadn't moved, had barely even blinked. Typical, for a murderer. "You cannot kill him like this."
"I-I-!!" Guy shuddered in his chains, eyes aflame. "I don't... want to...!"
He didn't, he didn't. Not his Luke. Not his Luke. Because his Luke was a brother and a son and a friend. His Luke was precious, and losing him would be like losing Mary all over again.
There were tears in his eyes again, and he forced them away. Not with this man.
"Why should I believe that?" Fabre responded, eyes narrowing.
"I... served your son... faithfully... for years," Guy snapped, breathing hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. Just until this man left. Then, he could collapse and gasp and wheeze and maybe pass out, if he was lucky. "I could've... killed him at any time."
"I do not reward traitors and deceivers," Fabre responded coldly.
"Y... you do," the blond wheezed, chains rattling. "You reward it... with blood."
Fabre was quiet for a long moment, watching him as he swayed on his feet, most of his weight supported by his wrists. His bare feet slid clumsily in the blood pooling beneath him, and he cursed, biting his tongue hard to keep from crying out as the sudden unbalance put more pressure on both shoulders. He knew how to fix one, one on his own with the other free. Not both.
"...Gardios."
Guy stiffened at the sudden announcement, head lifting to show widened eyes. Fabre continued, "You are of the House Gardios, originating from the island of Hod. Give me your name."
Baring his teeth, Guy growled back, "Give me yours, Crimson Assas-nngh!"
"You'll run out of bones," Fabre commented dryly.
Guy glared and said nothing. Even if the duke already knew his name, he wasn't giving it up without a fight.
But Duke Fabre was a soldier, a tactician, a man whose army defeated the Sigmund masters of his household. Above all else, Fabre was a politician. He knew how to get what he wanted.
"... You joined the servants of my household with the gardener, Pere, did you not?"
Oh. No. No, he did not.
He started to tremble again, but not from pain, oh no. Not this time. This was rage, and it was very, very obviously shown in his gaze.
Probably his first mistake; the duke was watching his reaction, and what he saw seemed to please him. "Would he know your name, I wonder. He was your guardian, after all."
"Leave... him out of this," the young servant hissed, wishing with all his soul for the ability to lash out, punch the smile off his face. "He... doesn't have anything... to do with this...!"
"Hn." Ignoring his protests, Fabre turn sharply on his heel, starting towards the door. "I'll order him brought here for questioning. You've proven to be far too troublesome."
No. No. No. No.
Guy was shouting the word before he realized it, wrestling wildly in his chains, ignoring the wrenching agony in both arms, his knees finally buckling beneath him, unable to handle the pressure any longer. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to curse and rage and hate, because this man was threatening Pere, Pere, who had remained faithful all his life, who had saved him from death and cared for him, who had become a father and grandfather and friend for sixteen years.
Pere, who was a Sigmund Artes master, but old, and wasn't expecting this, surely he wasn't. Who was unmatched in his skill but could still be overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and that was one thing of which Duke Fabre had plenty.
He cursed, and cursed, and cursed in his mind, because for all his honour and will and strength, he'd been forced into a corner - forced to surrender - to the man he hated more than anything else in existence.
"G... Gailardia... Galan... Gardios..." Duke Fabre raised a crimson brow, and Guy had to force himself to continue, hating every word he spoke, his throat nearly burning from it. "... S... son of... Count..." He shuddered, trailing off as his body just caved, wracked with a frail coughing fit he couldn't quite control.
"I remember," Duke Fabre spoke over him, remaining by the door. "Count Zygmunt Bazin Gardios, the highest-ranking official of Hod. Your mother was Kimlascan."
Guy kept his eyes closed, slowly gathering his feet beneath him, trying to muster the strength to stand again. His legs protested every effort, feet slipping on the cold, blood-soaked stones. "You... killed my family."
"That I know." The man smiled faintly, and Guy could feel his eyes on him. "And you served me for all this time for the sake of avenging that?"
It wasn't really a question, for they both knew the truth. Guy didn't bother to answer, and Fabre didn't wait for one. He turned away again, moving towards the door.
"Wait... wait!" Guy snapped, pushing with all his might to stand up straight. His back hit the wall, unpolished stone tearing at his wounds, and he hissed between clenched teeth. "... Wait... what are you... doing...?! Tell me...!"
Fabre didn't spare him even a sidelong glance, already out the door. "You're in no position to make demands in this place." And just like that, he was gone. The guards followed him, all of them; for the first time in hours, he was truly left alone.
And for the first time since he'd been escorted below the castle, he didn't want it.
...Luke...
---
They were gone for several hours, during which he'd dozed off, or passed out, whichever it was. He was just starting to wake up when the door opened, two guards entering the cell, followed by Duke Fabre, who gave him a long, measuring look, hands clasped together at his back. After a moment he briefly gestured towards the guards with one, and they left, leaving the door half-open behind them.
Fabre approached him, halting a foot or so away, lifting his chin as he examined the blond. Guy barely had enough energy to glare at him. "I was at the manor until just a few moments ago. Luke has returned home." He smiled unkindly. "He claims he's bored."
.... Bored.
Bored.
Guy felt something snap within him, something that had been stretched so thin, so long. He felt the remnants of it lash against his heart, tearing open wounds that had been holding together so well, so incredibly well since he'd woken up in the storage room on the ferry with Luke's blood on his hands.
Luke was back at the manor, bored.
He wanted to laugh, but couldn't find his voice. It... actually sounded like something Luke would do.
He'd just been hoping that maybe...
"...I... don't believe you," he managed to whisper, lowering his head again. There was nothing he wanted to see now.
"No? Rest assured, he's quite safe. Though I'm sure that's not the answer you were hoping for." Fabre didn't seem bothered when Guy ignored the barb. "He asked for you, naturally, but seemed satisfied when I told him I was taking care of it. You need not concern yourself with him any longer."
Very subtle, Guy thought absently, still stunned by the duke's claims. He knew Luke better than that, didn't he? The young noble was a selfish brat, and that was being nice about it, but he wasn't heartless. He wouldn't just shrug off a friend who needed help.
He wouldn't.
...He hoped.
"Bored," he said under his breath, too low to be heard, eyes staring at the floor before he let them close. He didn't know how to respond to that, and so didn't bother trying. It wasn't as though Luke were there to ask, anyway.
He felt a sharp nudge against his leg, what seemed like an eternity later, and blinked a few times. Had he blacked out? Why had-
Stop.
He looked, very slowly, at the object he'd been prodded with, the one held irreverantly in Fabre's hand. A sword.
A sword he'd seen on the wall by the entrance of Fabre for more than ten years, a sword he'd resigned himself to never getting back, after he'd decided not to kill Luke.
"You recognize it," Fabre murmured. "Good. I could not imagine you forgetting this; this was your father's blade, if I remember correctly."
"It... is my father's..." Guy whispered hoarsely, shaking faintly in the shackles. He stiffened as he felt the blade rest against his throat, the weapon slowly curving along his neck, forcibly lifting his chin.
"It was," Fabre repeated, gaze harsh. "I took it from him when I took his head, as a prize to the king to symbolize our victory." He smiled darkly. "Surely you've seen it. I keep it on a shelf in my study."
He had seen it, actually. He'd helped the maids dust the house from time to time, and they had always, without fail, sent him to clean that room. None of them would touch it; they said it was disgusting and creepy and could just stay dirty, thank you very much.
Not him. Oh, not him. There was nothing in the world he treated with more respect, nothing he handled more delicately. He simply tried to ignore the fact that he was handling the skull of the man who had carried him on his shoulders as a child, had died separated from those shoulders.
"I have been wondering," Fabre continued almost conversely, spinning the sword in his grasp, the blade - still as sharp as ever, even after so many years - scratching along his jawline, trailing up his cheek, "How you escaped. How old were you then? Four, five? You could not have been alone."
Guy clenched his jaw, remaining silent, ignoring the blood welling up beneath his eye. A part of him wondered rather morbidly how he was still coherent - no, how he was even alive, after losing so much blood. The smell of it was overpowering, and not for the first time, he thought he was going to be ill.
It was getting harder, so much harder to remain aware of what was going on. A deep, distant part of him wanted to simply drift, wait for the end from the corner that had no pain, no humiliation at the hands of this hated man. If he died, his family would be there, waiting for him.
But Luke would be...
Bored.
He was, he realized, exhausted, and just as tired of all of this. Was he bored?
The sword tightened at his throat, shifting downwards. He blinked dizzily, gaze lifting to look at the red-haired duke. The man was no longer smiling.
"If you are weary of this," he said softly, "I will end it for you."
Yes, Guy wanted to say. Almost did. His plans for vengeance had been discovered, utterly destroyed. His position was gone. All he'd ever wanted was lost to him.
Luke was at the manor. Bored. Doing nothing.
"We'll get you out, okay?"
It wasn't okay.
"S... screw... you..." he said instead, the words barely audible, barely coherent. Even he seemed surprised by it.
Apparently he didn't want to die just yet.
The sword was lifted from his cheek, shifting away, and his relief only lasted a moment; a hand replaced it, going to his neck and pulling, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Fabre drew back his hand, and the clasp snapped, his collar dropping to the dirty, bloodsoaked ground at his feet.
Another wound in his heart. He stared down at the collar as if it were an arm, or a leg, severed and lost forever. Another treasure, a gift from Luke when he was much younger - a sign that Guy was 'his', no matter what. He'd laughed, then, thinking of how stupid the idea was. Yet years later he still wore it - never took it off, in fact, except to clean it and keep the charm polished.
The blood will make it rust, he thought distantly. The entire situation all of a sudden seemed remote, unreal, as if he were an audience member watching a play. A tragedy, no doubt.
Maybe he was dying, after all.
"Gailardia Galan Gardios," Duke Fabre announced, taking a step back, "You are no longer a servant at my household. You are charged with the attempted murder of the tertiary heir of the kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear, and the sentence is death. You will not live to see the end of the day."
Oh. Oh. Wasn't that just lovely. Guy opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly the sword was slicing at the back of his knee - first one, then the other - and all that came was a scream, knees buckling, the sound intensified as his arms wrenched painfully in the shackles. Why, oh why was he so determined to take his time with it?! Even assassins didn't deserve this much. He hadn't even succeeded in trying to kill Luke. What was the punishment for that, he wondered.
His legs wouldn't move, bleeding steadily, and from the feel of it, they wouldn't be moving anytime soon. Severed tendons, then. Lovely. But if he was to die, then why cripple him? It made no sense...
Fabre leaned in, resting the blade almost threateningly against his jugular. "How badly do you want to live?"
"Nn..." Guy shuddered, trying vainly to lift himself up, and failing miserably scant seconds later. His limbs were useless, fate at the mercy of the duke. How ironic. "L... long enough... to avenge my family... with that..." he managed, voice faint, yet heated. Let the man know how often he could have sliced Luke'd throat, if he'd really wanted. Let the man remember how Luke used to sleep at his side at night, despite his orders to cease. Perhaps eventually he'd realize that there was no longer any plans for retribution. Hopefully before any permanent maiming.
Contrary to his wish, that answer seemed to satisfy the older man like none other before it. "You want this sword, don't you," Fabre murmured, turning the Jewel of Gardios this way and that in his hand, calmly ignoring the enraged gleam in Guy's gaze. "You've wanted it for years." A small smile crossed his lips. "It must be a treasure beyond worth for you."
Guy didn't bother responding to that; they both knew it was the truth anyway.
Fabre watched him for a long time, considering his expression. Then, without looking away, he stretched out his arm, snapping a finger, then offered the sword to one of the guards who hurried in at the sound. The man took it hurriedly, glancing questioningly to the duke.
"I have no use for a tool of Malkuth any longer," Fabre stated, in a tone that was not to be questioned. "Melt it down to scrap and throw it away."
Guy's eyes widened. Fabre's smile returned.
The former noble felt a rush of adrenaline as the guard turned to leave, and he absolutely roared, mustering all the strength he had left and thrusting his body towards the duke. The guard jumped, but Fabre didn't even flinch, knowing the chains were too short to reach him anyway. Not that his legs would carry him anyway; the second his momentum was gone, he dropped like a stone, gasping in pain as his arms twisted back. His hands ached, his shoulders were burning - everything hurt. There was nothing left that Duke Fabre could do to him except take his life.
But his pride was gone too; it was going, leaving him, in the form of the weapon the guard was even now carrying out of the cell (footsteps, heavy boots against the floor, he couldn't see, he couldn't see it), and while he couldn't attack them, he could - and did - make his objection painfully obvious. He snarled and screamed his rage, all control lost at the thought of his father's sword, his sword, destroyed forever. Bad enough he'd lost his family, lost Hod. Bad enough he'd given half his life to serving this man and his family.
No, now he was taking away one of the only memories he had left.
And that was simply not going to happen.
But before he could form his protests into a more coherent argument, he was shoved head-first into the stone, setting his head spinning wildly. Twelve. Even as he fought to stay conscious, two hands grasped his hips and pulled, and his pants were down.
...Oh gods.
Wrong. There was a little more than nothing.
"Close the door," Fabre called after the guard, moving closer, leaning in to grab Guy by the jaw, squeezing painfully. The door shut noisily at his back, and he heard the sounds of the guard's departure.
His sword, his pride.
"Take your vengeance now, Gailardia Galan," Fabre challenged quietly, lifting up his legs, even as he struggled weakly to break free, "If you can."
And quite suddenly there was something hard and throbbing against his ass.
No. No. No.
"Don't you dare," he said. Tried to say. Would've liked to say, but even as he took a breath to do so, Fabre was stretching him wide, and Fabre was thrusting inside him without another word, and all he could do was scream, and scream, and scream.
It wasn't the pain. He'd dealt with pain already, a full day's worth of varying degrees of it. The pain was nothing, because everything else hurt too much for it to really matter.
But Duke Fabre, Duke Fabre was pressed against him, pinning him to the wall, hands grasping his hips so hard they were bruising beneath the caked blood, and he was thrusting, thrusting-!!
He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, and he knew that if things continued as they were, he would. It was starting to hurt now, the unlubricated violation tearing at his insides and reminding him that as battered as he was on just about every inch of his outer body, at least he'd remained relatively intact otherwise. Had been, anyway.
Gods, where was his coherency?
Oh. Oh. It was outside the cell, with his father's sword, on its way to the smithy to be melted down, destroyed, thrown away, oh god they took his sword--
"Scream," Fabre murmured in his ear, thrusts intensifying, a tearing agony developing right at the base of his spine, and what could he do but obey? The stone wall was cold and unforgiving at his tattered back, the chains around his wrists pulling mercilessly at torn sockets and broken bones, and the bleeding wounds in his bare legs made him dizzy. The man kept thrusting, kept pounding roughly into him, and he screamed, oh he screamed, because it felt like his whole world was dying, everything that he had become over the years stripped away, one layer after another.
He hated this man. He hated him with every fiber of his being, this man who had killed his father and put his head on the shelf, this man who had taken the life of his mother and laughed, oh he laughed, just as he was laughing now, and it made him scream until his voice was gone, and even then he wheezed through his pain.
Scream, that man had demanded of him, and he screamed because he couldn't stay silent, and there were no words, no words at all to use to respond to this situation.
None. At all.
"Louder."
He couldn't. His voice was spent. But he tried, oh, he tried, because maybe the man liked it, maybe it would make him hurry it up and- oh ow, oh gods, why was there so much agonizing friction down there - finish and then it would be over. He'd taken the whipping and the broken bones and the cutting and gods the collar had almost broken him but this...
Too much. It was all too much.
So he gathered his energy - what little he had to spare - and screamed. Twice, louder the second time. His voice cracked, and still he tried.
Resolve be damned. For the first time in his life, he wanted to die.
"We'll get you out, okay?"
Too late, far too late for that.
He didn't know how long it went on for, how long it took for the duke to finish. There was no warning, for Fabre didn't speak to him again; he thrust into Guy once, twice, a third time, remaining still and setting free a low groan - the only sound he'd made to indicate any sort of pleasure throughout the entire ordeal - and let go deep within. It was, he thought to himself, in too much shock for it to truly register, the strangest sensation he'd ever felt in his life.
And then it occurred to him that Duke Fabre had just raped him, and he wondered if now was a good time to start screaming all over again. Tried. Whimpered first, and made himself shut up.
He could feel the duke's release dripping slowly down his leg, and felt another urge to throw up. Wouldn't that be good and proper post-sex behaviour, leaving a mess all over those fine silk clothes.
Fabre pulled back before he could finish contemplating the idea, getting himself back in order, looking disturbingly satisfied. He ignored Guy's sharp cry of pain as his feet hit the floor. "How was your vengeance, then?"
"Lukewarm. I've had better," Guy heard someone say, as if from a distance. Odd thing to say, that. He wondered where it had come from.
Apparently him, came the delayed realization, as Fabre backhanded him. Oh, excellent. He'd been rather distressed by the fact that everything was bleeding but his lip. Fixed that problem.
"Obviously you cannot be taught," the red-headed duke said darkly, clapping his hands twice. Immediately the door opened, the guards filing in, sans one. The one with his sword, Guy remembered, and felt another piece of his heart shatter.
Scrap. Scrap.
"Obviously," he echoed, his voice hoarse, utterly spent. Over, it was almost over. There were people waiting for him, people who he missed more than anything else in the world. Maybe it was for the best; maybe life was better on the other side.
He didn't want to die.
But he didn't want to live like this, either.
"Do you miss your father, Gailardia Galan?" Fabre asked, that infuriating smile crossing his lips once more. Guy shot him the most disdainful and mocking look he could muster. Never in his life had he heard a more pointlessly stupid question. "I'll let you join him, when you are dead, then."
... No.
"You and your father can live on for eternity in my study. Appropriate, is it not?"
... No.
Fabre turned to the guards, keeping an eye on Guy as he spoke. "Do with him as you please, but I want him silenced before dusk. After that you may leave him to die." His expression darkened considerably. "I imagine it will not take long."
One of the guards saluted, as the other two looked like they were going to enjoy the remaining time they had. "Princess Natalia has requested to be allowed to see the prisoner, Your Grace. She insists on speaking with you, as well."
Natalia? Guy tried to lift his head. After several attempts he decided not to bother.
"The princess? Oh, very well. Under no circumstances is she to be allowed down here."
Not Luke?
"Yes, Your Grace!"
... Not Luke.
"Good. Now do as instructed. I am finished with him, so feel free to do as you please. He is not to leave here alive."
"We'll get you out-"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"-okay?"
The soldiers turned to face him as one of them escorted Duke Fabre outside, closing the door behind them.
"...We will."
They toyed with him for another hour, introducing a whole new collection of methods to cause him pain without killing him outright. They were, he came to learn once again, very good at their jobs.
And when the time came, when the sun was setting outside the castle, they forced open his mouth and raised a dagger to it, and he finally found his voice again as they began to take it away.
"We'll get you out."
You didn't.
---
Luke wasn't sure whether who to hate more: Sync, for causing this mess in the first place, or his father, for blowing things far, far out of proportion.
Or himself, for believing in the man who'd spent his entire life breaking promises.
It didn't really matter, in the end; his wholehearted belief that Guy would return home soon had come to an instant halt when Natalia had returned to the manor looking so shaken he barely recognized her, reporting that no, she hadn't seen Guy, hadn't seen so much as a scrap of blond hair. They'd stopped her at the level just above where he was held, stating that they were interrogating a dangerous criminal, and couldn't risk it.
She'd heard a lot of screaming, however, and despite Duke Fabre's assurances, she couldn't deny that it had sounded a great deal like Guy.
And yet it hadn't, she'd started to say, but the rest of her words were lost on him as he took off down the hall towards the mansion's front entrance, sword already half-drawn. There must have been something terrifying in his expression, something that just ressonated "Back the hell off", because the maids shrieked and scurried out of his way, and even the White Knights didn't bother trying to stop him. Luckily for them, though the thought didn't occur to him until later. He probably would have hurt them. ... Killed them, even.
Screaming.
Guy was screaming.
Guy didn't scream. Even when he was hurt, even when he'd been injured in the myriad of the battles they'd faced. He didn't scream, he didn't cry, he didn't lose it. He'd always been calm in the face of anything that came their way.
Guy was strong. He'd never realized that until they had traveled together.
The thought of him being hurt or scared enough to scream was... was...
And he'd done nothing. All day.
Guy... Guy, I'm sorry, he chanted in his head endlessly, running towards the castle, tearing past the guards and through the doors, eyes blurring, feeling nothing but guilt-stricken panic. Be okay, please be okay!
Guy had said it was going to be okay.
What if it wasn't?
"Luke?"
He spun around at the voice, eyes wide and wild. Tear stared at him, stunned - at the sight of him looking like some kind of blood-crazed madman, no doubt. He didn't care. He rushed over, grasping her arm with his free hand, and choked out, "G-Guy! I need to find Guy...!"
"...Luke, calm down," she told him firmly, trying to get him to lower his sword - the guards were staring - but he would have none of it. He'd been calm all day, and Guy had been screaming. Screaming, she'd said.
"Where's the dungeon?!" he snapped, at her, at the guards, anyone who was close enough to hear it. He snarled when no answer came, cursing his ignorance of the castle layout. Why oh why were they not answering him!
"Luke, wait!" Before he could contemplate if severing a few heads would get him a more timely response, Natalia rushed over to where he was clinging to a very confused Tear, panting in a manner that was probably unbecoming for a princess. "I'll show you where to go, just... don't run off like that..."
He stared at her for a brief moment. Don't run off? What the hell? Guy was screaming! Guy! How could he be calm, how could he not want to rush to find out why?! "Hurry up!" he demanded, grabbing her by the hand, pulling urgently. She looked as if she was about to scold him, but thought better of it, spinning on her heel and moving hurriedly towards the left hallway, ignoring the concerned guards and leading them down to the lower levels. One of the soldiers - the one who had blocked Natalia's path before - took one look at Luke and started to interfere, but before Luke could even lift his sword to strike him down, Tear was singing, the gentle Fonic Hymn putting him to sleep.
Two healers, two fonists, he thought, pace increasing as they went further down the stairs. He hoped desperately that they wouldn't be needed.
And then they went a little further, and he heard the screams, and all he could think was oh god, oh god, Guy, Guy and he took off running, ignoring their calls and leaving them in the dust.
He followed the screams. He found the door. Practically destroyed said door trying to get inside.
"Guy!"
He found Guy.
But no... no, it couldn't have been Guy. Guy wasn't red. Guy didn't have red hair and red skin and red eyes and red teeth and he certainly didn't have red spit. Guy usually wore clothes. Guy usually wore his collar. Guy usually didn't have a knife in his mouth.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the men - the ones he hadn't really noticed until he'd spoken - straightened up, withdrawing the bloodstained knife from inside Guy's mouth, and took a step towards him. The other tensed, fully prepared to do the same.
Killing two men had never been so easy.
It wasn't until they were dead that Luke allowed himself a moment to study the prisoner. He'd fallen silent when the knife was removed, and was now hanging limp from the shackles, head bowed, blood dripping steadily from his mouth.
And just about everywhere else.
The frozen moment shattered, and Luke wanted to scream himself.
He forced himself forward, rolling over the dead guards and searching them until he found the keys. His hands were shaking as he lifted them to unlock the shackles, voice tremulous as he chanted Guy's name over and over, praying to anything that could listen that he was alive, that the tiny, barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest wasn't just his imagination. He caught Guy as he fell free of the chains, mindless of the blood and and wounds and gods, the state of the elder man's body, cradling his head in his lap, trying to keep from shaking, failing miserably at the attempt.
"Guy?" he whispered timidly.
Silence was his answer, and for one long, terrifying moment, he feared the worst, shoulders shaking. He couldn't cry, he wasn't going to cry. Guy needed him right now.
And then Guy opened his eyes again, taking a slow, wheezing breath, even as Luke's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at the younger boy, studying him with eyes dim, so dim they were almost grey, and murmured in a nigh-inaudible voice, "...You... came."
His vision blurred, Luke made a weak, hiccoughing sound, and forced himself to smile. He felt sick to his stomach, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. He'd seen what they'd been trying to do to Guy's tongue.
If he'd waited a few moments more, he knew he would have been too late.
"Of course I did, stupid," he whispered, lifting a hand to wipe at his eye, ignoring the smear of blood left in its wake. "I-I said I would."
Guy smiled. Even in the state he was in, he smiled.
And then he stopped breathing.
No.
Too late.
Luke set free a muffled scream, hunching over Guy and letting go of his tremulous control, letting his heart break free of the dams he'd built up since he'd heard what was really going on beneath the castle. He screamed and cursed and cried and called, over and over, because Guy was hurt and bleeding and dying and leaving him...!!
Guy couldn't leave. He couldn't leave.
He almost started shaking him, but suddenly Natalia was grabbing his hands and pulling him back, whispering something, trying to soothe his hysteria, and Tear was kneeling beside where Guy's body - Guy, Guy, not just a body, ever - lay, her voice lifting to chant the incantation. The words she spoke made his blood run cold.
"Return this soul from the abyss of death..."
No, no, no, no, no.
"Guy," he said again, reaching out towards him, but Natalia took his hand and shook her head, and Tear finished her spell and bent to check if it had worked, and then she started singing, and Natalia pulled free of him to add her own spell to it, and oh gods he was alive, they were healing him, he was going to make it, now, wasn't he?
Because he was Guy, and Guy was alright. Guy was always alright.
Guy wouldn't die with such a sad smile.
---
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Word Count: 6,620 / 20,000 (?)
Spoilers: Guy's past, Fabre's role in the Hod war.
Summary: A slight twist of fate. Sync infiltrates the ferry after cursing Guy in Chesedonia, and when Luke is attacked, the others are forced to question why. This chapter contains torture/violence/non-consensual sex.
Chapter 1
Sic Semper Tyrannis
---
Screaming, the end is near
So rest in peace cause we’re the ones that put ourselves here
Water rises, now hold your breath and count down
This ship of sinners and saints are just waiting to drown
---
"What the hell is taking so long?!"
From her seat at the dining table, Princess Natalia suppressed another sigh and gave her fiancé a measuring look. "Really, Luke, just sit down. Father is discussing the situation between Kimlasca and Malkuth with the Fon Master and Colonel Curtiss. Surely you understand that what happened with Guy is a minor-"
Luke whirled on her, his aimless pacing halted on the spot. "Minor?! Guy isn't minor, Natalia!"
Natalia rubbed her forehead with one hand. "That is not what I meant. Consider the issue from my father's perspective. We could be in the process of stopping a war. To the ruler of an entire country, the imprisonment of a servant isn't something one would deal with first. Try to be more patient."
Luke glared, arms crossing angrily. "How am I supposed to be patient when Guy's locked up like that?! I want to talk to him, not sit around waiting to find out what's going to happen! Why can't I talk to him?!"
The princess looked just as annoyed with him. "Because he tried to kill you. Our fathers are concerned for your safety."
Luke snorted, going back to pacing. "If they'd listened to Ion in the first place, they'd know it wasn't his fault!" He didn't sound as sure as his words implied.
Natalia noticed it, gaze softening just a little. "I'm sure there's an explanation, but... he said a curse slot could not control the person-"
"Shut up!" Luke snapped, hand lashing out wildly at nothing. "It wasn't Guy! It wasn't!"
She responded with a cool look, shaking her head. "Either way, there's nothing we can do until my father and the colonel have come to an agreement. Why don't you speak to your father about it?"
"I did," Luke grumbled, brushing a hand through his hair in irritation. "He said he was looking into it. But now I'm stuck back here, and I can't even see what's going on!" He paused, then glanced over at her, his expression almost... pleading. Almost. "Hey, Natalia, you do it."
She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me! Go check on Guy!" He put his hands on his hips, leaning in. "You can go outside, unlike me. Besides, Uncle will listen to you. Tell him that Guy's more important than some stupid letter."
"Luke, that's completely inappropriate!" Natalia stood, shooting him a glare that just screamed disapproval. "You know that I can't do such a thing. Such an important meeting cannot be interrupted." She saw Luke already formulating a rather emphatic protest, and quickly added, "If you insist, I suppose I could see how he is."
"I do insist," Luke muttered, averting his eyes, trying to conceal his relief. "I want to do it myself... damned guards."
Sighing softly, Natalia ignored the barb and stood, brushing off her dress. "I'm going to see Aunt Susanne first, and then I'll head back to the castle. You should do the same - she worried herself sick when you disappeared."
Luke grumbled something unintelligible as she left the room, instead flopping impatiently into a chair to wait for her.
Dammit, they'd better let Guy out soon. There's nothing to do around here without him or Master Van...
Despite his words, he couldn't quite shake the odd feeling of both urgency and... fear? Was it fear? No...
He felt a weight hop onto his lap, and suddenly a pair of concerned black eyes were staring him in the face. "Master, don't worry! Everything will be okay!"
Luke stared at the cheagle for all of five seconds.
"GET OFF ME, THING!"
"Mieuuu..."
Yeah, he decided, stomping Mieu to the floor, Guy'll be fine. He always is.
---
He was kicked awake the second time, jostled by the impact, his bleariness the only thing that kept him from crying out. Lifting his head, he was greeted once more by the dark-eyed dungeon master, who studied him for a moment before giving his head a rough shake. "Wake up," the guard demanded - rather redundant, Guy thought dizzily, since he was already awake, "His Grace is here."
If he hadn't already been conscious, that certainly would have done it. Fabre was back.
The duke didn't look angry upon his return; on the contrary, he seemed almost pleased. Guy cursed inwardly, keeping his head up as much as he could, intent on meeting the eyes of his enemy. A neccessity, of course.
"So," Fabre began, his tone calm, almost relaxed, "It seems there is a story after all."
"Who... told you that?" Guy managed, lips parched. He licked them gingerly, and tasted blood.
Duke Fabre gave him a measuring look, then his eyes shifted to the dungeon master. The man stepped forward again - it took a great deal of Guy's willpower to keep from flinching - and grabbed Guy's left arm, the one he could still move. "Are you certain?" Fabre murmured.
Guy swallowed, braced himself, and said nothing until a sharp, wrenching pain made him scream. Honour be damned, that hurt.
"You're going through a lot of trouble to conceal something I am already aware of," the duke commented, as Guy coughed, arm hanging limp at his side until the guard set it back into the shackles.
"Why don't... you tell me... what you know?" Guy gasped out, breath quickening. The pain wasn't going away, and he could feel the bones grating together beneath his skin.
Fabre set free a low chuckle. "And be more cooperative than you? I think not. Consider it an order, then, servant of my household."
"You're the... one who's... doubting that," Guy shot back, lacking the venom he'd liked to have shown because he was too busy remembering how to breathe. Priorities and all.
The guard reached up towards his fingers, and he did flinch. There were plenty of other delicate bones to break.
"Show a little caution," Fabre said quietly, keeping his distance, looking vaguely bored. "This man is skilled - he knows how to shatter bone in ways that even a high-level seventh fonist couldn't cure."
Guy closed his eyes at that, distantly feeling that loathesome hand close around one of his fingers. Right hand. Sword and screwdriver. Two of his best friends. Luke was another. None of them were with him now.
He wondered, trembling faintly against his will, if Tear's fonic hymns could repair the damage. If she'd help him. She would if Luke asked her. She would.
... If Luke wanted to.
... Of course he wanted to.
... Right?
"Where... is... Luke...?" he whispered. Fabre motioned with one hand, and a finger snapped.
... Maybe Tear could fix that. He'd have liked to have her around about then.
Oh, and Luke. Definitely Luke.
"Luke is safe," Fabre answered him. He hadn't moved, had barely even blinked. Typical, for a murderer. "You cannot kill him like this."
"I-I-!!" Guy shuddered in his chains, eyes aflame. "I don't... want to...!"
He didn't, he didn't. Not his Luke. Not his Luke. Because his Luke was a brother and a son and a friend. His Luke was precious, and losing him would be like losing Mary all over again.
There were tears in his eyes again, and he forced them away. Not with this man.
"Why should I believe that?" Fabre responded, eyes narrowing.
"I... served your son... faithfully... for years," Guy snapped, breathing hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. Just until this man left. Then, he could collapse and gasp and wheeze and maybe pass out, if he was lucky. "I could've... killed him at any time."
"I do not reward traitors and deceivers," Fabre responded coldly.
"Y... you do," the blond wheezed, chains rattling. "You reward it... with blood."
Fabre was quiet for a long moment, watching him as he swayed on his feet, most of his weight supported by his wrists. His bare feet slid clumsily in the blood pooling beneath him, and he cursed, biting his tongue hard to keep from crying out as the sudden unbalance put more pressure on both shoulders. He knew how to fix one, one on his own with the other free. Not both.
"...Gardios."
Guy stiffened at the sudden announcement, head lifting to show widened eyes. Fabre continued, "You are of the House Gardios, originating from the island of Hod. Give me your name."
Baring his teeth, Guy growled back, "Give me yours, Crimson Assas-nngh!"
"You'll run out of bones," Fabre commented dryly.
Guy glared and said nothing. Even if the duke already knew his name, he wasn't giving it up without a fight.
But Duke Fabre was a soldier, a tactician, a man whose army defeated the Sigmund masters of his household. Above all else, Fabre was a politician. He knew how to get what he wanted.
"... You joined the servants of my household with the gardener, Pere, did you not?"
Oh. No. No, he did not.
He started to tremble again, but not from pain, oh no. Not this time. This was rage, and it was very, very obviously shown in his gaze.
Probably his first mistake; the duke was watching his reaction, and what he saw seemed to please him. "Would he know your name, I wonder. He was your guardian, after all."
"Leave... him out of this," the young servant hissed, wishing with all his soul for the ability to lash out, punch the smile off his face. "He... doesn't have anything... to do with this...!"
"Hn." Ignoring his protests, Fabre turn sharply on his heel, starting towards the door. "I'll order him brought here for questioning. You've proven to be far too troublesome."
No. No. No. No.
Guy was shouting the word before he realized it, wrestling wildly in his chains, ignoring the wrenching agony in both arms, his knees finally buckling beneath him, unable to handle the pressure any longer. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to curse and rage and hate, because this man was threatening Pere, Pere, who had remained faithful all his life, who had saved him from death and cared for him, who had become a father and grandfather and friend for sixteen years.
Pere, who was a Sigmund Artes master, but old, and wasn't expecting this, surely he wasn't. Who was unmatched in his skill but could still be overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and that was one thing of which Duke Fabre had plenty.
He cursed, and cursed, and cursed in his mind, because for all his honour and will and strength, he'd been forced into a corner - forced to surrender - to the man he hated more than anything else in existence.
"G... Gailardia... Galan... Gardios..." Duke Fabre raised a crimson brow, and Guy had to force himself to continue, hating every word he spoke, his throat nearly burning from it. "... S... son of... Count..." He shuddered, trailing off as his body just caved, wracked with a frail coughing fit he couldn't quite control.
"I remember," Duke Fabre spoke over him, remaining by the door. "Count Zygmunt Bazin Gardios, the highest-ranking official of Hod. Your mother was Kimlascan."
Guy kept his eyes closed, slowly gathering his feet beneath him, trying to muster the strength to stand again. His legs protested every effort, feet slipping on the cold, blood-soaked stones. "You... killed my family."
"That I know." The man smiled faintly, and Guy could feel his eyes on him. "And you served me for all this time for the sake of avenging that?"
It wasn't really a question, for they both knew the truth. Guy didn't bother to answer, and Fabre didn't wait for one. He turned away again, moving towards the door.
"Wait... wait!" Guy snapped, pushing with all his might to stand up straight. His back hit the wall, unpolished stone tearing at his wounds, and he hissed between clenched teeth. "... Wait... what are you... doing...?! Tell me...!"
Fabre didn't spare him even a sidelong glance, already out the door. "You're in no position to make demands in this place." And just like that, he was gone. The guards followed him, all of them; for the first time in hours, he was truly left alone.
And for the first time since he'd been escorted below the castle, he didn't want it.
...Luke...
---
They were gone for several hours, during which he'd dozed off, or passed out, whichever it was. He was just starting to wake up when the door opened, two guards entering the cell, followed by Duke Fabre, who gave him a long, measuring look, hands clasped together at his back. After a moment he briefly gestured towards the guards with one, and they left, leaving the door half-open behind them.
Fabre approached him, halting a foot or so away, lifting his chin as he examined the blond. Guy barely had enough energy to glare at him. "I was at the manor until just a few moments ago. Luke has returned home." He smiled unkindly. "He claims he's bored."
.... Bored.
Bored.
Guy felt something snap within him, something that had been stretched so thin, so long. He felt the remnants of it lash against his heart, tearing open wounds that had been holding together so well, so incredibly well since he'd woken up in the storage room on the ferry with Luke's blood on his hands.
Luke was back at the manor, bored.
He wanted to laugh, but couldn't find his voice. It... actually sounded like something Luke would do.
He'd just been hoping that maybe...
"...I... don't believe you," he managed to whisper, lowering his head again. There was nothing he wanted to see now.
"No? Rest assured, he's quite safe. Though I'm sure that's not the answer you were hoping for." Fabre didn't seem bothered when Guy ignored the barb. "He asked for you, naturally, but seemed satisfied when I told him I was taking care of it. You need not concern yourself with him any longer."
Very subtle, Guy thought absently, still stunned by the duke's claims. He knew Luke better than that, didn't he? The young noble was a selfish brat, and that was being nice about it, but he wasn't heartless. He wouldn't just shrug off a friend who needed help.
He wouldn't.
...He hoped.
"Bored," he said under his breath, too low to be heard, eyes staring at the floor before he let them close. He didn't know how to respond to that, and so didn't bother trying. It wasn't as though Luke were there to ask, anyway.
He felt a sharp nudge against his leg, what seemed like an eternity later, and blinked a few times. Had he blacked out? Why had-
Stop.
He looked, very slowly, at the object he'd been prodded with, the one held irreverantly in Fabre's hand. A sword.
A sword he'd seen on the wall by the entrance of Fabre for more than ten years, a sword he'd resigned himself to never getting back, after he'd decided not to kill Luke.
"You recognize it," Fabre murmured. "Good. I could not imagine you forgetting this; this was your father's blade, if I remember correctly."
"It... is my father's..." Guy whispered hoarsely, shaking faintly in the shackles. He stiffened as he felt the blade rest against his throat, the weapon slowly curving along his neck, forcibly lifting his chin.
"It was," Fabre repeated, gaze harsh. "I took it from him when I took his head, as a prize to the king to symbolize our victory." He smiled darkly. "Surely you've seen it. I keep it on a shelf in my study."
He had seen it, actually. He'd helped the maids dust the house from time to time, and they had always, without fail, sent him to clean that room. None of them would touch it; they said it was disgusting and creepy and could just stay dirty, thank you very much.
Not him. Oh, not him. There was nothing in the world he treated with more respect, nothing he handled more delicately. He simply tried to ignore the fact that he was handling the skull of the man who had carried him on his shoulders as a child, had died separated from those shoulders.
"I have been wondering," Fabre continued almost conversely, spinning the sword in his grasp, the blade - still as sharp as ever, even after so many years - scratching along his jawline, trailing up his cheek, "How you escaped. How old were you then? Four, five? You could not have been alone."
Guy clenched his jaw, remaining silent, ignoring the blood welling up beneath his eye. A part of him wondered rather morbidly how he was still coherent - no, how he was even alive, after losing so much blood. The smell of it was overpowering, and not for the first time, he thought he was going to be ill.
It was getting harder, so much harder to remain aware of what was going on. A deep, distant part of him wanted to simply drift, wait for the end from the corner that had no pain, no humiliation at the hands of this hated man. If he died, his family would be there, waiting for him.
But Luke would be...
Bored.
He was, he realized, exhausted, and just as tired of all of this. Was he bored?
The sword tightened at his throat, shifting downwards. He blinked dizzily, gaze lifting to look at the red-haired duke. The man was no longer smiling.
"If you are weary of this," he said softly, "I will end it for you."
Yes, Guy wanted to say. Almost did. His plans for vengeance had been discovered, utterly destroyed. His position was gone. All he'd ever wanted was lost to him.
Luke was at the manor. Bored. Doing nothing.
"We'll get you out, okay?"
It wasn't okay.
"S... screw... you..." he said instead, the words barely audible, barely coherent. Even he seemed surprised by it.
Apparently he didn't want to die just yet.
The sword was lifted from his cheek, shifting away, and his relief only lasted a moment; a hand replaced it, going to his neck and pulling, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Fabre drew back his hand, and the clasp snapped, his collar dropping to the dirty, bloodsoaked ground at his feet.
Another wound in his heart. He stared down at the collar as if it were an arm, or a leg, severed and lost forever. Another treasure, a gift from Luke when he was much younger - a sign that Guy was 'his', no matter what. He'd laughed, then, thinking of how stupid the idea was. Yet years later he still wore it - never took it off, in fact, except to clean it and keep the charm polished.
The blood will make it rust, he thought distantly. The entire situation all of a sudden seemed remote, unreal, as if he were an audience member watching a play. A tragedy, no doubt.
Maybe he was dying, after all.
"Gailardia Galan Gardios," Duke Fabre announced, taking a step back, "You are no longer a servant at my household. You are charged with the attempted murder of the tertiary heir of the kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear, and the sentence is death. You will not live to see the end of the day."
Oh. Oh. Wasn't that just lovely. Guy opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly the sword was slicing at the back of his knee - first one, then the other - and all that came was a scream, knees buckling, the sound intensified as his arms wrenched painfully in the shackles. Why, oh why was he so determined to take his time with it?! Even assassins didn't deserve this much. He hadn't even succeeded in trying to kill Luke. What was the punishment for that, he wondered.
His legs wouldn't move, bleeding steadily, and from the feel of it, they wouldn't be moving anytime soon. Severed tendons, then. Lovely. But if he was to die, then why cripple him? It made no sense...
Fabre leaned in, resting the blade almost threateningly against his jugular. "How badly do you want to live?"
"Nn..." Guy shuddered, trying vainly to lift himself up, and failing miserably scant seconds later. His limbs were useless, fate at the mercy of the duke. How ironic. "L... long enough... to avenge my family... with that..." he managed, voice faint, yet heated. Let the man know how often he could have sliced Luke'd throat, if he'd really wanted. Let the man remember how Luke used to sleep at his side at night, despite his orders to cease. Perhaps eventually he'd realize that there was no longer any plans for retribution. Hopefully before any permanent maiming.
Contrary to his wish, that answer seemed to satisfy the older man like none other before it. "You want this sword, don't you," Fabre murmured, turning the Jewel of Gardios this way and that in his hand, calmly ignoring the enraged gleam in Guy's gaze. "You've wanted it for years." A small smile crossed his lips. "It must be a treasure beyond worth for you."
Guy didn't bother responding to that; they both knew it was the truth anyway.
Fabre watched him for a long time, considering his expression. Then, without looking away, he stretched out his arm, snapping a finger, then offered the sword to one of the guards who hurried in at the sound. The man took it hurriedly, glancing questioningly to the duke.
"I have no use for a tool of Malkuth any longer," Fabre stated, in a tone that was not to be questioned. "Melt it down to scrap and throw it away."
Guy's eyes widened. Fabre's smile returned.
The former noble felt a rush of adrenaline as the guard turned to leave, and he absolutely roared, mustering all the strength he had left and thrusting his body towards the duke. The guard jumped, but Fabre didn't even flinch, knowing the chains were too short to reach him anyway. Not that his legs would carry him anyway; the second his momentum was gone, he dropped like a stone, gasping in pain as his arms twisted back. His hands ached, his shoulders were burning - everything hurt. There was nothing left that Duke Fabre could do to him except take his life.
But his pride was gone too; it was going, leaving him, in the form of the weapon the guard was even now carrying out of the cell (footsteps, heavy boots against the floor, he couldn't see, he couldn't see it), and while he couldn't attack them, he could - and did - make his objection painfully obvious. He snarled and screamed his rage, all control lost at the thought of his father's sword, his sword, destroyed forever. Bad enough he'd lost his family, lost Hod. Bad enough he'd given half his life to serving this man and his family.
No, now he was taking away one of the only memories he had left.
And that was simply not going to happen.
But before he could form his protests into a more coherent argument, he was shoved head-first into the stone, setting his head spinning wildly. Twelve. Even as he fought to stay conscious, two hands grasped his hips and pulled, and his pants were down.
...Oh gods.
Wrong. There was a little more than nothing.
"Close the door," Fabre called after the guard, moving closer, leaning in to grab Guy by the jaw, squeezing painfully. The door shut noisily at his back, and he heard the sounds of the guard's departure.
His sword, his pride.
"Take your vengeance now, Gailardia Galan," Fabre challenged quietly, lifting up his legs, even as he struggled weakly to break free, "If you can."
And quite suddenly there was something hard and throbbing against his ass.
No. No. No.
"Don't you dare," he said. Tried to say. Would've liked to say, but even as he took a breath to do so, Fabre was stretching him wide, and Fabre was thrusting inside him without another word, and all he could do was scream, and scream, and scream.
It wasn't the pain. He'd dealt with pain already, a full day's worth of varying degrees of it. The pain was nothing, because everything else hurt too much for it to really matter.
But Duke Fabre, Duke Fabre was pressed against him, pinning him to the wall, hands grasping his hips so hard they were bruising beneath the caked blood, and he was thrusting, thrusting-!!
He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, and he knew that if things continued as they were, he would. It was starting to hurt now, the unlubricated violation tearing at his insides and reminding him that as battered as he was on just about every inch of his outer body, at least he'd remained relatively intact otherwise. Had been, anyway.
Gods, where was his coherency?
Oh. Oh. It was outside the cell, with his father's sword, on its way to the smithy to be melted down, destroyed, thrown away, oh god they took his sword--
"Scream," Fabre murmured in his ear, thrusts intensifying, a tearing agony developing right at the base of his spine, and what could he do but obey? The stone wall was cold and unforgiving at his tattered back, the chains around his wrists pulling mercilessly at torn sockets and broken bones, and the bleeding wounds in his bare legs made him dizzy. The man kept thrusting, kept pounding roughly into him, and he screamed, oh he screamed, because it felt like his whole world was dying, everything that he had become over the years stripped away, one layer after another.
He hated this man. He hated him with every fiber of his being, this man who had killed his father and put his head on the shelf, this man who had taken the life of his mother and laughed, oh he laughed, just as he was laughing now, and it made him scream until his voice was gone, and even then he wheezed through his pain.
Scream, that man had demanded of him, and he screamed because he couldn't stay silent, and there were no words, no words at all to use to respond to this situation.
None. At all.
"Louder."
He couldn't. His voice was spent. But he tried, oh, he tried, because maybe the man liked it, maybe it would make him hurry it up and- oh ow, oh gods, why was there so much agonizing friction down there - finish and then it would be over. He'd taken the whipping and the broken bones and the cutting and gods the collar had almost broken him but this...
Too much. It was all too much.
So he gathered his energy - what little he had to spare - and screamed. Twice, louder the second time. His voice cracked, and still he tried.
Resolve be damned. For the first time in his life, he wanted to die.
"We'll get you out, okay?"
Too late, far too late for that.
He didn't know how long it went on for, how long it took for the duke to finish. There was no warning, for Fabre didn't speak to him again; he thrust into Guy once, twice, a third time, remaining still and setting free a low groan - the only sound he'd made to indicate any sort of pleasure throughout the entire ordeal - and let go deep within. It was, he thought to himself, in too much shock for it to truly register, the strangest sensation he'd ever felt in his life.
And then it occurred to him that Duke Fabre had just raped him, and he wondered if now was a good time to start screaming all over again. Tried. Whimpered first, and made himself shut up.
He could feel the duke's release dripping slowly down his leg, and felt another urge to throw up. Wouldn't that be good and proper post-sex behaviour, leaving a mess all over those fine silk clothes.
Fabre pulled back before he could finish contemplating the idea, getting himself back in order, looking disturbingly satisfied. He ignored Guy's sharp cry of pain as his feet hit the floor. "How was your vengeance, then?"
"Lukewarm. I've had better," Guy heard someone say, as if from a distance. Odd thing to say, that. He wondered where it had come from.
Apparently him, came the delayed realization, as Fabre backhanded him. Oh, excellent. He'd been rather distressed by the fact that everything was bleeding but his lip. Fixed that problem.
"Obviously you cannot be taught," the red-headed duke said darkly, clapping his hands twice. Immediately the door opened, the guards filing in, sans one. The one with his sword, Guy remembered, and felt another piece of his heart shatter.
Scrap. Scrap.
"Obviously," he echoed, his voice hoarse, utterly spent. Over, it was almost over. There were people waiting for him, people who he missed more than anything else in the world. Maybe it was for the best; maybe life was better on the other side.
He didn't want to die.
But he didn't want to live like this, either.
"Do you miss your father, Gailardia Galan?" Fabre asked, that infuriating smile crossing his lips once more. Guy shot him the most disdainful and mocking look he could muster. Never in his life had he heard a more pointlessly stupid question. "I'll let you join him, when you are dead, then."
... No.
"You and your father can live on for eternity in my study. Appropriate, is it not?"
... No.
Fabre turned to the guards, keeping an eye on Guy as he spoke. "Do with him as you please, but I want him silenced before dusk. After that you may leave him to die." His expression darkened considerably. "I imagine it will not take long."
One of the guards saluted, as the other two looked like they were going to enjoy the remaining time they had. "Princess Natalia has requested to be allowed to see the prisoner, Your Grace. She insists on speaking with you, as well."
Natalia? Guy tried to lift his head. After several attempts he decided not to bother.
"The princess? Oh, very well. Under no circumstances is she to be allowed down here."
Not Luke?
"Yes, Your Grace!"
... Not Luke.
"Good. Now do as instructed. I am finished with him, so feel free to do as you please. He is not to leave here alive."
"We'll get you out-"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"-okay?"
The soldiers turned to face him as one of them escorted Duke Fabre outside, closing the door behind them.
"...We will."
They toyed with him for another hour, introducing a whole new collection of methods to cause him pain without killing him outright. They were, he came to learn once again, very good at their jobs.
And when the time came, when the sun was setting outside the castle, they forced open his mouth and raised a dagger to it, and he finally found his voice again as they began to take it away.
"We'll get you out."
You didn't.
---
Luke wasn't sure whether who to hate more: Sync, for causing this mess in the first place, or his father, for blowing things far, far out of proportion.
Or himself, for believing in the man who'd spent his entire life breaking promises.
It didn't really matter, in the end; his wholehearted belief that Guy would return home soon had come to an instant halt when Natalia had returned to the manor looking so shaken he barely recognized her, reporting that no, she hadn't seen Guy, hadn't seen so much as a scrap of blond hair. They'd stopped her at the level just above where he was held, stating that they were interrogating a dangerous criminal, and couldn't risk it.
She'd heard a lot of screaming, however, and despite Duke Fabre's assurances, she couldn't deny that it had sounded a great deal like Guy.
And yet it hadn't, she'd started to say, but the rest of her words were lost on him as he took off down the hall towards the mansion's front entrance, sword already half-drawn. There must have been something terrifying in his expression, something that just ressonated "Back the hell off", because the maids shrieked and scurried out of his way, and even the White Knights didn't bother trying to stop him. Luckily for them, though the thought didn't occur to him until later. He probably would have hurt them. ... Killed them, even.
Screaming.
Guy was screaming.
Guy didn't scream. Even when he was hurt, even when he'd been injured in the myriad of the battles they'd faced. He didn't scream, he didn't cry, he didn't lose it. He'd always been calm in the face of anything that came their way.
Guy was strong. He'd never realized that until they had traveled together.
The thought of him being hurt or scared enough to scream was... was...
And he'd done nothing. All day.
Guy... Guy, I'm sorry, he chanted in his head endlessly, running towards the castle, tearing past the guards and through the doors, eyes blurring, feeling nothing but guilt-stricken panic. Be okay, please be okay!
Guy had said it was going to be okay.
What if it wasn't?
"Luke?"
He spun around at the voice, eyes wide and wild. Tear stared at him, stunned - at the sight of him looking like some kind of blood-crazed madman, no doubt. He didn't care. He rushed over, grasping her arm with his free hand, and choked out, "G-Guy! I need to find Guy...!"
"...Luke, calm down," she told him firmly, trying to get him to lower his sword - the guards were staring - but he would have none of it. He'd been calm all day, and Guy had been screaming. Screaming, she'd said.
"Where's the dungeon?!" he snapped, at her, at the guards, anyone who was close enough to hear it. He snarled when no answer came, cursing his ignorance of the castle layout. Why oh why were they not answering him!
"Luke, wait!" Before he could contemplate if severing a few heads would get him a more timely response, Natalia rushed over to where he was clinging to a very confused Tear, panting in a manner that was probably unbecoming for a princess. "I'll show you where to go, just... don't run off like that..."
He stared at her for a brief moment. Don't run off? What the hell? Guy was screaming! Guy! How could he be calm, how could he not want to rush to find out why?! "Hurry up!" he demanded, grabbing her by the hand, pulling urgently. She looked as if she was about to scold him, but thought better of it, spinning on her heel and moving hurriedly towards the left hallway, ignoring the concerned guards and leading them down to the lower levels. One of the soldiers - the one who had blocked Natalia's path before - took one look at Luke and started to interfere, but before Luke could even lift his sword to strike him down, Tear was singing, the gentle Fonic Hymn putting him to sleep.
Two healers, two fonists, he thought, pace increasing as they went further down the stairs. He hoped desperately that they wouldn't be needed.
And then they went a little further, and he heard the screams, and all he could think was oh god, oh god, Guy, Guy and he took off running, ignoring their calls and leaving them in the dust.
He followed the screams. He found the door. Practically destroyed said door trying to get inside.
"Guy!"
He found Guy.
But no... no, it couldn't have been Guy. Guy wasn't red. Guy didn't have red hair and red skin and red eyes and red teeth and he certainly didn't have red spit. Guy usually wore clothes. Guy usually wore his collar. Guy usually didn't have a knife in his mouth.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the men - the ones he hadn't really noticed until he'd spoken - straightened up, withdrawing the bloodstained knife from inside Guy's mouth, and took a step towards him. The other tensed, fully prepared to do the same.
Killing two men had never been so easy.
It wasn't until they were dead that Luke allowed himself a moment to study the prisoner. He'd fallen silent when the knife was removed, and was now hanging limp from the shackles, head bowed, blood dripping steadily from his mouth.
And just about everywhere else.
The frozen moment shattered, and Luke wanted to scream himself.
He forced himself forward, rolling over the dead guards and searching them until he found the keys. His hands were shaking as he lifted them to unlock the shackles, voice tremulous as he chanted Guy's name over and over, praying to anything that could listen that he was alive, that the tiny, barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest wasn't just his imagination. He caught Guy as he fell free of the chains, mindless of the blood and and wounds and gods, the state of the elder man's body, cradling his head in his lap, trying to keep from shaking, failing miserably at the attempt.
"Guy?" he whispered timidly.
Silence was his answer, and for one long, terrifying moment, he feared the worst, shoulders shaking. He couldn't cry, he wasn't going to cry. Guy needed him right now.
And then Guy opened his eyes again, taking a slow, wheezing breath, even as Luke's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at the younger boy, studying him with eyes dim, so dim they were almost grey, and murmured in a nigh-inaudible voice, "...You... came."
His vision blurred, Luke made a weak, hiccoughing sound, and forced himself to smile. He felt sick to his stomach, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. He'd seen what they'd been trying to do to Guy's tongue.
If he'd waited a few moments more, he knew he would have been too late.
"Of course I did, stupid," he whispered, lifting a hand to wipe at his eye, ignoring the smear of blood left in its wake. "I-I said I would."
Guy smiled. Even in the state he was in, he smiled.
And then he stopped breathing.
No.
Too late.
Luke set free a muffled scream, hunching over Guy and letting go of his tremulous control, letting his heart break free of the dams he'd built up since he'd heard what was really going on beneath the castle. He screamed and cursed and cried and called, over and over, because Guy was hurt and bleeding and dying and leaving him...!!
Guy couldn't leave. He couldn't leave.
He almost started shaking him, but suddenly Natalia was grabbing his hands and pulling him back, whispering something, trying to soothe his hysteria, and Tear was kneeling beside where Guy's body - Guy, Guy, not just a body, ever - lay, her voice lifting to chant the incantation. The words she spoke made his blood run cold.
"Return this soul from the abyss of death..."
No, no, no, no, no.
"Guy," he said again, reaching out towards him, but Natalia took his hand and shook her head, and Tear finished her spell and bent to check if it had worked, and then she started singing, and Natalia pulled free of him to add her own spell to it, and oh gods he was alive, they were healing him, he was going to make it, now, wasn't he?
Because he was Guy, and Guy was alright. Guy was always alright.
Guy wouldn't die with such a sad smile.
---