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The dungeons are awful.
Back when life was simpler, dungeons were nothing but cells that kept prisoners in, to lock away people who had committed crimes and had done any wrongdoings. Though the dungeons in Whitestone were always kept relatively empty, the last time they were used was when his father had been a child back then, when one of Castle Whitestone's staff had been found guilty of treason.
Percy learned that the sound of padded boots becoming increasingly louder and louder was nothing but a warning of Ripley's next "lesson," an omen of nothing but the inevitability of incoming pain.
He shuts his eyes instinctually, cold resignation washing over him as his body becomes stiff, expecting the guards to grab his weak arms as he hears the sound of rusty prison doors slam open. Instead of the usual forceful hands hauling him out of the cell, he hears a body thrown aggressively and a loud thud before the sound of doors closing shut.
Then, another sound of loud prison doors closing. He takes the que that the prison guard left and opens his eyes, his body freezing at the sight of his little brother Ludwig, the lanky boy with a smug attitude despite his religious learnings, lying beaten and bloodied on the ground.
Without a second thought, he runs—or at least tries to get to Ludwig as fast as he can despite his injuries.
"Ludwig?" He shakes his body gently, ignoring his eyes, which are gradually becoming blurry.
"Ludwig!" He calls again, louder this time.
It takes a long, painful minute, but Ludwig's eyes finally open up. Percy immediately lets out a shuddered breath and gently helps his brother sit to a more upright position.
"Perce?"
He looks terrible. Ludwig's mousy brown hair is caked with dried blood, which is also beginning to grow out patches of white hair on the roots. He wasn't sure if it was the same for him, but he thinks regardless. His clothes are torn and dirty with soot and more dried blood as well. His pale skin is now ashy, full of bruises and gashes, and open wounds are slowly oozing out blood. His eyes were wide, shell-shocked, and fearful.
"What did they do to you?"
"I..." Ludwig barely replies, immediately folding onto himself by wrapping his arms around his knees.
He'd never been him this vulnerable before, neither of them had. Percy hadn't been close to Ludwig before. Their relationship was rather strained from all the petty arguments they've had back then; if anything, Percy hated Ludwig, all because of his smug philosophical attitude, whereas Ludwig felt the same except he hated Percy for thinking he's smarter than everyone
But now.. seeing his little brother, possibly his only sibling left, thrown in this disgusting cell along with him, left to rot with injuries that no child should ever sustain. Such cruelty inflicted on a defenseless child— his sibling. His own baby brother. It made him feel such overwhelming rage that he never felt before.
"Percy?"
"Yes?" Percy replies, a little shocked, barely realizing the long silence that has passed.
Ludwig bites his lip and looks away. Percy assumes he'll opt to shut down, but he asks, quietly, "Do you remember the time you couldn't find your glasses?"
"I do. What about it?"
Percy waits patiently, but Ludwig doesn't reply after that. Another long stretch of silence passes between them.
"I was the one who hid your glasses," Ludwig finally confesses.
"What?" Percy turns his head to Ludwig's still-huddled-up body, his eyes downcast.
"I broke them when me and Cassandra were sneaking up in your workshop," he says softly in a hushed voice. "I didn't mean to break it, I swear.. I just didn't want you to get mad at me and stop making me gifts for Winterscrest, so I hid it."
"I see." He lifts up his uninjured arm and places them on Ludwig's shoulder to comfort, half wondering if it's enough. "It's alright, Lud. I'm not mad, I... well, perhaps not initially. I was annoyed at first, yes, but the glasses were starting to grow out on me anyways. I'm not mad, I promise you. Thank you for telling me."
"I'm... I'm glad," Ludwig says, and the corners of his mouth begin to lift up to form a small smile.
"Remember when Mother reprimanded us for breaking the chandelier?" He fully turns to Percy, still smiling. "It was because I accidentally broke it."
"Goodness, you did that?" It was a ridiculous mess now that he remembered, "I remember when I came from my workshop and was freezing like a deer when my mother whipped her head at me like she's going to drag me to the nine hells with her, Gods."
He relishes the memory of the looks from the four youngest de Rolo's, ranging from penitent to rueful. He remembers how Julius and Vesper were trying to stifle their indignant giggles lest they wanted to face their mothers wrath, how his father had his eyes wide and jaw comically agape, and how the guards even looked apologetic during their mothers reprimand. He giggles softly at the memory, and Ludwig does the same.
A part of Percy fears that one day he will forget all of these wonderful memories when time passes. He shakes the thoughts out before they spiral and lets out a chuckle instead. "I can't believe it was possible for someone to surpass apoplectic. How in the hells did you even break it?"
"Me, Cassandra, Whitney, and Oliver were throwing stones inside the castle," Ludwig says. "We wanted to see who could throw the highest pebble, but it was raining, so we did it inside the castle."
For the first time, Percy actually laughs, quiet at first, then followed by Ludwig until he began throwing a coughing fit. In a rush of panic, Percy gently pats his brother's back with his uninjured arm, and a bead of sweat trails along his forehead as concern begins to overwhelm him.
In a quiet voice, he asks, "Why are you telling me all of this, Lud?"
Another silence, then Ludwig replies just as weakly, "Because I have nobody to admit these to anymore."
"Ludwig.."
Ludwig says nothing more and simply rests his head on Percy's shoulder. Silence drowns them both; the gentle huffs of air from their lungs are the only sign of life in the cells. Their breathing slowly became a lullaby, and he could feel his eyelids becoming heavy.
"Percy?" Ludwig asks.
"Yes?"
"I'm so tired."
He remembers the screaming from the hall, the blood-soaked carpets, his parents' bodies, and Ripley's laughter. "Me too, Lud, me too."
"When I wake up, promise me you'll still protect me?"
He looks at his little brother again, sickly and bruised, unlike the jovial and snarky boy he knew and grew up with for years. The result of the Briarwoods and their cruelty.
He remembers the times he hushed his siblings away from his workshop, times he gave them a cold shoulder, times he considered them nothing but a nuisance. He never bonded them much. All his siblings ever wanted was for him to care, he realizes. He hadn't been a caring brother, hadn't he?
"I'll protect you, I promise." Without thinking, he gives his shoulder a squeeze before sealing the promise with a kiss on the forehead.
Percy looks at Ludwig again, whose eyes have fully closed. He lets his eyelids close when he hears no reply, hoping for a dreamless night, letting his weak breaths softly lull him to sleep.
When Percy woke up, he didn't immediately retch at the stench of rotting flesh and decayed bodies, though the nausea still stayed. Perhaps he started growing accustomed to the horrid smell, which was a saying to the indefinite time he had spent down underneath the castle dungeons, but thank the Gods small mercies.
Despite his muddled thoughts barely coming to consciousness, he becomes rigid, realizing the weight that's leaning too heavily on his shoulders. A small body pressed close to him. Small, limp fingers clutching on one of his arms
Even with his aching head protesting against every fiber of his being, he still turned his head and saw his youngest brother, eyes peacefully closed. His face reminiscent of the corpses of his dead family members, his chest deathly still.
Deathly still.
With nothing but a fools hope, he still reaches with numb, shaky hands, placing them on his neck where his pulse is supposed to be.
And he waits.
and waits.
and waits.
He continues to wait, shuddering out thoughts when he notices the skin beneath his fingertips is cold. His heart aches as he continues to stare at his hair, which is the same mousy brown color as his but now caked in dirt and dried up blood. If he squinted hard enough, he swore he could make up tiny strands of white scattered on the roots. Nausea began to settle in the more he scrutinized every ugly cut and bruise plastered on his pale skin.
Gods. He's only 14— the second youngest, just next to Cassandra.
When no pulse greets him, he could feel his heart plummeting to the ground. He quickly moves his nimble fingers from his neck to his shoulders, firmly shaking him while pleading desperately in a gentle tone- Please, Ludwig, open your eyes, you can't go yet. Your brother's here. Please—
He continues to shake him even when his continuous pleading runs his throat dry, rasping, until his breath starts to hitch. His eyes begin to blur at the sight of his little brother, unshed tears threatening to spill.
He remembers the time when he followed keeper Yennen on his duties with the same eagerness as a duckling. He remembers reprimanding him after he caught him after dark reading textbooks about the Gods and paladins when he should be asleep, and—
A choked sob escapes him. Chapped fingers continue to dig on cold skin.
Ludwig's dead.
His little brother, whom he once held in his arms and continued so tightly, is gone. His little brother, littered with cuts and bruises that no child should ever have—baby fat on his cheeks replaced with nothing but gaunt skin after days of neglect and endless torture—who wanted to be a servant of Pelor one day, who wanted to be a Paladin, who had dreams and ambitions, who he failed, who clung onto him the night before asking to protect him—
He holds Ludwig's body and lets out a shuddered breath.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Percy cries.