"I'm not telling you anything," Tim spat. The chain came down hard on his thigh, and he gritted his teeth, biting back a curse. The clinking of the metal echoed in the small, damp cell. Another sharp yank, and the links bit into his skin again, but he didn't yield.

His interrogators had been at it for what seemed like hours, and they had yet to get a single answer. They wanted to know where his father was, where his siblings were, where the castle's hidden vault was. The questions had made a few things clear. First, they weren't going to kill him. They would've already. Second, they had no means to magically compel him to speak. Third, his family was likely alive. Fourth, there was something in the vault that they needed.

Granted, all that knowledge was useless to him right now, trapped and chained. Captured in the imperial invasion he'd tried so desperately to warn against.

He closed his eyes and thought back on better days. Long, sleepless nights, poring over maps and books, with his knight keeping silent vigil at his side. Boring meetings with nobles, and the hours he and his siblings would spend after, making fun of their accents and mannerisms. His eldest brother's antics, his and Jason's constant squabbles, his sister's sneaky surprises, King Bruce's exasperated looks.

A particularly hard strike had him gasping, and he felt the sting of tears. He hadn't cried once in his time in captivity, his protective and healing spells keeping him marginally safer, but the pain was catching up with him.

"Guess we'll have to up the ante," the torturer said. "Bring in his little friend."

Tim's eyes snapped open at that, and he watched as a second soldier pushed his knight, bound and chained like him, into the cell. "No."

"Now you're gonna talk."

"I said I'm not telling you anything," Tim hissed. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. He didn't know his family's fates.

The soldier raised his chain. "Then this one will sing."

"No!" Tim frantically yanked on his restraints, anger rising in his chest. "Don't!"