cw: dimitri and queen!reader. descriptions of political torture.
Dark and damp is the seemingly endless route into the dungeons, and with every new step in your descent, you could feel your stomach churn with unease, between the strong smell of ambient mold, stale air, and nonfatal decay, but Dimitri's grip on your hand remains firm, if not oppressive, leading you just a pace behind him. As your twin cloaks graze along the uneven surfaces of the passageways that are very little more than one King Blaiddyd-wide, you wonder what would be the result if ever a fire were to catch - which of the prisoners would be left behind and who would be the unlucky torturers and executioners.
The tunneled stairs eventually spill out into what seems like a painfully organized operation, barred jail cells with associated hardened appearing staff and prisoners, scant torches, as if meant to reduce all the hope in this room. The air is even thicker here too, but moreso with what appears to be the faint smell of rat droppings and human waste, regret, and of course, wails and moans that appear to arise from spirits rather than disenfranchised men.
You swallow thickly; Dimitri still firmly holds onto your hand, but you walk now pace by pace - he's slowed to match yours. Still, he hasn't looked at you since you descended from the gatehouse, and part of you wonders if he's still upset about from your argument about 'secret methods' from earlier, if he regrets bringing you down here, or is generally affected by the solemnity here.
Dimitri keeps his own emotions in check as best he can, but is just as sensitive to those of others as you are for the most part.
As the two of you arrive, the warden welcomes Dimitri with reverent familiarity, but appears surprised when his eyes shift to you.
"Oh, and the Queen has arrived as well."
The older man's eyes shift briefly, and his hands fidget as if he's been caught off guard, but Dimitri raises a hand.
"No need to offer us anything. I would simply like her to see."
The warden blinks, perhaps confused by what is meant by 'seeing', but Dimitri moves surely to the end of the prison, which has now grown uncharacteristically quiet as the tormentors paused for a moment, a brief reprieve from the daily practice here. Still linked, you glide along with him, and a few, harried and gaunt faces make eye contact with you, and your eyes avert, but Dimitri quickly retorts,
"Keep your head up the entire time you're here."
Your usual urge to remind him he is not the boss of you quells in the wake of your unsteadiness, and thus your head lifts.
"I only say this to remind you that no one can hurt you here. And that you must not show weakness or efficacy will decrease."
In silence, the three of you stop finally behind the cell of a young man that per report, had been detained approximately 5 days ago as part of a partially successful plot to taint emergency grain supplies going to Kleiman Territory for no other reason than sustained cruelty.
"He's given us a list of names, the first few of which were completely bogus, but in the past day has given us one useful name that implicates a few members of House Duval."
"And were they interrogated?" Dimitri asks, his tone flat. Your eyes survey a room that can hold 20-25 prisoners at most, and only if each room is shared.
"Yes, but not down here."
Dimitri turns to the guardsman who has gone silent watching the two men make exchanges, avoiding looking you in the eyes. The man in the room himself, the son of a baron, appears disheveled and crumpled in a corner in tattered, blood-stained clothing, but once his gaze shifts towards you from the chatter, he spits on the ground.
"You bastards could just go on and kill me already. Cowards."
But his words sound toothless and exhausted, and you get the sense he's already rapidly begun to lose weight, practically in extremis.
Without thinking, you offer softly, "If you just give us the information we need-"
"To hell with you, stupid bitch."
He spits again and you fall silent. Dimitri glances at your tilted face, and redirects it upwards with your chin, gripping it gently. His eyes repeat himself again.
Keep your head up. You are not in any danger.
"Proceed," is all Dimitri says next, with zero affect.
Two additional guardsmen appear, following the first, and Dimitri keeps your head still the entire time as the man, screaming and cursing profusely, is affixed to a rack by wrists and ankles for what feels like an agonizingly long time.
Your stomach churns again as you hear variably hollow and full sounds of assorted weapons bruising flesh and cracking the occasional bone, with additional harsh, frequent demands for names and confessions, and your throat goes dry as tears form in your eyes.
And yet, Dimitri insists you watch every moment, even if he pulls you closer into his side, and even if his cloak wraps around yours once your breathing seems to be deeper and more labored.
Because you are Queen and because it's far too easy for you to be forgiving than to run a country that could be destroyed by too much misguided mercy.
"There's no need for all this," you murmur under your breath. The beatings have started to cease, but the man still curses the crown and your bloodline, with your ancestors down to the children you have yet to have, and the cranks have begun, pulling tighter and tighter every second.
"You'd rather he kill soldiers and civilians?" Dimitri says in a voice just as low, his eyes not wavering from the bloody scene as well.
The man's next scream is so ghoulish you can't help but turn, and this time Dimitri lets you. You would have faltered anyway.
"It's not because I enjoy this," he adds.
"I know," you say, with a mouth full of cotton.
"But I would be remiss if I misled you about what happens down here."
You sigh again, then there is another wail in agony as the man is stretched further, unmistakably a sign of irreversible injury.
"Will you kill him?" you ask, softly.
Dimitri gives you a look that is as reassuring as it can be while remaiing honest.
"It solely depends on what he tells us."
Your eyes close as you breathe in deeply.
"I will not come down here again," you admit.
"I'll make sure you never have to."
And his hand squeezes one more time around yours.
