Hell’s Eternal Dungeon

As the damp underground cells dripped away, Eliot fought against the weight of his tired eyes. It was the dead of night, though in the dungeons one could hardly tell the difference if not for the tiniest beam of light creeping through during the day. Bolting himself straight back up after dozing off, he stood tall, puffing out his chest. He needed to look strong— intimidating, even. It was his first watch as a young soldier, and he was desperate to please, to make her proud.

The head jailer had told him briefly about the prisoner he was now guarding. He was called Bardolph, the man who ruthlessly murdered the crown prince. Though he was but a child then, he could still remember the anguish Prince Elric’s death had caused. A righteous anger overwhelmed him as the image of his mother’s plague ridden face entered his mind. The prince was beloved by the poor for helping lost souls get into heaven, before they were reaped by the Black Death. He had even saved his mother’s soul, his golden-haired figure bringing the grace of God himself.

What kind of monster was this Bardolph to have killed a man such as that? In any case, he knew that the king’s justice had been done. The prisoner would rot away until hell would become his eternal dungeon.

As Eliot ruminated on these sins, all he heard for many hours was the occasional groan or the loud snoring of other inmates. His prisoner, however, remained utterly silent as he stared blankly at the dilapidated stone walls. At first, it was unsettling, but after a while he paid it no mind. That was until Bardolph let out a low, dry, and bitter laugh that kept going and kept growing louder.

Eliot shook the iron gates, his keys jingling, “Silence, prisoner!” He tried to sound like a man, but his boyish voice betrayed him. This only served to amuse the prisoner even further.

“I see that the king’s army is still but a bastion of endless boys.” Bardolph looked up, revealing a scraggly mess of gray hair all over that made him seem more beast than man. “Another brave, young soul for the kingdom? Will you die just to keep a hunk of metal sitting on that old bastard’s head?” His broad, hardened features twisted into a mocking smile.

Eliot scowled, offended by his insolence, “Given the chance, I would readily lay down my life for the king and his crown. Not that a treacherous murderer like you would ever understand.”

“Ah, yes. That is what I am, ‘tis true. But I would gladly do it all over again, if given the chance.” His gravelly voice filled with a burning hatred that made Eliot’s skin crawl. Had this demon truly felt no remorse? He gawked without saying a word until the wretch continued, “Tell me. What exactly have you heard about me, boy?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Eliot replied, his eyes narrowing, “I know that you were the one who murdered Prince Elric in cold blood.”

“Aha! But were you even born yet? Why, you could not have been little more than the pathetic seed dripping out of your father’s co–”

Eliot’s cheeks flushed red with anger, “You will be silent!” he exclaimed.

A guttural cackle reverberated throughout the dungeon as the prisoner’s deriding smile of rotten teeth continued to fuel Eliot’s rage. “Perhaps you were born by then,” Bardolph said, “Yet I still doubt you are old enough to remember the start of the war.”

“I know enough. I serve my king. Unlike you,” Eliot said, seething with contempt.

Bardolph smirked. “I fought for that king. To be sure, he bemoaned his son’s death when the news reached him. They had bestowed honors upon me beyond what I deserved. I was about to be knighted by Prince Elric for my service, before I cut off his royal head.” Receiving an incredulous look, the prisoner continued, “You don’t believe that a ruthless murderer like me could ever have been a knight, I know.”

Eliot did not like the sincerity with which he spoke his next words, “But I assure you, as ugly as it may be— I speak only the truth.” Illuminated by the faint torchlight, countless years worth of grotesque scars from the king’s justice peered back at Eliot. He gulped, cursing himself for not possessing the strength to look at Bardolph head on.

“From which village do you hail, boy?” the prisoner asked with a touch of softness.

The changed manner quelled any determination Eliot once had to intimidate him. “Thornhaven…” Eliot said, looking away and only darting his eyes back for a moment at a time.

“Thornhaven? That grimy shithole, aye? I was born there y’know, before I became army fodder,” he released a quick breathy laugh, “I was just like you once. I wanted nothing more than to serve my king. When Prince Elric announced I would be knighted into his service, I couldn’t have been more honored.” Bardolf turned his head away in shame, “Tch— damned fool that I was,” he muttered to himself, spitting violently towards a chittering rat in the filth.

Eliot was too astonished to make any answer as he tried and failed to imagine how the monstrosity before him could ever have known honor. For a lingering moment, he caught a glimpse of sorrow in his eyes, or was it anger?

“When the Black Death took our village, my duties to the prince kept me away. I had no way of knowing who had died. For a long while, I assumed everyone I knew was dead. I dared not hope that even she would be saved, and if the child I gave her had lived, I doubted that it would survive.” As he spoke, his upper lip twitched in agitation.

“The Pious Prince, we all called him. He would bring back the chosen few to be properly baptized in the chapel. When I saw her with him, ridden with the Black Death, I praised him and thanked God. I couldn’t help but peer inside to witness her salvation, despite his express orders to never enter.” Bardolph’s voice cracked, his fists clenching as they shook in a frenzy.

“What I saw…I can’t even bear to think of, to see again. He was contorted beyond belief, every shred of his humanity gone. She was torn limb from limb, defiled in every way imaginable on that unholy altar.” He choked on the words, “Saved? My Elizabeth was anything but. The next thing I remember was standing over his corpse.”

“Elizabeth? Did you say— Elizabeth?” A loud clang resounded throughout the dungeon as Eliot fell to his knees, his body convulsing from a crushing nausea that made him vomit.

“No. It can’t be true.” He let out a pathetic croak, overcome with grief. “She was supposed to be in heaven. Wasn’t she happy now, watching me from on high?” Desperately, he cried, “Mother? Mother!”

Bardolph looked back at the pitiful boy in silence as he wailed before him, and with the sudden realization of a cruel joke, the prisoner let out yet another dry, hollow, and bitter laugh.