Chapter Text
Levana struggled helplessly against her captors, eyes wild with terror as she was dragged closer and closer to the cell at the end of the dark hall. The guards had taken great pleasure in taunting her about her new cellmate in great detail, informing her of how she would be used harshly for his pleasure and then tortured to death. She knew little of the man, but had heard stories of his incredible strength and speed, and his ruthless and vicious nature. There were rumors of careless guards from many different slams that had been literally torn into pieces by this man.
Regardless of her profession, Levana had lived a relatively sheltered life, never having been with a man (suggestive eyebrow) or even sharing a kiss of a romantic nature. Now, even as she fought to get free, she pleaded with the guards; begging for mercy, or even just a quick death rather than the horrors she would face being locked in a rather small cell with only a dangerous convict for company. The men ‘escorting’ her simply laughed cruelly at her pitiful attempts to escape, and to beg mercy. They had lost one of their own in 'the incident' and as such were far from inclined to show clemency of any kind to the girl.
Even through the blinding terror threatening to overwhelm her, Levana couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyance. Honestly, hadn’t the men ever heard of an accident? She had not meant to kill that guard; he had just startled her in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been in the middle of a very important heist, and she had acted on instinct. The elaborately jeweled dagger in her hand had been plunged through his heart, retracted, and then slashed through his throat before he could so much as gasp in surprise.
In her shock at the unintentional kill, the young thief had lost precious time, and her escape was foiled by several other guards that had been alerted to a theft in the area and happened across her in the wrong place at the wrong time. Levana had tried to fight, but she was best trained in stealth and speed, not hand to hand combat against several opponents. She had been taken prisoner with humiliating ease, and found guilty of theft and murder.
What passed as the local justice system had sentenced her to life in prison, and she was sent with a pack of mercs to the nearest high-security slam. As the news of the murdered guard had spread through the ranks of those in the prison, hatred spread throughout the guards, until one had the brilliant idea to make her suffer by giving her accommodations in the same cell as their most dangerous inmate. Hence her current situation.
She had learned long ago that life was far from fair, but now she had to wonder if perhaps life held a personal grudge against her. Surely a simple thief (and accidental murderer) shouldn’t have to suffer a death such as this. Why could she not be hanged, or shot down by a firing squadron or even just receive a good-old-fashioned knife to her throat? She fought back a terrified whimper as the guards trained their weapons on the door before a lone man unlocked it and bodily threw the girl in.
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Levana hit the ground hard, bruising her forearms and knees as she landed roughly on the filthy flooring. Not daring to move just yet, she kept her head down and remained as still and quiet as possible, extending her senses to try to locate him even as she estimated how long it would take her to die at her cellmate’s hands. Perhaps he would be taken by surprise and kill her swiftly. Then again, he could choose to prolong her agony and torture her very slowly, drawing out her death for days or even weeks if he so desired. The guards had made it clear that she could expect no interference from them. She was entirely at the mercy of the convict.
She heard a slight rustling of movement in the corner nearest to the door, a strategic location, as anyone coming in would have to walk directly inside before turning to face the threat. When no further movements could be heard, Levana cautiously raised her head a few inches, and glanced around quickly. The room was darkened, although a dim light was granted from somewhere above. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust, and she wondered why the convict had yet to strike. Perhaps he was toying with her, waiting to see what she would do.
Giving it another minute with no further sounds forthcoming from the corner, Levana carefully shifted position until she was in a low hunter’s crouch. She turned slowly, keeping low to the ground as she looked to the dark corner. There was a large form on the ground, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see from the movements of his chest that his breathing was uneven and shallow.
No sooner had she realized that, than she smelled blood, and realized that the convict must be wounded. This could be her chance! Pulling one of the blades she had managed to conceal from the guards, she very slowly inched her way towards the dark form. As she drew nearer, she nearly gagged as the sharp smell of blood, both fresh and several days old, threatened to overwhelm her.
Her eyesight continued to improve as she adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could now make out some filthy rags that served as bandages; clearly they had been an attempt at helping him to heal, but were very poorly applied. Levana could only assume that he had been too badly hurt to properly patch himself up, and the guards couldn’t be bothered. At this point, she was right beside his body, and trembling in fear and anticipation. If she could kill him now, there was a chance she would live long enough to escape this slam and start a new life under a new name.
She lifted the knife and set the tip directly above his heart. It would be so easy. Just a flick of her wrist and the blade would find its target with ease. But something stayed her hand. Thief though she may be, Levana had never been a murderer at heart. Before the guard, she had never taken a life, and she did not wish to repeat the experience, especially not upon a wounded, (seemingly) unarmed, and unconscious man. So, although all of her survival instincts told her to kill this man to ensure her own safety, she removed her hand and re-sheathed the knife in her boot.
Taking a moment now to truly look at her cellmate, Levana was a bit awed by what she could see; before her lay a tall, very muscular and powerful body that seemed to almost radiate power, even while in its current position. She couldn’t help but be impressed, even though she knew full well that when the convict woke up, she would most likely meet her death. However, there was nothing she could do about it, short of killing him. Which she could not do. Would not do.
Allowing her medical training and instincts to overwhelm her thoughts, which told her to stay away, she carefully reached out and moved aside the rags covering the man’s powerful chest. She had a passable amount of knowledge and training as a healer; when one is a thief, one needs to be able to take care of oneself no matter what conditions they may find themselves in. Levana hissed softly when she saw the extent of damage to the body of the convict.
He had been stabbed in the chest four times, all in non-vital areas, but places that would still cause a great deal of pain. She looked a bit closer, and realized that at least two of the wounds were badly infected, and it was quite possible the others had been as well. She quickly tore up some of the cleaner rags available, and set to cleaning the wounds as best as she could. There was a small bowl with water that was passably clean, and she dipped the rags in it before gently cleansing the blood and filth from his chest.
Levana flinched slightly when the body beside her moved slightly, and she froze, hoping that he was not waking just yet. *What am I doing? Why should I help him, when I know full well he will end me as soon as he recovers enough to do so! I must be insane...* Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, she returned to the task at hand. Insane she may be, but she wouldn’t leave a man to die if it was within her power to save him. Even thieves have something of a moral code. At least she did.
After all his wounds were as clean as possible in these conditions, Levana set aside the rags and rose, moving swiftly towards the door. “Hey!” she belted out as loud as she could; making two of the patrolling guards jump slightly. These two were younger than most of the others, and didn’t seem to share the level of intense hatred of her that their comrades did. That or they didn’t know who she was. One of them aimed his weapon towards the door as the other cautiously stepped forward a bit.
“What do you want, thief?” he demanded roughly, trying to seem unperturbed at his proximity to the cell of the most dangerous convict in the prison. “My arm was deeply cut in a bar fight a few days back, and it has gotten infected, badly. I could die without medical supplies!” Levana made her eyes go wide and fill with tears, hoping they would buy it. Apparently, the men were as stupid as they looked, as one immediately rushed off to find some rudimentary medical supplies while the other remained on guard.
Ignoring the somewhat suspicious glares from the older guard, Levana accepted the clear water, clean bandages, and sterile needle and thread from the younger. He had even included a small container of what appeared to be an anti-biotic formula of some sort. When he saw her looking at it curiously, he shrugged sheepishly and said, “My sister is a healer, and she sent some of her supplies with me when I was conscripted to work here. That is a blend she invented herself.” He looked so proud and pleased; Levana mused how she could work that to her advantage in the future, even as she smiled innocently and nodded in thanks.
After the two had continued on with their patrol, she paced silently back toward the still-unconscious man lying in the darkness. Kneeling beside him once more, she gently spread a generous amount of the salve over his wounds, and then used the needle and thread to carefully stitch up the two deepest. From what gossip the guards had been all too eager to share with her, it appeared that he had been in something of a scuffle with nine (nine?‼) other prisoners, five of whom were dead. The other four were in what passed as a healing ward of the prison, although Levana doubted it would do them much good.
She guessed that he had had no wish to be subjected to the torture chamber that passed as a healing ward, and concealed how hurt he truly was until he was ‘safely’ back in his cell. When she had finished making the tiny, precise stitches, she slathered still more salve over all the wounds. Realizing if she left them exposed, it could easily lead to further infection in these filthy conditions, and so Levana pondered how to bandage them properly.
Shifting her position slightly, she moved to sit just behind his head, and she put her hands under his shoulders and very gently lifted slightly as she slid forward beneath him, until his head lay upon her shoulder, and his own shoulders were supported by her upright torso. In this position, she could wrap the bandages all the way around his chest, and she carefully did so.
He still had not awakened, which was rather worrying. Levana placed her hands upon his close-shaven head and felt gently for any bumps or lumps that were out of place. Finding nothing concerning, she deduced that his body had simply given out from the pain of the stab wounds, and was now in a healing sleep. She carefully lowered his upper body back to the ground, removing her outer cloak and folding it as a make-shift pillow for his head.
Once she was free to move around once again, Levana began to pace and think. Now that the convict’s wounds had been seen to, he would most likely make a speedy recovery. He didn’t seem the type to remain incapacitated for long, and his healing speed was astounding. Even from the couple of hours it had been from when she had first been thrown in the cell, his breathing had evened out and his bleeding slowed. The fight must have been more recent than she had believed at first. At the rate he was healing, he could be back on his feet within twelve hours, possibly even sooner.
While Levana wasn’t about to fool herself into thinking he would spare her life just because she had helped him, she couldn’t help but hope that perhaps he could feel some small measure of gratitude. Surely even convicts have something of a code of honor? Maybe, if he was feeling generous, he would grant her a swift and somewhat painless death, rather than the slow torture and rape she was dreading.
With these uneasy thoughts plaguing her mind, Levana curled up in the corner across from her cellmate, the position allowing her to keep an eye on both him and the door. She found her eyelids growing progressively heavier as the minutes passed, and she knew that her strength was waning. She would need to sleep eventually, so she decided to do so while everything seemed calm, however temporary the false sense of peace may be.