Work Text:
The screams rang in his ears and shook his very being. The voice he had fondly named Elfman, as he did not known the elf's name, pleading with Lord Viren as atrocities were committed behind the walls he was protected by.
He stayed silent, not saying a word in fear that he, too, would recieve whatever treatment Elfmen was recieving.
Lord Viren walked out the room, a coin held in his hands. His face, however, was bright blue ashen, eyes black.
"Gren." He said sternly, voice low with power.
"Y-yes, Lord Viren?"
The man smirked at him, before unchaining his cuffs and throwing him the coin he held. Gren fumbled with it before holding it securely in the palm of his hand.
"Take him out of my site, and flee. If you are not found again, it will be far too soon."
Gren stared at the man he once thought of as King Harrow's right hand, but was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing. Then he looked down at the man trapped in the coin, whom looked tired and subdued.
Without a moments hesitation he fled up the stairs and went through to the palace's nearest exit, his thoughts on how he could get to the Commander.
"May the six winds forever be in your favor."