The first sign that having a prisoner isn’t going to be easy comes as Vanth weeds the Blushing Belladonas. The entire flower patch is aflutter, each little bud craning their stems to get a look into the window just to catch a glimpse of the newest addition to their castle.

“Hold still,” he grumbles.

The wiggling flowers obstruct his vision and he doesn’t want to accidentally grab a flower instead of a weed. The flowers suddenly shriek and reflexively wrap around him. A large thumping noise drowns out their cries and Vanth whips his head around, heart hammering, trying to find the source of the sound.

A second crash has the flowers ducking low to the ground. The castle window rattles violently as something dark hits it from the inside, but due to the thick stained glass, he can’t see what it was.

As part of his myriad of defensives, Vanth has spelled the windows to be nigh unbreakable, though he had done so in the event of a siege, to protect himself from an angry mob armed with stone bricks, battering rams, and torches. Never had he thought someone would be trying to break out of the castle.

He swallows and wonders if can just send Knight to deal with their frustrated guest. Standing, he pets the heads of the blossoms reassuringly, and heads to the parlor. Vanth knocks because it’s polite, even though the parlor is now effectively a jail cell. He’s magically sealed Therios inside, of course, though for now his grievous injury keeps him chained far more effectively than any magic spell.

As he pushes the door open, a cushion from the chaise smacks against the door, and Vanth hurriedly closes the door. Quickly, he mentally catalogs the furniture in the parlor, relatively sure he didn’t leave anything dangerous in there.

“I see you, you coward!” the prisoner shouts.

Vanth, stomach a knot of anxiety, says through the closed door, “If I come in will you continue to throw things at me?”

Therios pants heavily, “If I had a knife, I’d throw it at your heart.”

It’s nothing Vanth hasn’t heard before, though generally the threats occur under drastically different circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Vanth says.

His throat is unexpectedly sticky and the words come out hoarse.

“If you’re sorry, then let me go,” Therios pleads, “I could care less about you or whatever secret you’re hiding, but there’s a battle going on out there, and I can’t just abandon my guild and city.”

“Battle?”

“Yes! A battle for the city! Laris is trying to take over, he and his men chased me out. But I need to go back and defend my brothers.”

Vanth has no idea who Laris is, but he hopes that whatever unrest he’s causing doesn’t spread into the valley.

“Are the battles close?” he asks the wooden door.

The chaise creaks.

“The fighting is north of here, in Beggar’s Hole.”

“I’m sorry, where?”

“Beggar’s Hole,” Therios repeats, like there’s nothing at all wrong with the name, “the city-state. Where I’m from.”

Vanth’s never heard of such a city; he only remembers the village Tarside, a place as miserable as the name. He doesn’t miss it at all; he had been chased out with torches and pitchforks, after all.

“And this Laris, what does he want?”

“To rule the city of course,” Therios snorts in derision, “and his goal is to stamp out the guilds.”

Vanth relaxes. If this Laris just wants the city, then he will hopefully leave the Lost Valley well enough alone.

“You have to let me out. I need to help. If Laris continues his grab for power, hundreds of people could die. The city would fall.”

Vanth stares at a knot in the wood.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “if it’s any consolation, no nation stands the test of time. Civilizations rise and fall, order descends into chaos, and one man alone cannot hope to make much of a difference.”

There is silence on the other side of the door for a while, save for the creaks of a crumbling old castle, and the faint whisper of the magic that holds it together.

“You say that as if it is pointless to even try.”

“The efforts of one person are superfluous. I’ve learned that all of the petty squabbles, the wars of kings, the turning of the heavens, will continue on just fine without me. Perhaps, even, the world is better off.”

“Well! I’m getting a sense of why you live out here all alone. Cheerful as death, you are.”

There is a mocking edge to his tone and plenty of bitterness as well.

“Will you stop throwing things at the windows?” Vanth ventures cautiously, “They are spelled to be very durable.”

Therios sighs miserably, “Well, as you say, it’s pointless to even try.”

He barks a laugh and Vanth steps back from the door, deciding to turn away. Eventually he will need to check on Therios’s wound, but for now, he’s not quite ready to face his prisoner. Hiding from threats is ingrained into him, a behavior he doesn’t know how to change or fight. And what an odd pair that makes them, the jailor hiding from his prisoner, too afraid to confront the man at his mercy.