[ @othcrworld continued from here ]
There is no word that could ever describe with any degree of accuracy the feelings that had threatened to shatter the Pimpernel’s stout heart when first his eyes had found the battered and broken form of his dearest friend. His friend who he had sent on this mission.
As the others, it had been his plan. He had known that it would be risky, and yet he had allowed Emion to go…
And this is what had come of it.
His alarm nearly gave way to sheer panic when the other’s eyes close, but he had exercised that self-control, patience, and brilliance for which the Pimpernel is legendary, perhaps even put it through its greatest trial yet.
As Caestor lays so still––still enough that even as he works, that piercing stare does not shift from the shallow rise and fall with every intake of breath––deft fingers begin to work at the lock. He had tried to find the keys. Having them would have been far less risky than taking however much time would be necessary to pick the lock, but they could not be located and so he had enacted his second plan.
Picking the lock is far more time-consuming indeed than he would have preferred and with every second that the bars separate him from his brother, his patience is further tested.
Then…
At last!
Even as Caestor stirs once more, perhaps disturbed by the clicking of the lock, Blakeney had begun to open the cell door, and one strong arm had already begun reaching out to support the other as he, ever so carefully, brings himself close that the other might rest––as best he can while chained––against his chest.
“If you thought I would make you walk, Emion, then clearly they beat out of you what little sense you had left after joining up with this fool,” he answers, the tension of his voice likely undermining his attempt to joke, to raise the other’s spirit.
But, on this he cannot linger. He begins to pick the locks that hold cruel shackles around bruised ankles and wrists.
And then, when that is done, he shifts once more that he might work at the restraint around his neck only to stop––
He had heard the cough and yet only now does he realize… The sound…
Blood.
He must hurry.
Despite his fear, he knows that steady fingers are essential to his task and thus he makes them so, perhaps only through sheer force of will, and moments later, the last of the shackles fall.
“My dear friend… Bragan… I am so sorry. Please forgive me…” he apologizes, seemingly without cause… and yet not a moment later, the reason would be made abundantly clear to Emion as Blakeney so very gently gathers the other into strong arms…… and then lifts him…
