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The hold smelled like piss, shit, sweat, and blood. When the sailors tried to clean up a bit, they didn’t do a good job. Nobody had a choice except to do their business on the floor. Aspen did it where he was, and the five dozen or so fairies on the other side tried their best to do it in certain spots so nobody would lay in it, but that wasn’t working too well. They couldn’t move very far, and the pitching of the ship didn’t help.
It also made some vomit since not all were used to being on the water even if they did live in a port city. Oriel wasn’t seasick, but the constant odor and hearing the sailors grunt away over Aspen made him nauseous. The men also didn’t care if he was bleeding from being roughly used by so many.
The other fairies sobbed and prayed. Oriel didn’t bother. Elira probably despised him because he’d both loved and hated Aspen. If he hadn’t said a word years ago, Aspen would have still been in the street, but he might have survived that night.
He wouldn’t be chained up in here.
Oriel ran out of tears and barely moved as he stayed on the slanted side. His thirst was constant as he sweated on the fifth day, and the headache he'd developed never eased. He imagined the sun outside must be blazing, and he wished he and Aspen could have five minutes above deck. Just five minutes to breathe in fresh air and let the breeze cool their bodies.
He glanced at Aspen who hadn’t moved in hours unless the slight rising of his chest counted. With the way he looked, he might not last much longer, and Oriel’s dry throat tightened.
This was his fault. If the lord hadn’t guessed his feelings, maybe they would have simply killed Aspen if they hadn't let him go. He wouldn’t be suffering like this now and possibly inching toward death in such a painful way. Elira would have already taken him into her rest and healed him.
A fairy sobbed in the corner over her sick brother. Oriel couldn’t do anything for them either. Someone else had died in the night, and considering how seasick that man had been, it might have been dehydration. His body had been dragged out like trash, and they had probably tossed him overboard. He wouldn’t even get to properly rest in Ymir’s Earth.
He curled into a tighter ball and tried to lose himself in the past back when he and Aspen used to play on the beach. He’d never felt sexual attraction to anyone else before. The few he’d been with had been for the orgasm, and the act of sex felt good, but Aspen had been different. Oriel hadn’t felt sexual attraction to anyone since even though he’d fucked others in the past two years simply for the physical pleasure.
Oriel craved touch, and nobody had matched up to Aspen in that respect either. When they’d started making love in the woods, Oriel had never felt so whole as he did with his lover against him. The kisses, the touches, his smell. He had said they would get married despite the difference in station.
And he still loved him even though he knew now that Aspen hadn’t felt the same.
He still tried to lose himself in that time when he believed Aspen loved him with all of his heart and soul.
On the sixth day, the sick fairy had a cough. Their waterskins had to last them all day, and he saw the woman giving her brother her portion to ease his thirst. Aspen didn’t move when the sailors trickled water and broth down his throat. He didn't even seem to feel it when he was occasionally raped throughout the day.
Oriel imagined slitting each rapist’s throat and watching the light leave their eyes.
On the seventh day, the sick fairy could barely control his hacking. In the few minutes between attacks, he begged for water and seemed delirious. The woman had already given him his share plus hers before evening, and they only received one meal a day if it could be called that. She’d even given him her bread in small bites, and he could see her desperation as he begged for more water.
She started asking the others around her to let him have a sip or two. The fairies held their precious rations closer and tried to ignore her.
Oriel had been struggling to save most of his water to drink at night. His sleep was shitty anyway, but thirst made it worse and harder to block everything out for a little bit. When the sun went down, the heat didn’t fully dissipate, and having a few real gulps before he tried to slip away in his head was a tiny relief.
“Please, just a little,” the woman begged.
“Shut up, bitch,” one snarled as his tail swished.
“If your tail hits me one more time, I’ll fucking rip it off,” snapped another.
“He’s already dead,” said one. “We’re not giving our water to a dead man.”
The woman started to cry. “I don’t want him to die like this. A man shouldn’t die thirsty. Elira wouldn't say no."
“It’d be a mercy if you put your hand over his mouth and nose,” said another woman. “Let him go.”
“He’s all I have left!”
And he’d still die thirsty.
Oriel took his water skin and sat up. “Here. Catch it. None of you better touch it.”
A few of the fairies cast him shamed glances. The woman’s face lit up as she caught the tossed waterskin. One of the men looked at her like he wanted to snatch it and drink every last drop.
"Don't even fucking think about it," snarled Oriel.
Even though he couldn’t reach anyone, some of the fairies must have still thought of their Prince as someone they had to listen to. The man kept his hands to himself.
The woman gave her brother sips when he could stop coughing, and she patted a little on his face with her hand, trying to cool him down. Oriel’s thirst grew worse as the hours passed, and the headache that constantly lurked from dehydration turned into pounding pain, but he didn’t regret it. Maybe the man would live. He had no idea what awaited later, but perhaps the civilians would be ransomed back to their families.
