Alright, so, this is equal parts sentimentality and just sheer disgust at fourteen year old me. See, my first fanfiction ever was That Which is Lost. I thought it was the bees knees, probably because everyone acted like it was the bees knees. Looking back, I realize that it's utter crap, and I feel the need to fix it. The overall idea is the same, but certain things are fundamentally different, making for what I hope is a darker, more interesting story that doesn't wear the bloody skins of logic bunnies as tattered loin cloths.

Gregor tasted blood. That was the first thing that he was conscious of as he clawed his way out of lifelessness: the cloying, metallic taste of blood. A moment after that, every ache and pain conceivable crashed down like the Bane himself, ripping an agonized whimper out of him.

He couldn't move. He tried to lift an arm, but the only response was a weak twitch of the fingers. He tried to lift his head, but the floor clung to his cheek. He didn't try to open his eyes. He knew enough to know that if he were in this much pain, there wouldn't be any light.

Besides. He didn't need to open his eyes.

It took a surprising amount of strength to click with his tongue, but he managed. He was in a pit. A deep pit with sheer walls that seemed impossibly high. There were a few rocks, but from his perspective nothing else.

He didn't think he had Sandwich's sword anymore. He couldn't check, but he figured he'd feel it one way or another. He still had his armor, but it was starting to dig painfully into his skin in some places. He wished he could take it off. Or hell, at least move.

His throat was dry. He hadn't really noticed before, but now it was one of the most important parts of his life. He was thirsty. Hungry too, but the thirst came first.

He couldn't even raise his voice above a whisper, much less scream for help. He couldn't even lift his head, much less get up and make some sort of effort to be noticed.

The realization that he was going to die wasn't as horrifying as he thought it'd be. Probably because he was so freaking thirsty. He'd be fine with dying if his tongue and the roof of his mouth didn't feel like a couple pieces of paper rubbing together.

He wondered how long he'd been down there, in a detached sort of way. Hours maybe, days even. Despite the headache that was threatening to rip his head in two, he tried to focus on what happened.

The battle had begun, and dissolved into chaos. Gnawers, fliers, spinners, nibblers and humans ripped each other to pieces without much thought. And then, in the distance, a light. A rapidly blinking light.

SOS… SOS…

Lizzie… Boots… Nike… They'd been attacked. He'd gone to save them, but he'd been distracted by the Bane. He'd gone down somewhere private, somewhere where they could fight alone, away from the screams and the flickering half-light.

Twirltongue was dead. It barely mattered. So many people were dead; what was one more gnawer; a rat who had tried to kill him, who had twisted an already broken mind to complete insanity?

Then the fight. He could only remember bits and pieces. Flashes of white fur and steel… And then… And then…

Get out! Get out, Ares!

If Gregor had had any strength in his body, he would have jumped at the recollection.

Ares. He'd been close, far too close. And the Bane's massive jaws had closed in and Gregor had moved so fast he'd probably hurt himself and-

And then nothing.

Not a damn thing.

Gregor felt cheated, like someone who'd read a book or watched a movie with an ending that was totally unsatisfactory. What about Ares? What about the Bane? What about Lizzie and Boots and Ripred and Luxa?

The sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie. Footsteps and the strange sound of claws scraping on stone, and soft, uncontrolled sobbing. Light flooded through his eyelids; it was agonizingly bright.

The sobbing grew louder, more wild.

"See that, precious?" It was a gnawer, no doubt about it. "Poor boy. Poor, poor thing." It didn't sound sympathetic in the slightest. "Found him in the caves with his bond. Exhausted. Got lost, see. So we helped them out. We're nice like that, precious."

"Please." The voice was young, and desperate, and thick with years, and female. And horrifically familiar. "Please, just let me go to him. Let me see if he's alive-"

"Maybe later, precious." The gnawer replied nastily. "Bloodspill wants a word with you. You remember Bloodspill? Yes, I see you do-"

"I don't know anything!" She sobbed. Gregor's heart started to pound painfully fast but his body refused to acknowledge what he was commanding it to do. Stand, jump, fight, save her!

"Oh, precious, you can say that all day, but it won't get you anywhere, will it?" The gnawer laughed. "Want to see his bond? He's a bit more lively- I'm sure he'll be so happy to see you." The light retreated, the footsteps returned, and the helpless sobs grew softer with distance.

Gregor's fingers twitched helplessly. That was the only reaction his body gave.

Not Lizzie. Please, please, not Lizzie.

The adrenaline that had powered what feeble twitches his fingers had been capable of retreated meekly, and with that, Gregor was too tired to even think.

()()()

"Gregor?" The voice was so little, so small and weak. It made his heart break. "Gregor, wake up. Please?" He tasted water, and felt certain that the voice belonged to an angel. He drank as quickly as he could. "Careful." A hand ran through his (undoubtedly filthy) hair. He wished he could open his eyes.

The only sound was the sound of weeping, soft and half smothered, as if the weeper didn't want anyone to hear. And the hand was so gentle and kind, it made Gregor want to cry too.

But he'd only just drank, and it seemed as if he didn't have any water to spare for tears.

"Gregor, it's Lizzie. We… We got taken." Please, God, not Boots. "Boots is here too. They're not hurting her. She's scared, but they're not hurting her." The hand continued to be there, to touch. It was nice, the contact. "Ares is alive. He's not okay, but he's alive. I don't know if he'll be glad to know you're alive, considering…"

Fair enough. Gregor wasn't sure he should be happy Ares was alive, considering.

"They'll come get us soon. Ripred and Luxa and the rest. They won't leave us here."

How long has it been? He wanted to ask, but light returned and the hand retreated.

()()()

Sometimes, Gregor could hear Boots. She wailed for their mother piteously. It broke Gregor's heart. A lot of things did. He figured his heart was a bunch of little shards and dust right now.

He'd gotten the strength to open his eyes and sit. He was rewarded with the sight of Lizzie with a split lip and eyes red with weeping.

He'd gotten the strength to stand. He was rewarded by being dragged out of the pit and pushed down the row to Ares. The look in his bond's eyes told him just how well he looked. Made sense. Ares looked awful. They saw each other for about ten seconds before Gregor was dragged by his hair back to his pit and shoved unceremoniously in. The fall knocked the breath out of him, and he found that even after he regained it, he simply didn't care enough to get up afterwards.

Lizzie's visits were sporadic and short, but food and water came more frequently than he'd thought. It wasn't the kind of food one would voluntarily eat if they weren't starving, but Gregor was starving. Weird mushrooms, stale bread and murky water, mainly. After a while, he wondered if it was worth the effort.

They'll come get us soon. They won't leave us here.

How long had it been since that visit? Gregor couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to ask. He knew it wasn't a trivial length of time though.

He thought of his father, with his white hair and wild eyes, and suddenly felt terrified.

What if they were trapped down there for years? What if the Regalians never bothered to find them, or never looked in the right place? What if, one day, Lizzie came down to find him beyond communication, beyond recognition, beyond anything?

()()()

Gregor woke to more human footsteps than normal, and light.

"Not a single worthwhile catch here." An unfamiliar male voice said. It was distinctly human, and it reminded Gregor of what he'd been waiting for. He forced his eyes open and blinked rapidly as the light tore at his eyes.

High above was a light, probably a torch. He rubbed his eyes as the first voice continued.

"Look at that. Kids. Not a single worthwhile man or woman here." Gregor blinked up at them. Two people. One of them was enormous. At least two feet taller than the other, and twice as wide. The other seemed small and slender by comparison, but then, anyone would have.

"Wait." The new voice sent a thrill of recognition through Gregor. Something half-forgotten and utterly terrifying. "Give me that torch." The torch was held a bit higher, and then a disbelieving laugh echoed callously through the place. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Gregor the Overlander. The Warrior sung of by every wetnurse from Regalia to the Font." Gregor swallowed painfully.

"Henry," he rasped.

The face that loomed over him was thinner than he remembered, but still sharply handsome. The white hair was longer, the purple eyes wilder, but it was still Henry. His clothing was made of some kind of rough leather and his sword was old and chipped, but it was still Henry.

The man next to him was unfamiliar. His face was as blocky and strong as the rest of him, and he wore leathers similar to Henry's. His hair was short and oddly dark. Gregor couldn't tell the man's eye color from where he was, so he couldn't tell if the man was Overlander, Halflander, or an Underland so filthy that it was impossible to tell. He decided he didn't like the look on the man's face though. It was a disturbing mix of interest and calculation.

Henry crouched on the edge of the pit, still grinning. "You do not look well, Overlander. What is the matter? Has my dear cousin neglected to come rescue her maiden from his tower?"

"I could have sworn you'd splattered across the rocks, Henry." Gregor snarled with more viciousness than he'd have been capable of before this whole experience. He felt a glimmer of satisfaction when the smirk on Henry's face sputtered like a dying candle at the memory.

"So, the Overlander then?" The other man spoke up suddenly. "Heard a lot about you, boy. Killed the Bane. I saw him from aways away; that's nothing to sneeze at."

Before Gregor could respond, the sounds of a scuffle hit them, and another man, this one clearly an Underlander, walked up, dragging Lizzie by the arm behind him.

"Look what I found, your lordship," he sniggered, clearly gripping the girl painfully tight. "She is a pretty one, yes?"

"Let her go!" Gregor snarled, but none of them save Henry paid him any mind. The disgraced royal looked from the helpless boy to the sister with interest.

"What is your name, girl?" He asked, his tone markedly gentler. Lizzie relaxed slightly, and it was all Gregor could do not to warn her, but he didn't want to pop this strange little bubble.

"L-Lizzie," the girl stammered. "I'm Lizzie."

"Lizzie." Henry said quietly. "Interesting." He nodded to the bigger man. "Throw the ladder down." If anyone but the two Overlanders were confused, they made no show of it. The large man of unknown origin let a rope ladder fall, and held it as Gregor climbed up cautiously. The boy had no reason to trust Henry after what he did, and the way he was looking at his sister made him trust Henry even less.

The big man eyed Gregor as the boy stood. The boy noticed his eyes were a dark shade of purple. Underlander then. "Tall," he muttered. "Seems strong enough. And he's a rager to boot."

"I don't know what you're thinking," Gregor said with more courage than he felt. "But my sisters and I are going back to Regalia-"

"Sisters?" Henry asked suddenly. "Plura- Wait." He pointed at Lizzie. "This is your sister?" Gregor didn't need to answer. "And the baby is here somewhere?" Again, Gregor didn't need to say anything. It was plastered all over his face. "Excellent. That makes things a lot easier. You will come with us, Gregor."

"I will not!" Gregor snapped. "We will not!" Henry smirked, and Gregor had this overwhelming urge to punch him in the throat.

"And how will you do this, Overlander? Will you and your siblings walk to Regalia? Do you even know where you are?"

"Ares can fly us." Gregor said, with far more confidence that the statement was worthy of. There was no guarantee that Ares would be able to fly Gregor and his sisters back to Regalia, but the chance to trip Henry wasn't something he could pass up.

Henry's smirk dissolved into a look that was utterly indescribable, and at the same time completely terrifying. It was rage and triumph and mockery and hate and grief and insanity all mixed together to form a mask that could barely be described as human. The older boy turned on his heel and strode along the pits, looking down until he came across the one with Ares.

Again, the pits echoed with his half-mad laughter.

"Oh!" Henry cackled. "It is my nameday early!" The large man gently shoved Gregor down to where Henry was, and the boy heard his sister and her captor follow close behind.

Ares looked utterly terrible. Thin and weak, his fur dull and matted with blood and filth, he struggled valiantly against his bonds, only to double his efforts when Gregor came into view.

The large man looked down into the pit, his face taking on that interested, calculating look again. "Might be worth it to bring him, Henry," he said. "This is Ares? Aye, we get some food in him, give him a month or two, getting him out of here will be more than worth-"

"We are leaving him here." Henry said coldly. Ares and the two men froze as Gregor and Lizzie both erupted with protests; Lizzie pleading desperately, Gregor roaring threats as strongly as he could.

"You sure, milord?" The other Underlander asked slowly. "We need fliers, without doubt. And there is no denying the strength of this one, once we get him back on his-"

"No." Henry said again. "He will be left here." He turned and smirked at the horrified Overlanders. "You, though, will be coming with us."

"Over my dead body." Gregor snapped. Henry's smirk didn't even falter. He simply handed the torch over to the other Underlander, then grabbed Lizzie, his arm wrapping around her waist, pinning her to him. Quick as a blink, the teen held a knife up the throat of the young girl, who immediately dissolved into terrified shrieks and sobs. Gregor tried to rush Henry, but a strong hand grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back painfully.

"Let me reiterate," Henry said, his cheerful tone dissonant to Lizzie's sobs and Ares' desperate pleas for him to release her. "You will come with us and obey my orders without question. If you do not, I will slit your young sister's throat and throw her down with your dear bond." The silence pressed down like a weight; everyone was too stunned to speak. "We will not be taking the flier; he is not to be trusted. I am in charge, and if I cannot trust him, no one can." Gregor was too terrified to protest. Every bit of his attention was fixed on the razor sharp edge pressed against his sister's throat, a pound of pressure away from-

"Go, Gregor!" Ares cried from in the pit.

"No, Ares-" Lizzie started, but was cut off by Henry, who tightened his grip on her in warning. Ares continued.

"Go. I will be fine. The others will be here soon." How long had they been thinking that? Saying that? The words were as hollow as Gregor's stomach. "Gregor, I swear to you, I will be alright. I will tell Luxa of this; she will alert the council, they will-"

"You are making your sister bleed, Gregor!" Henry snapped, pressing the knife into Lizzie's throat enough to make a trickle of blood run down and begin to stain her tattered shirt.

"Alright!" Gregor sobbed. "Okay! I'll go! Just let Lizzie go!" Henry pretended to think about it.

"Hmmm. No, I think she will stay with me." He began to back up, dragging Lizzie with him. "For her own safety, you understand. We would not want the fair Codebreaker to die, would we?" The large man let go of Gregor's arm and gripping the boy's shoulder almost gently.

"Get moving, boy," he said quietly, leading him away from Ares' pit.

"Fly you high, Gregor." Ares whispered. Gregor could only sob in response.

()()()

They went from pit to pit, but there were no others worth saving, according to Henry and his companions. The ones down there were invariably mad. There were men and women, nibblers and fliers, even a few roaches, but few even reacted to the light and noise.

Henry continued to drag Lizzie along awkwardly, his blade never leaving her throat. Soon, her sobs dwindled and she became almost stoic. Gregor didn't know what to do. Doing anything but following Henry would put Lizzie's life in danger, and he had no idea if speaking up would do the same. So he followed silently, numbly, trying not to think of what would happen if- when they found Boots, and trying to keep the image of Ares in that pit out of his head.

Fly you high, Gregor.

The fact that the place smelled to high heaven only became apparent with the first clean breeze. The group neared the edge of the pits to a group of fliers: one gold, one white, one brown, and one a rich auburn. A woman stood near the brown one. Unlike the others, this woman was clearly a Halflander. Her hair was messy and wild, but still clearly brown, and her eyes were such a vivid blue that he could see the color from several feet away. She was pretty enough beneath all the grime, and her clothes were made from the same material as the others. She was swaying slightly, and Gregor thought he could hear her singing. In her arms was a baby. A very familiar baby.

"Boots!" Lizzie cried happily. The woman pressed a finger to her lips, eying the knife at Lizzie's throat with some irritation.

"What's going on here, then?" She asked in a whisper. "Are we kidnapping little girls now?"

"When I want your opinion, I will ask for it, woman." Henry snarled, pushing Lizzie towards the golden bat. The smaller Underlander swung onto the white one, and the large man pushed Gregor towards the woman and the brown bat.

"You ride with them, boy," he said. "Mind yourself, and don't try anything funny."

Wouldn't dream of it, Gregor thought brokenly as he and the woman swung themselves up onto bat, Boots still in the stranger's arms. The fliers lifted off in practiced unison, and Gregor pushed down tears as they flew him farther and farther away from his bond and his freedom.