ellrond:

accepting mini fic prompts

“They have died.”

Lord Ashbourne never had been especially empathetic, not when his lady wife had died, not when he had said his goodbyes to his disgraced son, and not now. The shackles on Thomas’ wrists were so cold, so strong. So like his father. 

They have died. Miranda. James. Dead. 

Thomas could see red. The iron at his hands clinked as he clenched his fists, the sound jarring to his ears, making his legs tense. It was just the two of them in the dimly lit room, no guards, no officers, no owner. How easy it would be to stand and wrap the links around his father’s throat and pull tight, let the metal dig into sagging jowls and choke the life from his vile form, his hateful body. 

“You killed them.” Thomas’ voice was quiet. 

Alfred Hamilton looked at him with a stony stare, an eyebrow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

Thomas fell silent again but did not look away from the challenging gaze and met it instead. The edges of his vision were blurring and he could hear the blood rushing through his head and his hands were shaking and he stood slowly. Hamilton the senior did not move as Thomas came close to him, lips pulling back over teeth in a silent sneer, silent roar and he raised his hands, shackles clanging and rattling and suddenly they were wrapped around the old man’s throat. 

Choked cries brought guards in running but Thomas had let his father go before true damage had been done. He had, however, had time to bloody his knuckles upon Ashbourne’s face before he had pulled away with his mouth open in a silent sob, face contorted in absolute grief. Let God take him now. Let God kill him now. Let this all end, and let him see Miranda again. Let him be finally at peace. Let him go to James.