Callum simply sat and watched the man lay there. Wary for if he made any sudden movements. He was no idiot, a little naive but not stupid. It would not be unheard of for prisoner to attack, even under such gracious events. Honestly, Callum wouldn't blame if he did. Had it been him in that position he had no doubt he would've. Many things were often said about the young prince, he knew this. He was wroth, and greedy. At only 15 years he had asked his father for his own land. To which he was denied, and every year on the anniversary of his birth he'd ask again. The request was always denied him though. But Callum never sought to take it by force. All in the kingdom knew him as Prince Callum the Impulsive, but very few knew of his secondary nature. There was denying his wroth and greed, but he was also nothing if not just and fair. To see the poor man rot was beyond his abilities. 

"Typically, we keep papers on all who enter these dungeons." He spoke solemnly as if he had committed a grave crime himself, "However, your records are all-but blank. I should of investigated sooner.." He trailed off, ashamed of his irresponsibility and neglect of his work. "If you must blame someone for what happened to you, blame me." He stood up, hands held infront of him and nodded in the mans direction. He turned and headed towards the door, and left without looking back on the man. A conversation was held outside with the guards. "I have done this man a great tragedy, officers. I cannot release him early, but I can permit him a better stay." The guards nodded before he continued. "He is to be fed and watered immediately. Understood?" The guards straightened and saluted before on ran off to grab the required sustenance. Callum left the dungeons, sure to inform the upper-Keeper of the mans special conditions.

Several weeks went by and Callum paid little mind to the dungeons or the strange man, much like before. He had been taken on a trip to the markets with his father and mother. Being the only child that remained at home, it was fairly common. The streets had been cleared away from them to peruse at will, only the merchants stayed behind. His mother was in a shop looking at new furnishings, discussing the latest trends with a storemans wife. His father was inspecting some horses he had become interested in,while Callum himself browsed the foreign goods brought in by travelers. There were a few trinkets and bobbles but nothing really noteworthy. A shame really, they usually had such bizarre items. He let his hands trail over some objects a luxury the average shopper wasn't given. Some gold doubloons sat infront of him, he tapped at the coins absently. They were the currency of pirates, used on the rare occasions they traded. As currency they were useless anywhere but on the see, but made neat collectibles and were lighter than gold bars. For the first time in ages his mind trailed back to the pirate sitting his cell. Paying for the doubloons he walked into the shop with his mother. The gleam of metal caught his eye from the far end of the store. A set of shaving blades all different lengths. They were made of silver and had precious gems on the handles. He thought for a while before buying those as well. His mother giggled when she saw him carrying the blades. "What on earth do you need those for? You don't shave" She grabbed his face tenderly and gave him a peck on the cheek. Callum blushed profusely "They're for.. a friend."

The next morning, Callum woke up and made his way quickly to the dungeons. Checking on each of the prisoners individually. Ensuring they were cared for. The new Keeper was a million times better, hired at Callums own selection. The conditions had improved enormously. After his check-ins he received the weeks reports from the older man and headed upstairs repeating the same process. When he made it the room at the end of the hall, he stopped before unlocking the door and stepping. There the pirate sat on the bed, clearly bored. He was just as dirty and hairy as before but had put on some pounds and looked healthier, "Morning, how are you this day?" He stopped glancing at the shelf, not a book out of place. "I trust your treatment has improved?"