Bard’s Note: Cut added for length. Super huge thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for these wonderful submissions! It was a huge help as I worked on some job application stuff last week.
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As a general rule, the passengers kept out of the way of the crew. Most of them stayed below, killing time or working on something or dealing with seasickness. Alf found himself on deck a lot, watching the crew and the Navy ships following them, as they should.
Alfonso remembered training on them, he spent a few years when he was a young man, learning to sail, learning how to fight with what came to hand, various different swords. That had been a good time.
He was not that man anymore. He was not going to be that man anymore.
The days it took to sail to Duilintinn gave him plenty of time to think about his next move. He was on his way to Duilintinn, so far he had successfully left Tandeli, so, now what? He hadn’t decided.
It was tempting to go with the flow. Get to Fionport’s docks, exchange money and see what happens. That probably wasn’t the safest method, he should just keep going north.
Still, he would probably need to spend some time in Fionport anyway, he shouldn’t make a strict plan, he should remain flexible. Just in case he needed to make an unexpected move or decision.
The temperature dropped as they sailed, and stayed low as they sailed past the Iolla Lighthouse, avoiding the cliffs. As they approached Fionport’s harbour walls the Navy ships peeled off further out to sea, waiting for any Tandeli ships to return.
It took a good hour after they saw port for them to dock and another hour for the passengers to disembark, the captain having to show all the paperwork to dock officials. The Duil loved their records.
Alf carried his few belongings down the gangplank, and for a moment wondered if they hadn’t turned around in the night and that’s just gone back to Puerta Casóm.
The same Waldren style architecture rose up in front of him, even in the crowded docks he could see the white columns deeper in the city.
He took a moment to get his bearings, and went to find somewhere to exchange his money.
With a pouch of new coins stamped with the King’s Eye, he wandered around the city. When he was last here they’d gone straight through the main roads, so wandering around the poorer parts of the city was interesting. It still held the grid system that was standard in Fionport, but it felt narrower and a bit more rambley.
He found a small inn, which wasn’t as open, or as nice really as the Open Arms. This was darker and possibly not as clean, but he didn’t know how long his money was going to last.
“One room please,” he spoke to the innkeeper, who also looked less friendly than the innkeeper of the Open Arms.
“Fresh off the boat?” They asked, taking the money without really counting it. “Tandeli or Grancinco?”
“Tandeli.”
“Alright, I’m going to need your real name for the guestbook. Add your nickname if you want.”
Alf felt himself bristle, just because you weren’t born with your Chosen Name didn’t make it any less real. Even if he had only had a Chosen Name for less than a week.
The innkeeper raised their eyebrow. “Look, I’m just making sure there’s no confusion in the book alright? I won’t read it properly if it bothers you that much. How many nights?”
“Two. And the proper terms,” Alf started as he wrote his new names in the book. “are Given and Chosen Names.”
“I make no guarantees that I will remember that,” the innkeeper declared as they took the book and handed him a key. “Straight up the stairs and on the left.”
“Thank you,” Alf responded curtly as he left to go upstairs. He wobbled a bit, still on his sea legs before he entered his room. It was small, with thick bedding and a narrow window. A small desk with a candle sat by the window, with a wash basin on the other side of the room. It was dusty and had a slight musty smell, but Alf reminded himself that it was better than sleeping on the side of the road.
He freshened up at the basin and sat at the desk, looking out the window and trying to think. He had a minimum of two days to figure out his next move. He supposed he could wander around the docks and look for what ships were leaving soon, and where they were going.
On the other hand. He was in Fionport, Duilintinn, on not even close to official business. He should explore.
He spent the majority of the rest of the day doing just that, memorising the street his inn was on and spending hours wandering around the city. He tried Duilintinn’s bread, which was denser and far more flavourful than anything in Tandeli.
He leaned against a wall and just people watched, eating his bread as he did. For the first time in months, he felt relaxed. There was still work to be done, but now he didn’t have to worry about being discovered, or worry about his own mental state towards being discovered. It could still happen, but the chances were lower and the consequences not so immediate.
A small group came around the corner and seemed to clock him instantly. Alf frowned as they approached, and tried not to let nervousness and paranoia take over. His free hand rested on his sword hilt as he finished his bread.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked as they got closer, and the leader stopped, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t think you’re the guy we’re supposed to meet,” they spoke slowly, clearly unsure if they’d made a mistake or if Alf was the person they were looking for and they were making assumptions.
“I doubt it,” Alf nodded. “Good day.”
The group started to move on, but the leader stopped again.
“Fresh off the boat?”
“Yes,” was that a common thing to ask in Fionport?
“You got work?”
“No,” Alf answered honestly, realising that this person was looking at his sword, despite it being mostly hidden under his cloak.
“We’re with the Mercenary Syndicate. If you’re any good with that, and you’ve nowhere else to be, you should check in with us.”
“And where would I find you?” Alf asked, cogs in his brain turning at the offer.
“Mulladún, out west. Ask around, there’ll be someone headin’ out that way,” the leader of the small group of mercenaries tipped their hat. “Tell ‘em Cameron sent you.”
“Very well,” Alf nodded. “And I am, Sharp, although Alf is fine.”
“Got it,” Cameron grinned. “Hope to see you there.”
With that the small group left, leaving Alf pondering this opportunity in their wake. He probably wouldn’t stay with them permanently, but if he could use it to bulk up his funds, and once he had a good amount, go off somewhere else.
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Author’s Note: From there Alf joins the Mercenary Guild, stays a bit longer than he probably intended to. About a year later the King is attacked and the Watch is announced, giving him motivation to stay, and then we get to the Alf Powell profile.
Bard’s Note: Thanks to @theshapeshifter100 as always! Cut added for length.
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The weather was getting warm, and he knew he was starting to run out of time to leave. He wasn’t entire sure what month it was, but if the temperature was rising then the rainy season was coming. Rainy season would mean no boats leaving Puerta Casóm.
He still wasn’t completely sure where he was going to go. North was still all he had, although even then that didn’t have to be it, it didn’t even have to be north. Entire other continents were open to him! Effrens, Iontassia, or perhaps Las Buscadoras would be better for that area?
If he stayed with Tironár then perhaps the Island League? Leyfel? That was pushing it actually, they’d probably never invite him in.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go somewhere cold, like Haneul or Halennor, but at the same time he had never really experienced snow before.
Maybe he should hope for Duilintinn? They would take anyone without too many invasive questions asked, and he had been there before.
Perhaps he should leave it to chance? He mused as he plodded along the ocean road going south. Just find what boats were there and see who had space and would take his coin?
The hustle and bustle of the road around him got louder and traffic slowed to a crawl. He wove his way between carts and horses and brightly covered wagons of goods. The horses he passed generally weren’t happy about the whole thing, and he sympathised. It was loud and starting to smell the deeper he got, mostly because of the horses, and after several months alone the proximity and noise was jarring and irritating.
As they entered the city the traffic began to peter out, everyone disappearing to their intended destination. There was still however a good chunk of them heading for the docks it seemed, and Alfonso, or, Alf, was just one person in a crowd now.
There was an energy in the city he’d never felt before. Something excitable under the surface, like a trained dog desperate to play but just about keeping composure. He’d overheard rumours that one of the rebels, a man named Morality, would have a ruling seat, this new government mimicking the style of Duilintinn, with a hint of Halennor.
Judging the energy, people were mostly happy about this. Alfonso felt a stab in his gut, and tried to tell himself that Alf wouldn’t feel that. Alf was…
Who was Alf Powell? Who was he going to be?
He stopped in the middle of the road as this thought smashed through, and nearly got physically crashed into by a horse and cart.
Yelling quick apologies he ducked off the road and into a quieter street. There were small eateries and niche tailors and apothecaries down here. He stayed by the entrance of the street, thinking about who he was going to be.
Obviously not Alfonso Armstrong, the Crown’s Personal Guardsman, and technically King. No. He was not him.
Still, even if his name and story changed, his skills would not. Like it or not, he was well trained in combat, on foot, on horseback and at sea. He was also trained in strategy, although he hadn’t really had a chance to use it much.
That was, him. That was the entirety of Alfonso Armstrong, mostly. Truth was, he liked music, listening to it mostly. If he had been allowed to follow his childhood interests, he might have been in Estalta instead, or perhaps a painter?
Although, he didn’t have much skill in any of these, just an old interest. They wouldn’t help him much.
So, Alf Powell needed to be a man similar enough to Alfonso Armstrong. The answer seemed obvious once he realised it. Ex Royal Guard looking to leave what might become a turbulent country where he no longer felt welcome. That’s all he had to say. No partner, no children, no siblings, parents no longer alive… that painted a depressing picture, but sadly enough that was the true part.
He puffed out his cheeks and adjusted his cloak, starting to step back out into the street, until a well-timed waft of baking bread caught his attention. His stomach gurgled and he was reminded that he hadn’t eaten well since he left Eustice’s.
…Ships could wait, his stomach could not.
A warm slice of bread with freshly smoked fish calmed his stomach, and he took a moment to savour it. It was simple, yet one of the best things he’d ever tasted.
With a more satisfied stomach he could think a bit more. He’d need a Chosen Name as well. It would be a lie to say he’d never thought about having one, but as a member of the royal family, it hadn’t been expected of him.
After all, sharing a Given Name was a sign of the utmost trust, so the whole kingdom knowing your Given Name showed that you trusted your Kingdom completely. Well, that didn’t work out now did it?
It didn’t take long for his mind to summon the names he’d tossed around with Nerida in private, trying to ignore the sudden stabbing pain in his chest.
Calm? That one had always felt a bit basic. Honour? That one was a bit over the top and self-righteous. Sharp? That one still somewhat fit, and was innocuous enough. Did it refer to his blade, or his intellect? Only he would know.
He shoved the last of the bread and fish into his mouth, dusted off his hands and walked back to the road heading to the docks. The traffic hadn’t gone down at all, and once again Alf slipped into the crowd.
There was a split off as he got closer to the docks. The carts laden with crates and goods went one way, the foot traffic went another. Still, it slowed to a crawl as the street narrowed, and Alf folded his arms, tapping his foot and looking around. It had never been this busy when he had sailed from here.
That said he had sailed with a royal entourage. In hindsight the streets would have been cleared so they could go straight through. Still, this waiting was starting to become obnoxious. He stood on his toes and looked around the crowd, trying to see what the hold up was.
A little further down were a couple of booths, one on either side of the path, and the crowd split to go to each booth. From both of them were another two lines, one of which continued down towards the docks and the other through what looked like an old market hall, although that no longer appeared to be its purpose.
People were talking to the people in the booths either singularly or in small groups and exchanging papers, and Alf genuinely had no idea what they were for. In the past they had announced they were going to go somewhere, and then when they date rolled around they just, went. There was no standing around, no paper exchange, nothing of the sort. They weren’t even exchanging coin, what was this about?
Alf scowled and his hands gripped his biceps. Why was this taking so long?! What could possibly need to be said?!
The queue crawled forward as the sun went across the sky, and finally, finally he ended up at one of the booths.
“Good afternoon!” the booth worker had a well practiced smile that didn’t quite ring true. “Do you already have charter papers?”
“…No,” did he need those? He assumed he must do if he was being asked.
“Alright,” they shuffled around in their booth and placed some papers on the booth desk, where a quill and ink were already sitting. “If you could fill this out please and join the right most queue, we can find a ship for you.”
Alf was not looking forward to even more queuing, but moved to one side to fill out the form. It was fairly simply, basic details, Chosen Name, which had more prominence on the page than Given Name, age, next of kin, occupation, destination, and reason for travel.
Alf was glad he had stopped to eat at least, since he didn’t have to stand there like an idiot trying to work out a Chosen Name on the spot. Next of Kin posed a problem, so he left it blank, and he tried not to smile a little bit as he wrote ‘ex Royal Guard’ in the Occupation box.
He paused again at ‘Destination’ and ‘Reason for Travel’. He just wanted to leave Tandeli and not come back for at least a decade, was that what he needed to put in?
He ended up leaving ‘Destination’ blank and just putting in ‘Travel’, before sliding the form back to the booth worker, who had a glance over.
“You left ‘Next of Kin’ and ‘Destination’ blank,” they informed.
“I have no family left,” Alf played it off with the shrug. “And I don’t mind where I go.”
“No close friends?”
“Not really.”
They smiled sympathetically and crossed through the ‘Next of Kin’ and ‘Destination’ boxes before handing the papers back to him.
“Right queue please, and they’ll go through the papers in more detail and get you on a ship.”
“Thank you,” Alf inclined his head and moved onto the indicated queue. For more queuing.
Oh by all that was holy would it ever end?!
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Author’s Note: April 1598, actually the rest of them are going to be April 1598
Author’s Note: Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts about halfway down, nothing detailed, but it’s there.
Bard’s Note: Big thanks to @theshapeshifter100 once again! Cut added for length.
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The following weeks passed with a blur. There was news, there must have been. The knowledge of the rebels setting up a council and the citizens of Triti returning home must have reached his brain somehow. He must have eaten and drank, since he didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, or perhaps that was grief talking.
Eustice was being patient, but even in this state Alfonso noticed that his old friend’s patience was waning.
One evening the two were sat in the library, the table cleared as Eustice looked coldly at him.
“It’s been weeks, if we want to get you back where you should be, we need to strike before these rebels can establish themselves too deeply.”
“With what forces? Or are the two of us going to march on the capital?”
“You’re the strategist! You tell me!”
Alfonso sighed and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, trying to get his frozen brain to thaw and think.
“…The Royal Guard is currently in shambles, trying to find the ones who fled the capital will take far too long. No word on the remaining Guard, whether they’re loyal to the rebels or are on the Crown’s side. Not worth making a solid plan without more information.”
“I have my house guard,” Eustice interjected.
“Your guard stands at around a dozen. If we could join forces with other house guards we might be able to combat the remains of the Guard and whatever fighters the rebels have.”
Eustice grinned. “See, there we go! It’s possible!”
Alfonso was silent, and Eustice’s grin fell off his face.
“What is the problem?”
Alfonso stood up and pulled a series of letters and notices across the table. He must have already read them, since a quick glance reminded him of what was on them.
“We might be able to overwhelm them martially, but we won’t have any other support.”
“You’re the rightful king! That’s all the justification needed for support!”
“You know full well what I think of that,” Alfonso snipped. “The rebels have spent 10 years gathering support across the kingdom, even from Grancinco. The only guilds that do not support them are the Fishing Guild, Farming Guild and the Armstrong Guild.”
“Strong guilds, old guilds,” Eustice assured. “And the Lifesaver’s Guild is in two minds. Only some of its members support the rebels.”
“Still only four guilds,” Alfonso looked over coldly. “It is possible to use them to starve the kingdom…” the thought trailed off as something cold and solid settled in his stomach. He suddenly felt exhausted.
“Yes, yes!” Eustice was clearly into the idea. “The farmers and fishers could be made to stop doing their jobs, and we’d only give the order for them to return to work if you can be made Head of State.”
Alfonso sat down again and rested his head in his hand. It could work, if the workers on the ground could be persuaded to listen. If that didn’t turn the Guilds against them. If the people of Tandeli didn’t hate him afterwards.
Something in his mind resisted. Simply put, he didn’t want to. He was too tired for this. Frustration burbled under the surface, not helped as Eustice kept talking to himself about these plans.
“No.”
The ‘no’ was quiet, but it made Eustice stop in his tracks.
“What?”
“No,” Alfonso unfolded from his seat. “We’re not doing this. Learn to live with the current situation Eustice. I doubt much will change for you.”
“You are not giving up Alfonso Armstrong,” Eustice went over and placed a hand on Alfonso’s shoulder, making him tense. “You’re in pain, I understand, but this cannot wait.”
“I will wait. Indefinitely. I am tired Eustice.”
“Then sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“You are deliberately misunderstanding,” Alfonso pushed Eustice’s hand off. “I am tired of this. I have been working against these rebels for ten years, I am exhausted. I am done with this. I want no more part in coups and rebellions. Do what you wish Eustice, as of tomorrow I will be out of your hair.”
“You can’t be serious,” Eustice stood there as Alfonso began to walk away. “Where are you going to go? They’ve barely even realised you’re missing yet!”
“Maybe I can beg for my old job back,” Alfonso spat bitterly. “Or maybe I’ll just disappear.”
The next morning, as promised, he was gone before first light.
Alfonso picked a direction and rode, hood over his head against the last of the rain. He had no intention of going to the capital. If this Optimism, or Thomas, since he had shared his Given Name, was in any way competent, he’d have him executed on sight. The risk of Alfonso betraying him was too high.
There were places he could stay. He had plenty of money for an inn, there were old friends of the Crown who would shelter him for a time. Although, how long would it take for the idea of fighting back to fall from their lips?
He ended up camping a lot, just avoiding people. It was for a few days, then a few weeks, then a few months. There was no rhyme or reason to where he was going, he just followed the path of least resistance. If there were people, he avoided them.
In his dark days, he considered leaving for Triti, or Grancinco. He would not be welcome in either place, maybe even spotted before he even reached them and put out of his misery. Sometimes he overheard whispers, rumours for when he had to go near people. People were wondering where he’d gone, the great mystery of the missing Bodyguard.
Sometimes it took a great deal of restraint to not whip off his cloak and call out ‘It’s me! I’m here. Turn me in! I don’t care!”
Although, with his scraggly beard and unkempt hair, he did wonder if they would believe him. He barely recognised himself now.
His worst days were when he’d just stand by the side of the road, sword in hand, wondering where would be the best place to put it. He hadn’t been taking proper care of it either, the extension of his arm going dull.
It was fitting. That’s how he felt. Dull. Useless. Unimportant.
Still, he never had the courage to put it anywhere, even if he knew all the good places. A nick to the inner thigh, to the side of the neck, straight through the heart. All quick.
His hand shook and he dropped his sword. Afraid to go through with it.
Coward
As the months got colder, Alfonso found himself considering a different option. Just, leaving. The world was wide and vast, why did he have to stay in this one corner of it? Especially if he was no longer wanted, or needed here. Perhaps another monarch would appreciate what he had to offer.
Or perhaps they would hear of this farce and return him home to face judgement.
Although, he had gone through his life clean shaven with short cut hair. Looking into the river, he looked nothing like himself now. If he were to leave he would have to tidy himself up, but what if he kept the beard and longer hair? It would make him harder to immediately recognise.
He would have to go by a different name. He never had a Chosen Name, but that didn’t matter. Taking a different one was easy. Alf was already a name on it’s own. Powell was his late father’s name. Alf Powell would suit fine.
It was odd, how he felt calmer about this, than taking back his ‘rightful’ place. Maybe it was time, maybe this is just what he actually wanted.
Tandeli was moving into a new era, fresh start. It deserved to have that without him. So maybe a fresh start was in order for him?
Where would he go though? Grancinco was almost completely out of the question, unless he did an excellent job at hiding. No one would think to look for him there. Still, too risky, which left heading north. The narrow window of completely safe boat travel was coming up, so he’d need to head for Puerta Casóm immediately to secure passage.
It only occurred to him that he’d had to leave his horse behind when he was on his way to Puerta Casóm.
Well, he didn’t have to, he could pay extra to have his horse taken with him, but frankly, he was pushing his luck.
His horse was recognisable, he’d be willing to bet that only reason no one had asked was because they hadn’t seen his horse up close before. However, if reports made it back to Triti…
Luckily, his ex-wife lived not too far from Puerta Casóm. He didn’t intend to see her, if he was going to start fresh then he would be best to break off everything.
He rode up to the outside of her estate at night, and tied his horse outside the walls. Tied to the bridle was a brief note, explaining that it was his horse, and not to look for him. He doubted she would, but still.
His horse wasn’t happy about him leaving, and Alfonso had to distract him with a borrowed bucket of water and a stolen apple. He patted his horse’s neck, each pat getting softer and softer as he bolstered himself to do this.
His heart heavy, he slowly began to walk away, and tried not to notice his horse’s whinnies, and then screams of distress as he disappeared into the night.
Before he entered Puerta Casóm he stopped on the banks of the Azulón river. First he cleaned his sword with a rag, scrubbing off the old blood. It took a while, but once he was satisfied he dried it on the grass and held it up. Part of him was admonishing him for using water rather than oil, but he was using what he had.
He tested the edge with his finger, and it wasn’t as sharp as he had hoped, but he lacked a whetstone. So, he gripped the mass of hair was his beard and hacked off what he could. His head hair followed, still leaving an untidy mess, but it was a shorter untidy mess.
Looking at his reflection in the rushing river, he found he looked a little more presentable, and a little less like a wild man from the jungle. He also didn’t look much like his old self; surprising what a beard will do to a face.
He sheathed his sword, made a mental reminder to take better care of it once he could, and continued his walk towards Puerta Casóm.
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Author’s Note: This spans October 1597 to April 1598.
Author’s Note: This is another one that’s been sitting. Part 1 of 5 of Alfonso Armstrong’s/Alf Powell’s story. Since Alf is a Watcher and Alfonso is part of the larger Watch world, thought I might as well. As a reminder, Alfonso was cousin and Boyguard to the Last Queen of Tandeli, Nerida Armstrong, just before Thomas came to power.
Bard’s Note: Huge thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for all of her creativity as always! TW for suicide (wartime pride, not mental health related), blood, self-blame, and grief. Cut added for length and TWs.
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The ringing of metal on metal had barely stopped echoing in the halls before the last of the three rebels had dropped to the ground.
Blood still dripping from his sword, Alfonso turned on his heel and rushed up the wide, ornate stairs. Two rebels had snuck past him while he had been dealing with their fighters. The two most recognisable, Optimism and Creativity, the elder Ambrose child.
They had been heading for Nereida.
He knew the way and was desperate. He took the stairs three at a time and stormed towards the doors to the side chamber where he had left her. The doors were ajar, and he shoved one of them open.
In time to see Queen Nereida push herself on the Ambrose’s sword.
Alfonso’s brain froze in place. There was no denying what he had just seen. No denying the blood, no denying the shock on Creativity’s face as he dropped the sword in horror, no denying the loud ‘NO’ from Optimism, and the yells to get someone called Patton. Yet, none of them moved, frozen in shock as Nereida went limp and fell, the life draining from her and a sword deep in her chest.
He took one step back. Then another. Then he was running.
He needed to go, he needed to leave. There was nothing here now.
He ran to his quarters, shoved his still blood red sword into it’s scabbard, grabbed his plainest cloak, a bag of gold coins, and after a pause, and small memento.
He swung the cloak on, pulled up the hood, and walked out.
It took everything in him to not run, but he walked with purpose to the stables. If he walked confidently enough, no one would stop him.
He took his horse, out of habit more than anything, his stuck mind not registering that his horse’s black and white markings were easily identifiable. His horse was quickly tacked up and mounted, and Alfonso tore out of the city.
Triti was in chaos. The explosion from pólvora had sent everyone into a panic and many people were trying to leave. Alfonso Armstrong became just another citizen trying to escape.
He travelled cross country, heading south and keeping the Mente to his right. Everything passed in a blur. He must have stopped to eat and sleep, but he didn’t really remember. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Nereida’s lifeless body. Her greying brown hair dangling over her glassy eyes as her head hung. Blood trickling down the length of the blade, the only thing that had been holding her up until Creativity dropped it.
He ended up in Puerta Guía, and finally realised where he was running to. The Royal Family still had strong ties to the Armstrong Guild, and an old friend was a high ranking member. So off to Eustice’s house he went.
A servant met him at the gate to the estate, and once the hood was down, their jaw fell into an ‘o’ After some hushed orders another servant took his horse and Alfonso was ushered inside.
They passed through the opulent entrance hall and into the more muted, but still expensive drawing room, where Eustice was quick to meet him. A member of an old Waldren family, and he showed it, being as pale as milk and his hair was once the colour of honey. His eyebrows shot up his forehead when he saw Alfonso.
“Alfonso! I am glad to see you! I assume you heard about Triti?” he stepped in quickly to take and shake Alfonso’s hand. “I’ve only heard scant details myself, but I assume you saw it all. What happened? I heard the Queen is-”
“Dead,” Alfonso croaked.
Eustice let out a long breath which hung in the air. “…I see, well, it is an honour to have you in my home. Your Highness.”
The words hit Alfonso like an arrow to the chest. He’d forgotten about that. His brain had had no thoughts since he left the capital really. So the fact that he was next in line had completely fled his mind.
His knees wobbled and he sat in the nearest chair. He was King by default.
Eustice bowed. “My house and staff are yours as you require,” he said, voice lilting up in humour, as if he expected Alfonso to jest back at him, or make some kind of witty, humorous remark. Instead Alfonso stared into the middle distance until Eustice excused himself.
Alfonso’s brain slowly began to work, barely noticing a glass of wine and a plate of food being placed in the room as the sun went down. He was king. As king he had to get rid of these rebels. As the best fighter in the kingdom he should have little trouble.
He should have run them through when he had the chance.
Oddly enough the thought startled him, and yet it was true. He had the perfect opportunity to kill both of those rebels and wrest back control, and yet, he hadn’t. Why hadn’t he?
A dark part of his mind whispered that he was a coward, who had fled at the death of his cousin. It wasn’t untrue. Thinking about it he felt a wrench in his soul, like something had been ripped free. Protecting her had been his purpose, the one thing in life he was supposed to do. He had failed.
He wasn’t supposed to be King. That was never the plan. Nereida had no interest in children, or men for that matter. He was supposed to have children to take over their roles. That, that hadn’t exactly worked.
He stood up for the first time in hours, legs stiff and sore. He took a swig of wine and a few bites of the meal, but it had gone cold. He hadn’t been hungry anyway.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, since he woke up in the chair with a crick in his neck. He groaned, stood up and stretched, by the gods he wasn’t as young as he used to be.
Eustice came in at the point, followed by a servant who silently left a platter with a jug on it and a pair of cups. Eustice poured what looked like dark wine into the cups and handed one to Alfonso.
“Long live the king,” he toasted, raising his cup. Alfonso did not copy him. He waited until Eustice drank until he tentatively took a sip. It was just wine. Nothing sinister.
“So, do we have a plan yet?” Eustice asked, moving to sit in one of the chairs. Alfonso remained standing, but he wasn’t going to insist that Eustice do the same. “Or, even any solid news about what happened? Everything I’ve heard has been wild and contradictory.”
“The Queen is dead,” Alfonso repeated.
“That is the only thing anyone can agree on. I hear the Ambrose’s eldest killed her. A shame, they’re a good family. To have lost control over both their children in such a way…” he shook his head. “A terrible, terrible shame.”
“He didn’t kill her.”
“You’re telling me it was the younger? I suppose that makes more sense.”
“No. She pushed herself onto the sword.”
Eustice frowned in disbelief, and leaned forward in his chair, holding his cup in both hands. “Are you certain?”
“I saw it,” Alfonso took a gulp of wine, then another. He drained the whole cup in a few seconds before speaking again. “She was always proud. She would never have allowed herself to be taken prisoner.”
“Well, I can take your word for that. You knew her better than anyone.”
Alfonso nodded, folding his arms.
“I must admit, I’m a little surprised you came to me,” Eustice commented. “I would have assumed you’d go to your wife.”
“We separated.”
“Really? You kept that quiet.”
“We wanted it to be quiet,” Alfonso strode over the jug and poured himself another cup of wine before downing it again. “Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s happier now than she was with me.”
“Still, as King,” Eustice ignored the look Alfonso sent him, “you will need a successor, and a child is the least complicated way of doing that.”
“As King my first duty is to get rid of these rebels,” he said without much enthusiasm. “And what if I cannot sire? She lost two children with me and from the last letter I ever had from her, she had a healthy child with another man. It is clearly me who is the problem here.”
“Still, you must have a clear line of succession,” Eustice insisted.
“You seem awfully convinced that we’re going to win this.”
“It’s been less than a week. Triti is in chaos while these rebels are fumbling about trying to gain control. Now is the perfect time to return and take back control,” Eustice stood up, gesturing wildly with his point.
“Can you let a man grieve?”
“You are King! You have more important things to do!”
“I have not been coronated! I am no more king than you are!” Alfonso yelled.
“You are of Royal blood-”
“Bullshit!” Alfonso roared. “Who decided that? Some stuffy old men who appointed my great grandfather in order to wrest power from him! Royal blood is a farce! Besides! I was never meant to rule, I was meant to protect! I am to protect the Crown, not be the Crown!”
“Alfonso, calm down!” Eustice put down his glass. “Like it or not, that is what has happened.”
Alfonso took a step back. “No. No.”
Eustice’s face softened. “Come. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable than my drawing room.”
Alfonso followed Eustice through his house, not really paying attention until he was in a guest room, half hearing Eustice say he would send up food later. There was a soft click as the door closed, and Alfonso was alone again.
The room was large, a four-poster bed dominated the centre, with a large wardrobe along the back wall and a chest at the foot of the bed. A nightstand stood next to a wide window which showed off the best the land. Alfonso drew the curtains and dropped his bag on the bed, thinking as he dug through it.
It had always been the plan for him to have two children, at least. One to take Nereida’s place, one to take his. Both were born not breathing. He’d wanted to try a third time, but she had not.
In hindsight he didn’t blame her. Pregnancy was an ordeal that was supposed to have the reward of new life. She had suffered for nine months for nothing, twice. She’d had enough. At the time they’d fought over it, and now he wished he could take back every awful word he’d said.
He pulled out a golden choker and felt his breath catch. It was old and worn, dull in places from him wearing it for years.
Ida had given this to him, not long before his mother had died. She’d handed it to him, called him Alf and smiled. Then Camilla died. Then Nereida was planning war.
Hot tears began to spill down his face. They had both been only children, so while they were cousins, they might as well have been siblings.
His whole body shook and his knees couldn’t hold his weight. They crumbled beneath him as he clutched the necklace to his chest. He tried to hold in as much as possible, but his heart ached. A small wail left him and echoed in the guest room.
It was all broken. Ida was gone. The rebels had the capital. He was the coward who let them win.
The word ‘coward’ branded itself in his mind and Alfonso flinched, as though the brand were on his skin and not imagined. He had done enough. He had not been good enough. History would remember him as the Failed Bodyguard.
His stomach churned and he curled inwards on himself, dark thoughts circling. The tears had not stopped, and some part of him knew how this looked. Ex Bodyguard to the Queen, supposed King, curled up on the floor openly sobbing and snivelling like a child. What a sight.
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Author’s Note: October 1597, and I’ve probably never mentioned before because I didn’t think of it before writing this, but Nerida is a lesbian.
Because of the Chosen and Given Name thing, for clarification, Creativity is Roman, Optimism is Thomas, they are referring to Patton by his Given Name because they didn’t realise Alfonso was there
Personality: Strict with the people he’s training and has little patience for too much goofing off. Otherwise he’s rather chilled out and relaxed. He enjoys listening to music and took up sketching and painting as a way to relax.
He lived in Tandeli for most of his life, with the Chosen Name of ‘Sharp’. He was decently high in the ranks of the Royal Guard, had experience in the Navy and was generally a skilled combatant. He had been married in his youth but they had trouble having children, so they split amicably and she remarried. He never remarried and threw himself into his work.
During the years of 1587-1597 he didn’t spend much time actually dealing with the rebels. He was often back in Triti either assisting with strategizing or guarding the city. It was all for naught on 19th October 1597, when the rebels blew a hole in the side of the castle and began their takeover of the city.
Alf had been one of Royal Guard fighting back, but when word hit that Queen Nerida had died, he fled.
He wandered around the country in a haze of depression, ashamed of himself for fleeing that day and alternating going back to Triti to ask for his job back, and feeling like the world had no place for him anymore.
He managed to partially pull himself out of it in April 1598 and decide to leave Tandeli altogether. Find someone other part of the world and settle down there and make a new life for himself. He got on the next boat he could leaving Puerta Casóm and ended up in Fionport.
He had intended to move on from there. The world was a big place and Duilintinn was a bit too close to Tandeli, however he bumped into a group from the Mercenary Syndicate. They noticed that he was still carrying his Royal Guard sword and asked him if he wanted to join the Syndicate.
He did join, to earn some money to move on eventually. While there he trained in a few other fighting styles and made some strong friends.
He was still in the country on 30th April 1599, when the Enemy made his second attempt on the King’s life. This horrified Alf and sent him into something of a spiral, remembering the takeover of Triti and the state that put him in. He didn’t leave his room for several days, strongly considering jumping on a boat and leaving.
It took the announcement ten days later, with King Sean appearing alive and well, to convince him that things were mostly okay. This was also when the Watch was announced.
Alf initially felt a burst of excitement. This was something he could help out with and use his skills to protect a monarch! Then he remembered how well it went last time. After some back and forth consideration, Alf signed up for it, keeping in mind too not get too invested and that he could leave whenever he wanted. Still, it seemed like a worthy cause, and if he could actively stop another monarch from dying, then it would also help his mental state.
He and some friends in the Syndicate part-timed with the Watch. They didn’t do much in the three off years of set up, but in January 1603 they properly part timed. He mostly reported to Fort Conchúr during that time.
Naturally Alf was in Cordoire for the Overnight Defence. He had been in charge of a small group, including a couple new members of the Syndicate. They got a message from a raven and turned back around to head to where the battlefield would be.
In all honesty, it was his first battle. Tandeli hadn’t really seen much conflict during his tenure there and he hadn’t been sent to fight the rebels. He’d never been part of a standing army in this way. When the Enemy’s army hit, it was utter chaos.
He ended up with multiple scaring injuries, nearly losing his eye, and a broken arm. Most of his group either didn’t make it or disappeared. He later learned that he had come under the Influence Curse himself. His left temple would flare up in pain randomly, making him irritable at best, at worst he would stay in a dark room until it passed. Through his left eye he would see random green flashes or floaters whether or not his head hurt.
After that he felt the urge to do more. This was his life, he would be in the Watch and he would try to stop something like this from happening again, or failing that, fight as hard as he could in a battle like this.
He left the Mercenary Syndicate and joined the Watch full time. He transferred to the Runách Hold and went up through the ranks, coming to the point where he was trusted to be one of the ones to train combative Watchers and lead patrols.
Part of him is aware that throwing himself so thoroughly into the Watch might not be good for him, but so far it’s going well. He’s got good friends, and is satisfied with where he is, despite his age he is still going strong.
In 1615 he has a dog, a greyhound/whippet sort of dog named Isobel, who he often lets run around in the edge of the forest to get her exercise. You can often see her on the edge of the training fields, pacing up and down in time with the line drills or napping in the sun.
He still has a remnant of a Tandeli accent, which is slowly being taken over by a west Duilintinn accent.
Other Notes
Alf Powell used to be known as Alfonso Armstrong, the only member of the Tandeli Royal Family whose whereabouts are unknown. Alf has put that part of his life far behind him, is content where he is.
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Author’s Note: So, I finally figured what to do with Alfonso, he’s a Watcher! For all intents and purposes he is a normal Watcher who will not play a significant role in the story. I have written a few things from his perspective but he is not a major player in the story.)
Bard’s Note: Yeah, just to back up what @theshapeshifter100 says above, we talked quite a bit about how best to handle this character. At the end of the day, I believe that, despite Alf’s backstory, he doesn’t count as a Chosen One character (which is not allowed in the AU) because, for all intents and purposes, that part of his life is over. This isn’t a situation where he’s going to be called to return to his old life or rise up to remember his heritage or anything like that. He’s just a normal dude now, and that’s what he will remain. Since no one knows about his backstory, it allows him to remain just as anonymous and ordinary as any other Watcher character.
That being said, if anyone wants to make characters with similar backstories, please run it by me first. This was a unique situation where an already existing important lore character naturally became a Watcher character because it made sense to his story, didn’t mess with anyone else’s characters or the story of the AU as a whole, and (arguably most importantly) Holly is someone who has been with this AU for ages and who I know I can trust to handle this unique type of character with grace. Speaking of which, thanks to @theshapeshifter100 for submitting this character, and I look forward to see what Alf gets up to in The Watch!
