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.
