I want you to be strong, I want you to be able to protect your honor and your name in iron clad with a heavy grip. I want you to be seen as a monster by the enemy, a knight so brutal and unwavering that the mere whisper of your name brings rival lords to shiver and quake. I want you to appear untouchable, my knight, everlasting.
...Even so, I know you won't be. I will be your achilles heel. Your only weakness. Only something so close to your heart, the center of your devotion, could truly kill you.
Are all road trips that laborious? All that setting up and taking down each might, it looked rather cumbersome. Regardless! We’re here, I’ve bathed, slept in a real bed for the first time in days, and I am quite ready to explore this place.
Does anyone have any suggestions on what to see before the events begin?
If you are having guests to your chambers, a few very good places to put perfume are the inside of your knees, ankles, hips, and the back of your neck. That way, no matter what part of you is closest, you smell beautiful.
[first | previous | masterpost | a collaboration with @your-evil-adviser]
Hours passed. The Prince lived.
Perroy hadn't felt so wrung out in years. Even weakened by poison the Prince had fought them; one of the pages was now sporting a black eye, and Perroy had later discovered that his own lip was split where Alphonse's elbow had caught him.
But the Prince was alive and, mercifully, resting. There were guards posted outside the tent and now that the worst had passed, Perroy had been left once more to keep an eye on him.
Not that it had helped, he reminded himself, jaw set. Guilt was a bitter and unfamiliar taste in his mouth.
Before the mess had been cleared up, Perroy had braced himself and poked gingerly through the remains of the food, both the portion which had been left uneaten and that which the Prince had expelled. He had found small, dark berries in both, which the physician had confirmed grimly to be belladonna. The Prince had officially survived an assassination attempt, and Perroy was no closer to identifying the culprit - even if he suspected.
He'd dashed off a hasty message to the Council and sent it off with a servant. Considering that his colleagues hadn't known he was here, there would no doubt be questions to answer later - but for now he was simply going to ignore that.
Instead he sat by the Prince's bedside, soothing his brow with a damp cloth and seething quietly to himself at his own incompetence. This had been far, far too close a call. He'd be damned if he was letting it happen again.
—
Alphonse woke, feeling as though he was rising to the surface of a deep pool. He blinked slowly, disoriented and sluggish. He was in bed? When had that happened?
With the thought came a dawning awareness of his body. His muscles were sore… more sore than he remembered being. His abdomen in particular felt cramped and hollow. He blinked again, but his eyes were having a hard time focusing. There was someone with him.
Something cool and wet was pressed against his forehead. Was he suffering a fever?
He squinted and nearby shapes came into better focus.
"Chancellor?"
Lord Perroy's face became clearer. Alphonse could make out more detail now. He saw the minister's brow creased with... worry?
"What...What hap-" Alphonse saw the swollen gash on Perroy's lip. It was wiped clean but the wound was still fresh and angry.
He reached out a trembling hand and gently touched the injury, feeling the soft heat beneath his fingertips. His thoughts felt slow, heavy.
"You're hurt... Who hurt you?"
—
Perroy reared back from the touch, almost revolted at the unexpected intimacy of it. He schooled his expression with difficulty, appalled at his own response - the sudden dreadful beat of his heart.
"Your Highness," he said stiffly, deciding to just treat that as if it had not happened. The man was feverish. He was clearly not in his right mind. "It's nothing to be concerned about. How are you feeling?"
—
Alphonse's hand fell back to the sheets with a soft thump. He blinked more, trying to force his thoughts into action through sheer force of will.
"I feel... sore." He tried to do a better internal inventory, running slowly through a mental checklist.
"I'm thirsty." He tried to lever himself up into a sitting position, tired muscles straining with the effort.
"I... I think there's something wrong with my eyes. Everything is all... blurry." Maybe he really had hit his head earlier. A concussion would explain the lost time, though not the way he felt like he'd been trampled. He hadn't been trampled... had he?
—
Jaw tightening, Perroy put out a hand to press it against the Prince's chest to keep him down. "You're meant to be resting," he told him curtly. "I will fetch you water, but you're not to rise yet, are we understood?"
He crossed the tent to pick up the water jug, eyeing the contents warily. The water seemed clear, but in this particular moment everything seemed like a possible threat. He raised the jug to his nose, but it just smelled like water. Filling the cup, he moved back over to hold it out to the Prince for him to drink.
"I'm not surprised you're sore. What's the last thing you remember, Your Highness?"
—
The Prince relented and settled for propping himself up on one elbow. The shape of the Chancellor became less distinct when he walked away, then came back into better focus when he returned. Still, Alphonse had to squint to distinguish the cup.
He lifted it to his lips and sipped gingerly. It was true that he had a great thirst, but his throat felt sore and raspy. The cool water helped soothe some of the irritation.
He tried to think back. What did he remember?
"I remember... I remember the physician checking me for a head injury. Then... I think I remember eating supper. Yes... I was thinking how I needed to hurry because the bucket was getting cold. Then..." He tried to recall what happened next but it was an empty space in his mind. Clearly something had happened, but try as he might, the answer eluded him.
"I don't remember after that. I was just here suddenly." He indicated his bed.
His brows drew together in puzzlement. Had he passed out? Did he have some manner of fit? The gap in his memory frightened him, though he was reluctant to say so.
—
Perroy nodded slowly, one hand still extended to ensure the Prince's cup was steadied. "You were poisoned," he said eventually. "Someone slipped belladonna into your food. You collapsed. You were seeing things, I believe - trying to fight opponents which weren't there. Thankfully the physician was able to help - he made you throw up what you'd eaten. While you had not ingested a lethal quantity, you will still be - recovering for a while."
Once Alphonse had drunk his fill for the moment, Perroy mopped at his forehead again, jaw still tight. He was trying very hard not to be fussy, because that would obviously be ridiculous. But at the same time, the Prince was clearly not currently able to hold his own; the mask which had fascinated the Chancellor was currently in shattered pieces on the ground. Much as he'd wanted to break it - not like this. The fact it was missing was proof of the Prince being unwell.
"You will not be able to eat much for the moment, but you should be able to try, if you're hungry. Something bland." He would have a guard fetch it from the Generals' canteen. And then he would check it thoroughly before letting it anywhere near the Prince.
—
Poisoned? The word seemed to rattle around in Alphonse's mind. Of all the ways he'd envisioned his own death, poison had always seemed a more unlikely method. Apart from the nations he led His Majesty's armies against, Alphonse had always been so careful not to draw anyone's personal ire. And poison did feel personal.
Was there someone in camp who bore him a grudge? Or had they been infiltrated by an enemy spy, seeking to weaken the Crown's forces?
Alphonse's head hurt. It was too much to consider right now and the Chancellor was right, best to focus on recovering his strength and trust that someone more able would follow the threads.
At the mention of food, he became sharply aware of the yawning void in his belly. The revelation that he'd been physically ill explained the unique pains he felt there, but Perroy spoke sense. And in his personal experience, no man healed well on an empty stomach.
"Food sounds good. Thank you."
As his brain tried to spur itself into its usual capacities, he grew conscious of the care and consideration the Chancellor was showing him. The way he steadied Alphonse's trembling hands. The cloth that wiped his brow.
He quirked a tired and slightly wry smile up at Perroy.
"So much for you not being my nurse-maid, eh?"
—
The Chancellor's mouth thinned, and he hummed dubiously. "Clearly you are feeling at least a little better if you are in the mood for jokes, Your Highness," he said primly. He stood, going over to send one of the guards out in search of food. When he returned he refilled the Prince's cup, offering it to him again. "Drink this one more slowly. Small sips, gradually. I don't suppose you have any idea who might be responsible? Spurned lovers, perhaps? Someone to whom you owe a debt?"
He didn't think the Prince would have an answer for him. Nothing Perroy knew of the man suggested he'd have anything of the sort. All he did have was an unfortunate accident of birth - being born royalty.
He tidied the Prince's covers absently, barely even noticing he was doing it.
—
Alphonse wasn't sure, but he didn't think the Chancellor was as annoyed as he pretended to be. More maybe that was just wishful thinking. The Prince seemed to be indulging in a lot of that recently.
The Prince took the cup and sipped as directed. A good thing too, because he sputtered and nearly choked when he heard the word "lovers" leave the minister's lips.
"Ack-ack, ahem, uh, no. No lovers. And I don't gamble, so I have no debts." He felt the tips of his ears redden and quickly continued in the hopes of distracting from his mortification, "Maybe it's someone in camp who feels I've slighted or overlooked them? O— or an enemy spy perhaps? I would not want to accuse one of our own if it seems more likely this is an attempt to weaken morale and thereby sow division."
—
Perroy arched an eyebrow at the spluttering - and at the blush. To his vague exasperation, he was a little glad to see that returning, too. He needed to not be. He needed to remember that this entire situation could have been averted if not for his own momentary distraction.
"My apologies for asking this question as bluntly as I am about to," he said slowly. "But would it? Weaken morale and sow division. Do your men like you, Your Highness?"
It felt like a cruel question to ask, but he'd noted the lengths Alphonse went to in order to be unremarkable. Deliberate distance was, by design, not a good way to build strong bonds. The Prince was a good commander. Perroy was less sure if he was a popular one.
—
The question pulled Alphonse up short.
Did the men like him? He'd always tried to be fair and just in his dealings with them. Neither overly effusive in praise nor unduly harsh in punishment. But he did not drink or tell stories with them. It would be too casual. It would be fraternization.
No, his job was not to be among his men, it was to lead them. To inspire confidence, courage! To be…. untouchable…. distant…. set apart…
The realization dawned on him slowly.
"Oh." The word was soft, almost fragile. He was too surprised to be guarded.
"I— uh, I suppose not."
—
Perroy froze.
He hadn't anticipated the softness of that reply - resigned, almost defeated. Worse, he didn't know what to say in reply to it.
What could he say? Congratulations, your ruse worked? Because it was a ruse. The Prince's real self - the softness, the awkward jokes and vulnerability - was inconveniently likeable.
"They might have," he said. His voice had grown softer, aware of the guards outside. "But you are not yourself with them. Why?"
—
The Prince turned his face away, jaw tight. It was an unexpectedly painful question, and one he wasn't sure how to answer. Was there an answer he could give that didn't border on treason?
Despite the bubble of vulnerability they'd shared since Alphonse awoke, could he actually trust this man? He found he desperately wanted to.
Alphonse took a breath and steeled himself.
"I… I thought that if I kept my distance it would… keep me from becoming too much of a threat." To the Crown, went unspoken.
He swallowed the lump threatening to form in his throat, then continued, "I'm sure you're aware that I've been very fortunate to live to see my nephews grow from babes-in-arms to fine, strong boys. I hope to see them grow to fine young men as well."
He turned back to face Perroy, wishing he could see the other man's face more clearly.
"Not all uncles are as fortunate as I."
—
Perroy nodded, unsurprised. It was confirmation of his own suspicions more than an answer to a question. And as much as he had never felt he was a man suited to gentleness, he tried. "I think your good fortune may have run out, Your Highness."
He suddenly found that he wanted it not to be true. But someone had tried to kill the Prince, more than once, and there was really no other easy explanation. This was not a situation which could be fixed or outlived. Someone had simply finally deemed Alphonse too inconvenient to live.
—
Prince Alphonse felt his heart sink. So this was it then. The thing he'd been dreading every day since his eldest nephew learned to walk. The thing he'd so carefully constructed and constrained his life to avoid.
He'd finally outlived his usefulness. The horror of it felt muted. Distant. Inevitable… Perhaps the noble thing would be to do nothing and let fate take its course.
Somewhere, deep in his heart, a smouldering ember caught and crackled to life. The same heat that flooded his veins on the battlefield and spurred him to fight. To claw his way to a new dawn. To bare his teeth and scream defiance in the face of Death.
No. No, he had worked too hard! He had sacrificed too much! He had spent too long making himself small and meek and docile! NO MORE!
If they wanted his life, they'd have to come and fucking take it.
He stared into Perroy's eyes, his gaze aflame with fury and conviction.
"No. I am going to live."
—
Perroy's eyes widened infinitesimally at the look in the Prince's eyes. The fire was back, and with it he felt an answering thrill tingle across his skin.
But he too was a liar. He pushed down the sudden awareness of Alphonse's presence, the sudden desire for - something, he wasn't even sure what - and just nodded, mouth thinning. "Good," he said. "We will try to ensure that you do. Beginning with you recovering from this attempt upon your life." He reached to squeeze the Prince's shoulder briefly.
—
On impulse, Alphonse caught the Chancellor's wrist as he withdrew his hand.
"Thank you," he said, all pretense of formality forgotten. "For saving my life."
He gently released his grip, letting his calloused fingers relax enough that Perroy could pull away.
"And I'm sorry. For busting your lip. I gather I must've been the one to do it. I hope you can forgive me."
—
Perroy paused at the touch, a flash of something unidentifiable passing through his eyes. "It's already forgotten," he said, shaking his head. He hadn't yet pulled away. "There is, however, a page with a black eye who would probably also appreciate the apology. Regardless, neither of us took it personally. You were fighting something which was not us, and I suspect we were torturing you."
He hadn't enjoyed that process. Seeing the fight slowly leave the man before him had been wrong in a way he was not quite ready to qualify.
"I'm glad to see you feeling better, my Prince." And the words emerged wrong, somehow. Softer than he'd meant. Intimate.
—
Alphonse grimaced sheepishly, giving the Chancellor's wrist a gentle squeeze before releasing him and dropping back down to lay flat on the bed.
"Even still, I'll be sure to make it up to you both. In the meantime, would you do me the service of writing a note to the steward informing him that the boy is to be given extra rations and the day off? I would do it myself but I can barely see my hand in front of my nose."
He turned his hand before his face illustratively.
"Did the physician give you any indication how long we can expect this to last?"
—
"Hopefully not more than a few days," Perroy said, tone turning businesslike once more. He adjusted his sleeve, attempting to chase the phantom sensation of the Prince's grasp. "I've sent a message to the Council letting them know what happened, and that I was here to witness it. No doubt they would have discovered it regardless, so I thought it best to get there first. It would be strange if I didn't report it to them."
There had to be some way to exploit that particular relationship. If the Council had some involvement with this, they hadn't told Perroy; he was still an outsider in their eyes. Anything he did involving them would be a calculated risk.
Then he took a mental step back and examined that thought. It had been one thing to indulge his own curiosity by prodding the spare prince to see what made him tick. It was another entirely to throw himself wholly into supporting the man. Even if it wasn't necessarily an open alliance, it was close enough to it that it wouldn't matter. He would be cast as his ally regardless.
Was he really willing to throw away everything he'd worked for, for this?
His line of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the guard with food from the Generals' canteen. Perroy went to fetch it, thanking the guard absently before going to inspect the food closely.
—
Hopefully? Well, Alphonse supposed that was better than, "You're stuck like this for sure." He'd have to take his luck where he could find it for now.
He turned over the larger problem in his mind. Perroy was right that reporting the attempt to the Council was the proper thing to do, even if Alphonse had his own suspicions about their potential involvement. Then again, it would be imprudent of him to assume they were behind his poisoning without proof.
There were too many things unknown, too many variables unaccounted for to properly strategize a defense. He needed to think about this like a tactician. What did he need to know, and how could he get those answers?
He perked up at the sound of movement at the tent's entrance. His stomach reminded him that Perroy said he would send for food, perhaps this was—
Yep, that was definitely some kind of porridge. He could smell it.
After a few long moments, presumably to check it for obvious tampering, Perroy brought the bowl to him and helped him to sit up.
As much as he longed to scarf the contents — it felt like ages since he last ate — he deliberately paced himself. He tasted and chewed carefully, paying precautionary attention to taste and texture with one part of his mind while the other continued to work on strategy.
He'd worked his way about two thirds of the way through his bowl when he paused, spoon partway to his lips. He lowered his hand, mouth curling into a self-satisfied smile.
The bond they share is no secret. The more frequently their hands brush together, the less accidental it appears. Each one gazes upon the other far longer than can be deemed appropriate. Not to mention, whispered words still echo in grand halls.
The prince knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his knight would lay down his life to see the royal come to no harm. They all would, and many have already made that sacrifice on the battlefield. That’s what terrifies him. The thought that his knight — his guardian and his lover — would throw himself before a blade in his stead lurches him awake in a cold sweat.
It is the ultimate betrayal, what the prince is about to do. To strip the knight of his title, his honor, and his very purpose… the prince understands he may never be forgiven. What a cruel master he is to take the collar off of his most loyal hound.
The knight— No, the man may live evermore with hatred in his heart.
Horse riding under the shade of the trees is one thing, but, after descending the mountain, we must then pass the long stretches of farmland. I can only take the beating of the hot sun for so long before I retreat to the shade within my personal carriage, grateful for the slats that allow a breeze to pass through.
I listen to the conversation among my traveling party and enjoy the view of the land through my windows for quite some time, but sitting here all on my lonesome has my mind wandering. I could read one of the many books I brought with me, but none of them sustain my interest.
