It wasn't going to be easy.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred stepped out of the doorway and made his way towards the courtyard, his sheathed sword bumping against his thigh familiarly as he walked. He had worn some sort of weapon ever since the age of three when he had been officially weaned and was straddled on his first pony. Seventeen years later he felt almost naked without a weight on his hip.

He headed towards the sound of metal clashing against metal, stopping when he found the man he was seeking. His presence undetected, Alfred remained silent as he watched the other, his instructor, practice his swordsmanship against another young fellow. He admired how the man could move so swiftly on his feet without ever tripping, back up without giving his foe any advantage over him and the artful movements of his wrist as he plunged forwards.

Without much surprise, the young challenger called out as his blade was pushed out of his hands and fell to the ground with a noisy clatter. The instructor slid his own sword back into its scabbard and watched the other carefully as he picked up his weapon and retreated, biting back an oath. It wasn't wise to swear at Sir Kirkland.

Alfred grinned widely and approached his tutor, clapping him on the back and catching him unawares. He loved sneaking up on the other and feeling his body jump beneath his hand as he realized that he wasn't alone. Expecting the usual dark mutterings and slap on his chest, Alfred was surprised when the other simply turned around and laughed, wiping the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief.

"Did you want something, Alfred?" Arthur asked, bending down to gather his things. "I was under the impression that our session is later today."

Running his tongue over his lower lip in anticipation, Alfred cleared his throat. "Yes, I wanted to tell you something. Secret," he added, noting in satisfaction the way Arthur straightened and raised his brow at him, shifting his gear beneath his arm.

"What sort of secret, exactly?"

Alfred smiled widely and took a grip of the other's free arm, dragging him across the courtyard and only stopping when they were safe inside the foliage. "The type that you have to swear not to tell my parents."

Looking very much alert, Arthur rolled his eyes at the childish stipulation and swatted Alfred's hand off of his arm, narrowing his eyes. "Spit it out, boy. I do not make promises."

Airy amusement gone, Alfred folded his arms against his chest. "I am serious, Arthur. You are not allowed to tell anyone else, or I will not say a thing."

Arthur pursed his lips, considering Alfred's resolve before emitting a small sigh and frowning, nodding his assent. "Fine. I promise. What is it, then? You have not committed murder, have you?"

The smile back on Alfred's lips, he laughed shortly and unfolded his arms. "No, no. Nothing like that. I am-" Alfred looked around, drawing in closer to whisper in the other's ear, "-I am joining the crusades."

Not quite sure how the other would respond, Alfred observed as Arthur stiffened and looked up, meeting his gaze incredulously. "You cannot possibly mean that," he said softly, brows furrowing. Swallowing thickly, Alfred shook his head. "No, I mean it, Arthur. I am going to go and join the group that will be leaving in a few weeks to meet up with the army in London. I already signed up."

Arthur held his gaze, searching for the lie but failing to find it. Roughly, he pushed Alfred away and turned towards the castle, throwing the other a look over his shoulder.

"Cancel whatever plans you had for the day and meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes, lad. Be there."

Tuneless and low chatter greeted Alfred as he followed his tutor through the tavern door. Scanning the drab stone walls bare of tapestries and reflecting the smokey torchlight, he felt somewhat uneasy. A man with a scar stretching across his cheek eyed him from his position behind the counter as he walked in, giving Alfred the distinct feeling of having someone staring at you without being able to do anything about it. Peering around him, he could understand why he would attract unwanted attention.

Most of the men huddled around the small tables, gambling quietly and downing their drinks were outcasts, Alfred could tell. The social outcasts that no respectable landlord would rent his property out to: beggars, lone soldiers, peddlers. All defined by their low quality apparel and the lines that were permanently etched on their features, the suspicion in their eyes that never faded even as they smiled.

These sort of men were Alfred's opposite, and his being on the upper hand of society, he would hardly blame them if they were to resent him, to act upon their resentment. Not that he wouldn't defend himself, of course. What did trouble him, though, was why Arthur had chosen to bring him to this tavern, of all places.

"Do not pay them any heed," he heard said man whisper to him under his breath as they seated themselves down at a corner table, away from the unfortunate crowd. As Alfred took his seat, he smiled at a young man sitting at the nearest table whom he had caught looking at him, but the other had narrowed his eyes at him as in asking 'what are you doing here' before turning away. With a small sigh he turned back to gaze at Arthur who was smiling at him encouragingly, perhaps even with a small degree of amusement, before raising his hand and signaling to a waiter.

By the way Arthur was flagging down the man with familiarity and the way the other approached them and nodded at Arthur in recognition, Alfred was taken aback. Despite the fancy livery the other wore, he realized that his tutor knew the tavern and its inhabitants well. No one was eying daggers at him, Alfred noted while taking a quick glance around. Obviously, the men there had no qualms with Arthur Kirkland. But why was that? How much did he not know of the man in front of him?

Opening his mouth to question Arthur why it was he frequented the damned place, the other had beat him to it and raised a brow at him, accepting the ale he was handed by the returning waiter. "You won't have something to drink?" he asked, gesturing to his tankard. Alfred shook his head wordlessly, finally feeling the ebb of excitement he would have when crossing a line.

His father would never approve of his being there, even accompanied by the ever able Arthur. No one seemed to register that he was already well into his twentieth year and very much competent in managing his own life without constant monitoring. The rank of alcohol and sweat was hardly appealing, but it carried a heady scent of danger for a sheltered youth.

Arthur shrugged and downed his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and setting down the tankard on the wooden surface of the table noisily, not bothered by the curious looks he received. The only attention he sought out was Alfred's, it seemed, catching his wandering eyes and keeping them firmly on his face with his own.

"Now, what is this war nonsense you were speaking of?"

Alfred could feel his muscles tense at the other's question. He looked up to his tutor by principle- he craved Arthur's praise, knowing it to be sparsely given and rare, a treat reserved for those who deserved it. No flattery to the lord's son from Sir Kirkland, as he introduced himself when they first met. Unlike with his previous teachers, Alfred made actual progress with his fencing and combat skills under Arthur's instruction, quick to notice his mistakes and call them out as so.

For Arthur to consider his mission 'nonsense' was an impossible idea for Alfred. This was his chance to argue his cause and gain the other's approval.

"It isn't nonsense," Alfred insisted, leaning forward with a grin. "It's a calling. The holy father himself commands us to it."

Unimpressed, Arthur frowned and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "The crusades may be backed up by the word of the pope, yes, but that does not mean that every young man with a sword should abandon his family and up and go to the deserts."

"And why not?" he pressed, face aglow with the ideal his tutor had presented him with. "Every man is needed to save Jerusalem from those pagans! Who am I to lay about in the comforts of my home while Christian blood is spilled at the gates of the holy city?"

"You are the sole heir of your father's estate, for one, and the future benefactor of his tenants," Arthur snapped, clearly irritated by Alfred's blind belief. "What if your blood is the next to spill? What would all those that depend on your inheritance do for their living?" He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. "You would be selfish to leave."

Alfred bit his lip in order to hold back from his (rather violent) initial reaction and took a deep breath, meeting Arthur's gaze squarely. "I do not see how fulfilling my duty to God could be considered 'selfish'."

"It could very well be seen so when all you are really seeking is fame," Arthur decreed cooly, glare amplified by his thick brows. Usually, Alfred would be tempted to laugh it off, not able to take the expression seriously, but not then.

His blue eyes widened, reflecting his inner shock with the excited flush draining from his cheeks. He regarded the man on the other side of the table silently, seeing his anger cool off and fade into a troubled, almost remorseful expression.

Arthur was the one to whom Alfred had confided his dreams, expressed his desire to become a man of honor on his own right to be worthy of the title he was to inherit at his father's death. It was Arthur who encouraged him in his training to be such a man, who inspired him to work hard to achieve his goal. He didn't think for a moment that the other would be his obstacle in his path, much the less use his secrets against him.

Despite the certainty Arthur used while accusing him, he didn't know the whole story like he most likely thought he did. Typical of Arthur, to think that he knew everything about everyone. Well. While, admittedly, Alfred was looking for a reason to break away, this was a cause he identified with strongly. People were dying at the hands of the heathens in the east and they needed help. His help. This was his opportunity to drop everything and go, but he truly felt a calling to offer his services.

"Alfred..." Arthur said his name softly, apparently about to apologize. Alfred didn't want to hear it, though, at least not at that given moment. Keeping his face devoid of emotion, he pushed away from the table and ignored the stares from the people surrounding him, leaving a few coins on the surface so that Arthur could pay for his drink. He avoided the other's gaze as he took his leave formally, inclining his head at his tutor.

When he turned and walked out of the tavern, Arthur didn't follow him.

Hanna Chan's Blah-Blah Corner;

Well, I seem to say this every time I post something, but I haven't posted anything in a while XD This is just something I started writing for my own entertainment after visiting a crusader castle ruin. I kept writing and then realized it just turned out as porn XD So I figured I might as well share this.

If you read and liked this, then please leave a review ;w; Thank you! I've got most of it written up, and I just need to see that there's an interest...

-Hanna