Author's note: This was a story done together with my best friend, so due credit to him. I love you Mattie 3.
Enjoy!
If anyone had been watching close enough, surely they would have noticed an unusually clean, blond head of hair bobbing through the crowd. Dipping and weaving, until finally disappearing beneath a brown cloak of similar nature to every other shade of brown in the vicinity. The person to whom the hair belonged dodged behind some tables, panting slightly from the exertion of flight. His long tattered cloak catching on some stray garbage as he pushed through made him swear slightly under his breath and tear it away with more force than necessary.
"All this so no one would know who I am, and still they manage to track me down like a bloody criminal." His angry mutterings carried no further than his breath, though from the way he seethed it seemed as though the whole area should be echoing.
"How did they even notice so quickly? It must have been mother. Snooping around where she wasn't wanted. Even sending the guards out after me." The still moving man tripped over some rubble and fell sprawling into the open street. A cry rang out over the noise of the crowd.
"Bloody wankers." And the blond man was off again, sprinting through the crowded fair. Still winded from his first encounter, it wasn't long before he found himself frantically searching for a place to hide. His lungs and legs would only take him so much further. And it was with this final glance of desperation that his wild green eyes finally landed on the door of a looming haven. Feeling his hope swell, he propelled himself towards it, rushing through the door, and nearly collapsing in a great ungraceful heap at the entry.
Letting his eyes adjust to the comparative darkness of the interior after the glaring outdoors, the escapee found himself being approached by a tall figure in long brown clothes. The large room he stood in became clearer, and he could make out the details in the architecture. Stifling a gasp, he realized that the only place other than the palace with such intricate design would be a place of worship. Colors spilled across the floor, languidly coating the pews and walls. The enormous cross at the front was bathed in reds, blues, and greens, set aglow by sunlight streaming through the stained glass window that stretched across the vast expanse of the southern wall. It was as though a beautiful spell fell over the man who had fallen through the doors of this place, full of a silence so peaceful it filled him to the very core. But with one sharp cry from behind the spell was broken, and he was abruptly reminded of the dire situation he was in. The slow approach of the figure in brown had not gone completely unnoticed as he took in the serenity of the place, but now he moved towards it.
"Please, hide me!" His cry held just a bit more urgency, a touch more hollow desperation than he had intended, but the effect was made. A hand reached out to grasp his arm, making him jolt as a firmer grip than he had expected propelled him forward, through the pews towards the back of the church. He was thrust into a confessional, and left with only the image of a shadowy savior holding a finger to its lips in a warning of silence. As instructed, he curled to minimum size, and tried to stifle the sound of his breath by pressing his cloak to his face. The sound of voices was carried to him through the echoes of the empty church, and he could hear the palace guards' questions from the door. It was followed by silence to his ears, but soon enough he heard the jingle of armor and knew that the guards had been sent away. He did not venture out from hiding, however, until the brown clad figure returned for him. Reaching out a hand, the tall man gently pulled the runaway to his feet. And it was in the afterglow of sunset and relief that the escaping blond finally got a good look at his savior. The monk, as indicated by his brown robes, had pale blond hair that lay towseled on his head as though he had just come in from the wind, but the impression was given that this was a somewhat constant state. Pale skin and good stature made the monk an impressive figure. The things that made the smaller blond stifle a gasp, though, were the purest blue eyes he had ever seen, now focused attentively on him. While mere moments ago his heart had been beating from fear, this figure before him had set his heart beating again for entirely different reasons. And then a quiet voice, sweet and rough like raw honey washed over him and he thought he could go forever without hearing another sound.
"Are you alright?" His voice caught in his throat so he nodded.
"Will you come with me?" Another nod, and he was being led to a back room in the church, apparently where his savior slept. A sweep of the hand invited him wordlessly to sit, a stool at the side of the small room being the point of focus. The monk himself sat on the narrow cot along the other wall. After a moment of silence the taller figure spoke.
"So may I ask, what path you took that led you to hiding in my confessional today?" The man on the stool looked sheepish, but before he had the chance to speak he was cut off.
"No, first your name, if you would. What is your name?" A moment of hesitation before he decided to tell the truth.
"Arthur. My name is Arthur." "No full name?" The smaller man grimaced. "Just Arthur." A smile began to break over the other man's face like the sun breaking over a cloud. It was nearly blinding. And yet Arthur found himself struggling not to stare. In an attempt to distract, whether it be himself or the other, he forced himself to speak.
"A-and you? What is your name?" An unexpectedly loud laugh echoed through the tiny room. The monk jabbed his thumb towards his chest and smiled broadly, showing off an unusually good set of teeth.
"I'm Alfred." There was a pause, as though he was waiting for a reaction that never came.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." Arthur finally remembered the years of etiquette training shoved down his throat, and spoke in spite of himself. Alfred managed to smile even more broadly, and the smaller blond couldn't help but marvel at the incredible gap between the monk who had stayed silent in the church and the one before him now, smiling and laughing as though he simply could not hold it in.
"So Arthur," Alfred spoke at last, letting Arthur enjoy the way his name sounded on the monk's tongue. "How did you end up seeking refuge here, from palace guards no less?" The light mood seemed to die slightly at that. The smaller man shifted in his chair, his eyes turned firmly away from the other's orbs of blue.
"Does it make a difference?" Arthur's voice was tight. "I am innocent. I have committed no crime." A thoughtful expression replaced the smile on Alfred's face. It was only a moment before the smaller man's judgement was placed before him.
"Alright. I will trust you. I should not, but something about you is telling me I must." The smile was back, tugging playfully at the corner's of the monk's mouth. Arthur's heart leaped. "But I must ask that you help with chores while you are here? We always need more helping hands." At the vigorousness of Arthur's nod, the monk laughed again.