The first word Alfred said to Arthur was intelligible, a garbled scream. Well, technically, it wasn't a word.
Alfred was only a young boy, a child going into adolescence when it happened. He and his brother had been out on an errand for their father, collecting flowers and herbs just outside of town. They had filled their baskets and held hands as they returned to their town. As they walked in, they were agape instantly. Everywhere was encased in an enormous block of ice, and most of the buildings around had massive shards of ice stabbing through them.
Baskets were dropped, and Alfred and Matthew ran as fast as their small feet would allow, praying that their mother and father would be alright in this odd and terribly cold situation. Their hopes were shattered as soon as they caught sight of their home. Those jagged spikes of ice had pierced through every wall, stabbing down into the ground and up into the sky. They couldn't even get in, as the doorway had been frozen over.
Alfred's first thought to run, and that is exactly what he did. He didn't mean to, but he had dashed out into the forest again and left his brother behind. He wailed as he ran, terrified and upset. As far as he knew, his mother and father were dead. As he was letting out a particularly nasty screech and charging through the forest, he slammed into something hard.
"A child?" a voice said, and the thing Alfred had crashed into – a young man of only fifteen or so who had been in the wood to collect herbs – paused in his tread. Alfred tumbled backwards, staring up at the other boy in terror. "Are you lost, lad?" Alfred couldn't spit out a comprehensible word, instead just letting his tears fall freely. "Er, there there," the boy said as he crouched in front of Alfred, petting his little head. "My name is Arthur. What's your name?"
Alfred quivered, slowly getting up from where he'd been on the ground, and stepping towards this Arthur. "Alfred," he answered shakily, sniveling and wiping his baby blue eyes.
"Why are you all alone in the woods?" Arthur asked softly, crouching so that his eyes were level with the child's.
"M-.. T-the town, I-.. I-" Alfred whimpered, stopping his talk to start crying again.
"Alfred, where are your parents?" he murmured, stroking the boy's hair, as that seemed to calm him a little.
"They're dead," Alfred managed in one go, staring up with bleary eyes at this odd boy.
Arthur paused, biting his lip. He then took the boy into his arms, embracing him. Sure, it was odd to do so for a stranger, but it was all he saw to do. "Hey, hey," Arthur comforted quietly. "Shh." Alfred paused before pushing himself against Arthur, hiding his face in the stranger's shirt. And he began to whimper. "Little Alfred, is there anyone else you can go to?" Arthur guessed the silence meant no. "Let me take you somewhere safe."
After comforting the little boy for quite some time, Arthur came to notice that Alfred had fallen asleep in his arms, most probably worn out from the crying. And so, as a kind young man, Arthur carried the boy and walked back south, where Alfred had come running and screaming from. It was indeed frozen over, and there was not another soul to be found across the whole of the Fjord town. He found it depressing to stay, and carried this little boy as he went back northward, to his horse.
Alfred was a heavy sleeper, and this was made certain as Arthur rode north, heading to the next town along the road. He didn't place the boy on the saddle, instead holding him in his arm and steering the reins with one hand. By the time they reached the next town and Arthur was tying up his horse outside an inn, Alfred had roused, blinking his wide eyes open.
"Oh, you're awake," said Arthur with a faint smile.
"Mm.. Whoa, where am I!" Alfred gasped, jumping out of Arthur's arms and staring around at the big town. He had never actually been in another town other than his home, and found this new place absolutely captivating. "Whoa!"
"This is a place to the north of your home," Arthur nodded, finishing up with his horse. Alfred seemed to have forgotten about the Fjords for now.
"Oh, home-" Alfred said, but wiped his eyes. He remembered his father's words of 'you're a big boy now, and sometimes I can't come with you wherever you go', and he felt like his heart would break all over again. "Hey, Arthur?"
"Yes?" Arthur murmured, looking down at the child now tugging at his sleeve.
"Why did you take me with you?" Alfred said quietly.
"You might've died were I to leave you in that cold," Arthur said simply, dipping his head. "I thought I should bring you to an inn where you can warm up by the hearth. You were shivering and crying before."
"Oh," Alfred mumbled, hugging his arms as he actually realised the cold of the southern winds that blew about even here. "Can we do that?"
Arthur found it oddly endearing and slightly worrying how easily Alfred came to trust a person, considering they only met less than thirty minutes ago. He supposed it came with being an innocent child. They entered the inn, pulling up chairs in front of the fire. Alfred smiled down at the flames and shuffled closer, putting his hands there to warm them up. Arthur ordered himself a small tankard of watered-down mead and sat beside Alfred.
"Tell me about you," Alfred demanded suddenly, staring up at his new companion. "I only know your name!"
"I suppose I should," Arthur nodded, taking a sip from his tankard. "My full name is Arthur Hugo Kirkland. I'm a Breton, and I'm training to be an alchemist. What about you? What do you want to do when you're big and grown up?"
"My name's Alfred F. Jones," the boy chuckled, swinging his legs back and forth. "And I wanna be a dragon slayer."
Arthur had choked on his mead after hearing that, and just stared at the little boy beside him. As time went on, Arthur found himself in charge of training Alfred to follow his ambitions.
"Strike faster!" the instructor wailed, and Alfred worked furiously. He was, at present, trying his best to cut through a straw dummy, but was only given a long stick to strike with. "Harder! You'll never cut flesh if you can't cut hay!"
"How can I cut hay if all I have is a rod!" Alfred retorted, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow.
"That's the point, kid!"
Alfred roared and used his frustration toward his instructor as fuel. He swung the cane into the dummy, slicing it messily in half with his sheer strength alone. He was panting now from exerting himself, and dropped the cane, turning towards his instructor. "I did it," he mumbled, wiping his face free of sweat.
The instructor nodded, and put a hand on his hip. "Tomorrow you're to learn to do it neatly, you messy brat."
Alfred groaned and shoved past him, trundling toward Arthur: he had been waiting by the side of the training ring, watching with a little smirk. "What do you look so happy about?" Alfred murmured, climbing over the ring's fence and just about falling down. Arthur caught him, and stood him back up. Now that Alfred had had some time to grow, he was actually taller than Arthur, and the Breton had to look up so their eyes would meet. Even with Arthur approaching twenty, Alfred with his borderline sixteen years of life had started to dwarf him.
"You're improving a lot," Arthur observed, flashing a small and momentary smile to his companion. "Is it wrong for me to be proud of you?" Alfred felt his tanned cheeks dapple red, and he gave a lopsided smile.
"If I wasn't sweaty and gross I'd totally hug the crap out of you right now." Alfred hummed.
"Er, tell you what, I'll allow you this one hug and then we both go and bathe. Deal?" Arthur bartered, shrugging the hood of his cloak off.
"Deal!"
Alfred threw his arms around Arthur, holding him tightly and wearing one of the sunniest smiles in the world. He, knowing that he probably wouldn't get another chance for a long embrace, lifted Arthur up and spun him around, laughing and holding him up. Arthur would usually protest, but he was in a rare good mood, and tolerated it.
After that, Alfred took Arthur's hand and they headed out of town, going to one of the hot springs about. Arthur's friend, Yao, had raved on and on about how hot springs were good for the soul and good for the skin, and Arthur thought why the hell not. They both stripped and put their clothes aside, and Arthur slid into the bubbling spring. The warm water felt truly lovely against his skin. Well, it did, until Alfred bomb-dived into the spring and splashed hot water everywhere.
"Must you do that!" Arthur cried, wiping his eyes and frowning at the audacious boy in front of him. He was now smiling and staring up from the bubbling water,
"Yes." He cooed, damp gold locks falling in front of his eyes.
"Our clothes are probably wet now," Arthur groaned, leaning back against the rocks.
"Do we really need clothes?" Alfred laughed, wading closer to Arthur and leaning up beside him.
"When did you learn to be a horny teenager?"
"It's in my blood."
They both had a good laugh about that one, and Alfred found himself shuffling a little closer to his companion. "When did your muscles get this big?" asked Arthur, eyes grazing over Alfred's sculpted arms. "Last time I looked, you had sticks for arms."
"What, you like my muscles?" Alfred smirked, flexing and putting an arm around Arthur's much slimmer shoulders. "Aren't I just a stud?"
"You're getting ahead of yourself," Arthur rolled his eyes, turning a bit and leaning in, resting his forehead against Alfred's. "And you've only got that muscles because I pay for all your training."
"Okay, yeah, thanks for the tuition," Alfred snorted, touching their noses and smiling brightly. "You're the best."
"Hardly," he retorted, finally closing the distance and pressing their lips together a moment. "How could I be the best when I have the best right in front of me?"
The topic of Matthew had come up later that year, and Arthur was incredibly concerned. Until then, Alfred had never even mentioned a brother, let alone told Arthur every detail. They ended up searching far and wide, but to no avail. Alfred's hopes went down, and Arthur spent a lot of his time comforting the poor boy. It was only when Arthur met an old acquaintance was Matthew found.
"Arthur! Looking ugly as ever," Francis greeted as Arthur walked into the apothecary's, and he felt as if he was going to be sick.
"That's a rude way to greet me every time you see me," he spat, not even bothering with a return greeting. "Considering you've the face of a boar."
"I happen to consider boar quite lovely creatures," retorted Francis, smiling and swishing about the bottom of his coat. "So, what brings you here today? I am here to look for something to make me even more beautiful than I am already. If that is possible, of course."
"Things for beauty will be over there," Arthur mumbled, pointing to a small collection of herbs and potion ingredients. They were, in fact, the ingredients that, if consumed, would lead to bowel problems. He knew apothecaries well, and was sure he had frequented one in every town he'd visited. Alchemists and apothecaries were quite close with their work. "I'm here for ingredients, as you are."
"Ah, I see," Francis hummed, picking up a root that would surely give him diarrhea. "How is life, my friend?"
"Eh, could be better, could be worse," Arthur shrugged, fingering through a collection of leaves on the counter. "My companion is pining for his brother who he accidentally abandoned years ago, and is an utter mess."
"Have yourself a companion now, eh?" Francis winked. "Forgotten about little old me?"
"Shut up," Arthur refuted, cheeks pink. "We're not anything romantic. Just friends!"
"I have a little companion of my own," he cooed. "He and I are simply friends too. He is a nice young man, I think he's around back right now. I wouldn't want you to forget me, Arthur, for you owe me an adventure, mon amour."
Arthur made his purchases and said farewell to Francis, still angry that he had referred to him as his lover. That was once. Never again. He went around back to retrieve Alfred – he was waiting for Arthur by Arthur's horse – only to find him crying and clinging on to a young man of similar stature. Alfred blinked his eyes open over the young man's shoulder, and called out.
"Arthur! Arthur, c'mere!" Alfred wept, and Arthur came running.
"What! What is it, who is this-"
As soon as the other young man's face came into view, all the pieces fell into place. He had a very similar face structure to Alfred's, and also wore glasses, also this young man's spectacles shielded eyes of violet instead of blue. His hair was bouncier and lighter, and his curls were tied back in a ponytail. It seemed he was crying, too.
"It's Mattie!" Alfred beamed, clinging to his brother incredibly tightly. Matthew looked like he couldn't breathe.
"Hi," Matthew wheezed, trying to squirm out of his brother's strong arms. Once he did, Alfred slung an arm around Matthew's shoulders and smiled up at his companion.
"I'm happy you two have found each other," Arthur managed, rather dumbfounded. The brothers went to the tavern that evening to celebrate their reuniting, and went their separate ways again the next morning.
Alfred decided on his eighteenth birthday that he was going to finally kill a dragon like he'd trained for all of these years. Arthur called him insane, but didn't stop him from following his dream. It was the morning that they were to head to the Plains, a renowned hunting ground for dragonkind, and Arthur was helping him get his armor on.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Arthur asked for the umpteenth time today.
"Yes, Arthur," Alfred whined as his gauntlets were fixed. Arthur backed around him, securing his chest plate. "I've been waiting for this day for my whole life, I'm ready."
"It's going to be dangerous," Arthur warned quietly. "Please, let me help you with this."
"I can do it," Alfred assured, sighing as Arthur fiddled with his boots, and then continued to mess with his gauntlets and sash. "It'll be absolutely fine, Arthur. I've got this."
After making sure Alfred's armor was on properly for the fifth time, Arthur nodded and hesitantly left the little shack they'd been resting in aside the Plains. Alfred brandished his sword proudly; it was a blade that Arthur had bought him and personally enchanted to fit his skillset and move types. And, with a heavy heart and quivering lip, Arthur wished him the best. Alfred had earlier made him promise to stay by the shack and not come to rescue him unless he was seriously about to pay a visit to Sovngarde. And so, Arthur watched him walk if into the grassland.
Alfred stared up to the sky, and let out a shattering roar, as if that would summon a dragon to his position. It didn't, but after a while of doing so and thoroughly embarrassing himself, a greenscale decided to swoop above him and fill his heart with fear and exhilaration. The cantankerous roars it elicited were enough to burst his ear drums, but he tried his best to stay focused. When it finally dropped down to the ground, Alfred charged forward, using his agility to slide beneath it and plunge his blade into its belly, slicing along it with ease.
That one perfect move seemed enough to deeply wound the dragon, and Alfred mentally thanked Arthur for making him do his research. Bellies were the softest part of a dragon, the only part, excepting eyes, that were unprotected by scales. Unfortunately, dragon eyes were small and hard to get to due to the creatures having such long necks. The beast bellowed and cried, most probably in pain as Alfred scrambled around to the front of it again, afraid of being crushed should he linger under its now-bloody underbelly. There were a few close encounters, where teeth would snap ever so close to his body or its tail would lash at his feet only to have him jump a second before, but at last, he was able to make the killing blow. Using all of his courage, he ran forward, jumping up and throwing an arm around the creature's neck. Holding on for all it was worth, he gripped tighter and raised his sword, before plunging it mercilessly into the back of the dragon's neck.
It fell, as did he. When it finally let out a roar of defeat, Alfred let out one of victory, and excitedly crawled out from underneath it. He cheered and threw his hands up, so incredibly happy that it was indescribable. He charged back across the Plains, practically throwing himself at Arthur and crying out unintelligible words of excitement and joy.
"You're covered in blood!" Arthur laughed, Alfred's happiness infectious. "Damn you, lad! You did it!"
"I did it!" Alfred squeaked, squeezing Arthur tightly. "I'm a true dragon slayer now!"
Less than a month later, Arthur lost Francis for the last time. Alfred and Matthew had wanted to spend some quality brother time together, and Francis demanded that Arthur owed him an adventure. And thus, they ventured on a treasure-hunting excursion down into an old burial crypt. There was nothing out of the ordinary, excepting a few angry spirits. They were ambushed at the very bottom of the crypt by bandits. Arthur had set things up to blow the whole room, spreading oils and whatnot. Francis was a flame magician. Arthur was standing at the entrance of the room, and Francis was to join him. A bandit, a final martyr to make vengeance over his fallen brethren, had appeared, and Francis didn't think before acting.
He clicked his fingers to ignite the man in front of him. And the whole room was aflame. Arthur barely managed to escape the licking flames, only remembering Francis once he was safe. He turned and stared through the fire, catching a glimpse of the screaming Frenchman who was in a literal burning state of agony. It was either he saved himself and escaped unharmed, or turn back and try and rescue Francis. It was possible they would both die if he picked the latter. And so, valuing his own life, he ran. He didn't tell Matthew or Alfred that Francis had died within that crypt. Only that Francis had decided to stay in there a little longer.
Alfred was nineteen, Arthur was twenty three. It was up towards the north that they encountered their next major issue. The two of them were adventuring by the Western border, and Alfred had come across a small shack in the middle of nowhere.
"Do you reckon someone lives there?" Alfred asked, pointing to the rundown house that stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the greenery around. "It looks broken down as hell."
"I don't know. Perhaps it was abandoned?" Arthur huffed. "It's hard to tell from this distance. Should we inspect?"
"Well," Alfred paused, trying to remember what Arthur had taught him. "It looks old and run down, and it's far away from any towns, so it may have a ghost inside. It may be a peddler's home, or just a temporary place for someone who's moved along. There's a little garden to the side, but it seems unattended and overgrown, so it is probably just an abandoned home of someone who's moved along. They might have lived here for a few years."
Arthur smiled, and pecked Alfred's head. "That was good. Assess the situation before you go in and make a fool of yourself."
"Hehe," Alfred giggled, flashing a big smile before squeezing Arthur's hand and starting to walk forward. His armor chinked with every step. "It's nice to see you in a good mood, Artie."
"Again with the infernal nicknames," Arthur scoffed quietly. "I'm in a good mood because I slept well, Alfie, that's all."
"Ugh, you're so cute," Alfred whined. "You can call me Alfie all the time."
"I'll save it for special occasions," he said, rolling his eyes.
They approached the house slowly, with Alfred leading simply because he had a bigger sword than Arthur. Arthur was an archer, anyway; swords weren't his style. He could still work with a dagger, though. Alfred wandered in, looking to see if anything in here was of value. They were both quite relaxed, as it seemed to be entirely empty, no ghosts or anything of the sort. "Hey Arthur," smirked Alfred, picking up a small jar with a single giant's toe in it. "Get a look at this-" he turned his head, and caught a side glance of something terrifying.
In the split second that Alfred turned, a person materialized out of seemingly nowhere, and grabbed Arthur. They didn't hesitate to shove at Arthur's collar and clamp their teeth down. Arthur let out a weak cry, and Alfred dropped the jar, grabbing his sword instead. In a single movement, he impaled his blade through the person's skull. "Get off of my Arthur!" he snarled, watching as the person crumbled into a black dust and was blown away by the wind.
Arthur slumped in his tread, and Alfred bowed to catch him.
It was a terrified rush to the closest town. Alfred held Arthur tightly in his arms, scared out of his skin as Arthur started to feel cold to the touch. Only when he reached the town and showed Arthur to a well-known Grecian doctor were his fears washed away, and new worries flooded in to take their place.
"He's been poisoned." The doctor said, saying each word slowly, as if he were tired of his job.
"Poisoned?" Alfred whispered, feeling like his heart would stop. "With what? Will he be okay?"
"He'll be sick for the rest of his life," he yawned, looking down at the pale man on the table. "Well, it won't technically be a life. He's dead right now."
"Dead?!" he breathed, staring at Arthur. "He-.. Y-.."
"I said right now," Heracles mumbled. "He'll wake up soon."
"B-but, I-"
The doctor didn't respond to Alfred's stammering, instead turning Arthur's head to the side, and putting a hand to his neck. "Do you see these?" he asked, gently running his finger over the two small puncture wounds aside Arthur's jugular vein. Alfred gravely nodded his head. "He will wake as a vampire."
Alfred's blood ran cold. A vampire? He supposed that explained the creature appearing out of nowhere. Then again, he supposed it could have been an invisibility spell. Considering the herbs and potions about the shack, he would have assumed so. He leant down and pressed his ear to Arthur's chest. No heartbeat. "When will he wake?" Alfred asked softly. "Is there somewhere I can go to get some help for him?"
He was passed a line of contacts, and was made to take Arthur everywhere with him, with no idea of when he would wake. He first had to travel northward a day to meet with a merchant, and then back down south to find his bodyguard, a man on an errand. Even then, he was pointed southward still, to a small town just off the main road. He hurried into the tavern and hired a room, cradling Arthur in his arms all the way to the bed. Alfred slowly lay him down, stroking his hair and one of his icy cold cheeks. For all he knew, he was carrying around a corpse, never to rouse again. And now, he was to wait for this person to arrive: Gilbert was the name he'd been given. Supposedly he knew Arthur from youth.
Alfred sat outside the room when Gilbert went in, fiddling with his hands. He came out not too long after that, and gave Alfred the lowdown. Grimly, frightened, Alfred re-entered the room. This was more than terrifying, petrifying even. He had left Arthur too long, according to Gilbert, and he needed to awaken him with something, or may he remain dead well and truly. Alfred asked if Arthur would end up with the ability to turn others to his own kind, but Gilbert revealed that building up the venom was a conscious choice, and every vampire could control that much. It took almost a year for the poison to mature, too.
Alfred did the only thing he could think to do. Hesitantly, he hovered his arm above Arthur's mouth. With his other hand, he took a knife from his pocket, and bluntly gave his forearm a slash. It hurt, yes, but the pain of a little laceration paled in comparison to the pain of losing Arthur. It was hardly glamorous, but he lowered the wound to Arthur's pale lips, and let the blood seep. He was incredibly anxious, almost quivering where he sat. Here he was, on the line of losing his world, and all he could do was bleed for him.
Something in Arthur changed in that moment, and he jolted into action, latching onto Alfred's arm and biting with newly sharp fangs. Alfred cried out in pain as he felt his blood being sapped, but only stopped Arthur when he began to feel a touch woozy. "Arthur," he mumbled, using his free hand to gently tug Arthur back by the collar. "Hey, stop," he murmured.
It took Arthur a moment, but he blinked and his eyes changed from black back to their normal pale green. "Alfred-" he started, but stared down at the bloody wound on the boy's arm, and then reached up to feel his mouth. He could only glare at the scarlet that stained his fingers.
Even now that he was reanimated, Arthur remained cold to the touch, and was whiter than snow. Alfred slowly leant forward and put his arms around Arthur, but let him go immediately when he felt teeth on his neck. "Arthur," he scolded softly, pulling his arm away. "You're gonna kill me if you do that."
"Sorry," Arthur said rather croakily. "I just-.. It's so odd, Alfred. What happened? I just feel so thirsty, and I-"
"You're a vampire," Alfred explained in a cracked tone. He only felt worse when Arthur's face fell, and his lip tightened. "You got jumped. Back at the shack. You've.. You've been dead for a couple days."
"Oh, hell," he murmured, sitting up straight and blinking to clear his vision. "Alfred, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"I woke you up 'cos you drank some of my blood," he said weakly, the thought of vampirism incredibly morbid to him. "And I feel like I'm gonna throw up 'cos this is gross and all I can smell is blood."
"Alfie," Arthur whimpered, rubbing his forehead with his non-bloodied hand. "Oh, Divines, I'm so sorry."
"Hey-.. It's better than you sucking the blood of some helpless citizen, right?"
That became Alfred's little mantra for the next few weeks. As he spent his time looking after Arthur, he was forced to let a little blood each evening to satisfy Arthur's cravings. He found it disgusting and terrifying, and he was weak and tired often, but it was worth it if he was saving the lives of innocent people. After Arthur had gained control of his illness – after he was able to control his thirst a little more – Alfred began to allow him to drink properly in small quantities.
"Okay, Arthur," Alfred nodded, rolling down his collar and exposing his throat. It was dressed with lacerations from where he'd previously sliced so that he could give Arthur his fill of blood; he would let him drink what dripped. The whole process made him terribly uncomfortable and ill, but it was for the good of the people, and for the good of his companion. But it was never enough. "I trust you, so you can go ahead and do your thing. If I tell you to stop, you gotta stop, okay?" At present, they hid away in their shared inn room, sitting beside one another on the bed with their backs against the headboard.
As thirsty as he was, and as delicious as Alfred smelled, Arthur still felt heavy guilt in his heart. "Are you really sure you want me to be doing this? You've already done so much for me. And I see how much it hurts you, Alfred."
"Hey, I love you. Y'know I'd do anything for you." he cooed quietly, tapping at the side of his neck. "Just stay away from my jugular, Artie."
"I love you too," Arthur mumbled, before moving over and straddling Alfred's legs. "Thank you, Alfred."
He leant in, and with a quiet gasp from Alfred, let his teeth sink into tanned skin. He tried not to bite down upon where a scar was forming, but one of his fangs was a little crooked, and he could not help it. It was awkward to try and clamp his jaw around Alfred's neck, but he managed to do so without too much trouble. As he pierced the skin properly, and he was gifted the taste of blood, he found it hard to stop himself from draining Alfred for all he had. Alfred gasped and tried to stay calm, but with every passing second, he found himself threatening to panic.
"A-Arthur, stop," Alfred stammered weakly, his own fear getting the better of him. "Arthur," he repeated with as much resolve as he could manage. Arthur seemed not to hear him, entranced as he drank. "Arthur!" he cried, shoving the man back and accidentally causing Arthur's prolonged canines to tear his skin. "Ah, shit!"
Arthur was still dazed as he leant back, blood dribbling from his lips and down his chin. It took him a moment to return to his senses, but after doing so, he frowned and looked up to where Alfred was grasping at his bloody shoulder.
"Did I go too far?" Arthur queried, putting his hand over Alfred's and lifting his eyes to meet the boy's.
"I just got scared," Alfred said in a whisper, shaking his head. "I'll be more prepared next time, I promise."
"Alfred, you really don't have to keep doing this for me," he refuted, watching with sad eyes as Alfred tried his hardest not to cry. "Alfie, please."
"What else are you gonna do?" Alfred argued, raising his free hand and wiping his eyes. "You can't just go after the townspeople."
"I'm sure I can," he argued.
"But what if a hunter comes after you, Arthur?" Alfred said quickly, fire in his eyes. "What then?!"
"You'll protect me," Arthur said like it was obvious. "You always protect me."
Alfred's fire died, and he felt like crumpling where he sat. "I can't protect you all the time. I couldn't protect you when you got bitten." There then fell a silence, and Alfred soon fell asleep, weary from blood loss and the exertion of the day's events.
As it became clear that letting blood too often and allowing those sapping bites were a danger to Alfred's health, he worriedly suggested trying to wean Arthur off of his blood: to lessen his intake and slowly make it easier for him to cope with less. They idled within a small town at the time that this thought was made into reality, and Alfred and Arthur sat together at the tavern's bar.
"How are you doing?" asked Alfred softly, leaning down a bit to see under the hood of Arthur's cloak. He had pulled it down to shield his face, and Alfred only sighed.
"It's too bloody bright in here," Arthur croaked, feeling sick to his stomach. "I feel like my every pore is to burst aflame."
"Hey, I've got you," Alfred comforted, gently stroking Arthur's shoulder. "You're doing well, it's been three days since you've last drank straight from my body." He turned and snapped his teeth at Alfred's hand, and he jolted in fright.
"I am not doing well," Arthur spat. "My throat always feels dry and I feel incredibly deprived. This is horrible. You cannot just let me take the life of some worthless peasant from a farm way out of town?"
"Arthur, you know I can't let you take innocent lives," Alfred sighed quietly, resting his elbows upon the counter again. "I know that's the easy thing to do, but I can't let you."
"Then please let me drink your blood again," Arthur whined, turning to face him a moment and offer a pitiful stare.
"I can't allow you do that either." Alfred let out a soft huff. "I've been giving you the drips, isn't that enough to satiate you?"
"Not really," Arthur murmured, glancing down to Alfred's forearm, which was currently covered by his sleeve. "Alfred, if you wish to torture me, you're doing a splendid job of it." They fell silent a while more, Arthur in his foul mood, and Alfred unsure of what else he could even say that wouldn't end up in fighting. Arthur ordered a tankard of mead.
Not soon from then, Ivan and Yao, friends of Alfred and Arthur, showed up, and Alfred turned to face them with a lopsided smile. "Arthur, look up. It's Ivan and Yao." He said quietly, nodding his head. Arthur didn't reply, but simply groaned quietly. Alfred made quiet talk with the pair, telling them that Arthur was going through some things right now, and it was probably best not to piss him off. "Hey, Arthur? We're going to go upstairs, don't drink too much, 'kay?" He went to ruffle Arthur's hair, but Arthur just grabbed his wrist rather brashly. Alfred tried to forget that Arthur was eyeing his veins, and gently shook his hand free.
He went upstairs to the inn room with Ivan and Yao, and it was revealed that Ivan had something to admit. As time let on, a fight broke out, with Alfred screaming that Ivan had been the one to murder his family in the freezing of the Fjord towns.
By the end of the evening, things had been loosely patched, and Arthur had made his way upstairs, lingering by the doorway to the room where Ivan, Alfred, and Yao were situated. At some point, a massive hole had been created in the roof, and another in one of the connecting walls between inn rooms. Arthur only asked 'why the bloody hell is there a hole in the wall', and no other questions followed. Actually, it seemed that Alfred had made suggestion of a group quest with the other pair, and had included Arthur in the deal without his consent. Arthur and Yao were old enemies-turned-friends, and they bickered and fought, but it was a relationship best described as 'I hate you and I wish to beat you up, and I am the only one allowed to beat you up because I care about you'. Yao often complained about Arthur, and Arthur always returned the criticisms. Alfred and Ivan were their younger companions, who had only just now, in this room, announced that they would cease their fighting in favor of a friendship.
Alfred and Arthur left the inn room to move into the next one over (after going downstairs and hiring it of course). Alfred was heavily relieved that Arthur seemed to be in a better mood now, and smiled as he sat down upon the bed. "Did that mead make you feel better?" he asked with a small and sunny smile.
"No," deadpanned Arthur, mood dropped again. "It's called acting. Please."
"Oh," he frowned, suddenly concerned again. "Arthur.."
Arthur used this moment to pull back his hood and stare at Alfred, with those narrowed green eyes doing the talking for him. Alfred's lip quivered and Arthur stared a moment more, his own mouth curling slightly down at the corners. A look of innocence, he supposed. One that earned pity from his weak-willed companion.
"Alright, fine," said Alfred exasperatedly, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief. "But I'm timing you."
Arthur smiled, satisfied that he'd won. Alfred shifted his undershirt as per usual, and Arthur leant against him, not even waiting for Alfred's signal before burying his teeth into the boy's skin. It took all of the self-control he had not to suck Alfred's veins dry, as his unquenched thirst took power over his senses, and he was a slave to his yearning. He did not react when Alfred whimpered in pain, only shifting his head in a motion almost like nodding, except he would scrape his canines against the punctures he'd made, incidentally widening the wound and allowing for better blood flow. Arthur was only alerted as to how monstrous he was behaving when Alfred's hand came to his throat, lifting him and practically tossing him away.
"Arthur," Alfred said quietly, clutching the aching spot on his neck. "You were hurting me." There was a quiet hint of betrayal in his voice, yet it didn't spark pity from Arthur this time around.
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, voice almost a growl. He rolled over where he sat, and lay down, facing his back to Alfred. He had issues sleeping what with his illness, so the prospect of respite was now foolish to him. "I was just deprived, that's all. I am satiated now, so you needn't worry. Surely I will feel better in the morning."
"Alright.. I guess it was pretty dumb of me to try and get you off it, right?" Alfred laughed sadly, biting his lip and trying to ignore the pain that came with his fresh puncture wounds. "Hey, maybe on this trip we'll run into some bandits or bad guys and once I've taken care of them, you can drink from them? Would that be okay?"
"Mm, yes," Arthur nodded, not turning when Alfred lay beside him and curled his arms around his waist. "That would be most desirable."
There was silence for a little while, until Alfred spoke up once more. "Hey Arthur?"
"Mm? What is it?"
"You asked me all those years ago what I wanted to be, do you remember that?" Alfred asked softly, his breath warm against the cold skin of Arthur's neck.
Arthur scoffed quietly. "Of course I do. I'm not senile. You said dragon slayer."
"Well, I've achieved being a dragon slayer, haven't I? I know what I wanna be." He gave a faint smile, and chastely pecked Arthur's skin.
"Really now," he murmured, turning his head a little and looking at Alfred in the dark of the room. That fact that it was dark didn't bother him, he could see perfectly; it was rather the expression that Alfred bore. One of creased brow and anxious eye. "What is it you could possibly want to be now?"
"I want to be by your side," Alfred said, and the cheesiness of the silly statement got to the both of them. "I don't care what it's for: mundane things like cleaning or cooking, hunting game, clearing caverns of monstrous beings. I'd do anything, as long as I could do it by your side."
"You're such a child," Arthur said quietly, surreptitiously bashful. "A child with sweet words." Sweet words indeed, ones that he was hardly deserving of due to his moody and snappish treatment of dear Alfred nowadays. "I suppose if you're to be by my side, that means I am to be by yours."
"Of course." Alfred retorted, pressing his forehead into Arthur's hair, almost sneezing when a strand of hair came close to tickling his nose. "In sun or snow, health or illness, I will love you and be by your side. This illness of yours, now? It doesn't matter to me, mmkay? You're still the same Arthur to me, even if you're pissy of late."
"You are much too good for me, Alfred." He puffed, rolling over to face him and hesitantly peck his lips. "I may go as far to say the best."
"Hardly." Alfred puffed, knocking their foreheads together very gently. "How could I be the best when I have the best right in front of me?"
reason to dislike arthur kirkland #18882: how he acts when he doesn't get what he wants
but really i accidentally wrote this last night and its like 7k and im like oh shit