Alfred didn't see the Fey again for almost a year. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone, and with it went another year of being free from marital life. His worries about finding the love of his life, his One True Love, in less than two years and then marrying her before he turned twenty were much more pressing than a ridiculous insult from a creature he never intended to see again. He searched throughout the Spades Kingdom, from the daughters of the highest of nobles to the farmgirls of the poorest villages. He even tested out theories that Matthew so helpfully offered him, things such as fitting feet into glass slippers and pricking fingers with needles, but none of those did anything but make the girls look at him like he was insane, and he started to question his brother's intentions. His parents did all they could to help, throwing extravagant galas to coax in ladies from the other Kingdoms, arranging masquerade balls to see if love really was blind after all. None of it was working, but his parents refused to give up.

And of course, as mentioned before, the world enjoyed spinning as it liked with no regard to anyone on top of it, and so Alfred found himself sitting on his throne at yet another masquerade ball, courtesy of the Queen. He sighed and shifted slightly on top of the pillow, staring down at all the people dancing and drinking and having fun as if they had no idea what he was currently going through. They didn't, obviously, and he knew it, but their happiness was irritating to him as he tried to think up a solution to his dilemma.

He could marry a girl he didn't love, pick one at random from all the gathered partygoers and announce an engagement. It would make the most sense, seeing as that was exactly what would happen if he didn't find his bride before his twentieth birthday, yet he couldn't accept it. Prince Alfred was well known for being a free spirit and more than a little romantic when it came down to ideas of love. Being tied down to a woman he didn't love for the rest of his life… He honestly did not think he could bear it, and he would have hated to betray his Queen if he fell in love with someone else. So that was out of the question, at least for the moment.

But that only left two more options, and neither of them seemed very promising to Alfred, either. One would have been to give up his claim to the throne and allow Matthew to take it, thus freeing Alfred up to go live his life however he wanted. In some aspects, it sounded very nice indeed, but Alfred had been raised to be King, it was his birthright, and he was not about to give that up so easily. The last option, though… The only remaining course of action would be to wait, and to hope that his One True Love would just magically appear in front of him in time for the deadline. That plan was just as ridiculous as it sounded.

Alfred sighed and shifted again, reaching up to toy with the mask that covered the top half of his face and hid absolutely nothing about who he was, and would likely have settled back into his miserable cycle of depression had his mother's voice not cut through his thoughts. "Alfred, darling!" she called, waving at him from where she stood arm-in-arm with his father in the middle of the crowd. "Why don't you come down and join us? I'm sure there are a few young ladies here who would love to dance with you." Several women tittered lightly behind their masks and fans.

Groaning lightly to himself, Alfred heaved himself to his feet and began to make his way down the steps onto the ballroom floor. "I've already dance with all of them before," he muttered under his breath. It was true- he could recognize almost every single female in the room, even the married ones. The possibility of becoming a Queen, and of the Spades Kingdom at that, was enticing enough of a prize for almost anyone to attempt to win his favor.

He was just beginning to steel his nerve for the inevitable chatter and awkward dancing when someone ran into him. He stumbled sideways, caught off guard. "Sorry," an oddly familiar, male voice murmured. "Terribly sorry-" And then it cut off with a sharp intake of breath, and Alfred looked over at the man who had almost knocked him over. His face was partially covered by a leafy mask, but something about the shape of his lips, the messiness of his hair, those striking green eyes-

"You!" Alfred said accusingly. He drew himself to his full height, which was honestly quite impressive, and glowered down at the man he now recognized as that impertinent Fey from a year earlier. "What are you doing here? You know you're not supposed to come out of your forest, I told you that before."

"Yes, yes," the Fey snapped. The shock from having literally bumped into Alfred had obviously fled. "Are you going to kill me this time, then? Right here, in front of all these people?"

Alfred sneered at him. "I'm not stupid." Before the Fey could react, he lunged forward and caught hold of one of his wrists. "Now unless you want to cause a scene and get yourself killed by someone else, you shut up and follow me." The Fey glared at him but said nothing, and Alfred started to move around the outer edge of the ballroom towards the open doors on the far side. The air was cool that night, so he doubted there would be many people out to disturb them in the gardens.

"Alfred," the Queen called after his retreating back, "where are you going? You'll disappoint all of our guests!" There was a note of displeasure in her voice, one that the whole family knew all too well.

Alfred winced. He knew he would pay for this later on. But there was a Fey in their midst, and maybe, once he had figured out exactly what to do about it, he would not be punished at all when his parents realized what a hero he had been. Yes, that would have to happen. "Sorry, mother," he yelled over his shoulder, waving slightly with his free hand. "I just need to take care of something. I'll be right back!"

"Take care of something?" The Fey snorted quietly as he was practically dragged over to the doors. "I'm not some sort of dog."

"Maybe not physically," Alfred snapped back, "but I bet you can bark like one." He quickened his pace, pulling the Fey out through the doors and onto the wide stone balcony that overlooked the gardens. Behind him, he felt the Fey's steps falter slightly, but he didn't pay any attention to it, other than to tug him forward a little more forcefully. He led them over to one of the dual staircases that wound down to the gardens and strode down the steps without slowing, ignoring the Fey's furious commands that he do so. If the man stumbled or fell, that would be his fault, and nothing that would concern Alfred.

It wasn't until they were deep into the maze of pathways that wove through the flowerbeds and arbors that Alfred finally stopped, pulling Arthur into the sunset shadows cast by the large willow tree that overhung a small pond. He vaguely remembered his mother once telling him about how the peaceful location was a favorite meeting place for passionate, forbidden lovers, but that had nothing to do with the situation at hand and so he pushed the thought away, instead scowling down at the Fey in front of him. He made sure not to release the man's hand. No one would get the best of him this time around. The Fey glared right back up at him- Alfred was pleased to note that he was the taller of the two.

Once their silent glowering had gone on for two or three minutes, the Fey sighed impatiently and rolled his eyes. "Alright, what is it you want? I don't think you're going to kill me, seeing as you've already had several chances and haven't actually done it yet, but I can't seem to think of what else you would want from me. I can't grant wishes or any foolishness like that, you know."

"I know that," Alfred told him, even though he hadn't at all. Some of the old stories had mentioned wishes, but unless the Fey was lying to his face, and somehow he didn't think that was the case right then, the writers of those stories must have been mistaken. It was really too bad. He could have used a wish to summon up his One True Love and get everything settled. There was no use dwelling on it, not when he had other more important matters to deal with. "Why did you come back?" he demanded of the Fey before him. "I told you last time-"

"You told me to stay away, yes, yes, I know," the Fey cut him off, his thick brows drawn together tightly. "But why would I listen to you? You're simply a brat who doesn't understand how the world works yet."

Alfred just gaped at him. No one had ever dared to call him a brat- even his parents had only done it once or twice, and the teasing had been obvious in their voices. Yet this Fey, this stranger, who knew absolutely nothing bout him, was trying to judge him as such a horrible person. Alfred was honestly lost for words. He just couldn't understand it. Nearly everyone he'd met over the course of his life had told him how pleased they were by just how personable and friendly and kind a prince he was, which was seemingly rare amongst royalty. But the Fey… Alfred shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "I'm not a brat," was all he could think to say.

"Well, I haven't seen anything to prove myself wrong yet." The Fey was looking at him sort of strangely, though, the tension between his brows lessening as he took in Alfred's expression. Then that was gone, replaced by the irritated expression that the Fey seemed to wear most of the time, and he pulled at the arm Alfred still hadn't released. "Now, are you going to let me go, or do you really intend to just force me to stand here silently as some kind of punishment? It won't work, I can tell you that right now."

That snapped Alfred out of his thoughts. He frowned down at the Fey, then down at the wrist he still held. What was he intending to do, anyway? His plan had not been thought all the way through. While he would have liked nothing more than to get rid of the man right there, he was slowly coming to accept the fact that he wouldn't be able to live with killing someone in cold blood like that, Fey or not, and besides, he wasn't carrying anything sharp enough to do the job well. Something else would have to be done instead.

"Well?" the Fey asked again, a little louder this time, when Alfred still hadn't said anything. "You can't tell me that you don't have a plan. You seemed rather confident in yourself while you were dragging me out here!"

"Shut up," Alfred told him fiercely. He seemed to say that a lot around the Fey. "Of course I have a plan." Now he just had to think of one. But the Fey was watching him expectantly, his eyebrows raised, and so Alfred grasped at the first one that came to mind. "I want you to show me your magic."

The words obviously took both of them by surprise. Of all the things he could have said, Alfred hadn't been expecting that one to come out of his mouth. The Fey was staring at him as if he'd gone completely insane, though, and Alfred wasn't about to look like a fool in front of the man. He steeled his facial expression down into something more stern and sure. "That's right, you heard me. Show me your magic."

The Fey just looked at him a moment longer before shaking his head slowly. "Magic is not something to show off like that. It's a very personal thing. I won't do it for you."

Alfred frowned. That had only made him curious. If the Fey magic was not what the history books said it was, a tool for war and destruction, he really did want to see what it could do. "No, I want you to show it to me right now." He shook the Fey's arm, maybe just a little more gently than before.

"And if I don't?" the Fey asked, stubborn as always.

Though Alfred was tempted to say that he'd kill him right then and there, he knew that the threat held no real power anymore, not after he'd proved time and again that he wouldn't carry through. He chose the next best option. "If you don't, I'll drag you back inside and reveal you to my parents. They'll know how to take care of you." When the Fey looked like he was going to argue, Alfred shook his head. "You might be faster than me, but I know I'm stronger. You can't get away from me that easily."

"How would you know?" the Fey growled, but didn't even bother to try and pull away. Alfred took that as a sign that he'd been right, and watched with some amusement and possibly a bit of consternation as the Fey proceeded to have a very obvious mental debate with himself, expressions flickering and dying on his face before Alfred could get a good understanding of what they meant. Finally, though, the Fey heaved a defeated sigh and glowered up at Alfred. "All right, your most Royal Highness, I'll show you my magic. But!"

But. That was never a good sign. "But what?" Alfred asked suspiciously.

"In order to work my magic," the Fey said, his lips quirking upwards in a sly smile, "I'll need to use both my hands." He wiggled the fingers on the hand that Alfred still held captive. "I'm afraid that you'll have to release me, your Majesty."

Of course. Alfred scowled. "How do I know you won't run away the second I let go?"

"You don't." The Fey cocked his head slightly sideways, staring up at Alfred with wide eyes that almost seemed to glitter in the light of the setting sun behind his mask. "I would say that you have to trust me, but I doubt there's much use in that. It all comes down to whether or not you think it's worth trying to get what you want."

There was a challenge in those words, something that Alfred knew he couldn't back down from. He cursed mentally, then, very slowly, began to release his grip on the Fey's hand. He could see the way the man's body tensed, getting ready to run, but for some reason, he kept letting go until his hand fell, empty, back to his side. And he waited.

Just as Alfred had thought, almost the very second that his hand was free, the Fey turned and fled, his inhuman speed carrying him quickly away into the maze of the gardens. Alfred groaned out his frustration. He had been a fool for even considering it. "I knew it!" he yelled at the Fey's retreating back. "They always said you could never trust a Fey!"

And then, the most bizarre thing happened. The Fey slowed, and stopped, and turned around to stare back at Alfred. From that distance, Alfred couldn't clearly see his face where it wasn't hidden by the leafy mask, but he thought it might have seemed a little confused. He felt more than a little confused himself, so he supposed it was only fair. The Fey hesitated a moment, wavering where he stood, before he started to move again. This time, though, he wasn't running away- no, he was walking right back towards Alfred. The confusion building up inside Alfred grew with every forward step.

Once he was back in a comfortable speaking range, the Fey paused again, glancing down at the carefully maintained grass beneath his feet before looking up into Alfred's face again. "Do they really say that about us?" he asked, voice quiet. "That we can't be trusted at all?"

Alfred shrugged, aware that his mouth was hanging open slightly but unable to close it. "In the books they do. And the old soldiers say it too, sometimes." He paused. "Why? Is it not true?"

"Of course it's not true," the Fey replied, something of the defensive anger from before sparking in his gaze. But then it faded again. "I suppose I never really thought of it that way, though. To think that all Humans assume us to be liars…"

"Well, maybe…" Alfred began hesitantly. "Maybe they just haven't seen anything to prove themselves wrong yet." It was odd, echoing the words that the Fey had spoken earlier, yet they felt almost comfortable as they passed through his lips, as though that was exactly what he was supposed to say right then.

The Fey blinked at him, taken aback, and the sides of his lips twitched upwards. Alfred almost couldn't believe it. The Fey was smiling, smiling without any hint of mockery or malice or a hidden sneer, simply smiling. "I suppose you're right," he said, and his voice sounded considerably better when he wasn't angry or afraid. "I don't know how we would go about fixing that idea, though, not when we're not supposed to come out of our woods."

Alfred nodded slowly. That strange, churning sensation was filling his stomach again, just as it had the last time he had encountered this Fey. This time, though, he was almost sure that he knew what is was. Guilt may still have been something new to him, but he recognized it now, and he knew he needed to get rid of it before it got worse. "You don't need to show me your magic," he muttered, looking towards the old willow tree instead of the Fey's eyes. "Not if you don't want to. I didn't know it was that private." He glanced quickly over at the Fey, half expecting him to run off again.

"Oh." The Fey was staring at him again, his eyes wide and confused, and Alfred had to admit that he took a little pride in being the one to make a man who seemed so sure of everything act so uncertain. "I, well…" He sighed lightly. "It is a very personal thing, yes, but… If you really want to see my magic, I suppose it would be alright if I showed you."

"Are you sure?" Alfred blurted. "I mean, I do want to see it, but if it's that personal, shouldn't you save it for someone special?" Someone like your One True Love, he added in his head.

Chuckling lightly- and that was another sound Alfred had never thought he would hear- the Fey shook his head. "It's not that personal." He moved forward, hesitating slightly as he came within arm's reach of Alfred, as if he expected Alfred to lash out and grab at him again. Another tendril of guilt wound up inside Alfred, but it quickly disappeared as the Fey squared his shoulders and kept moving, passing by Alfred to make his way to the thick bed of Spade blue roses that grew along the edge of the small clearing. He looked back over his shoulder and met Alfred's eyes. "Don't you want to see?"

"Yes, right!" Alfred strode forward, unable to ignore the slight embarrassed flush that burned across his cheeks. How idiotic he must have looked, standing over there and staring like a fool. He came to a stop beside the Fey and turned his gaze down to the bushes, and to the nearest rose to the two of them, a large, gorgeous blue blossom. "So, your magic has something to do with flowers?"

"Not just flowers, no," the Fey replied, reaching out to touch the same bloom that Alfred was staring at. "This is my own talent. Each one of us has one thing in particular in which we're very good." He paused for a moment, and Alfred looked up to see him biting his lip. There just might have been a bright red glow shining out from his cheeks beneath the mask. "I'm, well, not the best at using magic yet. It's more difficult than you Humans seem to think."

Alfred did not comment on that, his attention too focused on the Fey's hand and the rose and the faint, almost invisible glow that began to surround them both. Beside him, the Fey drew in a deep breath and held it, and Alfred watched, wide-eyed, as the flower shuddered and began to grow. The petals grew up and out, curling into loose spirals. The stem wound itself around the Fey's hand, its thorns retracting into smoothness. Every part shifted, changed, and for half a breathless moment, Alfred thought he saw brilliant blue dragon take form.

Then it all collapsed. The Fey let out a strangled gasp, and the flower contorted in his hand, twisting and shifting, the thorns reemerging to dig into his pale skin. The petals uncoiled and shriveled and the stem writhed in the Fey's palm as it blackened and died. Only once the whole bloom was withered husk did the Fey let it drop back into the bush, where it settled amongst the other, healthy stalks. He cradled his hand back against his body.

Silence reigned for a long while, in which Alfred looked between the dead rose and the Fey's bleeding palm. He finally let out a weak chuckle. "That last part wasn't supposed to happen, right?"

"What do you think?" Earlier, the question might have been fierce and angry, but now, the Fey's voice was simply tired. He stared down at the small holes that the thorns had cut into his hand, then reached up and wearily undid the ties that held his mask in place, allowing it to fall down onto the ground. He didn't pick it up. "Magic is a difficult thing, especially our kind." Sighing heavily, he turned to look up at Alfred. "If there's nothing else you want, your Majesty, I think I would like to go home."

"Oh." Alfred stepped away from him, looking the Fey over from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the newly exposed thick brows and lightly freckled cheeks, though his gaze kept flickering over to the dead rose. He knew what he should do, what would be expected of him, and that was to bring the Fey back inside and turn him over to his parents and the soldiers. Only a little while earlier, he would have done it gladly. But now, things were different. Now, he was not sure if he would be able to sentence the Fey like that without being drowned in his own guilt, because no matter how badly that magic demonstration had ended, the Fey had still shown it to him, even though Alfred hadn't forced him.

The Fey was still looking at him with those tired eyes, waiting for an answer. Alfred fumbled through his thoughts. The right answer was in there, and he was almost sure he knew what it was, but what if he was wrong? What if it turned out badly? He glanced up at the Fey again, meeting that weary stare, and he knew what he had to say. He sighed. "Go home. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"Thank you," the Fey said after a moment, and he smiled again, just a tiny, awkward quirk of his lips, before turning and beginning to walk away, out deeper into the gardens.

But before he could get too far, something leaped into Alfred's mind and he took a step forward, one arm outstreched. "Wait!" The Fey flinched at his call and looked back over his shoulder. Alfred smiled sheepishly. "Can I at least know your name?"

"My name?" the Fey asked curiously, as if that was the strangest question he'd ever heard. Alfred supposed that in some ways it was- who would have expected a Human to ask for the name of a Fey? He almost expected the Fey to shake his head and keep on walking, but instead those thin lips opened and formed a few simple words. "Arthur. My name is Arthur."

"Arthur," Alfred repeated. The name seemed to fit. His smile, though still awkward, grew in strength. "I'm Alfred."

"Alfred." The Fey- no, Arthur smiled in return, just a little thing. "No more your Royal Highness, then, I suppose. Goodbye, Alfred." Without another word, he continued to walk away, and was soon lost in the maze of flowerbeds and trees.

Alfred stared into the empty air for several long minutes after Arthur had vanished. "Arthur," he said again, voice barely more than a whisper. It sounded so much like a Human name. He'd read the wild, multisyllabic names of Fey generals and warriors in his history books, but now that a simple Arthur was resounding around in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe they had gotten them wrong. As he thought, his gaze strayed down to the ground by his feet and found the mask that Arthur had left behind. He knelt to pick it up, running his fingers over the leafy pattern and marvelling at the delicacy. None of the leathersmiths he knew would have been able to create such a beautiful thing.

Still deep in his own thoughts, Alfred reached up to remove his own mask, allowing the blue and silver leather to fall away, and replaced it with Arthur's green and gold one. It didn't quite fit. He chuckled at the way it pressed against his nose and didn't quite match up to his eyes, and removed it again, but didn't throw it aside. Instead, he tucked it into one of the fold-like pockets inside his cloak. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted to keep it.

Sliding his own mask back into place, Alfred drew in a deep breath and began his walk back towards the castle. His mother would be inside, impatient and annoyed, and she would be expecting some kind of answers about what he had been doing, answers which he didn't have. He couldn't just tell her that he'd left the ball to speak with a Fey, after all.

Oddly enough, however, he found that he wasn't worried. There was a small warmth settled snuggly in his chest, one that he was certain hadn't been there earlier. But no matter what had caused it, it gave him that extra courage to face up to anything that came his way, even the wrath of the Queen.

A/N- Second chapter! I hope it doesn't feel too rushed? I can't spend the whole story with them doing nothing but bitching at each other, after all, so now they can just be awkward.

This is a scene which was actually requested in the prompt, a meeting between Alfred and Arthur during a ball. I didn't make it their first meeting, but I thought it could count because it is Very Important. Was fun to write, too.

Oh, and as for the question I received in a review about the causes of the Great War, you're right. It was very much racism and intolerance from both sides. I'm trying to show that through Al and Arthur, as in, they're the generation that heard all the stories and have had that racism passed down to them, but at the same time, have never really participated and so can change more easily. If that makes sense at all.

The title of this fic, by the way, is a reference to the Reconstruction, aka the period after the American Civil War in which the country rebuilt itself. I thought it made sense, at least?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Future updates should be about this quick as well.