Whoa! You guys spoil me with reviews! I'm not entirely sure why the last chapter was so funny, but I like that you like it! 1silentmouse, yoailover4lyfe, otakuprincessluna, Lillipnillilip, Zenna95, Anon007, SaraBarns, mofalle, Guest, 91RedRoses, Tsunade-chan, my amazing girlfriend, GreyMoth and Guest!
Mofalle; Woodbyne would just like you to know that she thinks you're awesome.
ALSO: I'm going to be house-sitting for the next two weeks, so I don't know how much posting I'm going to be able to do. But I will do my best!
~RutheLa, over and out~
"Amelia, love, you haven't seen your brother, have you?" Arthur asked from the other end of the table. Absent was the usual chatter and banter that happened whenever the twins occupied the same room, and the bickering whenever they were with their father. Arthur could only assume that Alfred had pulled one of his escapes and would be home in a few days. The High King of Albion was sorely tempted to sigh. His children had always been too much like their parents; too rebellious and cunning with it. His late wife was so much in both of them, in their bright blue eyes, he saw her. Amelia looked so like her.
"Nope," the princess said flippantly, barely glancing at the king. It wasn't like she was going to tell her father that she'd shoved her brother into a dress and pushed him out into the great, wide world with a fond pat on the bum.
Arthur pursed his lips. Or course she'd seen him. She'd probably helped him get out of the palace walls. Amelia had always been very good at sewing, as had Alfred, much though he scoffed at the idea of a man doing needlework. It was a skill passed down from their mother – she'd always had a talent for needles. She'd made the most beautiful tapestry of the family that hung in the king's chambers. Yes, his little girl could make a disguise that would get her brother beyond he safety of their home. The king had mixed feelings about that. It was just that Alfred was so reckless. Who knew what kind of trouble he could be getting into out there?
"Very well, dear," the Englishman sighed, "If you say so."
"Your Royal Majesty, High King Arthur of Albion, on Whose Empire The Sun Never Sets, Lion of The Realm, Conqueror of All He Surveys, and Her Royal Highness, Distaff Inheritor Princess Amelia the Beautiful, Jewel of Albion, Duchess of New England, a thousand apologies from this graceless servant for interrupting the Royal meal, but you're going to want to hear this!" A messenger stumbled into the room, out of breath and red faced.
Sighing, Arthur set down his cutlery, "Speak," he said wearily, motioning at the other to get on with it.
"Your Lord and Ladyship, today while out in the marketplace, I came across two men who weren't from around here-"
"This is hardly news, messenger," Amelia interrupted, "The Empire of Albion stretches across oceans. There are many citizens from far across our lands who do not speak as we do." Arthur frowned at her,
"My Princess, hold your tongue," he cautioned sternly before turning back to the panting messenger, "Continue."
"Gauls," he gasped, "There were Gauls in the marketplace. One wore a hood so that I could not see his face, but the other wore no cape. They were nobles, my Lord. The one, I suspect, was their prince."
Amelia watched her father's fist clench white-knuckled on the table top and his jaw clench in silent fury. Biting her lip, the Princess wondered how Alfred was doing, and hoped that he was keeping well away from their southern neighbour.
~====o)0(o====~
"My liege," Gilbert yelled over the scream of their bikes as they swooped over a rolling green hill, "Are you quite sure that your intended wishes to become a princess?"
"Had you not scared her so, I should have asked," Matthew answered cheerfully, one arm around the waist of the unconscious woman in front of him, and the other on the steering-plate of the hover-bike.
"Tis no fault of mine if your heifer rejects you," the albino said airily, ramping over a hollow log, his bike roaring as he pulled it over onto a shoulder, a log and a large boulder leaning against a tree making it an ideal camping spot.
"Easy with your tongue, Gilbert," Matthew cautioned, "I have yet to see so handsome a woman in all of Gaul as she."
"Handsome indeed!" the best man breezed, rolling his eyes, "She is square of jaw and flat of chest. And how is she to bear the next Prince of Gaul with such slim hips?"
"Of course, t'would be too great an inconvenience to have you accept my choice of bride, would it not?" the prince grumbled, idling beside his vassal as the albino dismounted and began to set up camp.
"Indeed t'would," Gil answered cheerily.
Sighing in frustration, Matt powered down his bike so that it settled slowly in the dust, sliding off the machine, he scooped the unconscious figure up into his arms and made for the camp.
A frown creased Alfred's brow and he made a small noise of protest. He felt safe in an alien way, but he was still very disorientated, and the rocking motion of the other prince's walk was not helping his wooziness.
"There, there, my sweet," the Gaul murmured, laying his intended bride down on a sleeping roll, brushing her hair back with his fingertips, "All's well."
The prince of Albion smiled faintly, still not quite awake. His eyelids fluttered and he blinked owlishly. Once, twice, three times.
"Aah!" he yelled, scrambling backwards, away from the stranger looming over him. The stranger frowned, and from a little ways behind him, he heard someone laugh.
"Seems your bride is not nearly so enamoured with your royal self as you are with her, my prince," Gil chuckled, prompting Matthew to shoot him a poisonous glare.
"Come now, my sweet," the Gaulish prince wheedled quietly, "You have not cause for fear by my hand, nor that of my best man."
"I don't understand a word you just said," Alfred croaked, "But you'd better let me go if you know what's good for you!"
"Your sweet words incite terror, my liege," Gilbert said unhelpfully, "And she speaks with a voice of coarser grain than peasant's bread!"
"Hold your tongue, serf!" Matthew snapped, rather more loudly than he had meant to, but it seemed to do the trick. Both Alfred and Gil fell silent. The prince of Albion for a much shorter time than the albino.
"That's it," he said loudly, completely neglecting to disguise his voice or his stride, or even to try and look demure, "I am out of here. I don't care who you are or what you want with me; I'm going home!" In his frustration he scrubbed at his face so that the rouge was gone and yanked and pulled at the dress until the fabric ripped and fell away. Next was the corset's turn. He had a little more trouble with that, but he managed to find a weak spot between the bones and with an almighty rip, he was free, standing only in the breeches he had insisted in wearing underneath the dress. "You," he jabbed a finger at Matthew and Gilbert, "Are insane. I should have you arrested."
The two Gauls stared at the blond prince as he faced his tanned back to them and began storming away back the way they had come.
Gilbert was the first to speak.
"As loath as I am, sire, to remind you of my warning, I did tell you that she had the look of a man in a dress," he sputtered, trying to calm the laughter that threatened to have him rolling around on the grass.
"She makes no less handsome a man as he did a woman," Matthew said slowly, as though he were thinking very carefully about something, "Indeed more handsome by far," he added quietly, eyes lingering on the line of Alfred's thighs and the slope of his shoulders and the way the sunlight made is golden skin and hair glow.
"Your Highness," red eyes widened, "I implore you, turn back, find a Gaulish bride. Think of your kingdom."
"I am. Would he not make a fine consort to a king? Is he not fair, exotic and proud? He would make a fine consort, I should think. Beside, father shan't mind. Many a male lover has graced his arm since mother died," the prince shrugged.
"But none has he wed!" Gilbert protested. It was true that King Francis had had his share of men to bed in the fourteen years since his queen had passed, but he had never remarried.
"My mind is set," the blond gave a careless smile and swung a leg over his bike, starting it up and kicking up a storm-cloud of dust as he sped off after the half-naked man.
"There are few men on this earth tasked with a quest as unpleasant as this," Gil groaned, flopping back and waiting for the pair to return – whether one of them would come willingly or not was the question.
~====o)0(o====~
It didn't take very long for the Gaul to catch up to his intended, fishtailing his bike across the dirt road to block his path.
"Good God," Alfred groaned moodily, "Are you stupid or just persistent?" A dark scowl clouded his features as he glowered at his pursuer.
"My, you of Albion have a manner of speech most queer," Matthew laughed, reaching out a hand for the other to take. The blue-eyed man crossed his arms over his head and looked away.
"Leave me alone, or do you think you're going to kidnap me?" Alfred asked snippily.
"I am Matthew," the Gaul said slowly, tripping a little over the anglicised pronunciation, his hand still outstretched as though to shake.
Warily, the previously-skirted man looked up at the man on the bike – who didn't appear to be going away despite his best attempts to ignore him – "I'm Alfred; Alfred K- Alfred F Jones," he quickly amended, if this was a kidnapping attempt, it wouldn't do to let them know he was royalty, "A merchant's son."
"What need has a merchant's son for a skirt?" Matthew asked, completely confused, and when he received only a questioning look for his inquiry, he tried again , "Why were you in a dress?"
"I lost a bet," Al glowered again. There were worse questions he could have answered, he supposed.
"Very well," Matt said simply, satisfied with that answer, "Alfred," Stupid Gaul saying his name in that stupid accent, the 'merchant's son' groused to himself, "I would like for you to marry me."
Had something been lost in translation? Very, very lost, "Excuse me?" Al asked incredulously, "You want me to marry you?"
"Yes," Matthew answered simply, a quiet smile on his lips, and Alfred had to admit that he wasn't bad looking. But still! He wasn't going to marry someone who had just kidnapped him!
"No!" the golden-blond frowned, "Absolutely not! I refuse!"
The Gaul's smile faltered and he sighed, "I had so hoped that you would not answer thus."
"Wait, what-? Hey!" Alfred's confusion was cut short as Matthew grabbed his arm and hoisted him up onto the bike, one arm vice-like around the wiggling prince's waist as he gunned the engine and sped back down the road. The velocity of the bike was beginning to make the blue-eyed man feel sick, "You can't do this!" he protested, head swimming.
"I may do as I wish; I am a prince," Matthew whispered in his ear, just audible over the roar of the bike. They were pressed close together, the Gaul's chest flush against Alfred's back and his chin on the Albionic prince's shoulder.
"Oh," Alfred said, "Shit."