Author's Notes
See how much I sacrifice for you gaiz? I took some time at the office to post this for ya (and got good at being sneaky about it xD). Here. Enjoy (:
Once more, let me thank all the beautiful reviewers I love so much. Huge thanks to ZhangArronXun, WRITING IS TIRESOME YEAH, Canada Cowboy, bobness, Rainstorm-Mosspath, Symphonyk, BadApple123, phuongly, Nanami Of Falling Snow, SamuraiSal1, Ember Hinote and mlpnkobnhjui for their amazing comments and constructive criticism. Couldn't do it without you, all (:
Also, guys, if you want to know when a new chapter is out, please alert the story and/or me, because I don't do individual PM-ing. If I did that for everyone that has already asked me to do it, I'd never finish, and I really don't have time to do much nowadays o_o
Nonetheless, here you go! The long-awaited moment, the mysterious... 'tomorrow' that everyone's been so excited about ;) Well then... enjoy!
Warnings: Blood, violence, minor character death, swearing.
Contrarily to what he prescribed to Alfred that afternoon, Arthur did not go to sleep that night. After dark, he signalled all the castle guards to be on high alert, and gave the Ace a few changes to make on the night patrols in the district. The entire castle seemed to have gone up a notch in security. The last part of the puzzle piece was him.
After having given his orders, he headed up to the King's quarters. His chambers were not far from the King's, so he made quick work of changing into something lighter than his royal garments and then made his way to his father's chambers.
Creeping in, he made sure that the window was locked and covered, that the balcony doors were bolted shut, and that his father was fast asleep. He then slipped right back out, locking the door to his quarters and slipping the key around his neck. Then, mentally preparing himself for a long night, Arthur sat down by the door and tried not to fall asleep.
It was quite the challenge. The past few days had exhausted him both mentally and physically, and after the first few hours of alternating between sitting down and pacing aimlessly, Arthur started to feel his sleep deprivation catching up. He yawned and stretched, feeling the heaviness of his burning eyes, but unwilling to give in to sleep. He had a duty as Queen to remain on guard that night. Destiny was being set into play.
He leaned against the wall a moment, closing his eyes and letting momentary relief flood through his body. His limbs immediately went heavy and his mind darkened. If it weren't for the sudden noises of the night that snapped him out of his trance, Arthur would surely have fallen asleep.
Stumbling a bit as he waited for the blurriness of his vision to clear, Arthur tried to sharpen his hearing to catch any kind of sound that seemed unnatural to the environment of a night time palace hallway. Though, try as he might, he still could not hear a single peep.
The wind ruffled the leaves on the white-blossom trees outside.
And suddenly, something broke through the glass of the big windows lining the hallway.
Arthur immediately jumped into high alert, pulling out his sword and trying to calm his beating heart. He only took a moment to assess the number of people that had poured in from the newly-made entrance, and then jumped before they had time to react.
His first hit was a punch that one of the four attackers narrowly avoided. The men immediately assumed their battle stances as well, and Arthur slid back to take another running jump at them.
This time, he attacked with a sword, bringing it down upon his enemy's head. The man he attacked pulled out a dagger at the last second and blocked, and although Arthur put all his strength behind the swing, he still couldn't make the other budge.
At an obvious disadvantage of number, Arthur crouched low and swung his leg, forcing the man to jump over it. As he jumped, though, the Queen stood back up and took him by the shoulder, locking his leg behind the other's knee and making him buckle.
They both went toppling to the ground, Arthur landing in quite the unrefined fashion on the attacker.
Spending no time dawdling, he got right back up and put his sword up threateningly, as if daring for the other three to advance. They all pulled out their own blades, and for a moment, nobody moved, everybody looking at the others for any signs of brusque movement.
And suddenly, the three remaining attackers moved, all coming at Arthur at the same time. Arthur jumped back at the first swing and clashed his blade against the other's, but then had to sidestep again as another sword grazed his cheek. He immediately swung his blade at the other, satisfied when he drew blood and heard the taller one's stifled cry of pain, and stepped back to allow the third attacker to fall straight at his comrade. The two clashed blades confusedly, and Arthur's couldn't help but chuckle.
He jumped back in, parrying at attack and lunging when the second man avoided his parry. They clashed again, one trying to overpower the other as they pushed on their blades. Arthur found himself losing after a bit, and wasn't surprised, considering his general lack of muscle. He drew back and only had a split second to react as he heard whistling from behind him.
He spun around and clumsily fell back as a blade that would have cut him in half ripped through his clothes and drew blood across his chest. He held his breath and bit his lip so he didn't cry in pain, and immediately ducked to avoid another swing. His chest was burning, and he hoped somebody had heard the sounds of struggle and had sent for help. Even he knew he couldn't do this alone.
He sprang up and tried to cut one of the three across the thighs, making a disappointed 'tch' noise when his target jumped backwards to avoid his swing. What disheartened him the most, though, was that he hadn't been able to hold his own for a while, despite the fact that his assailants were obviously well-trained assassins. He'd been training for half a year, even a bit more, so he was somewhat disappointed that his hard work had not paid off as much as he wanted it to.
He got back up and swung his sword at one of them, following him as he jumped back, and going into a hasty block when the other counterattacked. He was quickly going numb and his strength was leaving him. He knew that the end to the battle was coming very soon. He just hoped it was in his favour.
He broke away from the blade lock and ducked at the following swing, but just as he got up, the third one, that had circled him from the back, lunged, forcing him to step backwards.
Arthur all but threw himself against the hilt of the sword that had been held out behind him.
His head rang out and he cried as he hit the back of his skull against it. His nerves, already on overdrive because of the cut on his chest, immediately bristled, causing a fresh wave of pain and nausea to take him over. All matter of coordination lost him for a second, and Arthur had hit the ground before he even knew it.
Gasping, he tried to push himself up, but he realized he was shaking. His vision was blurry, and his limbs, weak. His sword had fallen a few feet from him, and his eyes immediately went there, knowing he had to pick it up and fight again.
He hadn't crawled a single step forward when a foot came down on his back, slamming him onto the ground and making him black out for just a moment. A moment was more than enough. When he opened his eyes and blinked to clear his spinning vision, he was lying on his back, hands outstretched.
"Fuck." He swore under his breath, struggling weakly as his aggressor stepped on his ribcage, aggravating the wound already there and making Arthur choke in pain.
"Well, well, well. Look here, the Queen of Spades is under our grasp." The one stepping on his jeered, making the other one laugh as he awakened his knocked-out companion.
"Bastard..." the latter muttered as he awoke to the scent of smelling salts.
"Quite. Now. What do we do with the Queen of Spades? This wasn't specified in our contract." the assassin stepped harder on Arthur when he started moving too much, effectively subduing him as he tried curling up to ease the pain.
"Make it quick. It wasn't mentioned, but we must complete our mission quickly, so let us not dawdle." The one who was obviously the leader bent down and snapped the key to the King's chambers right off of Arthur's neck, making the latter struggle harder.
"Well, we can't have him interfering, can we?" the man shrugged, bending down to pick up Arthur's sword. The Queen's struggling resumed tenfold at the sight of a weapon, and he desperately tried to pry the foot off of him.
The gesture was countered, though, when the other assassin came over and stepped on his right wrist, effectively pinning his arm down. Heart beating madly, Arthur looked confusedly from his hand to the men above, before his eyes widened in realization and everything clicked together in his head.
He tried closing his hand into a fist, but the one stepping on his wrist bend down and pried his fingers open, leaving his palm out flat against the ground. The one towering above him slowly brought his very own silver sword over and positioned it right above his open palm.
Arthur's struggling became almost demented, and that's when his heart started hammering against his ribs.
"No, no, no, no, no..." he whispered weakly, almost begging as he saw the moonlight glint off his silver sword, hovering over his palm. "No, no, no, no, no-" and he watched helplessly as the man impaled his hand and pinned him to the ground.
Arthur screamed.
The men were off of him and swarming into the King's chambers within seconds, but Arthur could not bring himself to care. His head, his chest, his legs hurt, but most of all, the adrenaline pumping through his veins was failing to suppress the utter agony he felt because of his hand.
He instinctively curled up, every movement like another needle shoved under his fingernails, and at that moment, he knew that people, if not the entire castle, had heard him. That didn't change the fact that he was agonizing, watching his blood seep into the rich blue carpet and his very own weapon, tainted with his own blood, glint in the innocent moonlight.
The sight of his impaled hand sent another wave of cries pouring out of his mouth, and he faintly noted that he was crying. And he stopped caring for a while there, imprisoned in his own bubble of pain and fear. He didn't respond, even when the assassins slipped out of his father's room and out the way they came in without a second glance at Arthur, who was left crying and whimpering weakly on the ground until help arrived.
Three stories down, something pulsed weakly inside of Alfred, making him shoot up awake with a gasp.
He slowly put a hand to his heart, and tried to catch his breath, wondering what has just happened. He hadn't had a nightmare, so he couldn't imagine what it was that had made him wake up so brusquely.
He couldn't fathom why his heart was hurting so much.
He tried to find a reason, but he couldn't. So, with an instinctive look in the general direction of the door that Arthur would come through when he visited him, Alfred put his head back down on the straw and willed himself back to sleep.
To his dismay, Arthur did not visit him when he woke, nor during what he figured was lunch time, nor during the afternoon. His stomach was grumbling uncomfortably, and Alfred wondered if he'd done something to upset Arthur again, like last time.
Left to his wonderings, he almost didn't notice when the door to the dungeons swung open, the squeaking of the rusty hinges never having been so comforting to his ears.
"Arthur!" he cried enthusiastically, ready to yell about how much he'd missed him, when he realized that the newcomer was not Arthur.
Instead, it was a long, black haired woman.
"Alfred F Jones, I will now let you out, aru."
Scratch that, the newcomer was a man.
"Please follow me quickly, for we do not have time for idle chitchat." The man then picked up a set of keys and promptly unlocked the cell door, walking in and bending down to unlock the shackle Alfred presented to him as well.
"Thanks, man." Alfred sighed as the weight was lifted off his ankle. He rubbed it where the metal had chafed his skin, but didn't have time to nurse it completely before the black-haired man had pulled him up by the arm.
"Quickly, now." He pressed, dragging Alfred out as he stumbled, legs numb from disuse.
"Okay, I'm not really complaining, but who are you? And where's Arthur?" Alfred whined as he was led up the stairs and out the dungeon doors. For a moment, he closed his eyes, unaccustomed to the bright light, before he was pulled forward again.
"My name is Yao Wang, and I am the Jack of Spades." The man introduced himself without looking at him. "And we are going to see Arthur right now."
"Yey!" Alfred cheered as he was pushed into what looked like a small bathroom.
"We do not have time to give you a proper bath, but please clean yourself up as much as you can until I bring back some fresh clothes for you." Yao told him as he stepped back. "The towels are over there. Don't move." And he stepped out. A second later, there was the sound of a door locking.
"I can't exactly go anywhere if you lock the door." Alfred raised a brow, but figured he may as well get clean. It had been about a week since he'd gotten into that hellhole. A bath would have been most welcome, but the best he could do right now was wipe himself off. He just hoped he would be allowed a bath soon.
He stripped himself of his clothes, dumping them in a corner, and fiddled with the knobs on the wall, amazed when water came out, the temperature regulated by the knobs. He had fun with them for a bit before he remembered the urgency with which Yao had brought him there. He figured he could ask to play with the knobs once more after all this was over.
He scrubbed the grime off his face first, then his hands, arms, and bare feet, marveling at the amount of dirt that came off, leaving in its wake smooth, sun-tanned skin. He then passed a wet hand through his hair, wincing at how greasy it felt. He then grabbed a towel and wetted it, running it across his body quickly before grabbing another one that he dried himself with.
When Yao came in, he hurriedly tied the towel across his waist and waited for further instructions. The latter regarded him critically, eyeing him up and down before sighing.
"I suppose this'll do for now." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Now quickly, wear these." He handed him some navy blue clothing, standing back and crossing his arms.
"Here? And now?" Alfred blushed, fidgeting as he looked around. No curtains in the room.
"There isn't anything I haven't seen, boy, so just get changed already, aru!" the man ordered again, obviously nervous.
"If you say so..." Alfred hesitated another second before turning around and dropping his towel. He got changed quicker than he ever had, the blush on his cheeks contrasting brightly with the deep blue of the sweater vest he wore over his lighter blue button-up. He struggled a bit longer with the pants as they were tailored to fit snugly, and gazed in wonder at the shoelaces on the white shoes Yao handed him.
With a hopeless sigh, the Jack got on his knees in front of Alfred and tied his shoelaces quickly and with precision, making Alfred wonder if he was willing to teach him the proper way of tying shoelaces. Having worn sandals all his life, shoelaces were quite intriguing to him. He suddenly felt like quite the idiot, and his mood dampened.
"Quit moping. If you're ready, we should go." Yao motioned him over to the door, and Alfred, too curious for his own good, only followed in silence.
Yao led him through the sinewy hallways of the castle, and by the fast pace he had adopted, Alfred barely had time to marvel at the richly decorated halls and servants scurrying about. One thing he noticed, though, was how everybody wore black. He only briefly had time to wonder why that was before he was pulled outside, under a shielded wooden patio.
Alfred's eyes widened as he took in the garden waiting before him. The beauty of the many different coloured plants, flowers and trees was indescribable. When it didn't rain, Alfred was sure that the garden would be even prettier.
"Hurry along now." Yao rushed him, picking up and umbrella from the doorway and ushering Alfred out into the rain, holding the umbrella for him.
"Y-You know, I can hold that umbrella... You're not even getting any of it..." Alfred muttered awkwardly as Yao led him into the rain, apparently not minding the droplets soaking his clothes.
"Less talk, more walk, aru." The Jack simply replied, putting Alfred's nerves even more on edge. What was going on here? Why wasn't anybody telling him anything? And where was Arthur? He was the only one he remotely knew in this strange environment, so where was his safety net?
Slowly, the flowers became less abundant, and the grass started taking over. The trees became scarce, and somehow, the rain felt heavier as it thudded on the umbrella. Alfred felt apprehension rising in him. Apprehension turned to fear as they turned a corner, and a slab of elegantly carved stone stuck in the ground appeared in Alfred's vision field.
Many more followed, one shrine more grandiose than the other. Alfred shivered as Yao navigated past the grave stones, never having liked graveyards. Although he wasn't afraid of ghosts, of course. Hah. Heroes didn't get scared of ghosts. Not at all.
He was too busy noting the sudden change of environment to realize that there was a group of people at the end of the graveyard. Only when voices floated into his ears, through the pouring rain, did he realize they had gotten to their destination.
He looked at the massed people, noting how he didn't know any of them. They all looked the same, dressed in black from head to toe and the ladies wearing black veils over their heads. A couple of them were crying, and the men sternly regarded the gravestone in front of them. There was the High Priest of Spades, dressed in official ceremonial robes, at the head of the tombstone, and the gravediggers flanked him, shovels at ready.
And then, in the front, to Alfred's immense relief, stood Arthur, on his knees in front of the deep hole, head bowed. Unlike many of the people there, he didn't have an umbrella, and the rain plastered his clothes over his thin frame. A gust of wind blew, and for a moment, his wet hair flew out of his face, giving Alfred a clear view of both his monstrous eyebrows and his dulled green eyes.
"And may the gods above grant His Majesty eternal sleep, free from the obligations of the mortal world, his spirit to watch over us as his body rests in peace, fin." The High Priest recited, closing his book and bowing his head. The attendees all bowed their heads as well, murmuring the word 'fin' between their ranks.
Arthur was the first to notice them. Though his gaze was dull, detached, he got up and threw them a look from the corner of his eye.
The grave diggers immediately set to work, piling in the clumps of muddy soil that hit the ebony casket at the bottom with wet splatters. Everybody observed their work for a moment before the Jack of Spades cleared his throat to get everybody's undivided attention.
It worked to perfection, especially when the mass of people noticed Alfred, standing there, shielded from the rain by the Jack himself, looking entirely misplaced and awkward. Mumbles went out in the crowd, whispering and not-so-subtle motioning following soon after.
"Friends." Yao called, voice loud over the rain. "Let us remember that after sorrow, there is always hope that dawns anew, aru." He let them digest this for a moment, watching as all eyes ran over Alfred. "Now, let us kneel in the name of the King of Spades." His voice was imposing, and Alfred shivered, finally realizing why this man had become Jack of Spades.
Slowly, one by one, the people dressed in black got down on their knees, even the women, obviously not reluctant to get themselves dirty in the mud. What confused Alfred, though, was that they were bowing in their direction instead of that of what he realized was the King of Spades' grave. When kneeling to the King, shouldn't they face him?
His eyes immediately turned to Arthur's for comfort, and their gazes met for a moment- one confused, the other, lost. Frustration coursed anew within Alfred because Arthur was not answering his unsaid question at all.
Suddenly, Arthur, too, gave him a last look, and then got on his knee, head bowed.
And at that moment, Alfred realized that they weren't bowing to the King in the grave, but to the King standing in front of them.
They were bowing to him.
Author's Notes
Yeah, that was way too predictable. I like how I ended this chapter, though :D Also, forgive me, but fight scene aren't my forte xD And yes, I know Yao was a bit on-edge, but that's to be expected, I mean, the King was assassinated, the Queen was badly hurt, and an immature, confused-looking commoner is going to take the Throne now. Wouldn't you be nervous and frustrated as well? xD (Okay, maybe not.)
And yep. That's that, guys. Wow. I really don't have much to say, eh? Surprising. In that case, I shall return to the real world now. My lunch break awaits :3 I'll just leave you guys to read and pleaseeeeee review :3
