III: Princess Lessons
"Do you understand the principles now?" Yao inquired coldly as he narrowed his dark eyes at Lovino. Beside him, Kiku sighed, sympathising with the consort to-be, but maintained his professional posture. At the same time, the Italian rolled his eyes at the Scribe. Honestly, the elder was simply underestimating him at this point.
"It's just serving tea, right? I do that all the damn time with Arthur and Angelique," Lovino remarked dryly as he dropped Arthur's trademark three sugar cubes and a dash of milk into the steaming beverage that was presented to him. He stirred the liquid until all of the sugar had dissolved and all of the milk had blended into the tea, only to earn Yao's scorn. Upon hearing the displeased "Aiya!" Lovino raised his head and arched an eyebrow at the Chinese man. "What the hell is your problem? I'm doing it right, aren't I?" Lovino left the teaspoon as it was within the cup as he glared at Yao indignantly. "You're so picky, old bastard!"
Yao's eyebrow twitched at the mention of his old age. Nevertheless, he instructed Lovino diligently, "This isn't some silly tea party you play with children! Actually, I take that back! Children might know more than you do! When you stir, try to make as little noise as possible! Also, don't leave the spoon inside the cup! That's bad manners!"
"What the hell does it matter?" Lovino grumbled under his breath. "You're all old farts anyway. Why do you damn daemons have to impress each other if you already know that other person? You don't keep up formalities with the other people in the Council because you've known each other for a thousand years already."
Before Yao could explode at this insolent consort to-be, Kiku took to answering Lovino's questions, leaving the Chinese familiar to fume silently by himself. "Even if you are familiar with the guests, Lovino-sama, it is only polite to become familiar with customs as well," the Japanese fox spirit explained shortly. "You don't wish to embarrass His Majesty, do you? King Arthur has plenty of experience with dining etiquette and party manners from years of being a member of the aristocracy. It would be a shame to see his consort unable to converse properly with a Lord or Lady. That could potentially be subject to mockery; you understand that, correct, Lovino-sama?"
Lovino's cheeks took to flushing with embarrassment, but he did not respond to Kiku's ruse. He knew that the fox spirit was correct. The Japanese spirit also wished him well in—what the others liked to call—his "princess" lessons, but unlike Yao he truly wanted Lovino to succeed purely for the Italian's own sake. Although the Demon Court and the Council may have accepted Lovino for whom he was, the Dark Realm may be unforgiving towards a human who had impeded in their sacred domain. After all, a great number of the daemons of the Underworld viewed humans as their source of life energy, their food and sustenance on which to survive. It would be safer—and this everyone knew for certain—if Lovino learnt how to defend himself. That also included poise and etiquette. Earning the scorn of his future subjects could possibly be the downfall of a regnant, and nobody wanted that sort of end for Arthur.
"I get it," Lovino grumbled. "I get it already. I just..." His cheeks burned a deeper and brighter scarlet, the colour bordering a bloody and passionate crimson. "I just want to be useful to Arthur. I'm still a human, so I can't do much." The brunet bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from speaking any more.
It wasn't like he needed to say anything anyway, Lovino thought wryly. Anybody could see how mundane he was. While werewolves had heightened strength and speed, vampires had heightened senses, and succubi and incubi had heightened endurance and stamina. Demons and familiars, likewise, possessed a great affinity for magic, and even revenants were virtually indestructible since they couldn't decay. Compared to that, Lovino couldn't do anything. It would appear that anybody could be Arthur's sword and shield, his knight in times of both peace and war, but Lovino was simply there. He had no special talents, no special skills, not any one particular ability that stood out amongst the rest—aside from his cooking—of which Arthur could make use for his kingdom. He was just a human and only a human.
"You want His Majesty to rely on you more?" Kiku deducted. When Lovino didn't respond, he assumed that he had supposed correctly. The Japanese familiar only smiled and suggested, "Perhaps first we shall train you in manners, and maybe you can try your hand with some magic tools."
The last remark had caught Lovino off-guard, and the consort to-be found himself repeating Kiku's words in the midst of bewilderment, "Magic tools?" Shaking himself out of the surprise, Lovino furthered his inquiry, "What are those?"
"I believe His Majesty has used them a few occasions to conserve his own energy," Kiku responded shortly with a smile. "They are devices that draw life energy from their immediate surroundings rather than the user's body—such as runes or protection wards or charms. Exorcists or monks and priestesses normally use them to keep evil spirits at bay. Given our current circumstances, it may be of relative concern for you to learn how to use them, Lovino-sama."
"That's not a bad idea," Arthur mentioned from the threshold of the dining room. He smiled tenderly at Lovino briefly—only an expression reserved for his Italian lover—before turning his professional visage to his familiar servant. "I'm counting on you, Kiku—and I guess you, too, Yao." The Scribe tutted at his King's behaviour but said nothing more on the topic.
The Englishman marched into the room dressed in one of his business attires—a black blazer over a white button shirt with a loose black tie and a pair of black trousers, leather gloves, and Oxfords—and occupied the seat next to Lovino. He gingerly took the cooling cup of tea Lovino had prepared with three sugars and a dash of milk and sipped it delicately. The lukewarm liquid washed over his tongue before flowing down his throat, warming his being entirely, as he gave Lovino a discreet but affectionate smile. "Delicious," he whispered softly. Lovino smirked triumphantly at Yao even though the Scribe honestly had no idea why the little Italian brat was smiling. See! It didn't matter if he made noise when he stirred or if he left the spoon in there! At least Arthur still liked it, Lovino thought to himself, crossing his arms and leaning against the surface of the table as he found himself observing his British lover once more, and that was all that mattered. He ignored Yao's remarks about how he shouldn't have his elbows on the table.
"What are you doing today, bastard?" Lovino asked of the blond curiously. "You're all dressed up." Not that it didn't look good, the Italian thought to himself. With his devilish looks, Arthur could pass for a male model. Nevertheless, Lovino resolved not to compliment his lover—especially in front of his "tutors"—since it may only inflate Arthur's ego. A sarcastic and egotistical lover was the last thing he needed; it would definitely be the death of him. "Everyone else is already searching for that ghost bastard, right?"
"Right," Arthur confirmed. "I'm just going on a little business trip to a local church."
Silence fell over the dining room as Arthur finished his cup of tea.
"A church?!" Yao exclaimed in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?!"
"Not at all, I'm still perfectly sane, thank you very much," Arthur responded coolly, "and I'm taking Feliciano with me. If I remember correctly, Lovino said that he and his family used to attend church on Sunday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. I thought that if Feliciano returns to old routines, he might remember something about his task—that one last thing he has to do before he leaves." The Briton left his last statement open, hovering over their heads for further interpretation, but Lovino knew fairly well what Arthur meant. Lovino's fingers twitched, slightly indignant, as he yearned to reach for his lover and stop him from braving this nearly suicidal mission. Nobody knew what would happen to a demon if they tried to enter a church, after all, being fallen angels that they were. "Lovino?" Arthur whispered his name softly. "Is something the matter?"
Lovino scowled deeply, grimacing at the gentle voice Arthur had assumed, before spitting out viciously, "Value your life more, dammit! I've already told you yesterday!" Before Arthur could make any remark, Lovino grasped Arthur's left arm, and the blond hissed with pain in that very instant. Lovino's eyes widened with shock, and he immediately wrenched Arthur's left hand free of the leather glove, exposing burnt flesh for all to see. Lovino immediately paled, dropping Arthur's arm as though it would disintegrate in his hold, while backing away from his lover. Arthur's beautiful alabaster skin was burnt to a deep vermilion while verses of the Bible were seared and engraved into his flesh like hot iron.
"It looks like ye really did step into a church yesterday," remarked a dark and dry voice. Everyone's attention turned to Alistair, whose acidic green eyes bore into Arthur's shrinking form—now weak from all of the accusatory stares and condescending gazes. The blond resembled nothing more than a chastised child at this point, and Lovino's heart dropped to his stomach with guilt and shame. The Englishman kept his eyes trained on the floor, not wanting to look at anyone or anything, and attempted to remain strong. "What the bloody hell were ye thinking, Arthur?" When the blond didn't respond, Alistair roared, "Don't try to do everything by yourself, ye bampot! What the hell is the point of the Council? What about your Twenty-Four Knights then? We're here, so use us! We can help, Arthur! Don't be such a moron and try to handle everything yourself! Do ye think you're invincible? I might remind ye of what happened three years ago? Do ye think that ye can match with Father?"
"That thought has never even crossed my mind! Stop putting words in my mouth, Alistair, when you don't know a single bloody thing about what I'm trying to do!" Arthur finally shrieked in protest, glaring at his brother with nothing but rage in his visage.
"Oh, so ye think that I don't even know what you're up to—my own flesh and blood—my own we brother?!"
"I know that you don't know because at this point you can only make assumptions about what's in my head—not yours! I know that because I haven't told you a damn thing about my thoughts and my—my—my bloody feelings! That aside, I know that I can't possibly match with Father as I am right now! I'm not as much of a twit as you make me out to be, you arsehole! I'm only trying to do everything that I can possibly do in my power!"
"Well, entering a church of all ruddy places is not one of the things within your damned power!" Alistair snapped. "Had it been a normal burn caused by a normal fire, then it would have already healed! By touching holy objects, it'll take ye a week or two to heal up—and that's with expediting the recovery rate!"
"It may not be within my power, but it's definitely one of the things I can do!" Arthur retorted. "I can't just stand aside and let my fiancé's brother be exorcised! Do you understand how devastated Lovino would be?"
"That brat is already dead!" Alistair exclaimed. "If his soul is erased, then what of it? Maybe ye are right; maybe I don't understand. What I do know is this: you're the one who is still alive! You're the one who could die! You're the one whose existence could be erased!"
"Don't you talk like that—like Feliciano's not even here—like he's not even present—like he doesn't exist!" Arthur barked with anger and rage radiating from the very core of his being, rivalling that of his own brother who possessed the very title of the Prince of Wrath. "You know as goddamn well as I do that a soul is still very much a bloody existence, and you know that his existence still means a hell lot to others!" A part of him knew that this matter didn't pertain solely to neither him nor Feliciano's ghost now. The reason laid in the deep regresses of his mind, and he couldn't remember clearly what it was. Then again, at the moment, he wasn't thinking clearly either, so Arthur couldn't refrain himself from shouting, "I won't let the same thing that happened to Father happen to Feliciano and Lovino! Not again! I refuse!" Only once the words had escaped his lips, hurling out of his throat, had Arthur realised what he had just spat into his brother's face. Shame crossed his features, yet he did not relent. It was too late to retract those words—even if they were the truth.
An unnerving and uneasy silence fell over the two demon nobles in the dining room of Arthur's English manor. Nobody spoke at all. Yao had averted his eyes, and Kiku simply stood still—staring at a plain wall but not seeing anything at all—while Alistair and Arthur stood seething at one another. Lovino bit his tongue, unable to do anything about the situation. He knew little about Arthur's father—his biological father, the first and original Devil—whom he had succeeded in reigning the Dark Realm. The Italian was only aware that he had disappeared centuries ago without any explanation and that there had been an enormous crisis regarding the crown and throne. Arthur's coronation was rushed, and discontent and dissatisfaction was nigh until the blond finally managed to prove his worth as King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland.
Lovino wasn't sure what had made the Council believe that a neutral, blissfully ignorant party would be good for the sake of the realm. It especially made him feel all the more useless and worthless as a consort, but he still wanted to be with Arthur.
"Isn't that enough, Prince Alistair, King Arthur?" All heads turned to face the little demon princess who appeared no older than twelve years old. She propped her hands atop her hips and glared pointedly at her older cousins. "I may not understand the situation very well, but it does little to erase what has already happened. The past matters very little now, and it is best to think of our current circumstances. We have a threat looming over the City of London, yet here the two of you are arguing like children."
Alistair and Arthur exchanged a brief glance before pulling away their eyes sharply from one another as though it would damage their vision by gazing upon the other brother. The situation had defused some, but the two of them were clearly upset with the lack of the other's understanding. Kaelin rolled her brown eyes and sauntered into the kitchen, where Kiku diligently pulled out a chair for her to sit.
"At any rate, Your Majesty," Yao spoke up uncomfortably, coughing and clearing his throat, "I believe we should get someone to look at your wounds and to treat them. I shall go fetch Prince Owain." When the Chinese familiar made a move to exit the dining room, he passed by Lovino and gave the future consort a short and subtle inclination of his head, an action similar to that of a curt nod, as though to thank him for catching onto Arthur's odd behaviour. After all, Yao was but a servant familiar, and a servant had no place to be touching a royal. Lovino could defy such a boundary as he and the King were lovers; he was a special case, an exception to the rule, perhaps.
Defeated but reluctant, Arthur collapsed into the seat next to Lovino. His Italian lover raised his arm onto the table and forced the blond to keep his sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbows in order to examine the extent of the injuries. Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain and remarked, "You do some pretty stupid shit sometimes, you damn bastard." He pulled his eyes away from the burns, unable to stomach the sight of the scarlet flesh any longer, and locked his gaze together with Arthur. His stomach churned anxiously but not in respect to Arthur's wounds. Averting his eyes, he shyly grumbled, "But thanks... for saving my brother's sorry ass."
A gentle smile graced Arthur's lips, and just as they parted to reply to Lovino's gratitude, Owain stepped into the room still in his dressing gown and house slippers with a first aid kit in his arms. The strawberry blond yawned widely but did not bother to stretch, obviously planning to return to bed, while he shuffled lazily towards his younger brother. Upon sighting Arthur's burns, he tutted his tongue and shook his head in disapproval and disappointment. "I thought you would have known better than to get near a church," the Welshman remarked dryly as he seated himself next to Arthur and then pulled the chair forward, setting the first aid kit onto the surface of the table. A collection of light particles gathered around his hand, glowing the faintest hues of green and turquoise, before streams of the light danced into and out of Arthur's wounds like needlework. The vermilion colour faded into a pink coat marring Arthur's arm, and the seared words lightened some like washed ink. The glow surrounding Owain's hand dimmed just as the strawberry blond pulled his hand away from Arthur's limb. "That's all I can do right now. Alistair, do you want to bring out Amon to help—?"
The fiery redhead snorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively. "Me? Ye want me to summon Amon, my familiar, to help this no-good, brainless twit of a king whose head is filled with nothing but barmy?" the Scotsman hissed venomously as he glowered at Arthur, who had noticeably stiffened. "Ye have got to be joking! I'll only help this blasted little brat once he gets his priorities straightened!"
"You're not on speaking terms again?" another voice called from the threshold. Seamus strolled into the dining room casually with Peter lingering behind him. Arthur's five guardian spirits followed afterwards, demanding breakfast from Lovino, as the six total children seated themselves at the table with Kaelin, their newest friend. "I swear, the two of you are just as bloody mature as a pair of kindergärtners at recess." Arthur and Alistair narrowed their eyes at their younger brother, who merely shrugged at the attention. In truth, they knew he actually loved the fact that they were glaring at him; the Irish boy vied for acknowledgement and thrived on simply knowing that he was the centre of everyone's attention. "Anyway, I think I'll go check the perimeters. It's unlikely that little terrorist will do anything in broad daylight, but it wouldn't hurt. Alistair, come with me."
Alistair's thick brow noticeably twitched with blatant irritation. "Ha?" he huffed at the auburn haired boy. "Why the hell do I have to come with ye? Can't ye go alone? You'remore than three centuries old now!" Seamus only raised an eyebrow and inclined his head subtly towards Arthur, but the redhead caught onto his younger brother's implications and merely sighed. He grunted, "Fine! Let's get moving then!"
The Princes of Wrath and Envy marched out of the English manor, the former considerably more bitter and vehement than the latter, while the Prince of Sloth only patted Arthur's head and returned to his guest room after advising his younger brother to treat his wounds properly. Yao and Kiku bowed respectably towards the exiting princes before parting ways themselves. Yao decided to see Owain to his room while Kiku saw the Scotsman and Irish boy to the door. Lovino stood from his spot in the kitchen as the children chattered among themselves. Arthur abandoned his seat after greeting his five spirits and properly greeting his youngest cousin and brother, who wasn't quite as genteel as the king in return. Abandoning the first aid kit on the table, he then joined his Italian lover at the kitchen as Lovino prepared seven glasses of juice and a mug of espresso for breakfast.
"Cooking?" Arthur asked shortly and softly—almost shyly—as though he was hesitant in his approach. The Englishman stood directly behind Lovino, trapping the Italian between his body and the counter, as he placed a good morning's kiss on his fairly tanned nape, affectionate and reflective of his current storm of emotions.
"Sì," the Italian murmured just as curtly without turning his head to face his British lover. He wasn't as unforgiving towards the Briton's altruistic actions seeing that it had seriously gotten him harmed. Even with the healing magic Owain had worked onto the injuries, Alistair had warned that it would take maybe a week or two for them to recover fully. Lovino might have been grateful that Arthur managed to save his brother, but it didn't make these wounds okay at all—not in any way. "I still don't understand," Lovino whispered quietly as he began to slice fresh fruit to accompany the rolls of bread he had prepared. "Why didn't you simply heal yourself earlier, bastard?"
"If I did," Arthur responded, "then I would be expending energy to heal a wound, and afterwards, I would have to rest to regain the energy I spent. It would be a pointless cycle and a waste of time when I have work to do."
Lovino snorted before admonishing Arthur, "It's not a waste of time to heal and get better, idiota. You'd be easing everyone's minds. They all worry for you." Including me, Lovino added, but he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he continued preparing breakfast in a passing silence. "I don't understand why your brother sleeps so much either," Lovino mentioned offhandedly as he plated the bread and fruit onto seven dishes, spreading butter and jam onto the surface of the rolls expertly with a knife. "Daemons don't technically need sleep, correct?"
"Correct," Arthur confirmed, "since we thrive off life energy provided by the Surface World. It doesn't mean that we can't though. Owain, my brother, well... He's lived far longer than I have, and when you live that long, you have a tendency to be... bored. There's no meaning to living any more, and there's nothing to do either. It's become more of a habit—simply to do nothing at all. You realise that he is the Prince of Sloth."
"And another thing I don't understand," Lovino remarked softly, "is why you didn't even tell me we had guests. You don't trust me with your family?"
"It's not that!" Arthur protested immediately, recoiling from Lovino as though the Italian had struck him. An expression of horror crossed his visage. The Englishman hadn't even considered that possibility! "Oh, no! Not that at all! It's the other way around, actually! I don't trust them with you! I've... I've promised you that I'd protect you, but my brothers... They're quite strong—at least Alistair and Owain are—almost as strong as... as Patrick. The three oldest sons of the Demon Court—Alistair, Owain, and I—are known to be rivals. That means they are just as strong as I am, and I am just as strong as they are."
Lovino couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile. "You worry too damn much, bastard," he retorted, shoving two plates into Arthur's hands as he handled two others. Together, the two of them served the children their breakfast, each and every one of them thanking Lovino and Arthur politely, before they reclined against the kitchen counter, watching the children eat with a faraway expression in their eyes. "You'll protect me, won't you? In return, I'll support you. That's the kind of contract we have," Lovino recalled as he retrieved the first aid kit from the table. His free hand brushed over the spot directly above his heart. There, a pentacle was engraved, binding him to Arthur closer than the ring on his finger ever could. "Of course, that only works if you're still here with me, dammit."
Arthur reached for Lovino's hand, lacing their fingers together, and grasped it tightly, squeezing it within his hold. "I won't ever leave you," the Englishman promised. "I've made that mistake before—and never again."
"Which is why I'm coming with you and Felici to that church," Lovino remarked dryly as he pulled the Englishman into the living room in order to treat his wounds away from the children. He grinned wryly at the surprise that came over Arthur's visage. "What? You said that it would better for Feliciano to return to his old routines in order to discover what he needs to do, sì? That means I need to get involved, too," the Italian explained bluntly with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He was oblivious to the fact that his grin had widened, becoming more cheeky, as he remarked, "This is at least one thing I can do that you can't—walking into a church. For a tough bastard, that's kind of pathetic."
Arthur rolled his eyes and retorted, "I can't help that now, can I?" Fiddling with his hands, the Briton couldn't refrain from commenting, "More than sixteen thousand years ago, I could enter a church perfectly fine... But I suppose it was because I had considered myself human then—when I had ruled Britannia." Lovino reached for the blond's hands, holding them within his own, unable to decipher Arthur's thoughts at that moment. He could, however, see the turmoil in those emeralds, and the mere sight of that distress churned Lovino's own stomach with apprehension as well. Nonetheless, he diligently reached into the medical set and began to apply an herbal ointment onto Arthur's wounds as the blond instructed him, acting as a guide through the procedures.
"Hey," the brunet called softly once he managed to bind Arthur's arm within a white gauze, "it'll be all right." He began to pack up the first aid kit neatly, leaving his words hanging in the air. Biting his lower lip, Lovino commented, "What the hell can happen in a church? I'll be fine. Everything will be fine... I'm sure of it."
"I hope so," Arthur whispered in agreement. "I really do." He paused for a moment, contemplating something, before speaking in that same soft tone from earlier, "Do me a favour, spitfire?" When Lovino merely arched a fine brow, questioning his British lover, Arthur continued with his request, "Take Carnwennan—my dagger that I left with you—when we leave."
Lovino's eyes widened. "Hey, bastard, I might not understand much about laws or anything, but even I know that blades like that nearly qualify as a short sword," the Italian protested. "There has to be something against this in a church, too, dammit."
"Well, tell them it's an ancient relic!" Arthur retorted, somewhat bristled, as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. He grumbled nearly incoherently and indignantly, "In a way, it is! Besides, it offers you some sort of protection while you're away in that church."
Lovino rolled his eyes. "What's the most that can happen in a church?"
"Well, for instance, Holy scriptures being read aloud might potentially damage me when my powers are restricted or possibly exorcise your dead brother," the Englishman remarked dryly. He rested his forehead against Lovino's and murmured underneath his breath in an almost inaudible whisper, "Please? Do it for me?"
"Fine, you damn bastard. I'll go get your fucking dagger, happy?"
"Quite."
"It's not going to melt in the middle of mass or some shit because it's enchanted or whatever, right?"
"Of course not! What is the purpose of me sending you to church with it if it was like that?" Arthur exclaimed with astonishment evident in his tone. "It would essentially be useless in that case!"
The two of them were oblivious to the fact that a certain little spectre had overheard them from the corridor, too lost in their own thoughts to sense the rampaging storm brewing in the Italian phantom's mind. Feliciano hovered above the floor and was nearly ready to greet his brother and brother-in-law even though he could no longer digest any food... That is, he was planning to do so until he had overheard Lovino announcing that he was planning to go to church with Feliciano and Arthur. They were talking about him again—like he was a burden or a problem—and Feliciano couldn't help but feel shame overtake him. Once more, he was causing trouble for his brother. It really would have been better if he hurried and passed onto the next life in order to ease everyone's mind. He didn't like being a ghost. Even if he didn't mean to do so, Feliciano was haunting his friends. Even if they still loved him and cared for him, it was obvious that they all worried for him now that his very existence still lingered in their minds and hearts.
He realised this now that an entire night had passed, and he was unable to sleep. It wasn't because Feliciano wasn't sleeping with his brother or room-mate to keep away the bogeyman or any nightmares either. Rather, because he was simply a disembodied soul now, Feliciano did not need any sleep. That was more than eight hours he spent in contemplation, and with those eight hours he had resolved to help Arthur and Lovino aid in his passing onto the next life. Nevertheless, he was unable to do anything and was unable to think of anything. There was nothing left that he wanted to do except for eating pasta and making gelato. He didn't really have any regrets left on Earth—at least, not any of which he knew.
He glided into the living room, and the happy couple smiled at him briefly—a rare moment, indeed—almost as though to hide the fact that they had just been discussing his fate indirectly. Feliciano beamed at the two of them in response—albeit weakly. Lovino seemed to have caught the shift in his brother's mood although he did not make any comment on it; Arthur as well seemed to be aware of something and appeared reluctant to ask if Feliciano was ready to head to one of the local neighbourhood churches. The Italian phantom smiled, not wanting his friends to worry, and gave a short nod of his head. "Sì! Let's go!" The ghost kept his eyes away from Arthur's wounds, knowing fairly well that he had obtained them while protecting Feliciano from the exorcist, and attempted to uphold his cheerful demeanour. "Ve, I wonder what English churches look like! I've never been to England before!"
"You've been to a church yesterday," Arthur pointed out subtly as he unlocked the front door. "You didn't really admire the architecture?"
"No, ve, I was too busy thinking," Feliciano confessed sheepishly while following Arthur and Lovino out of the manor. "I hear they are really narrow! Is that true, Artù?"
"I suppose so," Arthur responded coolly. The Briton nonchalantly led the Italian brothers to one of the local churches on foot "I haven't really admired the interior design of a church since... well, sometime before the year 600." The Italian phantom immediately pursed his lips together upon the realisation that he may have stepped on a sensitive subject. He wasn't clear on the details of Arthur's former life, nor did he understand Arthur's current circumstances. Nevertheless, the Briton gave Feliciano an encouraging smile and remarked, "At least you can walk inside of one, admire the architecture, and then tell me all about it—not that I expect much to happen in the House of God."
The younger Vargas brother found himself speechless and instead remained uncharacteristically silent. Lovino was quick to notice his brother's change in behaviour but made no comment. Even when they left Arthur to step into the church, the older brunet didn't utter a single word—not even in prayer, not even in hymn—in favour of keeping a weary eye trained on Feliciano. By the time service had ended, Lovino and Feliciano lingered in the church, the former simply waiting for Feliciano to deliver his last prayers. When his younger brother was finished, Lovino turned to the exit and found a young girl with bobbed blonde hair and bright green eyes blinking at him curiously.
"Feliciano?" she whispered softly. "Is that you?" A dainty hand covered her lips as they parted, gaping in surprise, before curving into a tender smile. "I didn't think I would see you again, Feliciano! My bruder was acting rude yesterday, so I must apologise on his behalf. He doesn't think any wrong of his actions. Is this your bruder, Feliciano? You must be Lovino!"
"Lili!" he exclaimed with delight before bounding towards her. "It is you! Ve, it's really nice to see you again! Fratello, this is Lili! I met her yesterday in the church, and she's a really nice girl! Lili, this is my brother, Lovino!"
"Y-You can see him?" Lovino stammered in the midst of the shock.
"Well, not clearly, but I can recognise him," Lili answered politely with a gentle smile on her lips. "I've always been sensitive to these things ever since I was young, but my bruder worries about this... ability, I suppose. He is afraid that I will get hurt. It is why he does what he does. I hope your friend from yesterday was not harmed..."
Feliciano's eyes darkened with shame, and the younger brunet appeared crestfallen, turning his gaze downcast. Lovino noticed immediately and responded to Lili in his place, "If you're talking about Arthur, then you don't have to worry about him. He's tough and won't die easily—trust me." He smiled wryly. "That's the kind of guy he is."
Lili giggled into her hand and teased him lightly, "He is your fiancé, correct?"
Lovino's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he found it difficult to nod his head. It wasn't that he was ashamed to be wedded to a man. He was simply unused to the storm of emotions swirling within him at the mere mention of Arthur's name. Warmth, joy, delight, euphoria, ecstasy, all surged through his body, in his veins, to his core, as he realised that soon, very soon, he would be united with Arthur for the rest of their existence.
"Please," Lili requested of Lovino solemnly, "tell him to be careful. I am afraid that my bruder will try to slay him next. He is an exorcist for hire, you see, and anything that the Church asks him to do, he will do it as long as the price is paid."
"Why are you helping us?" Lovino inquired dubiously.
She gave him an encouraging smile and explained shortly, "I do not believe that you are evil." When she noticed that the Italian wanted her to elaborate, she indulged him, "I have seen otherworldly beings for most my life, and I have interacted with them easily. I cannot simply label them all as sinister forces. It is unfair."
"You really are a nice girl," Lovino commented offhandedly. He gave her a weak smile, remarking, "I'm glad that my brother has made a friend like you. It is... a difficult time."
A difficult time it was, Lovino reaffirmed the moment he, Feliciano, and Lili stepped out of the church and into the streets. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't everyday that a man simply pointed a gun to his head. However, Arthur found that it was happening quite often by now. The blond merely raised a thick brow, questioning the actions of the instigator, as his emerald eyes fixed onto the point of the gun. He questioned what kind of bullets the exorcist had planned to use today to himself, contemplating the options, before easily greeting the smaller blond. "Good morning," he remarked dryly with pointed sarcasm dripping off his tongue like venomous poison. "There's really no need to wave that out and about, you know? The United Kingdom has a restriction on firearms—a tight one, might I mention. People would grow frantic upon seeing what you're trying to pull."
"But nobody can see us, am I correct?" the exorcist—Vash Zwingli from Switzerland if he recalled correctly—remarked pointedly. "You didn't want to cause a scene, so you've placed a barrier concealing us within the barrier that had been raised last night."
"Ah," Arthur mused, "so you've noticed."
"How could I not?" Vash Zwingli seethed bitterly. "You made quite a big display of it!" Regaining his earlier composure, the smaller blond continued to press Arthur as he tightened his hold on the handgun. "Now tell me, what is your purpose, demon?"
"My purpose?" Arthur repeated incredulously. Amusement seeped into his voice despite the fact that the barrel of the gun was beginning to leave imprints in his flesh. "Now that's a question I haven't heard in centuries! Do you wish to hear a list of my duties? It'll bore you, honestly."
Grounding his teeth, the young man spat, "Stop shitting around, demon, and answer the damn question!" It was becoming more and more evident that the smaller blonde had a short temper, given how he was reacting to Arthur's provocations. "What the hell are you doing in London?!"
"Now I wonder if that's proper language for a man who acts under the name of God," the Englishman remarked dryly, rolling his eyes. "If you must know, Mr Exorcist, I have estate in London—just as I do in Rome, Paris, Berlin, Copenhagen, Madrid, New Delhi, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Moscow—oh! Should I continue? I'm simply rambling by now."
"I will pull this damn trigger if you keep evading the fucking question," the exorcist hissed dangerously in his most menacing and threatening voice.
Arthur only blinked at the increase in agitation. Honestly, he wasn't afraid of a human; if he was afraid of humans, how could he be called the Devil? At the most, the Swiss exorcist could heavily damage him and send him retreating to the Underworld since Arthur had to refrain from using his full potential for the sake of the universal balance, but there was nothing particularly significant about this exorcist—aside from his accuracy as a shot. Hell, he couldn't even see Feliciano for Hades' sake! The Swiss man was completely ordinary and average; even his soul was the plainest shade of orange. Neither were the flames extraordinary bright—only average in luminescence at best. Still, maybe it wouldn't hurt to humour this short blond.
When he repeated his demands, Arthur easily responded, "I'm dragging a lost soul back to Hell—a fugitive, so to speak." His response had taken Vash Zwingli off-guard. Taking advantage of the exorcist's silence, Arthur continued, "Judging by the increase of exorcists in the area, I would assume that you are after the same soul. I'm warning you now that this is no average phantom. His strength is that of a high-ranking demon's. Pull back now if you wish to continue living; otherwise, I can arrange a room for you in Hell."
Vash Zwingli snorted, cocking the hammer of his revolver, attempting to appear more threatening to the demon whom he thought was his captive. "You think I'm going to Hell?"
"Can you look me in the eye and say that you've done good for this world?" Arthur retorted smoothly, locking his gaze with that of the exorcist's. "Your entire life I can see that you've only done dirty deeds to ensure your and your sister's survival. How admirable—but impure, nonetheless. The best you can do is purgatory, where you can work off all your sins, Mr Mercenary. I wonder if you understand that you've erased a good number of lost souls that were still so pure. They can neither return to Heaven nor to the River Vitae."
"You speak of lies, demon," Vash Zwingli insisted. Arthur noticed the slight twitch in his fingers and the subtle loosening of his tight grip on his gun.
"I have no reason to lie," the Englishman retorted nonchalantly and collectedly. The corners of his lips curved upwards in a smirk. "Still, I admit that you could possibly make quite the guard dog. I'll keep your name in mind for maybe ten or twenty years from now. You look the type to die young."
His words had instantly struck a nerve, for in that very moment, Vash Zwingli had pulled the trigger of his gun with wide, fearful eyes. Before the bullet could even penetrate Arthur's skin, a burst of brilliant blue flames enveloped the silver projectile, disintegrating it to ashes. The taller blond merely raised an eyebrow as though to ask, "Is that all you've got?" whilst the Swiss man began to stumble backwards. He immediately recited a verse from the Holy Bible out of pure anxiety, "And God said, Let there be light: and there was light—"
"—And God saw the light, and it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness," Arthur finished easily. "If I remember correctly, that was the third verse in the Book of Genesis. It won't work on me, for I am more or less a god like the Emperor of the Heavens. Rather, the text has been lost in translation—all of it, really—so unless you can recite Hebrew or Latin, I'm afraid it wouldn't do much. It's like a holy spell; it doesn't work as well in the modern world."
"W-What?" Vash spluttered nervously.
"Blimey, you haven't realised it yet? I'm His Infernal Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland of the Underworld and Third Son of Hades," Arthur clarified immediately in a deadpan although it was quite clear that he was losing his patience. "I'm the bloody Devil, you sodding wanker." The Englishman snapped his fingers, dispelling the barrier to reveal Lovino, Feliciano, and the little blonde girl from yesterday who quite resembled Vash Zwingli, and remarked, "If you don't mind, Mr Zwingli, I have other priorities than playing with your guns. Maybe some other time." Strolling over to his fiancé and brother-in-law, Arthur bent to Lovino's ear and whispered, "Draw Carwennan. You don't have to wield it. Simply unsheathe it from its scabbard an inch or two, and then run with Feliciano." Lovino shot him a sceptical glance that he brushed aside with his own look of impatience, demanding that Lovino not question his orders at this time. Arthur inclined his head towards Vash, pointing out the guns to Lovino, before raising an eyebrow as though to question if Lovino trusted him now.
The Italian only gave a curt nod of his hand as his fingers brushed over the white hilt of the dagger and the leather scabbard. He flicked the blade from the scabbard only a few inches as Arthur had requested, freeing only part of the silver metal. Gradually, mist and fog rolled from the crooks and cracks and crevices surrounding them, enveloping Lovino and Arthur, before the Demon King shoved him forward, exclaiming, "Head for home, Lovino! He can't see you now!"
Vash Zwingli, who had suspected that Arthur was hiding some tricks up his sleeves, began firing several shots from his handgun. Immediately, the Englishman summoned again another barrier to surround the two combatants and deflected Vash Zwingli's volley of bullets.
"I'm so sorry, Herr Arthur!" the blonde haired girl exclaimed from behind him. "He must have followed me! My bruder is very protective!"
"Not a problem, my dear," Arthur responded amiably. At least one of the two siblings had manners! "I understand completely—the feeling of not wanting to leave anyone alone. I want to leave immediately, so take your brother and head in the other direction, if you will. I have no reason to hurt him."
"What nonsense are you feeding my sister?!" demanded Vash Zwingli angrily and bitterly. "Stay away from her!"
"She's a little too young for my tastes anyway," Arthur retorted before swinging his arm from left to right, summoning a wall of tall blue flames. He turned to Lili and bid her goodbye while Vash was distracted. "Until next time, Miss Zwingli." A strange notion to curtsey overcame the blonde haired girl after sensing his regal air, and she did so clumsily. He only chuckled, patted her head, and followed after his Italian lover and brother-in-law.
Later that night, sometime well after Lovino's traditional Italian dinner and shortly after tucking in Arthur's five guardian spirits as well as Peter and Kaelin into bed, the Demon Court and Yao and Kiku gathered in the living room for an emergency meeting. (Arthur had mentioned to Kiku that he had been targeted by an exorcist in passing when the fox spirit asked him how his day went during their return home.) Still, neither Alistair nor Arthur made contact with each other—not in glances, not in words, not even in actions—but the others made plenty of noise to make up for the two conflicting brother since they were all stubborn characters in their own right.
"You let him use Carwennan?!" Yao exclaimed with utter disbelief washing over his features. "That's one of your three sacred weapons, you know?!"
"I know," Arthur responded dryly. "I trust him with it. He knows how to use a knife; I've seen his grandfather's collection."
"Does he even understand the value of such a dagger?" Yao retorted. "It is no average knife, Your Majesty! It is an ancient relic! A treasure! A highly valuable artefact! Your Majesty, please, what on Earth were you thinking?!"
"Yao has a point, Arthur," Owain reasoned. "Carwennan is a magic tool that you simply can't just give away like that."
"I'm just letting him hold onto it since he's in a world surrounded by daemons!" argued the Demon King. "Besides, he's had it for the last seven years, and it's still in excellent condition. I think that is proof enough that he is able to use it!"
Their shouts could be heard all the way upstairs, and Lovino prayed that—for their sakes—the children would not be awakened by all of the arguing. The Italian crawled underneath the covers of Arthur's bed. Well, he supposed it was their bed now that Lovino had moved into Arthur's English manor. Pulling the blanket over his shoulders and tucking it underneath his chin, Lovino made himself comfortable on his side of the bed, desiring nothing more than warmth in the middle of winter. Nevertheless, it would appear that the others would keep Arthur busy all night long with their constant pestering and nagging and prodding and lecturing and preaching and griping and whining and complaining even though the blond was clearly the king.
"Uncle Arthur still causeth quite a riot wherever he goeth, doth he not?"
Lovino's tired mind managed to translate that inquiry into modern day English as he grumbled an exhausted, "Sì, lui è un fottuto idiota." His eyes nearly fluttered shut until he processed what had just happened. His hazel eyes snapped open as he was suddenly aware of an intruder, and he hastily scrambled upright into a sitting position. He immediately grasped the white hilt of Carwennan he had hidden underneath a cluster of pillows at Arthur's insistence. He wondered momentarily if his fiancé had some kind of ability to perceive the future—that, or his intuitions were simply spot-on. He narrowed his eyes at the shadow that had phased through the glass windows, focusing on the shroud that was reminiscent of the black flames of Arthur's immediate relatives, as it solidified into a tall, lanky figure. "W-Who are you?" Lovino stammered out nervously—cursing himself for sounding so afraid—as he attempted to make himself more of a commanding figure.
"Oh, Gwen," an eerie and ominous voice mused in a teasing tone, "thou canst not possibly have forgotten me!" A young man stepped out of the shadows, gradually revealing himself, but at the moment, Lovino could only focus on his white smile that glowed with a sinister sensation. "'Tis I, Mordred, thy favourite nephew... or dost thou really not remember?"
A/N: There's quite a bit of family drama here and there with Arthur. It's inevitable, I suppose.
I just wanted to use this space to thank everyone for the reviews so far as well as everyone who followed or added this story to their favourites! It really means a lot to me!