Chapter Four

Surprise! I'm not dead!

There's of this Author's Note at the end of the chapter, so scroll down if you want to see that.

Toris liked the idea of being a pine tree.

Perhaps it was because he grew up among them. Ivan Zimavich had many houses around the country, but he spent most of his time in the northern ones. Because they were bound to be his apprentices, the Laurinaitis brothers did, too. They didn't have much of a choice about that. But even if it was partially against his will, Toris found reasons to enjoy the low-lying mountain cabins. He enjoyed Katyusha's mushroom soup and stews, and the preserves she would make with the scraps. He enjoyed the sweaters Natalya would knit out of thick yarn, and the mittens she would make out of the excess. (In a way, the weight of the yarn reminded him of a mother's hug. He would wear them to bed at night.) Yet the most enjoyable parts about those mountain cabins were not the things that were made inside of them, but the things that roamed outside. His favorites were the wildflower garden Eduard would tend to in the house by the river, the rock Raivis would sit under by the house in the cliff… and the pine trees.

Yes, there were always the trees. They had trunks that stretched as wide as boulders, making them the biggest trees Toris had ever seen. They grew strong and true and stuck to their path. If a bolt of lightning hit one, the tree would simply grow around the hole and continue upwards. He could spent minutes looking at them. Hours. Days. He did. If he was sent out to gather vegetables, Toris would see if he could spare a moment to sit under the shadow of one of those trees. If it was a good day, he would make himself a cushion of pine needles. If it was a bad day, he would only take a moment's glance at the canopy. Either way, just being under the trees soothed his frantic heart.

Pine trees did not have to worry about where to go. Pine trees already had their lives planned out for them. As Toris crouched on the hayloft of the barn in the plains, he thought about those trees. He thought that perhaps he should have been born a pine tree instead.

For the first time in his life, he was unsure of where to go. He felt unsteady, like a boat rocking between restless waves. The plan went wrong. He was supposed to keep west and hide in the barns until Aphesia, but that was unrealistic. The western backroads would soon be flooded with royal guards and people seeking the crown prince's reward money. It was out of the question. He also sent Gilbert in a random direction, where he could die from a wild animal attack, be captured, or – even worse – give away the crown prince's location in an act of defiance. It was the right decision at the time. At that moment Toris was confident in sending Gilbert away. Proud, even. He knew his decision was right. But as the hours crept by, and as the light grew longer and darker, self-doubt began to trickle in. It started with pokes against Gilbert's character. His arrogance, his loud mouth. Of course, Ivan Zimavich trusted Gilbert not to do any of that – there was a reason why he was assigned on possibly the most important mission – but…

He sent him away. Gilbert did not have a partner to control him. There was a chance that maybe, just maybe, Toris made the wrong choice. And now that Gilbert was gone he swayed from side to side, from blood loss or confusion or both. He didn't know. He didn't know anything. He didn't know when his wound would heal. He didn't know how he would go on with the mission.

If he wanted to, he could make a new plan. He could rewrite the rulebook. Ivan Zimavich wouldn't hear of the mess for at least a day or two. By then, Toris could be out of the country. He could run away. He could leave the crown prince in the barn and start a new life with Eduard and Raivis. Or he could return the crown prince, claim the reward money, leave the country with Eduard and Raivis, and start a new life overseas. For the first time in his life, there was no one telling him what to do.

Toris wasn't sure if he liked that idea.

The floor of the hayloft was so soft that it molded itself to his fingertips. It was the rot that made the barn so perfect. No one would think to enter a mossy barn that was leaning to one side. Although it was night in the country, it was not dark. The place where the doors had once been opened like a heaving, gaping maw, letting in a flood of moonlight. Wooden boxes and stacks of hey rotted in the center of the barn. Overhead, mosquitoes and flies sung a familiar lullaby.

Toris crouched low in the corner of the hayloft. One hand rested on his sword, while the other rested on the floor. His eyes darted from corner to corner. He didn't sit down – not only because of the potential for a raid by bandits, but because his bandaged shoulder ached whenever he moved. The bleeding stopped more than a day ago, but he redid the wrappings earlier and the fresh dab of Katyusha's poultice would take a while to set in. He didn't want to take the risk.

The crown prince slept on the floor next to him, face to the wall. Toris tried to make a comfortable spot for him. He cleared the rotting hay away, and laid a thin wool blanket on the floor so the crown prince could stretch his legs out. A treacherous climb up a rotting ladder was a small price to pay for a sleeping prince. At least his ears got a chance to rest.

Now that he wasn't struggling, Toris found that the crown prince looked… normal. Despite his title and his fancy clothes, the prince had his arms wrapped around himself like any other boy. (Toris wondered why exactly he thought that the crown prince wouldn't wrap his arms around himself when he slept. In fact… how did he think the crown prince slept, anyways? Did he think he slept bundled in a cocoon of silks and velvet? That was probably the case, knowing his mind.) Sometimes his arms twitched – sometimes they shook. Violently. His whole body would shake then, and it would not stop until minutes later. (Toris made a note to ask Eduard why exactly some people shook in their sleep.) There was a crease between his eyebrows, a slight frown. Occasionally, he mumbled and buried his head into the burlap sack pillow.

Worry.

Eduard had the same crease between his eyebrows when he was worried. Raivis, too, was fond of burying his head into his pillow. The only difference was that he drooled – but maybe the crown prince did that, too, because there was a hint of moisture forming at the corner of his lip... Toris looked away quickly, averting his eyes back to the barn door, to the grass outside that glowed silver in the moonlight. It wasn't in his place to intrude on someone's worry. But – and this was another out of place thought, one that made him frown – he wondered what the crown prince could be worrying about. Besides being kidnapped. (The word made him shudder. Thinking about his job like that only made things harder, so he tried to push it to the back of his mind. The sensation lingered.)

The crown prince had a family. Family and friends and people who liked him. Did he worry about them, too?

Toris hoped he did. He certainly worried about his, among other things. The thought made him laugh, breathless and quiet amongst the rustling of wind in the rafters. Yes. Other things? That was an understatement.

There was the issue of food, for one. Food, water, shelter. Where he would take the crown prince.

Gilbert.

If only Gilbert was in the barn. Gilbert, with his wagon and the horse. They would be a quarter of the way to Ivan Zimavich's house by now. A quarter of the way to the end. Without him, Toris was hiding in a rotting barn with no clear path to go on.

The worst part was that it was his fault. His.

There were many ways he could go.

He could take the first route. Gilbert's route. The clearest plan of action. He could steal a merchant's wagon and go through the main road. The crown prince would be kept in a box or a sack, and at night Toris would let him out so he could attend to his personal needs. But that was foolish. Amateur. The plan was eliminated before it could even be considered. Of course he wouldn't take that route. There were too many nosy merchants who would want to compare goods and too many royal guards desperate to find their prince. Besides, Toris was sure that once Sigurd and Mathias woke up, his face and Gilbert's would be spread all over the kingdom. Adding that to the crown prince's resentment made taking that road more than a risk. It was suicide. It would mean murdering everyone in Ivan Zimavich's household, too, assuming that Toris was captured. Whatever force captured him could connect him to Gilbert and the household. Then Eduard, Raivis, Katyusha, Natalya… they would all suffer. Because of him.

Bloody, bruised faces. Broken glasses. A sharp winter knife. The thought of it all rested heavy on Toris's shoulders.

He could take the second route. The backup route. A year before, when the mission was still in its planning stage, Ivan Zimavich mapped out several alternative routes should something go wrong. He was supposed to stay with Gilbert if the wagon was compromised. They were supposed to take the longest, most roundabout way through the country. It involved going south and sticking close to the western border… but not too close. They were supposed to stay far enough to avoid the border patrol, but close enough to run to over the border if worse came to worst. If it took too long and tensions were growing high, they were supposed to hide in one of the many safe houses Ivan Zimavich set up. His reasoning was that if they took such a long, roundabout way and avoided as many people as possible, the castle would believe that the prince was smuggled out of the border and focus their attentions to the neighboring countries. Then Toris and Gilbert could make their way to the mountains and, once they got there, raise the ransom price. It was taking advantage of the castle's search, which was guaranteed to become frantic after more than a month.

Toris thought it was crazy. Insane. A farce. Taking such a long time increased the risk of capture. Gilbert, with his white hair and red eyes, was easily recognizable. And staying close to the border? Terrible. A royal guard patrol could easily apprehend them. The worst thing about the plan was how Ivan Zimavich expected the crown prince to be perfectly controlled… or maybe the worst thing was how Ivan Zimabich expected Toris to perfectly control him. Did he just assume that they would be okay after being separated from family for so long? The prince would go out of his mind. Even if it was made with the best intentions, Toris found it extremely impolite. He never said anything, of course. Ivan Zimavich always kept his pipe nearby. But in his mind, he thought that perhaps there was another way of escaping. A better way that would be less time consuming.

This could be your way of testing it.

Toris sat up. He shook his leg, restless.

No. He couldn't take advantage of Ivan Zimavich's time and money like that. But there were so many other things he could do! He could continue west and instead of heading to Aphesia, he could head to the river that hugged the western border. Not many people visited the Smok River. The people preferred its gentler tributaries, for the main river itself was wild and unpredictable. It flooded during the summer. Water spilled from it for miles, making the forest lush and green – and extremely hard to navigate. The forest grew tall and thick and strong, with the canopy so dense that only the barest amount of sunlight hit the forest floor. No one would dare go there in flood season.

Toris could navigate through the forest into the north. He knew he could. The summer floods would not end for a few weeks. If he just avoided civilization and got to higher ground when the flood waters came, he would be able to make his way up the country into the mountains. From there, he would go east. Then would reach Ivan Zimavich's house in a matter of days. A few weeks at the most. It was better than the few months it would take if they went with Ivan Zimavich's back up plan.

No. He was being cocky. There was no way his plan would work. It would be safer to take the long way around. He had brothers. He had people he needed to provide for. It was a risk he couldn't take, especially on a mission as important as this one. If he made one misstep – if he miscalculated the length of the flood season, or if he strayed too far away from the river – he would be caught. He would be sent to jail. It would all be for nothing. Caution and reason reckoned that he should take the longer way, not just for himself, but for Eduard and Raivis and Katyusha and Natalya and even Gilbert. He should take the long way not just for himself, but for all of the people who depended on the success of this one mission.

But didn't the crown prince have the same? Didn't he deserve to go home to his family as soon as possible? Even if he was kidnapped, he still had rights. He had the queen and the king. Toris saw a painting of them once. It was in the marketplace of a little village in the south. A vendor was selling miniatures of the painting in celebration of the king and queen's tenth year of marriage. They were sitting together, facing each other. The queen had the crown prince's angular nose; the king had the crown prince's feline eyes. They were heavy fabrics, velvets and spotted furs, and their necks drooped with diamonds and pearls. Yet the brightest thing in the portrait was not the queen's pearl necklace or the king's golden crown. No, it was the looks they were sending each other. They were looking at each other with soft eyes that held so much affection that Toris blushed thinking about it.

It wouldn't be right to deny the crown prince of that, even for a few months. It wouldn't. He was terrified. Toris was, too. For even though he knew he could navigate the forest – he knew it, he knew it (or maybe he was just trying to convince himself of it) – Ivan Zimavich would raise hell once he found out, as he inevitably would. A chill went up Toris's spine as he thought about the image of Ivan Zimavich raising his pipe, eyes brimming with fury. He crouched down into the corner of the barn and instinctively clasped a hand around his sword. For a moment he was back in the kitchen again, seven years old, with angry red welts on his back.

Perhaps it was a bad decision. Perhaps he shouldn't do it. Even thinking that way was a risk. There was too much on the line. It was wrong. Something would mess up, as it did with Gilbert. Ivan Zimavich knew best. If Toris followed the premade plan, everything would go well. It would take months to see his family again, but… if it was for them, it would be worth it.

But the crown prince had that too, didn't he? He had a family. A family who loved him and cared about him. If there was one thing that Toris Laurinaitis understood it was the feeling of a hug. He understood the warmth and love a kind word can bring, the power of a brotherly bond. He felt it. He lived it.

He remembered Ivan Zimavich's house, he remembered the kitchen, and he remembered Katyusha. He remembered how she put poultice on his back and wiped his tears when he cried. He remembered how Natalya (begrudgingly) brought bitter black tea to soothe his sore throat. He remembered how she supplied the bandages. How they ran out, and how she used her old cotton bow to serve as a temporary bandage until Ivan Zimavich stopped drinking enough to give her money for new ones. Most of all he remembered how Raivis and Eduard cried like babies (they practically were), staying by Toris's bedside until he felt well enough to feed himself chicken broth. He remembered that. He remembered family.

One step.

It only took one step to change his life. Gilbert was already heading in a random direction. Half of the castle guards would be following his tracks by next morning. If Toris could get himself to the forest in time – which he knew he could – he could cover up his scent, guide them in the wrong direction. He knew he could. He had to.

Maybe it was being selfish. Maybe it was being empathetic. Either way, in that moment Toris saw his brothers and the crown prince's parents. He saw the glint of glasses and a blond curl, and he saw feline eyes and an angular nose. Gently, he grasped both images close to his heart and held them there tight.

The birds sang outside. Toris let himself relax. He sit down, and did not flinch when the hayloft creaked beneath him.

One step.

A deep breath.

I'll go on the second route.

It would be better for the crown prince. It would be better for him. He could get home sooner. The whole ordeal would be over with, done. Ivan Zimavich would be furious, but… At least the crown prince would be able to see his family. At least Toris would have done something right for him. He knew the plan was a long shot. It was a long shot, but it was plausible.

He just hoped he could pull it off.

Everyone knows about writer's block. It's vicious, it's cruel, and it prevents any creativity and inspiration from flowing to your brain. In short: it sucks.

I thought I knew what writer's block was. I though I experienced it with Chapter Two. Because Chapter Two drained me. It was frustrating, it was terrible, and it provoked a lot of swearing and hair tearing. It was the only thing stopping me from completing this fic. But I continued writing, and I got through it. After that, Chapter Three was a walk in the park.

But this chapter. This chapter.

This chapter was a bitch to write.

I plotted out every inch of Knight Unexpected during the summer. I knew what was going to happen when, all of the symbolism I would use, and the themes I planned on exploring. I knew everything... except what would happen during Chapter Four.

Originally, this chapter was supposed to be a travel montage. It was supposed to bring Toris and Feliks to a wary comfort zone in their relationship so I could write an important scene in Chapter Five. In short: it was a transitional chapter. I didn't know that. I didn't even think of it like that until recently.

I went through many, many drafts of this chapter. There are six in all, seven counting the file I used for storing the cuts I was attached to. One draft involved Toris describing the walk. Another involved Toris getting into the barn and describing it in excruciating detail. There was one draft that started with a purple prose-y description of Toris and Feliks walking, and another that started with Toris meeting a character who I won't reveal because it's a spoiler. Like I said, it was a bitch.

I almost scrapped this fic because of it. That's how bad it was.

You know what, though? I'm damn proud of this chapter. I'm proud of it and how much effort I put into it, even if it made me want to tear out my hair multiple times. I'm glad I finally finished it. And I'm glad so many of you like and support this fic. 19 faves and 20 follows on a little three chapter fic! It makes me smile just thinking about it.

Here's something to remember, though. Kids, next time you write a fic, write it all before publishing. You will thank yourself. Trust me.

Anyways! I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took. I promise the next one will be up shortly. Sorry for the huge digression, but I just had to get that out of my system. ;_;; Now for the other announcements.

Thank you all so much for the follows, faves, and the reviews. Just knowing that people are reading this fic fills me with inspiration! Trust me, I wouldn't be anywhere without you guys. I have a question, though: did my writing improve over the eight month hiatus? I'm curious. Tell me what you think in a review. Or, if you want, you can send me an ask on tumblr. My tumblr is nonbinarymage, so if you have any questions, concerns, or just want to yell at me about this fic, come check out my blog. The fic tag is fic: knight unexpected.

Also. Remember how I said that I almost gave up on writing this fic because of this chapter? Yeah. While I was in my writing slump, I started writing the first chapter of another fic that I've had in the making for ages.

As of November 2016, A Light in The Attic is officially a WIP! It's a first person DenNor fic in Nor's PoV, and I'm pretty excited about it! I won't publish the first chapter now because I want to finish Knight Unexpected first. I also want to finish it before publishing. It'll be easier on my stress and writer's block. OTL. Instead, I'll show you guys a little sneak peak of it.

"On June 17th, Leifur's birthday, I light a candle by his portrait on the mantelpiece.

The candle is small, about the size of my thumb, and bright white. It smells faintly of vanilla and pine needles. Although it trembles when confronted with the portrait, and although it is surrounded by sprigs of bluebells on either side, it shines brightly and fiercely. The flame sputters when I adjust the bluebells; it chokes when I wipe the dust off of Leifur's portrait with a white cotton cloth. But not once does it give out. And in this way, the little white candle lights the living room."

So there it is.

That's it for this Author's Note. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this (belated) chapter of Knight Unexpected. Peace out!

-NC 3