Arthur nervously waited outside the office door. For once, Gilbert had summoned him, rather than wait for Arthur to report with valuable information. The lieutenant had received a note from a messenger to come as quickly as possible. And so here he was.
Arthur hadn't seen Matthew since he had been arrested yesterday. He worried about him, especially since Arthur had heard unearthly screaming in the night. He hoped that this visit had nothing to do with Matthew.
The door was suddenly opened from within. "Good," Gilbert's gruff voice said. "You're here." He motioned for Arthur to enter, closing the door behind him.
"How's your eye, sir?" Arthur asked.
"Speared on a bolt. And the socket hurts like fuck." Gilbert crossed his arms. "I didn't summon you here to talk about my health."
"Sorry, sir."
"I've got a mission for you. An espionage mission. It's super important, so don't fuck it up. You know how the town's been kind of empty recently?" Gilbert waited for Arthur to nod before continuing. "They're starting up their little revolution thing. We have to stop them before they get cocky and do something that might actually get them a victory. You quartered with the Nighteagle. He knows you. He might even trust you if you go over to him and say you defected. Sources say that he's the leader of the rebellion. Get as close to him as possible by any means necessary. Report anything you find out - especially stuff about battle plans and strategies - via paper boats going down the stream."
"Yes, sir. But, ah, where is their camp, sir?"
"We've extracted the information from Nighteagle's brother."
So that's what the screams were, Arthur thought.
"The rebel camp is north, in a clearing past the bluff. You got all that, lieutenant?"
Arthur nodded. "Understood."
"Alright. Take your horse and get out. Try to look like you're actually defecting. The rebels might be watching us. Dismissed."
Arthur quickly left, grabbing his stallion from the tavern stable. He tried to look as furtive and guilty as possible as he galloped away.
When he reached the forest, he slowed down. Arthur felt as though he was being watched, and he probably was, truthfully. The rebels could have scouts anywhere. He suddenly realized that any one of them could put a bolt in his head without flinching. The thought gave him chills.
Arthur frowned when he saw an area up ahead that looked as though it was brighter than the rest of the forest. When he saw cloth tents and several hastily-constructed barns, he realized it was the rebel clearing, set up as a fairy-light camp. How had no scout noticed him yet?
When his horse trotted into the clearing, he found out that he had, in fact, been noticed. Every man, woman, and child in the clearing had a bow trained on him. Alfred sat on his horse dressed in his Nighteagle gear, frowning. A tall, heavyset man was mounted beside him.
Before anyone could say anything, Arthur raised his hands in surrender. HIs heart was pounding in his chest, sending adrenaline through his body, but he kept his voice steady. "Don't shoot. I've defected. I...I want to join your cause."
"How do we know this isn't a trap?" the unfamiliar man next to Alfred asked.
"You don't. But I can give you information. Maybe that will prove that I am loyal to the rebellion."
Alfred whispered something into the tall man's ear, then said aloud, "Stand down." He dismounted and motioned for Arthur to do the same as the rebels lowered their bows. "Follow me."
Arthur trailed behind Alfred, entering the tent the American led him into. "I had a feeling you were different, Arthur," Alfred said after the burlap surrounded them. "A gut feeling, granted. But it was right."
Arthur nodded. A twisted, guilty knot gnawed at him from within. Alfred just looked so...trusting. Arthur forced himself not to believe that naive face, though. Alfred was a dangerous man wrapped in deception. The day Arthur forgot that would be the day he died.
"So you said you have information."
"I do." Arthur paused for a moment, deciding what he was comfortable with revealing. "Captain Beilschmidt isn't dead."
"I know," Alfred replied. "Killing him was never my intention."
"They have your brother."
"I know that, too."
"Did you know that they're torturing him? That's how I found out where your camp is. He confessed a lot of information. That's why I left. I couldn't bear the knowledge, the screaming."
Alfred swallowed visibly. "I didn't know that."
Arthur put a hand on Alfred's arm. "He is very brave, Alfred."
Alfred looked away. "He's my younger brother. I'm supposed to take care of him."
Arthur sensed that the other man was taking down his defenses. The lieutenant would remain wary, but he could possibly exploit this sudden weak point in order to gain the rebel's trust.
"There was nothing you could've done."
Alfred glared at him. "I am so tired of hearing that from everyone! I should've done something anyway! I've failed him!"
"You have not failed him," Arthur said sternly. "You will only fail him when he dies. I will do everything in my power to help you get him back before that happens."
Alfred's eyes softened. "You...You would do that for Matthew?"
"For Matthew." Arthur moved his hand from Alfred's arm to his cheek. "And for you."
Gilbert's words echoed in Arthur's head. By any means necessary.
The darkness was forgiving. The darkness did not twist knives into his flesh, burn him with coals, or pour salt on his wounds. The darkness was a blessing, because in the darkness he was alone. And when he was alone, he was not being tortured.
Perhaps Gilbert thought loneliness was a form of torture, but Matthew embraced it. He liked being alone. Too many people around him made Matthew uncomfortable. He was an introvert, an opposite to his twin's extroverted personality. And alone was how he liked it. Especially now.
The only problem with the darkness was that there was nothing to distract him from the pain of his wounds. The lacerations stung horribly. This is better than getting new cuts, though, Matthew thought wryly.
In the beginning he had tried to remain passive-aggressive. He had broken quickly, crying and screaming whatever his torturers wanted. It made him sick. But Matthew couldn't fight it. He could only hope the darkness would last a little longer.
Matthew hoped the information he had divulged didn't hurt the revolution. He couldn't remember what he had admitted to and what he had been able to hold back. No matter what he had said, though, it was already too much. Above all else, he hoped that Alfred kept a clear head and watched out for knew that Alfred was tumbling between rage and depression as a result of Matthew's disappearance, that he was walking along a thin line of clear-headedness. If his emotions blinded him, he would walk right into something that would hurt him so much, Alfred wouldn't be able to see straight.
"Where are you, Alfred?" Matthew muttered. The darkness did not answer him, as it was in darkness's nature to be silent and still. Matthew sighed. Being alone was fun and all, but he didn't mind company every once in a while.
His dreams and nightmares were answered. A beam of light fell on the trembling man as the door opened.
AN: Guys oh my god this regatta just really killed me and I'm exhausted. But, as promised, here's your chapter! Yay! Now I'm gonna go play Skyrim until I collapse of exhaustion. By the way, the "collapsing of exhaustion" really isn't that far off right now. See ya tomorrow.
