Ms. Redrum, Aestiva, Milady, Ipseran, a person, akira-nox, Moonlight's Shadow Warrior, Suzume Batchii Taichi, 91RedRoses, yoailover4lyfe and woodbyne (not me! Guys, there are two people on this account! The one who writes shit and the one who posts that shit. GIVE THE POSTING BITCH SOME LOVE!)
I may be cruel, but let it never be said that I don't reward my readers. I'm going to try for another chapter tomorrow. Considering this is almost 3k and I started yesterday, I think that's a very real possibility. I love procrastinating.
But things must get worse before they get better, I'm afraid (for my life).
Slowly, Matthew toppled face-first into the dust.
"NO. NO. MATTIE. NO!" Alfred's voice was shredded by sound as he scrambled on grazed hands and knees to where his betrothed had fallen, blood seeping darkly into the path.
"No, no, nonono," the Celt chanted over and over again, "This can't be happening. No. Please, Mattie, come on!" With numb hands, he turned the Gaul over onto his back, sobs clawing at his throat as he saw the full extent of the damage that had been done. Ribs were cracked and broken, pushing up through ragged skin. Where the spikes hadn't broken through his ribcage, thick notches were carved into the bones. His stomach was the worst; unprotected by bone, the other prince's entrails were spilling out of his skin. So much blood.
"Matthew! Your highness… I don't know. Prince of Gaul, Ice Prince, whatever they call you. You've got to stay with me, okay? Listen to me. Don't go to sleep, Mattie, whatever you do," Alfred could barely see for his own tears, "You have to stay with me, okay? You have to teach me your full, dumb-ass title. And we need to get married so I can tell you my last name! Please!" His lips were wet, but he didn't think Matthew would mind all that much as he pressed kiss after kiss to the Gaulish prince's unnaturally pale skin.
Indigo eyes blinked hazily open.
"Alfred?"
"Yes, yes, it's me, Mattie. You just listen to me, okay? I'm going to keep you alive, okay? You're going to stay alive. For me, okay? You said you were gonna fall in love with me. You're not going to break that promise, are you?" A hopeful smile pulled at his mouth, and he sniffed, blinking back more tears.
"I…" a rattling, sucking breath dragged from Matthew's lungs and Alfred gave a strangled sob, "Cannot break a-"another long, moaning breath, "Vow I have…" the words were just load enough for Alfred to hear, "Already- aah. Kept."
"You son of a bitch," the Celt whispered, "You stupid son of a bitch. You're supposed to say that at our wedding!"
"Your… eyes," a weak smile bloomed on bloodied lips, "Beau. Like a-" each word was a puff of breath, "summer sky. So…glad," he was fighting for every syllable, "I could. Your eyes. Before-"
"Don't you fucking dare start that, Matthew! You are going to live! Okay? You hear me? This is not optional. You are going to live, and we're going to get married and hold hands and do stupid things together and we are going to show your stuck-up court officials how warm you really are."
"Mon…" flecks of crimson burst from the prince's lips, settling on his face, "Amour…"
"Crazy Gaul," Alfred whispered bitterly, "I'm your summer prince. It wasn't supposed to be like this-"
"MY LORD!" the animalistic scream came from behind them, and the Celt turned to see the dragon bearing down on them both.
Without a moment's hesitation, Alfred threw himself in front of Matthew, protecting the injured Gaul with his body.
~====o)0(o====~
"And then?" Francis asked, wide eyed, his fingers latched onto Arthur's arm as he eagerly awaited the next part of the story. He knew the Celt couldn't possibly have died. He was here, after all, safe and warm in the Gaul's bed, only a little worse for wear.
"I waited for a blow that never came. When I looked up, Alfred had a belt around the creature's muzzle and was easing the bolt from its flank. Anticlimactic, it's true, but no less amazing. It calmed once the bolt was removed and let Alfred lead it back into the forest."
"Wait," the king of Gaul narrowed his eyes, "It is not like my royal self to be mistaken, but it is no beyond the parameters of reason when the topic of conversation is not one I am versed in, but is it not true that unicorns are only tamed by those who are …pure?"
"That is true. What of it?" Arthur's tone sounded like thin ice cracking underfoot in the middle of a very large lake that was slap bang in nowhere's arsehole.
"Your son is the same age as my Matthieu, oui? Matthieu has no fondness of crowds or strangers and thus has not wed, but he is no virgin," an edge of laughter laced Francis' words.
"Our customs are different in Albion," the Celt said icily, but sighed, shoulders sagging a little, "I don't think that Alfred looks too kindly on the institution of marriage. As much as I love my wife, we were an odd match. Both too strong-willed to be paired together. We fought a lot, and I think that's most of what he remembers of us together. He's never shown the slightest interest in getting married or having any kind of romantic relationship before."
"Oh," there was a pause laden with things unsaid, but it was brushed aside in favour of the story at hand, "So your virginal son stopped the rampaging unicorn, what happened next?"
"He saved my life."
~====o)0(o====~
The heavy, painful blackness that Alfred was waiting for never came.
Instead, there was an unholy shriek, like tearing metal, and a cascade of something boiling hot and liquid cascaded down on the hapless pair. Sputtering, Alfred wiped red from his eyes. It was everywhere! In his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nose. It was all over Matthew, too. Drenching, burning, cooling, sticky-
Blood.
Turning his head fast enough to give himself whiplash, the Celt looked around, barely believing what he was seeing. The dragon's head was caught between two branched in the canopy above, and the creature's neck was gaping, open and ruby red.
Gilbert – man of the hour – was scrambling down from the tree, falling over his own feet in his haste to get to Matthew's side.
"Verdammt, dumkopf-"
"He's not stupid!" Alfred snapped, "He's brave. And save your damn eulogy. I can fix this!"
"Alfred-" it didn't even register in the albino's mind that the Celt had understood a language he had never had cause to hear before as he tried to comfort his prince's intended.
"No! He's not dead yet! Do you have a needle and thread?" the prince of Albion began frantically patting himself down.
"Please, he wouldn't have wanted th-" once again, Gilbert was cut off before he could finish.
"I don't care! If he can be selfish and get himself killed playing hero, then he can't complain when I do the same thing. Now do you have a fucking needle?" the albino had never really viewed the Celt as a particularly violent person, or even particularly easy to anger, but the look on his face now was positively manic.
"You two would have had a very unhealthy relationship. I'll check the packs," Gil sighed, clambering up and jogging off towards the bikes to check for a needle, thread and a roll of bandages.
~====o)0(o====~
"He saved your life?" Francis asked incredulously, wondering how a boy who couldn't even manage to misplace his own virginity could save the life of a king, "How, precisely, did he achieve this feat?"
"Stitched my wound," Arthur shrugged, ignoring the Gaul's sceptical look, "I don't pretend to know how the gift works, only that it does. My son sewed me up and three days later, all I had was a scar. I can't imagine it was much fun for him, though. He thought I was going to die, poor lad. He was alternately cursing me out and begging me to stay. 'You stupid old man, I love you, you can't die, damn it, I don't want to be king yet!' Were his exact words, I believe." A fond smile creased Arthur's lips.
"A formidable talent runs in your family. But pray what of your own, descendant of Bhogavati?" Francis' eyes glittered teasingly, "What superhuman abilities have the Naga people seen fit to bestow?"
"The usual," the Celt said airily, waving a hand to dismiss the question, "Superhuman strength, wisdom and good looks," A sharp grin lined his lips, "Of course, I'm not sure what this has to do with anything, but I'm also quite remarkably flexible."
Francis' answering smile was lupine, "Is that so?"
~====o)0(o====~
In the absence of a needle, Alfred was pulling twine through Matthew's skin with a sharp bit of wire from one of the bikes.
"Are you of utmost certainty this will work?" Gilbert demanded, pacing ceaselessly behind the Celt, "I would not have you desecrate the corpse of my Lord."
"I would you were silent that I may give my utmost to the resuscitation of your Lord and mine," Alfred snapped over his shoulder, pushing hair stick with congealed blood back from his face.
The albino's eyes narrowed, "Since when do you speak Gaulish or Goth?" he asked, "And by what means is this resuscitation, for I will suffer no necromancy, nor any further pain to be inflicted."
"I know not of which you speak, and I no sorcerer am I. I have but a gift that shall not be put to waste while my beloved lies living," with a triumphant grunt, Alfred tied off the last knot. The wounds were messy but the stitchery, at least, was clean.
Together they watch Matthew's shallow breathing, and as the moments dragged on, Alfred's face fell and the livid gashes on the Gaul's chest remained obstinately unhealed.
"I don't understand," the blue-eyed blond couldn't meet the fading indigo eyes before him, "Why isn't it working? It should be healing. That's what dad's did-"
Alfred's words were cut off as Gilbert hauled him to his feet and slammed the bloody Celt against the cooling hide of the Dragon's carcass, a sword to his throat.
"I told him. I told him you were trouble, and now he's dead and I'm the one who has to tell his father that I couldn't protect him from some stupid warlock!"
Gilbert's red eyes had scared Alfred the first time he had seen them, but that was nothing to the utmost terror he felt now. The albino's face was contorted with rage and misery and the blade was beginning to break skin – leaving a line of fire across the Celt's neck.
"Gilbert, lay off."
"But, my Lord! He's killed you!" it took a moment to sink in before the knight whipped around, disbelief plastered on his features.
There was Matthew, groaning as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, two livid scars visible on his chest where the stitches had been. He was filthy and battered and definitely worse for wear, but he was grinning tiredly and Alfred wanted to run to him and hold him close.
The blade that was digging into his neck was a bit of a cockblock, though.
"Still, he speaks in tongues, my Lord!" Gilbert protested.
"You dolt," Matthew laughed weakly, wincing as his stomach muscles contracted painfully, "So am I!"
"Sire?" Alfred wished his fiancé wouldn't antagonise the man with the sword.
"Hast the lessons we took together as boys been so soon forgotten? Fair vassal, in what am I covered? My own blood and that of a dragon," the Gaul was on his feet now, taking stumbling steps toward them until he could tug at Gilbert's arm. He wasn't strong enough to pull the sword away, but the albino got the message, "The blood of a drake, when supped, imparts the gift of tongues."
"You drank dragon's blood?" Gil made a disgusted face.
"Take some credit, dude," Alfred groused, rubbing his throat briefly before moving forward to pull an unresisting Matthew into his arms. Now that he had someone to lean on, the Gaul used it to his full advantage, his strength having waned in the short walk over to his friends (he'd almost died, give the man a break) he let Alfred support his weight, "You poured a whole dragonful over us."
~====o)0(o====~
At Matthew's insistence, they doubled back to the river they had been playing in earlier to clean off and recuperate before heading back to the castle. It wasn't far, but the prince had insisted that he wanted to take a day or two until he could walk on his own. There would be enough kerfuffle at the palace, Matthew reasoned, without the added drama of the crown price being unable to stand on his own two feet.
Alfred, for his part, had as good as welded himself to the Gaul's side, refusing to leave unless absolutely necessary, and even then not out of eye- or earshot.
The night before they were due to go back; Alfred lay beside Matthew, his fingers running over the scars.
"Apprehensive, mon amour?" the Gaul asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Gilbert.
"Yea verily," Alfred snarked, cuddling closer to the prince's side, "I don't want anyone to hate me."
"You saved my life," Matthew kissed first the Celt's hair, then his cheeks, "I shouldn't think that I could hate you."
"You'd be surprised," Alfred sighed, looking at the stars, "But even if you do… Do you at least promise not to hate me?"
"Your tone concerns me, dearest," the injured prince murmured, stroking a lock of golden blond behind a Celtic ear, "The truth you have promised to tell is greater than you wished?"
"I may have downplayed things a little more than I should have," the blue-eyed man didn't shy away from Matthew's touch, but he didn't lean into it the way he wanted to.
"Then I swear on this, the life you gave me, that I shall not hate you, no matter your truth. And I shall not ever forget you," it was barely a breath after that that their lips met, hands tangling in each other's hair. Alfred was too focused on the fire in his lips and in his blood to notice that Matthew had eased him back so that the Gaul was hovering over him. He kept on not noticing until with a pained grunt, Matthew collapsed on top of him.
"Mattie! Here," carefully, he pushed the prince back so that it was in his original position, "Is that more comfortable?"
The Ice Prince looked up wryly from the flat of his back. His hair was spread around his face and his eyes were dark in the moonlight.
"I should very much like to continue a little longer before we retire," he whispered, and Alfred blushed mightily.
"Sure, how would we do that?"
"I shouldn't like to risk strain, so, like this," pale hands guided the Celt until he was straddling Matthew's hips. A smirk on his lips, the Gaul wove his hands once more into his betrothed's hair, pulling him down, "And now we kiss."
Keeping his weight carefully off the injured prince, Alfred captured Matthew's lips in a slow, warm kiss. By now the taste of each other's lips was a familiar pleasure, one eagerly sought after. Whenever one pulled back, the other followed until they were both short of breath and Gilbert was threatening them with an untimely and tragic demise unless they went the fuck to sleep.
"They call you the Ice Prince," Alfred murmured drowsily, sliding off of Matthew and cuddling up to his side as the Gaul put an arm around him.
"What of it, mon amour?"
"They say it like ice isn't beautiful."
"Your deaths will be unpleasant to explain to his Majesty, but that will make my slumber no less satisfying!"
~====o)0(o====~
"Ready?" Matthew breathed; an elated smile on his lips as they stood outside the door to the throne room. They layout appeared to have changed somewhat in the two months the Gaul had been absent from home. The heralds seemed to have been dispensed with in all but the room ahead of them, and they seemed to be under orders to shorten any and all titles down to the bare minimum.
Unless it was a formal introduction.
Which this was.
"Let's do this," Alfred whispered back with a giddy grin. They'd undergone a change of clothes, and they were both in the formal, royal blue of the Gaulish court.
The doors swung open and they took a step forward before kneeling, eyes to the floor.
"Your Majesties," Alfred shot Matthew a look, and Matthew just gave a jerk of his shoulder to say that he didn't know either, "I present to you His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Matthew, Heir Apparent to the Kingdom of Gaul, Prince Regent and Duke of Montreal, Ga-Oh, Bear of the Northern Empire, returns to your court bearing the title of Ice Prince and bringing with him a bride from lands afar, A-"
"Alfred?!" the Celt's head jerked up as his name was yelled, and all colour drained from his face, eyes wide and panicked.
"Dad!?" he croaked.
"Dad?" Matthew repeated, horror settling across his face as Francis parroted Arthur's yell of,
"Alfred?"
"Shit." The prince of Albion swore.