Hello everyone! I'm finally back and I apologise for the hiatus. ;_; Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter! To be honest I still don't have much confidence portraying Arthur and Alfred so do let me know if I have made them OOC or anything and I will work on my characterization.
Arthur was attacked the moment he stepped through the door.
A form had hurled itself at the Queen, pinning him viciously against the wall and causing his head to slam against the wood. A flash of pain turned Arthur's vision white momentarily, and he struggled against the strong hands pressing his wrists downwards, only to be met by a snarling face.
Recognition shook him out of his astonishment and he found himself staring into the pale gray eyes of his former mentor. His lips, chapped from the cold he had travelled under, soundlessly formed the word "master" just as he took in the other man's state. It had been years since Arthur saw his mentor, and he had decided to seek the old man for advice on the disease.
The latter was not a sorcerer (those who could perform magic were extremely rare but most people could name at least one potion-maker or witch – the difference between a potion-maker and a witch was that potion-makers often ran apothecaries while witches created slightly more morbid potions that people bought from time to time to get back at an ex or an old friend) and could not perform magic but his potion-making skills were one of the best in the Kingdom. Arthur knew that his master had stopped taking in apprentices in exchange for a peaceful, potion-free life, but he had thought that perhaps there might have been old recipes he could try.
The blond definitely did not expect to see his formerly confident mentor reduced to a hunched and slobbering old man, now devoid of the dark robes he used to don and the tinge of youthful immortality that always tended to linger about him in the past.
The stormy eyes that had once seemed like they carried all the wisdom in the world had deteriorated to mere glass, and from the mouth that used to convey the most complicated of instructions now dripped saliva. Fluids ran down the wrinkled skin, covered in what Arthur had come to know as the marks of the disease – swelled and sticky boils plagued the once strong body, and Arthur thought, "What happened to him?"
In a desperate attempt to allay the dread and suspicion that was quickly rising in his chest, Arthur shouted, "Master! Master Wright!" The grip on his wrists only tightened, and the old man leaned in closer, saliva dripping onto Arthur's suede coat and breath stinging his senses. Arthur could feel his heart hammering in his ribcage and he searched the pair of clouded eyes in vain for any signs of recognition. They remained as blank as ever, but Arthur was not going to give up just yet. The dribble staining his clothing and the acrid breath he was inhaling had led him to a dull acceptance – there was probably no way that he could escape unscathed from the disease now. But he was not going down without a fight, and while his mentor-turned-creature was growling and drooling, Arthur kneed him in the stomach and shoved him away, grabbing the object closest to him – a fallen candelabra – and swinging it around like a weapon.
"It's me! Arthur." The old man, who had been pushed to the floor, remained on the ground, chest heaving and emitting low, inhuman noises. Arthur threw caution to the wind and stepped forward, speaking soothingly to the panting man.
"Arthur Kirkland. Queen of Spades. Your former apprentice." He held on to the rusty metal of the candelabra and inched towards his former master, counting in his head the seconds between each step. The other man seemed to pause his wheezing for a moment, eyes on Arthur yet still seeing through him. The younger man saw this as an opportunity and continued.
"You were a great mentor to me and you taught me many things…" Another step forward.
"You showed me the world, Master." Heel down, toes descending.
A pang of nostalgia shook Arthur suddenly as he recalled how his master would take him to the woods to pick up the right herbs for the various potions they practiced making. They sold potions that were for the stupidest things – love potions and hair potions – but also for useful reasons. Master Wright taught Arthur how to create potions that could help one remember and forget and potions that could heal.
It had seemed that his master had known how to create a potion for anything, but Arthur had been proven wrong when his master showed him a thick, leather-bound book, explaining that he could not make the potions featured inside because they required magic. According to him, the book contained powerful spells and he had wanted Arthur to take the book to the castle for safe-keeping, only to be refused for the other had seen no point when no one had heard of a sorcerer or sorceress for decades. Since that day onwards, the book remained safely hidden in the secret cellar of the workshop.
Master Wright had been the man Arthur respected the most, and Arthur suddenly recalled how the sun's rays had bathed the older man's face in gold on the first day they had met. To ten-year-old Arthur, the other had seemed like an otherworldly being, whose friendly smile was later revealed to be masking high expectations and a demand for discipline. Master Wright had a motto, and it was what he had always told Arthur ever since he had begun his training –
"Proposito ante sapientia," he whispered, crouching gradually to his former mentor's level. Purpose before wisdom. Master Wright had always emphasized that one had to know his purpose in the world before he could put his knowledge to good use.
The clouded glass in his eyes seemed to clear and the old man relaxed, tilting his head slightly at Arthur. A whisper slipped past his lips, and Arthur lunged for that single chance, putting his ear close to the other's face. Master Wright was repeating a single word again and again and through the slurring and hissing Arthur finally made out something: Vargas.
"What about Vargas?" Arthur pressed, mind whirring from all the possible things Master Wright could be referring to.
"Le… Gend… Cure… Deeeeee… Seeeeeease…" The old man let out a giggle of glee; losing the thread of consciousness he had left. His gaze moved to the floor, his chest slowly regaining its rapid rise and fall.
Arthur felt himself losing it too, as he mentally created and eliminated possibilities, until finally two familiar people appeared in his mind – Lovino Vargas' trademark scowling face and Feliciano Vargas' sprightly figure.
"What about Lovino and Feliciano?" Arthur snatched up his former mentor's hands, wringing them up and down as his voice took to a crescendo. "TELL ME, I NEED TO KNOW!"
Immediately, he felt a sharp pain on his forearm and he howled, realizing that Master Wright had bitten him. The old man had scrambled to his feet and was now sniveling and wailing, rushing towards his desk. Arthur felt utter anger and desperation overwhelm him. He had not come all the way to hear a few words that might mean something and then return empty-handed but with the disease now bit by bit wrapping around his body in its dark embrace. He had the people to think about, his subjects to answer to, a Kingdom to rule…
A bright smile. Striking blue eyes. Yes, he had Alfred to go home to. Alfred, who was probably staring out of the window aimlessly again as Yao brought back more and more depressing statistics. Alfred, who was probably gripping onto the curtains as his mind went from a mess to blank helplessness, and then back a jumble again. Alfred, who needed him. For a second, Arthur blamed Alfred for making him go to such lengths but then the hate went back to himself, an arrow flying back to its archer with deadly precision, when he finally admitted that Alfred was the only person he would actually go to such lengths for.
Arthur hated the effect his King had on him. Not many Kings and Queens fell in love, and Arthur did not know whether to consider himself lucky that he always felt the whole room light up whenever Alfred stepped in. They had both been crowned together, and Arthur still remembered that he had been terrified out of his wits.
"Are you scared?" Alfred had whispered into his ear as they stood side by side, both watching but not really listening as Yao gave a speech about the Kingdom's history and its past Royals, a common part of every Kingdom's coronation ceremony.
Arthur's immediate reaction had been a snappy denial that had come out as a result of his innate stubbornness, and Alfred, being incredibly oblivious, had commented, "Whoa, you're really brave. I'm nervous as hell."
The passive face Arthur had adopted had transformed into one of minor shock. Alfred had seemed so confident, yet Arthur had been glad that he was not the only one dreading the ceremony. Could the other blond be as frightened as he was? Arthur felt a tiny bit of sympathy for Alfred at the possibility that he could be just as jittery as himself. A glance at the way Alfred's fingernails were digging into his palm proved that such a possibility was not highly impossible.
"It'll be fine. You're not alone," Arthur had said quickly with a snort, just as fanfare started playing and Yao brought in the crowns.
"What?" Alfred had yelled, voice muffled out by the blasting of trumpets. "I can't hear you!"
"I said, you'll be alright! You should be glad you're not alone!" Arthur raised his voice over the banging of the drums, annoyed at having to repeat his words.
"Huh? I should be glad I'm not a stone? Of course I am, being a rock would suck!"
And Arthur had not been sure which was worse: having to rule the Kingdom or having to rule the Kingdom with Alfred.
Now, he almost wished that he had been a rock and not a man with huge responsibilities and too little time. Arthur rushed after his former master and prepared to tackle the old man from behind when the ill elder spun around and pushed a paper into his face. Garbling incoherently, the old man pointed one crooked finger to the words on the parchment and shoved it into Arthur's hands. Before Arthur could react, he crumpled and fell to the ground, ruined lungs finally shutting down after making their last attempts to gather oxygen. Arthur clutched the sheet in his hand and for a few minutes, he stood in the room listening to his own breathing.
Then, eyes never leaving his former mentor's now permanently glassy eyes, he stumbled backwards towards the door and fell out into the cool night.