CHAPTER 25

I've got to say, after getting your reviews I pondered for a while – to be or not to be merciful and let them escape, be saved? Why not make this a 'fantastique' tragedy? Okay, I am kidding right now, I've never thought of that, it was just a bit of a cliché cliffhanger there… Oh well, let's just drop the small talk and get on with the chapter!

Warning – there will be some graphic violence in this chapter!

The first thing his faint hearing perceived as he began to slowly come back to his senses was the monotonous sound of the waves hurrying to meet the shore, before actually feeling them as they gently lapped at the strip of sand and a half of his own body. The Prussian literally felt like an abandoned carcass, out of which only the head was still somewhat functional. You're a prince, you can't and you won't lie here like a dead thing! his mind worked to spur him into movement, but his limbs were not obeying him. It was hard, so damned hard. As he was lying face down onto the cold, frozen sand, the first thing he deemed necessary to do was to spit out some that had gotten into his mouth, yet the salty and somewhat bitter taste refused to leave his tongue.

Fucking hell… he groaned, or more thought he did, cursing some more over the realization that his throat was sore, most likely from the cold seawater he must have been swallowing. How did I end up here? What happened? Where am I? All the sudden questions buzzing through his head didn't help at all, so the prince eventually decided to take things one at a time. Slowly and extremely careful, his frozen fingers tensed, then moved, gripping the ground beneath him, and he made an effort to push himself up. At first all he managed was to roll onto his back, then hauled himself into a sitting position. The sudden abrupt movement got him dizzy, and he instantly gripped his head in shaky hands, before glancing around.

The sea was black, inky waves now slow and calm after the raging storm that had taken place… how long ago? He couldn't tell… Somewhere, far away in the distance the Prussian made out the vague contours of the island they'd looked at from the Italian's balcony, shrouded by some light fog, like the unreachable goal it had remained after all. The small beach he was currently on appeared to be deserted, with only the remainders of a few wooden fishing boats abandoned nearby. Tall, thick trees surrounded the strip of sand, menacing and confusing, making it impossible for Gilbert to get even the faintest idea of where he was, before he saw the walls. The Topkapi fortress.

The massive stone walls weren't as close as he'd initially thought with obvious dread, but they couldn't have been that far away either. The current must have swept them to the north instead of east - as they'd planned to go – towards that island.

And where is Valentin? If I was washed to shore here, maybe he…maybe he was too? Gilbert had no memory whatsoever about what had happened to their small boat and when he'd, well, left it. God, please, let him still be alive, please! At that thought the silver haired prince's eyes instantly filled with tears and he sobbed loudly, pulling his damp coat around his body, the coat that was now empty – Gilbird was gone too. And Gilbert pulled it closer, tighter around himself, as if trying to protect himself from the sheer cruelty of it all.

"O yalnız değildi! Bu şekilde gel! Çabuk!"

Janissaries! Gilbert let out a grumbled swear and instantly jumped to his feet, all other thoughts forgotten at the sound of the hoarse shouts and yells coming from among the trees behind him. He turned around on his heels, sword drawn in reflex and muscles tensing as the adrenaline rush coursed through him, chasing away all numbness. There was no time and no place to hide, and the prince had no such intention to, anyway. If this was going to be his last stand before the fulfillment of his cruel fate, he would take it with dignity. He would die as a free man.

Balancing the blade in his right hand, he waited impatiently but it took a little while until the soldiers came into view. There were five of them and the rising moon cast a pale and eerie light over their high helmets, leather breastplates and the curved blades held menacingly forward. "Shit, there's five of the damned bastards!"Gilbert muttered under his breath, tightening the grip on the handle of his own sword.

"Kılıcını bırak ve kendinizi teslim!" one of them, which appeared to be their leader shouted, but the Prussian only grinned, shaking his head. "Beni hayatta almayacağım! Bu kez değil!"

The prince leaned slightly in a defensive position as the Janissaries lunged forward, curved blades held up in the air. Their curved, shorter swords are made to slash and cut, and they need to come close to be able to deliver a good blow. Your sword is long and straight, just stay out of their range and aim for a clean thrust…Gilbert remembered the lesson he'd never thought he'd get the chance to ever put into practice. At least he would try to take as many of them as he could with him to the other world!

The prince waited patiently despite the ever growing tension, and when the first man got close enough and was about to strike, he dodged him quickly in the last second, turning around and stabbing him in the back with a short, rapid thrust. The body collapsed facedown with a light thud onto the sand behind him, but the Prussian did not even hear it as he quickly lifted his sword to block a blow aiming directly for his head. He pushed with all his strength against his attacker, but the man was no lightweight and the blade he wielded was slowly but surely inching in towards his face. He made one last effort to reject his opponent, but right then the Janissary booted him in the stomach, and Gilbert was sent tumbling backwards, sword very nearly flying from his hand.

"Fucking hell!" the silver haired prince swore out loud, rising quickly and tugging and the damp trousers unpleasantly sticking to his feet. The remaining four soldiers were now closing in at the same time, seeking to encircle him. I can't let them trap me! he pondered briefly, absent an actual plan, as he lunged forward towards the one he deemed the weakest of the group. The man countered his attack, making his blade slide to the side against his own, but he hesitated for a fleeting moment and the Prussian slammed his forehead into his face with full force. Blood gushing from his broken nose and dizzy from the blow, the soldier lost his balance and fell onto his back, breaking the circle.

Gilbert jumped over his out sprawled form and put some distance between himself and the group, but still, there wasn't much of a victory. There were three of them left and the fourth would probably get up sooner or later as well. The prince cursed himself for not stabbing that one too when he'd had the chance. No time for regrets though before another attacked him, delivering a quick set of short blows, each seeking the right angle that would catch him unprepared. Damn it, when did he get so close? Gilbert was getting tired and his sword arm was growing gradually unsteady and aching. I can't go on much longer… he concluded morosely, feeling his end near.

"Herr Beilschmidt! Herr Beilschmidt!" a voice suddenly resounded nearby, from among the trees behind them, drawing the Janissaries' attention. The Turk turning his head for the briefest moment was all that the Prussian needed to impale his breast plated chest in full. The movement however took away almost all of his remaining strength, and he dropped on his knees right next to the fresh corpse, panting heavily and gripping the handle of his sword to support himself.

"Herr Beilschmidt!" the Italian called again, rather short of breath himself, as he came into view carrying a scimitar (A/N – Ottoman sword) which was obviously too heavy for his fragile hand. What the hell is he doing with that? Gilbert found himself thinking randomly, before shaking himself out of the daze.

"Signor Vargas, run! Get away from here!" he yelled, despite the coarseness of his own voice that didn't exactly help. "Get away from here! Run!" he repeated, motioning back towards the trees, although he doubted that the little Italian's legs, unused to effort as they must have been, could actually carry him very far before the Janissaries would get their hands on him.

The Prussian made a move to get up, but suddenly a heavy boot hit him in the chest. He instantly found himself pinned down on his back, air brutally kicked out of his lungs.

"Ve şimdi… öleceksin, pis inançsız!" one of the three Janissaries shouted, the scimitar lifted above his head and ready to strike a deadly blow. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring a short prayer. He did not have time to make the cross sign over his chest before a warm, thick liquid was splashed all over his face, and a considerable weight was dropped over him, suffocating. There was a blurry moment in which the prince no longer had any idea what was going on around him, hearing only some faint shouting in the surrounding darkness. Then his eyes snapped open and he was alert once more, forcing his muscles to push away the burden pressing over his chest, which turned out to be the body of the soldier that was about to strike him.

Wiping the blood off his eyes and face with the back of his hand, Gilbert hauled himself into a sitting position, just in time to see his prince engaging one of the two remaining Janissaries. Valentin had not had a sword when they'd left the castle, but somehow he'd gotten a scimitar, just like the Italian. There must have been more soldiers… did he and Feliciano take them out? he wondered in somewhat of a puzzlement. The older prince observed the clashing of swords in a daze, as the second one joined the fight.

He can't handle them both in the same time! Gilbert thought almost out loud, struggling to get himself up and standing. But the strawberry blonde moved swiftly, wielding the blade with lightning speed, and they couldn't trap him so easily. And then it all happened in the blink of an eye. One of the men eventually fell, but the other managed to knock the sword off Valentin's hand and aimed for a quick deadly blow. But the Romanian trapped his wrist with one hand, while the sharp nails of the other clawed at his opponent, slashing his throat open. Dark blood gushed out from the ugly wound, and the Janissary dropped to his knees, choking, only to be pushed backwards by the younger prince's boot.

"Valentin! You…you live!" the Prussian whispered, still finding it hard to believe it. He gripped the blonde's shoulders and was about to lean in for a kiss before the Romanian inconspicuously tilted his head in Feliciano's direction. "Right… I mean, Your Highness! Thank God, you are alright!" he added louder. And you saved me yet again!" The blonde tsked him with somewhat of an amused expression.

"And Vali, now that we're free… I want to renew my pledge," he said a bit nervous, dropping down on one knee and taking his prince's hand in his. "From this day and until the end of my days, you, my prince, will have my sword and my heart! Do you accept it?"

"Yes, my liege!" Valentin replied solemnly, as the Prussian brought his hand to his lips.

"Herr Beilschmidt, look what I found!" Feliciano interrupted their ceremony, walking up to join the pair. Gilbert glanced up and saw him pulling something small and golden from the inside of his damp velvet jacket. "He was resting on the same piece of wood I happened to float on…" he added as the small bundle took off from his cradled palm, chirping happily.

"GILBIRD! You're alive!" the Prussian exclaimed in amazement, as the little yellow canary landed on his favorite spot atop his head.

"Well, it's not that surprising, since he can fly…" Valentin observed, and then gasped. "I'm sorry, I wasn't…um… implying anything, Signor Vargas! We are forever indebted to you! We could never have done it without your invention!"

"Oh, you mean that?" Feliciano threw a sad glance at the waves. "That was a terrible fiasco!" he murmured chagrined.

That's an understatement. Flying –and falling - with that thing was the most embarrassing thing I've ever done. It even tops walking back to the castle drunk off my ass and butt naked! the older prince pondered.

"Well, I'm sure you'll improve it one day, and for now it has served its purpose, so don't worry about it. Now we must hurry before we get any more company – they had two horses, left them a little way back. We'll get on and out of here!"

THE END

Dictionary:

O yalnız değildi! Bu şekilde gel! Çabuk! – He wasn't alone! Come this way! Quickly!

Kılıcını bırak ve kendinizi teslim! – Drop your sword and surrender yourself!

Beni hayatta almayacağım! Bu kez değil! – You won't take me alive! Not this time!

Ve şimdi… öleceksin, pis inançsız! - And now ... you will die, filthy non-believer!

Well, that was all everyone, once again I hope you enjoyed and don't forget to let me know what you think! Apart from this as-usual-uninspired ending, I'd like to thank all of you faithful readers for your continued feedback and support, without which I would have probably been reluctant to carry on with this little "project". So thank you once more!