Chapter 26: What Waits in Darkness

(I think you know what's coming.)

"Yo everyone!" came a loud voice. Matthew's eyes shot up from the letter he was reading. The one written by Arthur to Peter all those years ago. Peter had arrived a hour before with Francis who must have kept a brutal pace to do it even if Francis did possess a Traveling Orb.

Alfred hopped over the last few steps and into the room. Matthew met his now mostly blue ones. The charm spell had all but worn off. A guilty-looking Gilbert came next who tried to explain, "Sorry Majesty he just ran in," Matthew waved Gilbert to silence. He understood.

He had hoped for Gilbert to give warning so they could usher Peter out through the back entrance, but Alfred had foiled that plan. Oh well, he thought, brushing it off a small annoyance.

Peter who was sitting on the couch, turned around, his jaw dropping. His eyes went back and forth between Alfred and Matthew as he stammered, "They...they..look the same!"

"Yes, yes," Matthew said dismissively. Francis stood near the fireplace giving Peter a warning look to stay silent and not interrupt.

The only one not reading the tension was Alfred whose gaze went all over the place as he beamed and guffawed, "Wow, so this is your secret room? This is badass! Though," he paused, scratching at his temple, "What's with all the floral designs and maple leaf stuff? Needs some more blue to match the red and white if you ask me."

"No one did," Francis said through gritted teeth.

Like a kid in a candy store, Alfred was everywhere, exploring this and that, looking under the bed and then in Matthew's chest of clothing. "Alfred!" Matthew snapped, but the boy didn't seem to hear him at all.

"Alfred!" Gilbert tried, but Alfred was peeking in the drawers of Matthew's small bedside dresser. Bored, he was running toward the desk where Matthew was seated when his attention caught on the mantel or what was above it. King Arthur's portrait loomed there, the purple curtain held back by gold tassels.

It was an oil painting and it portrayed Arthur in all his glory with blazing emeralds eyes, a red fur cloak draped over his shoulders and half his chest, one hand hidden away, while the other held a gold scepter with a lion on top. A bauble-shaped crown encrusted with rubies and diamonds gleamed on his head. His youthful face held a stern expression that the portrait tried to make older though it was well known that Arthur had been quite young when he took the throne.

Alfred stared at it, his face going slack, his mouth hung open. Matthew exchanged an excited face with Francis. Could it be? He wondered, eagerly. "What is it?" Matthew asked, leaning forward as did Francis.

Alfred didn't respond, but kept staring. "Alfred?"

"Monsieur, do you recognize that man?" Francis asked, unmistakable hope creeping in his voice.

"Dude," Alfred said, pointing at the picture, "That man," he began, glancing at Matthew and Francis, "has the biggest eyebrows ever." Francis stumbled, catching himself on the back of the couch and Matthew groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilbert roll his eyes. "I mean seriously, what died on his face?"

"Alfred!" Matthew griped, "Do you seriously not recognize him?"

"You think I'd forget brows like that?" Alfred chortled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at it. Francis looked devastated and slinked off to a chair in the corner to sulk about another destroyed lead. Alfred picked up some of the mood and glanced around, asking, "What? Did I miss something?"

An understatement, Matthew thought, shooting Francis a sympathetic look. He must really miss King Arthur. Matthew felt a pang in his heart.

Alfred was still studying the painting. "Are you okay?" Matthew asked him.

"Hmm?" Alfred said, breaking from his reverie. "Yeah," he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Just felt dizzy all of the sudden. Must be the stale air from that passage," he said and then pointed at the red-coated toy soldiers standing on the mantel, "Where did you get those?"

"Those?" Matthew repeated in confusion. "They were King Arthur's I believe."

"Shouldn't there be twelve?"

"Twelve? Why would there be twelve?"

"Just...," he began, tilting his head, "Seems like one is missing."

Why's he going on about toys? He thought, shaking his head. This man got distracted easily. "No, it's an eleven soldiers set and always has been," Matthew lied, unsure if that was true, but he was tired of talking about it.

"Yeah, I'm being silly," Alfred admitted, shrugging, he turned to Matthew. "Whatcha doin' over there?"

Matthew stuffed the letter away, answering, "Nothing. Now Alfred we need to dis-."

"Yeah, oh my gosh!" Alfred interrupted, his eyes lighting up. Matthew frowned. He had been raised of a higher station so Alfred was being rude as usual. "I need to tell you. You won't bel-"

"Alfred!" Matthew snapped, tired of this rambling. He still came off very timid, but it worked for once. "Enough of your stories! Please sit down and listen. We need to ask you some questions."

Alfred looked miffed, but leaned against the back of the couch, he eyed Peter and jerked a thumb at the boy, asking, "Who brought the midget?" Gilbert snickered, but hid it at Matthew's frown.

"Midget!" Peter gasped, but quieted at Gilbert and Francis' combined warning glares.

Matthew sighed heavily and Alfred said, "Fine, fine, sorry. Whatcha' want to know? And ya better make it quick coz I'm a busy man."

That tone combined with that smug grin had Matthew's eye twitching. Not even Francis could be so annoying and frustrating. He wanted to pull out his hair and scream at Alfred.

Taking in a deep breathe, he said, "Tell me," he regained some composure, resisting the urge to chuck a book at the idiot's face. "About your childhood."

Alfred slid off the sofa, his butt thumping on the floor as he threw up his hands, yelling, "Dear God, you're kidding!" More cuss words followed as he stood up, muttering about it. Gilbert shrugged as baffled as Matthew was. Are Americans sensitive about their childhood or something? He wondered.

"Stop speaking such insolent language to his Majesty!" Francis huffed in an offended voice.

"I just can't believe this!" Alfred exclaimed, repositioning himself on the couch, he crossed his arms and very pointedly told Matthew, "Fine! But no striptease for you buddy! Just the cold hard facts."

Matthew looked around sideways, now beyond perplexed. Striptease? Did I hear that right? Is that some kind of American custom? He wondered.

"Um... agreed?" He said, unsure how to handle Alfred's outburst. Pushing up his glasses, he asked, "Where were you raised?"

"America, duh."

Again his eye twitched. "All your life? Do you remember growing up in a forest?" He asked. Francis' perked up with renewed interest.

"A forest?" Alfred repeated, amused. "No, I wasn't a caveman. I grew up in the prairies."

That statement, Matthew thought, shaking his head, he inquired, "With who? Who raised you?"

"My family."

Now he speaks curtly, He thought, asking, "And what was their surname?"

"The Jones. We were a frontier family." Matthew's heart sunk and he saw the disappointed look in Francis's eyes, but for Matthew there was also relief. Relief that he might not be related to this dolt.

"The Jones Family?" Matthew repeated. "So they're your real parents?"

Alfred stiffened.

"They are your real parents, aren't they?"

Alfred had a rare dark look as he dropped his gaze to the floor, biting his cheek, he asked, "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I was adopted." Francis sucked in a sharped breathe and Peter appeared stunned as if he was finally accepting what might be before his eyes.

"You were?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Pops found me wandering the prairies, playing spin the buffalo with a herd. I always had a way with animals," he admitted, rubbing at his temple. "Told me once it was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen and he knew then that he had to take me home to Ma."

Spin the buffalo? Matthew reiterated in his head a little stunned at how strong Alfred was. His lips went dry as he continued, "How old were you?"

"Hmm... good question? Not really sure. They thought I was six at the time, but I grew up so fast. Sprouted like weed," he grinned, giving Matthew a thumbs up.

"So you don't know you're own age?" Matthew gulped.

"Well, I can't be much older than you," he chirped. Matthew flinched. "Actually I came to Canada looking for my real family."

Matthew swallowed hard, his voice almost a squeak as he said, "What makes you think you'd find them here?"

"Oh, nothing much. Pretty wild lead to be honest, but my glasses," Alfred said, touching them for emphasis. "A passing bard once told me this kind is only made here in the capital of Canada. So I came here to Toronto."

"Ottawa," he corrected.

"Oh, you Canadians," Alfred chuckled. "Actually they're just like yours."

"So," Matthew stammered, changing the subject, "Where did you live before they found you?"

Alfred's brow furrowed as concentration filled his features, then he held up his forefinger and smiled, saying, "I have no idea."

Matthew sighed, drumming his fingers on the desk. "You have no idea where you were?"

"I don't remember being found. I was kinda young," he said, shrugging. "Though I always held the theory that all the awesome things in the world just coalesced one day into me."

Gilbert nodded in agreement like that was a plausible idea. Matthew shot him a glare and he straightened up. "So there's nothing?"

"Yup," Alfred agreed, "Now if you're done, can I have my bomber jacket and stuff? It's been to long and I really want to wear it again. I'm tired of playing you."

Not that you have done a great job of it, Matthew muttered in his head, telling him, "That will have to wait. You may need to... what?" He stopped at Alfred's furtive face.

"Well, about Ivan," he started, "There's something you should know..."

Matthew's hands balled into fists. His heart pounded and he felt dizzy. It took all his strength to keep calm and not faint as he listened to what followed.

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Silence enveloped the room as Alfred finished. A funeral was more cheerful. Doom hung on everyone's faces, but one. The biggest idiot in the room who happily chirped, "But don't worry guys! I'm cooking up an awesome plan to fix this mess!" He gave a thumbs up.

If looks could killed, Matthew would have been blown him apart with his eyes. Fix this? Fix this? He repeated in his head, unable to believe Alfred had just suggested that this wasn't the biggest maple up in history.

"And how do you suggest we do that, mon imbecile?" Francis sniped.

"Simple," Alfred announced, "We get him to stop loving me. I know what you're thinking." Like heck you do, Matthew thought. "Impossible because it's me, but with my brilliant plans we can't go wrong!"

Matthew just stared at him, horrified. Really? I mean really? He thought.

"So listen all we have to do is...," Alfred could have been saying, blah-blah-blah, for all Matthew was listening. He had enough of this lunatic's ramblings. There was no way they were related. He was falling deep into despair and his vision was tunneling, but no one was noticing. How could they? He wondered and then he realized all their eyes were trained on Alfred. Alfred, that idiot! Even Francis.

He was snapped out of it when Alfred pumped his fist in his palm, declaring, "And that's how we'll save Canada!"

"Pfft!" Francis sniffed, but to Matthew's surprise, the French Lord didn't seem quite so hopeless as before. None of them did. How can that be? He wondered, realizing that Alfred's word had somehow raised their hopes. He had a way of making people dream that Matthew would never have.

It's not fair, he wanted to scream, but the words were caught in his throat as his eyes saw the expression on everyone. Gilbert even smirked, snickering, "I can't believe you can stand that Russian prick pawing you. Must be that good ole' American constitution you prattle on about."

"Ha, ha, right dude," Alfreed agreed, continuing with his scheme. All Matthew could hear was his own heartbeat. All he could see was how they all were focused on Alfred now, not him.

At some point, Alfred had stolen the spotlight. Matthew tried to interrupt, but he could have been a piece of furniture for all the attention he got. It was alike a nightmare he often had was becoming real. In that dream he would walk through the castle, unnoticed by all, and one day would see a funeral procession going out of the castle only to realize it was him in a casket. He was a ghost and nothing was different.

Just like now. Matthew who struggled every day for a scrap of attention was reduced to a shade when next to Alfred. He quivered, dark feelings bubbling out of his heart. How dare this barbarian rattle on like he's knows anything, he thought, fingernails digging into his palms.

Listening again, he realized Alfred wasn't even talking about his scheme anymore. He had drifted off topic to some story. A effin' maple story, Matthew thought.

"...and then I'm like twenty burgers! You're shittin' me, but...," Alfred rattled on and on. To Matthew's horror, Francis chuckled, quickly disguising it. His eyes roved up and down lewdly on Alfred. No, Matthew whimpered in his head. Don't see him that way. Not you.

He pulled a heavy, red book off the small bookshelf above the desk. No one noticed. "Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat.

"So after that, this dude..."

"Excuse me!" Matthew said louder. He could have dropped dead and croaked on the floor and they still wouldn't be aware of him.

"...and then I was like I betcha' can't do that while..."

"I SAID EXCUSE ME!"

Alfred paused, looking around the room, the continued on, "...juggling. But boy did he show me. He was like you haven't se-" Matthew threw the book splat in his face. It landed on the floor with a thud. "Jesus," Alfred yelled, clutching at his injured nose, his eyes finally saw Matthew. "What the hell, man?"

"That get your attention?" Matthew remarked, his tone bitter. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

"Mon ch-," Francis began.

"Not a word!" Matthew said, slicing over him. "From any of you." He pointed at them, then at Alfred, "especially you. You are the most crude, ill-mannered ruffian I have ever met! I gave you one job! Get fucked by Ivan," Gilbert and Francis's eyes bugged out from the use of swear, "and you fucked that up. Too stupid to just there and be used, are we?"

He had never been so alive with anger. Gilbert was gaping now. Francis seemed both shocked and turned on by it. Alfred, however, had a grave expression, one mixed with hurt. Matthew felt a sudden stab of guilt, but he wouldn't stop now.

"Stupid?" Alfred replied cooly. "Ruffian? If you want to blame someone, why don't you look in a mirror, buddy? Coz last time I checked, I wasn't the one who hired me."

"How dare you!" Matthew snapped, jumping to his feet. Alfred and he glared at each other.

"Majesty, don't," Gilbert tried to interrupt, grabbing his hilt, but Matthew stopped with with a fierce look. Matthew had his hand on his slender blade's handle. Alfred didn't grab his weapon though. Not that stupid, Matthew admitted as Alfred kept his gaze fixed on Matthew.

Something was breaking in his heart, but he couldn't stop the floodgate of emotions rushing out. He was shaking with anger and bitterness and something else. "Leave my kingdom," Matthew commanded, his gaze fixed on Alfred. "Now and don't come back."

Though Alfred tried to hide it, his eyes eyes looked devastated and sad. Please just go, pleaded a softer side of Matthew. Deep down, it wasn't entirely anger he was thinking with. Matthew was doomed. Ivan would find out now, one way or other, and contrary to what Alfred believed, there would be no forgiveness. The best Matthew could do for his friends was drive them away.

It's all my fault, he acknowledged in his heart. The only thing he could do was spare Alfred a worse fate than his own.

You need to get out of here, he thought, looking at them all. Leave me to pay for my own mistake.

Alfred's hands fisted at his side and he said in a voice full of barely-concealed anguish, "And what about Ivan? How will you explain it?"

"You dressed as me. So now I'll dress as me," he answered.

"Mon cher," Francis uttered, shaking his head.

"I don't think tha-," Gilbert tried to say, but Matthew cut over him.

"Gilbert, you are my friend, but you are also the Captain of the Guard first. When I want your advice, I will ask for it. Are we clear?"

Gilbert's face turned grim and insulted but he nodded and said, "Crystal."

"Now get this fool out of my sight," He ordered, hiding the tremble in it well.

"As you wish," Gilbert said, bowing, he waited by the bottom of the stairs for Alfred.

"What about our terms?" Alfred demanded.

"Well since you didn't complete the contract," Matthew answered, "I can't give everything we promised, but you will get double your money in compensation as long as you agree never to return."

Alfred's lips thinned, but he nodded, replying, "Fine, I'm sick of this land anyway."

I'm sorry, Matthew wanted to say, but it was too late now. Francis' had a mournful expression and Peter appeared to be attempting to disappear into the sofa. Kumajaro was hidden and shaking under the couch like he wanted no part of this.

Matthew wasn't feeling so proud of his angry outburst anymore or the fact that he had gotten their attention. A disgusted feeling was entering him, but he would hold out until Alfred was gone. Then he would cry. Cry for himself. Cry for what he had done.

Alfred paused in front of Gilbert at the bottom of the stairs, facing Matthew, he said, "You know what your problem is?"

Matthew didn't reply because he knew if he did, his voice would break.

"No trust," Alfred said, "In yourself or others."

He was just turning when Gilbert reached out and touched the hair above Alfred's left ear, he asked, "What's this?"

"What's what?" Alfred inquired, temporarily distracted from his anger.

"This," Gilbert leaned closer, "This frost in your hair?"

"Frost?" Alfred was just saying when a flash of purple light exploded from the stairs sending Gilbert up into the air and into the wall. He smacked into it and fell with a whumph on the bed.

Matthew's blood froze at the clack of boots and sight of Ivan. Suddenly the Russian had Alfred's arms pinned behind his back and the pipe, glowing with an eerie purple light, at the boy's throat.

"Do not move comrade," He warned, his eyes lit with insanity and his mouth in an equally perturbing grin.

"Not awesome," Gilbert managed and then collapsed, blood leaking from his head.

Gilbert! Matthew wanted to shout, his throat voiceless. He moved, but Francis was beside him, holding him back.

"Let me go!" Alfred cried, struggling, but that only made Ivan press the pipe harder against his windpipe.

How? Matthew wondered, his heart thudding madly in his chest. He would not faint. He wouldn't, he told himself, but he had never been more terrified than when those violet eyes settled on him and giggled, "Hello Matthew."

(END OF CHAPTER 26. Dun dun DUN! The moment you've been waiting for! The lies are unravelling for our poor hero! What will happen next now that Ivan knows? Stay tuned for Chapter 27: Made A Fool Of )

(Is there any hope for our hero and the shy Prince? Stay tuned as we build to the climax of Part One. )

(Sorry if this was a little rushed, but I thought it was readable enough.)