King's Exile

By Cybra

Suggested Music: "The Journey to the West" from Princess Mononoke (the Symphonic Suite), "Oceanic" from Bond's Born, "The Promise" from Pure Moods

Special Thanks: To Vyse, my beta-reader. Thank you for all of your hard work.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts, The Great Mouse Detective, and the Basil of Baker Street Mysteries belong to Square, the Walt Disney Company, and the late Eve Titus respectively. The original name of "Sherringford" for Basil's first name belongs to Mlle. Irene Relda.

Chapter 1: The Last Day

To the casual observer, there might not have been anything special about Mickey had it not been for the castle around him. He always chose to wear the most practical and least decorative finery the Magic Kingdom had to offer. Only on the most important of occasions did he follow through the long traditions of pomp and circumstance that his wife always went through. He tended to treat both nobleman and commoner as his equals. When he was not working or resting, he spent his time training and improving his swordsmanship.

Still, the citizens of the Magic Kingdom had grown accustomed to their king's little oddities. Perhaps they suspected that these were side effects of bearing the Keyblade.

The king sighed as he leaned against the balcony, taking a load off of his sore left knee.

"I come bearing tidings from our dear Royal Physician," an accented voice greeted from behind, more than a hint of mockery in his formal words.

Mickey smiled. "What?"

Sherringford Basil, formerly a detective of another—now obliterated—world, now a Summons, strolled up beside the king. The taller mouse folded his hands neatly behind his back, tail lashing with good humor. "He demands you get down to see him so he can take a look at your knee. He doesn't trust Curaga."

With a laugh, the king said, "It's just a little sore."

"This is fortunate considering that spectacular fall you took. Thank you for the near heart attack."

"I thought you'd like it." The black mouse winced and rubbed his knee. "Whose brilliant idea was it to put a shed there anyway?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

The light banter was important. It was good to know that despite the odds, that world—though sleeping—was safe. On top of that, he had walked away. Some of the more fur-raising adventures had ended with this same good-natured banter. It helped him stay sane.

Saving the worlds was not all fun and games.

However, today Mickey could not let himself sink completely into the wordplay. He needed to talk with the Summons.

"Basil, I think I just need to stretch my knee. How 'bout a walk in the maze?"

The tan mouse did not bat an eyelash. "Certainly."

The walk to the maze itself was rather uneventful. Knights of the kingdom stood at attention as the king passed and stood just a bit straighter at his smile and wave.

Upon entering the maze, Basil chuckled. "They adore you. Shows what they know."

Mickey punched him in the arm. "I don't need you harassing me. I have people sending letters begging to come and harass me."

"Yes, but you prefer me harassing you."

Giving the Summons a look out of the corner of his eye, Mickey chose not to respond. He was actually unsure of how to respond to that statement and did not know what would come out if he tried to.

Instead, he said, "I need to talk to you about leaving."

Basil's mood sobered. The last time this had been discussed was six months ago. "Minnie?"

"Doesn't seem like any change, and I'm sick of waiting on her stupid biological clock to start working on the right schedule. Being reactive is getting everyone nowhere. It's time I get going."

The Summons grew quiet, contemplative. "When?"

"Tonight."

"Then I'll need to enlist Dawson."

The king shook his head. "The fewer people who know, the better."

"Mickey, I wasn't given curative magic by the Realm, remember? If you're injured and unconscious, what do I do?" Basil's tail swished impatiently. "Dawson can equip us with medical supplies and show me what to buy to replace them. However, he'll want to know what they're for."

In a silent admission of defeat, Mickey bowed his head. "Fine. But only Dawson." He raised his head to stare into Basil's green eyes. "We'll take the Basic Gummi. Nobody will miss it until they realize we're gone."

"You're gone, you mean," Basil teased. "I'm just a Summons."

"I'm sure they'll notice you're gone since you won't be causing trouble." As the tan mouse feigned hurt, Mickey said, "We'll meet in the gummi ship hangar at eleven thirty. The security sweep is at—"

"—midnight. I remember." Basil paused. "What about provisions?"

Mickey paused. The original plan was to stock up in Traverse Town. However, munny did not grow on trees. "On second thought, we may need to employ Mrs. Judson, too."

"Good idea."

They exited the maze, walked across the lavish gardens, and re-entered the castle together. Once inside the safety of the Disney Castle, Mickey bid his friend "goodbye" and went hunting for the landlady-turned-housekeeper.

Basil poked his head into the Healer's Wing of the castle. "Knock, knock."

Dr. David Q. Dawson looked up from the potion he was brewing for Healer Tyler. "Hello again, Basil. Where's King Mickey?"

"Running errands."

The doctor gave a "harrumph" and shook his head. "Basil, I want to look at that knee."

"I'll be sure to drag him in here the next time I see him," the Summons promised. "Still, I need your expert advice."

Dawson glanced down at the potion to check it before giving his friend a questioning look. "What is it?"

Basil flicked his eyes about to make sure nobody was listening. "What medical supplies would you bring for a long journey, and how do you recognize them if you need to replace them?"

Dawson's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "Give me a minute to finish this, and then we'll talk."

Basil nodded and watched lazily as Dawson added some white powder to the dark green potion. The liquid fizzed and popped before turning a bright green.

The good doctor was only doing the preliminary work on a batch of Potion. Healer Tyler would have to add the magic to it since Dawson had no healing magic (or any magic for that matter) at all.

Despite his magic deficiency, the healers respected the Royal Physician. Using traditional methods, Dawson had helped lighten the healers' workload in addition to treating those patients who were afraid of magical healing faster than when a traditional doctor had to be sent for.

Dawson covered the pot. "It'll need to simmer for about an hour." He looked at Basil and beckoned the Summons with a wave of his hand. "Let's talk in my office."

Basil followed the doctor to a small, organized room. A small smile lighted on his lips as he saw the papers neatly stacked on the good doctor's desk. How had Dawson survived living amongst his disorganization?

A name on one of the papers caught his eye. "The queen?"

"Stomach trouble. She's coming back tomorrow to see Master Healer Zachary. I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary but suggested that she see one of the healers to make sure. If she has anything more serious than a stomachache, Zachary will find what I can't see. And what on earth are you snickering about?"

"I'm sorry, Dawson. It's just with all of those titles, you don't expect ordinary names."

The doctor chuckled a little. "I understand. With a title like 'Master Healer,' you would think his name would be something fantastic, not common like 'Zachary.'"

"This kingdom has a king named 'Mickey,' a head mage named 'Donald,' and a captain of the guard named 'Goofy.' It's almost as if the entire kingdom's backwards." The Summons grinned. "Do you suppose the baker's name is 'Randolph the Second'?"

The pair stared at each other for a full minute before laughing at the absurdity of the idea. It took ten minutes for them to calm down since glancing at each other sparked new fits of laughter.

Taking a calming breath, Dawson asked, "Basil, why do you need to know what to bring and buy for a field medical kit?"

Basil sighed. The doctor had struck right to the heart of the matter. Though he tended to downplay his role in their adventures, Dawson was no fool. "Because Mickey and I are going on a trip and don't know when we'll be back."

The doctor stared. "He's leaving?"

The Summons nodded. "Things are getting worse, not better. We're barely fighting the Heartless to a constant stalemate. And you've seen the toll it's taken on Mickey."

Dawson nodded. He had seen. The constant stress of ruling a kingdom and locking Keyholes had left the king in a frightful state some weeks before. The poor mouse had practically dragged himself out of his sickbed to lock a Keyhole in a desert. Both Dawson and the healers had had a rough time bringing him back to his feet after that.

"Mickey thinks—and I agree—that the best thing to do is act offensively. However Ansem—" Basil spat the name "—will notice if a host of guards and healers come along to make sure the king's all right."

"But wouldn't the scoundrel notice because of the Keyblade?"

Basil shrugged. "It might take him a while now that a second Keyblade's here."

Dawson gaped. "A second? I hadn't heard about that!"

"That's because nobody knows. Dawson, you have to keep this a secret."

"I won't tell a soul. What exactly do you two plan to do?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Mickey hasn't given me all the details yet."

"All right. I'd better fetch that kit for you." Dawson paused. "Basil, be careful."

The old caution did not fall on deaf ears. Locked Keyhole or not, if Mickey died, not only was a kingdom without a king, but the other Keybearer might not be able to stop Ansem alone.

Yet there was also that strange note of the warning that Basil had heard once before: back at 221B Baker Street when Mickey, Donald, and Goofy were spending the night. Just like then, Basil paused to consider what it meant before finally answering with a simple "I will."

Just like then, the doctor sighed as both left the office.

The castle, Mickey decided not for the first time in his life, was entirely too big.

This was the third time he had been directed to where the Scotswoman had whisked herself off to. He quickened his pace, hoping to meet up with her before she moved on to somewhere else. His knee throbbed, and he made a mental note to drop by the Healer's Wing to see Dawson.

At last, the mouse woman he sought came into view. He walked up to her, and the maid Mrs. Judson was speaking to excused herself.

"Mrs. Judson?"

She turned and curtseyed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Unlike one of her former tenants, Mrs. Judson bowed to centuries of tradition when dealing with the king. It was a habit she only broke when she acted particularly motherly towards him, like during those weeks of his illness.

"May I speak to you in private?"

"Of course."

She automatically abandoned her duties but took the arm he offered after only a slight hesitation. It did not take too long for the pair to walk down the long and stately hallway until Mickey's ears told him that they were out of earshot of anyone. A good thing, too, for playacting that his knee was giving him no trouble was growing increasingly more difficult.

Mrs. Judson frowned and released his arm. "You should see Doctuh Dawson, dearie, if tha' knee is givin' you so much trouble."

Mickey leaned over and rubbed his knee, a wry grin on his face. "I will in a minute. I just needed to talk to you about some supplies for a little trip."

He did not insult her intelligence by trying to find a way to avoid the subject. No one was around to overhear—He would have heard someone moving around—and Mrs. Judson would have realized the moment he asked for way bread that he was not asking her to provide food for a picnic in the garden. Besides, though they were alone now, someone could easily walk down the hallway and force Mickey to abandon the conversation before reaching the point if he tried to avoid it.

Her ears drooped, and her eyes darkened. "I'll see what I can find, Your Majesty."

"It's important that this must be kept secret. Please try to understand."

She gave him a soft smile. "I understand. But you need to be careful."

On impulse, he gave her a hug. He would miss her and her mother-henning. "I will."

"Where do I put everything?"

"Basil's room, please. Minnie will notice if it's in our room."

"Very well." She frowned. "What about Pluto?"

He nearly gagged as his heart relocated itself inside his throat. "Will you take care of him for me?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

He half-walked, half-limped away from her and in the direction of the Healer's Wing.

Mickey sat on the padded examination table as Dawson inspected his knee closely. Pluto lay on the table beside him, thoroughly enjoying having his head scratched. The dog had joined his master after a run-in with the Royal Gardener.

"Well, it seems as though nothing is broken," Dawson declared at last, bringing an end to the rather uncomfortable prodding. "Just some bad bruising. Painful but nothing severe."

"So he'll live?" Basil teased from his position of leaning against a set of cabinets.

Dawson shot his friend a look. "Yes, he'll live."

"Capital."

"What he said." Mickey swung his leg and winced. "Though it hurts like no tomorrow."

"Which is why I prescribe these." Dawson wandered over to the cabinets Basil leaned against and gently shoved the Summons out of the way. After a moment of digging, he procured a bottle of tablets. "Simple aspirin. No need to take anything fancy in this case." He walked back and handed the bottle to the king. "Take two now and then one every few hours."

Mickey saluted.

Dawson murmured just loud enough for Mickey to hear, "I would say to give that knee some time to heal but I doubt that will really happen."

"'Fraid not."

"If the aspirin doesn't help, only then take a Potion. This isn't a life-threatening injury…"

The unspoken "but it could become one" hovered in the air like carrion birds: You knew they were there but did not want to think about them.

The doctor sighed. "I wish I could accompany you."

"As valuable as your skills are, the larger the group is, the more noticeable we are. We need to try not to draw too much attention to ourselves." The king paused. "Though I'd feel more comfortable with you patching me up instead of Basil."

"I'll remember you said that," Basil muttered.

Dawson and Mickey chuckled at the Summons's expense. Basil huffed and toyed with one of the potions on the counter.

The doctor understood the logic behind the king's decision and bid Mickey and Basil "goodbye" when they left. However, his stomach clenched as he watched the two mice's retreating backs, afraid that this would be the last time he would see either mouse.

If life was one long narrative, it appeared that the doctor had concluded his part of the tale. And, as much as he hated it, he would have to accept it.

Now out of his royal garb and in a set of traveling clothes he had snuck out from under his wife's nose weeks ago, Mickey finished the last lines of his farewell letter to his people. Pluto would deliver it to Donald who would—hopefully—read it to them. It would explain his absence and (with luck) give them some hope for their future.

But before he placed it in the envelope, his eyes grew blank. Mechanically, he opened a drawer and slid the letter to the very back. He pulled a new sheet from the drawer, shut it, and started to write an entirely new letter.

The Golden Keyblade had been pleased with its Bearer's resourcefulness, but the letter the king had written would not do. Through careful manipulation, the Keyblade forced the king to write a new message without him realizing what he wrote.

Basil entered the study at 11:05, just as the Keyblade finished its work. "Ready to go?"

Mickey blinked, not looking down at the message. "You're early."

"I'd rather be ready ahead of schedule in case of problems." Basil's ears pricked up with interest. "Is that your little goodbye?"

Mickey handed it to him with a nod.

Green eyes scanned the letter. "Are you sure you want to leave this?"

"Absolutely."

Mickey took back the letter, folded it without a second glance, and placed it in the waiting envelope. A bit of wax and a stamp from the royal seal later, the deed was done.

"Pluto?"

The obedient dog raised his head from where it rested on his forepaws. The whippy tail slashed the air eagerly, and Pluto jumped to his feet.

The tail stopped wagging when Mickey placed the letter in Pluto's mouth.

"Give this to Donald tomorrow when he comes in the throne room. Okay?"

Pluto whined.

"C'mon, Pluto, you gotta do this. For me?"

The dog sat down miserably, the letter still in his mouth.

"Good boy." Mickey patted his dog's head before he looked up at the clock. "Let's go, Basil."

"Right."

The two mice left the study and slunk along the corridors towards the Gummi Ship Hangar. After a few close calls, they arrived at the Basic Gummi.

"All clear," Basil announced after a quick check.

Mickey typed a code into the keypad on the side of the gummi ship. The door hissed open—far too loudly for the two mice's tastes.

"Everything there?"

"Yes, and it was very generous of Mrs. Judson to provide extra travel clothes."

Mickey nodded. He had been the diversion all afternoon while Basil squirreled away provisions and other supplies into the gummi ship. All that remained was takeoff.

Pressure against his back made him jump and whirl. His eyes were met with an upset Pluto who was trying to give the letter back to him.

Mickey sighed and fell to one knee. He stroked the dog's head. "Aw, pal. You can't come this time. I need you here."

Pluto whined.

Basil walked up from behind the king and also gave the hound a scratch on the head. "We'll be fine, old boy. And we'll try to be back before you start to miss us."

Pluto still gazed miserably at the two mice.

Basil had to turn away from those begging eyes, and Mickey swallowed hard.

"You be good, Pluto," Mickey ordered, voice cracking. He rose to his feet.

Seeing his master's decision was final, Pluto tucked his tail between his legs and lowered his head. Slowly, the dog turned and padded off.

"We had to," Basil said though it sounded as if he was assuring himself of that.

The clock tower chimed the quarter hour. 11:45. Fifteen minutes until discovery.

The two mice entered the gummi ship and sat in their places: Mickey in the pilot's seat and Basil in the co-pilot's seat. A few commands later, the door to the Basic Gummi sealed itself.

The king sent the password to the World Exit. The password was designed to keep from tripping the alarm if urgent business called him to leave while the chipmunks were asleep. Now he used it to make his escape.

"Everything appears in order," Basil reported after scanning his readouts.

The World Exit open and revealed the vastness of Interspace.

There was still time to take back the letter and remain in the castle. He could keep trying to juggle his duties as king and Keybearer. That was familiar to him. Through that gate lie a universe full of unknowns.

"Exiting now," Mickey said.

The engines roared, and Mickey quickly flew through the exit, knowing it would seal itself up behind him. That initial "drop" had long ago ceased to be anything but an annoyance.

Five minutes of silence passed before Basil quipped, "So, do we have an itinerary other than 'lock as many Keyholes as possible'?"

This forced a laugh out of the now-exiled king. "Yes, yes, we do."

"Pray tell."

"We have an advantage over Ansem: We know what he's after."

"Kingdom Hearts, but nobody knows where that is."

"Exactly, so Ansem's probably still looking. Otherwise, the worlds would've already been lost to the Darkness."

Basil smirked. "I think I see what's coming."

Mickey nodded, a small smirk of his own lighting on his lips. "We're going to find Kingdom Hearts before him and, if we can't seal it, at least block his way."

The smirk on Basil's face turned grim. "So whoever finds Kingdom Hearts first wins."