Warning:Gore
Arthur's POV
He slowly took a sip of his white wine, sighing as the liquid slid down his throat. "I know who did it." He blurted out without thinking, Alfred turning to him with knowing eyes and the rest choking on their drinks, with the exception of Chancy, who didn't understand. Arthur licked his lips, cursing himself and racking his brain for a way to spin this without exposing his true identity. "They're this british militant group that disappeared once we lost the war. The carvings on her forehead read "We know where you are and how to find you", most likely directed at me." He spoke quietly to his friends, and tried to read their faces. Francis looked very intrigued, a little drunk, but very intrigued. He translated for Chancy, who bit his lip, face unreadable. Matthew and Davie shared the same worried expression, and Alfred had on an expression that seemed to warn the brit to tread lightly and explain what was necessary. Arthur nodded at him.
"Why you?" Matthew asked, and Arthur leaned back onto the padded white seat of his booth. He spun the wine in his cup, looking at the clear substance, clearing his thoughts.
"I'm their cousin, and my uncle, a distant one who I barely knew, was a key member. You can practically call him the leader. He died though, in a battle against the Americans, and his children disappeared. My siblings and I thought they were dead, so we just laid low as our father tried to blur any connection he had to them. He had provided them with money to fund their camps and stuff, so he thought he may be in trouble." He started. Arthur continued to concentrate on his wine. He had no idea where he had learned this information, but he was positive that what he had said about Mr. Pendragon was true, he was somehow related to him, and he did fund the camps.
"Well if you cut ties all those years ago, then why are they after you now?" Davie asked, downing his shot of whiskey in one swig. Arthur glanced at him once, reading his face again. He looked a little skeptical as of right now, so the brit had to say something.
"Well, they assumed I was dead too, along with the rest of my immediate family. However, that brings me to my origin story about how I met you all." Alfred looked up at him now, not even he knew the entire story, just who his father actually was. "My father doesn't deal with death well, all of my older siblings had died, and he feared for me and Peter's safety. He sent us to London about 3 years before it had fallen, to an associate named Ector to watch over us. He died of the plague sometime later, and about a year after that the Americans came back demanding money. Before I could arrange for Peter and I's retreat to Lancashire, cannons were shot, and our wall began to crumble. At first we thought we could escape, and I probably could have, but Peter had physical ailments that ended up slowing us down. We were forced to retreat into the tunnels." Looked at Alfred and Davie with accusing eyes, and the latter shrunk back, Alfred just continuing to stare at him.
"How long were you in the tunnels?" He asked, the first time he had ever asked.
"Around 3 years." He answered, and the American pursed his lips. "Social status doesn't matter down there." He added, and he looked at the table, studying the smooth black surface. "Rich or poor didn't matter, it was hell if you weren't mated, or had a weak mate who couldn't protect you from a horny gang of savages in heat." he paused, looking down at his wine again. "It was awful and disgusting down there, almost lawless. Some Garrison officers tried to keep order but in the end instinct just took over and everyone just ended up a hollow version of themselves. Becoming things you swore you'd never be. Doing things you swore you'd never do. Losing values you swore you'd always keep. The war changed everything for us, and even when we thought things couldn't get worse, it always did. You Americans never stop." He couldn't stop the anger from seeping into his words, it was as if the frustration he felt for the last 10 wanted to be unleashed.
"What does that have to do with the militant group?" Matthew asked softly, and Arthur nodded. He was getting off track.
"In September, Peter and I were taken by U.S troops to the fortress Sauvage, and along the way Peter and I were separated. As I was trying to think of a plan to rescue him, I ran into a dying prince, who instead of leaving behind, I chose to help." He paused so he'd let that information sink in. "We somehow made to the fortress, and my dear younger brother was nowhere to be seen, because little did I know, he was murdered horribly by the same people who offered me sanctuary. Then I met Elizabeta, who was a spy for the militant group. She told them that I was actually alive, and she told me they wanted to rescue me and Peter. Before I knew it, they snuck in through my window, stabbed me, and put me in a coma. But before that, they wanted me to come back with them to "reunite the family" and "force the Americans out"." He made air quotes as he said this, tucking a strand of his hair out of his face.
"But," Alfred started, and Arthur cut him off.
"After I had woken up, we had spoken again." Arthur was referring to the conversation he had with Seamus while unconscious. "Seamus told me that the moment he felt something was off, he wouldn't hesitate to come back and tie loose ends. He also said that he won't have our family interbreeding with the enemy." Alfred choked on his beer, looking at the brit with shocked, angry eyes.
"What?" He asked quietly. He said what, but what he really meant was how could he. Arthur looked at away, smacking his lips before taking another sip from his glass.
"I thought the sooner we were off of the island, the safer we would be. I thought I could run away from my problems, but now Elizabeta's dead and they won't stop until they get me back." With that said, he drunk the rest of his wine. "And I kinda think that would be the easiest solution to our problems." He added. Alfred shook his head wildly, taking a few gulps of his beer.
"Or we can just kill them." He said, and Arthur scoffed, giggling wildly.
"Seamus, Allister and Dylan wiped out your camp; Allister almost killed you or did you forget?" Arthur spat, glaring at his mate. "Did you forget about what just happened this morning? They killed Elizabeta, who was left back on the Island, where they were. For all we know, the fortress isn't even standing anymore. Do you even know how they got here? They can obviously do things you can't. The smartest option is to give them what they want." He looked up at the ceiling, sighing. "I'm not worth dying over, love."
30 minutes later...
"I'm serious Arthur, if they take you, they're taking us too." Francis said with a slight slur, chugging down a bottle of wine. With that the rest of the booth cheered, and Arthur frowned. So much for that heart to heart. Arthur looked over at Alfred, who stared at his shot of alcohol blankly. He hadn't said a word since the brit had told him off. However, Arthur didn't feel bad, the only way to get anything through Alfred's head was to hurt his pride. Despite himself, Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and squeezed it, resting his head on his shoulder.
"They'll have to kill me before they get to you." He muttered softly to the brit, and Arthur shook his head.
"Alfred please, I don't want anything bad to happen again. When I'm with them, I won't hesitate to try and escape once I see an opening." He tried to reason, but the prince looked at him with almost crazy eyes.
"They had already killed my father, they won't take my mate." He said, drinking some of his beer. "And I know that it's almost suicidal, but I don't care. There ain't no me if there ain't no you." The brit blushed.
"Thats awful grammar, love." Alfred chuckled, throwing an arm around Arthur's shoulder. "I'm scared." He whispered, and Alfred hummed, caressing his arm.
"I... I guess I'm a little too. But Francis is right, we're a team now, they're not taking you anywhere." He said softly, but with certainty, and for a moment Arthur believed him. But only for a moment.
"AHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH!"
Arthur jolted in shock, the group turning their attention to the bar, where the screaming was coming from. The female bartender was floating in thin air, leather straps wrapping itself around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the chandelier above her. Arthur closed his eyes, knowing what was going to come next. He heard a piercing screech as the fractured glass penetrated her eyes. She cried out in agony as a third bottle was lifted, pressed along her hairline, tearing through her skin, an invisible force pulling her long blonde hair back, blood squirting onto her face. The same sharpedge was pressed against her neck as she screamed. Oh god, no.
The glass moved swiftly to the right, slicing her throat out, a waterfall of blood spraying from her neck. She spasmed as she died, the chandelier not being able to handle the added weight, fell. Arthur turned away at the crashing sound, ignoring the tears that poured from his eyes. When he looked back, the body of the young woman was bent over the counter of the bar, all torn up and bloody, fragments of chandelier on her back and all over the surrounding area. The brit panted as he climbed over his seat to get out of the booth, all of his friends still staring wide eyed at the spectacle before them. Arthur rushed to the body. He hadn't even know her. Why attack an innocent woman?
As he approached he almost gagged at the sight of her bleeding skull, the crown of her skull now being visible. The closer he got, he could see etchings in the bone, and eventually he realized it was another message. When he had finally made it to her side, he mumbled a soft prayer for her soul, apologizing for causing her this pain. He took out his bloody napkin, the same one he had used on Elizabeta, and wiped some of the blood off of her skull so he could read it.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais, Arthur?!" Chancy shouted, and Matthew Translated.
"What the Fuck are you doing?!"
"It says," Arthur said, squinting at the small etchings. "That they want to meet me at the harbor, tomorrow night at 11." He stepped away from the corpse and sighed. "Guys, I really think we should just give them what they want."
Arthur's POV
Arthur was once again grabbed by his collar by Chancy, who tugged him away from the corpse. He was the only member in the group who wasn't glued to their seat, urging the brit to stay away from the cadaver. The englishman allowed the smaller to lead him out of the reception lobby room and take him upstairs to the bedrooms. "You didn't see anything, you didn't do anything." Chancy muttered, and the brit swore.
"Chancy, I..."
"You didn't do anything, Arthur. And your speaking French again." He said with a heavy sigh, pushing open a door and nudging the other to enter. The room was surprisingly bare, the tan bed sheets and the brown curtains fed to the depressing mood the brit was slowly slipping into. He took a seat on the bed and leaned back, Chancy opting to pace the room instead. There was an awkward silence before Chancy spoke. "What's your real name, Arthur? Is it really Arthur Pendragon?" Chancy asked, but his tone didn't sound accusatory, rather just curious. Arthur still sputtered, he couldn't just tell him the truth.
"Of course it is! Why?!" He asked, feigning anger. His cheeks reddened as he clenched his jaw, glaring at the other. Chancy doesn't know what he's talking about. Chancy stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at the other before tying his long blond hair up in a neat pony tail.
"Because" he started, walking slowly over to the brit. His face was no longer the soft, uncompromising sweetness he was used to. Instead, it resembled more the sinister expression he briefly caught on Chancy's face the first time his omnilingualism activated on the boat. "That felt like Kirkland magic." He paused and watched the brit's expression. Arthur opened his eyes widely at the other omega. He knows about magic? He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't leave his lips. He sat up, looked at his hands as if he had just gotten caught with something, and looked up at Chancy slowly.
"What's going on, Chancy?" Arthur asked, biting his lip. The beautiful blond in front of him softened his expression, his ice blue eyes sparkling with fondness. He sat beside the brit and swung an arm over his shoulder, leaning his head against him. He looked up at the brit, who looked back with expectant eyes. Chancy smiled.
"I know who you are, Arthur. I know what you are." He said softly. "I know just about everything." Arthur shook his head in disbelief. Chancy? No, no, no. Perhaps if he just stays in character a little bit longer, Chancy will stop.
"I don't know know what you mean." He said, shrugging a little bit. Chancy giggled.
"Arthur, lets make this easier for the both of us. We all saw what happened down there, and we all know there's magic involved. I know our friends are dense, but they're not stupid, they'll piece things together." He said as he pulled away, stretching like a cat. His back arched until his head was almost on the mattress, his legs folding up slightly. He's really flexible. His thoughts were interrupted by a series of sicken coughs from Chancy. Arthur patted his back, but Chancy swatted him away, shaking his head as he doubled over coughing.
"Are you okay?" He asked, worried. He never seen Chancy like this, was he sick. The frenchman didn't answer, now on the floor, coughing and heaving. "Do you need to vomit?" Chancy didn't stop, retching sounds so sickening it made Arthur nauseous. The brit had had enough, crouching down beside the other and stroking his back for comfort. Chancy gagged again, and with a sickening hurl, the other began to breath normally again, panting.
"Can you get me a napkin?" He asked hoarsely, not turning to face the brit. Arthur picked one up from the dresser table and handed it to the Frenchman who cleaned the saliva from his face. Arthur was about to ask what was that all about when he saw the yellow ball of hair.
"Chancy... what the...?" The brit back away slowly as the other looked up at him. Chancy's nose twitched quickly as he struggled to catch his breath. Long fine hairs, like whiskers, sprouted from his upper lip, and his ice blue eyes had vertical slit-pupils, like a cat. The brit looked down again, looking at his friends little mess. "So that's a hairball... and you're a cat?" Chancy pursed his lips as his features went back to normal, the whiskers receding and his pupils coming back to normal.
"Well...no. I'm a witch that can turn into a cat."
"What? Does Davie know?" Arthur asked as Chancy cuddled up against him.
"I thought the questions were over." he responded. "You asked me what my name was and I told you it was Chancy Marquis de Lafayette. You asked me what my origin story was, and I told all about my coven and my home. You still haven't ask me anything important. And now you want to ask me whether my mate knows anything about me." He said with a heavy sigh. "So, no, he doesn't. I never told him, and I'm not planning to."
Arthur nodded at the answer, but frowned at the criticism. "What's the important question you had in mind? Did you want me to ask you how to handle my psychopathic brothers?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I don't want you going anywhere near the harbor tomorrow. I mean it, Chancy." The second in command looked at hims with skeptical eyes before shaking his head.
"I'm not an idiot. I can read the runes too. It said meet at the harbor tonight at 11, you were planning on going alone." He said, glaring at the brit. Arthur bit his lip, once again, caught in a lie.
"Don't tell anyone." He ordered, and Chancy hesitated, but eventually nodded.
"As long as you leave it to me." He yawned, and Arthur scoffed again. Chancy scowled at him. "Hey~ I can do it! I've been training my whole life, unlike you and your brothers! I can handle them, probably not kill them, but I can scare them away for now." He mumbled, repositioning himself. He was silent for a moment. "Try speaking to me in English." Arthur pursed his lips. He didn't know how to shut it off, this only being the second time this power was activated. He cleared his mind and breathed in deeply.
"Like this?" He asked. Chancy shook his head. Oh? He cleared his mind once more before envisioning the some basic words. "Then, like this?" Once again, Chancy shook his head.
"You're still speaking french. If the others walk in and hear you, they might..." He trailed of, looking at the door. "They're coming. Don't say anything." He said as sat up, slowly leaning back against the headboard. Arthur tucked his head under the blanket, pretending to be fast asleep, Chancy murmuring a soft tune to make the scene look more convincing. Arthur flinched as the door opened and multiple people shuffled in, tensing up when he felt his mate's fear and rage.
"What the hell was that?!" Davie asked. Hmm, he could still understand english. Actually, Arthur thought, he can't differentiate at the moment, and Davie knows a little french, so for all he knows, he's talking to his mate. "That woman just... she... in thin air..." He was panting and Arthur could feel Chancy shift off of the bed, perhaps to soothe and comfort his lover.
"Arthur?" This time it was Matthew talking. He sounded scared and confused, but his voice remained steady. "Arthur? You can't be sleeping at a time like this, Arthur!" He sounded panicked, Arthur holding his breath as he heard the other walk over to him. The prince tugged on the blanket, but Arthur held on so it wouldn't uncover his head. Matthew pulled again, and Arthur pulled back. "Arthur! You can't just ignore what just happened."
Arthur scoffed, a little too loudly. Yes, he can ignore this, ignore them. He had to, or else he would be speaking to them in French and it would be increasingly more obvious that he was a liar. Eventually, with a particularly hard pull from Matthew, the blanket was yanked off of his body and he was forced to face his issues.
"Great" he sighed, and Alfred sucked his teeth. "Happy?" He asked, and Matthew scowled at him.
"Don't be an ass, Arthur. You have some explaining to do." He said, putting his hands on his hip, tapping his foot, like an angry mother. The brit quirked a brow. not saying a word. "What just happened?"Matthew asked through his clenched jaw. Arthur bit his lip. How could he spin this? "Arthur! No more lies or half truths!" Matthew yelled. "Tell us everything."
"Depends." He said softly, looking Matthew in the eye. The violet orbs were dilated, his cheeks red; overall very flustered. "How much do you know?" Matthew bit his lip. "I know that by what you meant earlier when you said "They could do things you can't", was whatever the fuck that was." He frowned, and the brit made an amused sound. So they still know nothing? Chancy was wrong, they are denser than they look.
"After seeing that, I thought it would be obvious." He said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I mean, seriously, what the fuck did it look like? Can you think of any phenomenon that would explain that... little spectacle? What else can it be?" He glared up at the prince, and Matthew, who was too deep in thought, turned around, walking towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" Alfred asked, and his brother turned around, frustrated.
"If the answer he's thinking of is magic, I'm leaving." He deadpanned, glaring at the brit.
"It is." Arthur said with a huff. "And chances are that one of us won't make it to the capitol." He said, rolling over to his side, his back towards the others. "This was why I said I wasn't worth saving. That I should just leave with them. They won't kill me, so I'm relatively safe. You guys, on the other hand, will probably die like that woman, and no amount of sword swinging, or gun slinging, will save you. That is, unless you let me be delivered to them, and you allow me to convince them otherwise." He closed his eyes and waited for their response. He winced at the burning sensation in his head, Alfred being beyond furious. The brit was surprised to hear the frenchman speak first though.
"Like we said before, they'll have to get through us before they get to you." He said, and Arthur sat up in shock, turning to look at his friend. What? "I don't care if they have magic!" He said, and Arthur groaned. "We have Chancy!" He proclaimed, and Arthur scowled, looking at his friend who was seated next to him, playing with his son. He knew? Davie was still looking at Francis though, as if the king was a crazy person.
"Chancy is staying miles away from that harbor, Francis." He deadpanned, not even entertaining the idea. Francis swatted Davie's words away with a flick of his wrist and continued.
"Don't worry Davie, Chancy is the best during these kinds of missions. He'll get to the harbor early, sneak up on them, and kill them. One and done." He said, ignoring the knight's protests as he spoke to Chancy in French. The blond bit his lip before nodding, Davie looking at him in horror.
"No!" he said, rushing over to his mate. "No! Are you crazy? You can't go, this is a suicide mission." Chancy scrunched his nose up as he looked at his mate. He leaned back on the bed, the baby resting on his chest. The brit sighed, there's nothing Davie can do about this, really, but he also understood where his anxiety was coming from. They had all just seen a woman die, no one would want that for a friend, especially a lover. Geoffrey gurgled a little bit, bouncing as he tugged on his mother's ears. "Don't ignore me, you can't seriously be going! DId you not just see that?!" He pointed at the door, and Chancy sucked his teeth, muttering something in French. Davie gasped, gaping like a fish before turning beat red. "Excuse me?!"
"He said," Francis started, probably to keep the english speakers in the loop. "That he'll be fine, and that he's handled even worse things than this. Also, that it's a little disheartening what little faith you have in his ability." Francis walked slowly toward the knight and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Davie. I know you love your mate, and that your alpha instincts are telling you to keep him away from danger, but Chancy isn't 2nd in command for nothing. He'll be back the next day without a scratch." Davie glared at him before glaring at his mate, sighing heavily in frustration, storming out of the room, slamming the door shut.
Chancy sat up, careful of the baby, and went to follow him, giving Francis and Alfred a curt nod before leaving. The brit sighed, another strain on their relationship. At this rate, they'll end the relationship themselves. The brit swung his legs off of the bed, standing and stretching. "You should him tonight, for recon. He'll be more ready to take them on tomorrow if he checks it out tonight." He suggested, looking at the king for approval. Francis nodded and smiled. For the first time since this conversation started, Alfred spoke.
"You're not going." The brit turned to him in half shock half offended. "You aren't going." He repeated, and Arthur didn't reply, he just stared at his mate. He can't stop him, really. He'll just agree to stay, but sneak out at night, and be back by morning. He turned his head away from his mate and looked at his hands.
"I wasn't gonna say that." He said, before sighing.
