Arthur's POV...

10:40 pm...

Arthur's laid his head above Alfred's heart, focusing on the monotonous rhythm. He knew his mate was sleeping, sleeping people have a more steady and relaxed heart rate. This was his only chance, before Geoffrey would wake up. The real meeting was actually tonight at 11pm, not tomorrow, therefore, Chancy wasn't just scouting, he was going to fight Arthur's brothers. The brit was going to go of course, in case things went wrong, so he would be able to trade his freedom for Chancy's life. Of course Alfred would be furious, but what was Arthur to do, he couldn't let his friend die because he can't fight his own battles.

Arthur pulled away from Alfred gently, placing a soft kiss on his nose. "I love you." He whispered, hopefully not for the last time. he rolled off of the bed and stepped onto the floor which was freezing, and walked over to his closet. He had already set his clothes aside, so he quickly slipped on his pants, boots, and a thick sweater before throwing on his shawl. He dug into the bottom of his bag and brought out his dagger, the one he had acquired all those months ago, and slid it into his boot. He walked over to the crib and looked down at Geoffrey, who looked just about ready to wake up. His face was contorted, about to make a big fuss, but the brit couldn't have that. He picked up the baby and cradled him for a few minutes, kissing his face before finally, reluctantly, putting him down to rest for the remainder of the night. The room was pitch black, so he mainly had to feel around for the door. After a minute or two of sheer confusion, he felt the handle and turned it, leaving the room.

Now that he was out of his room, the hard part was finally upon him: getting out of the building without anyone seeing him. Alfred had told everyone to sleep in turns because there was a serial killer on the loose. Now, Arthur figured, there would be some people still awake, or some police still in the area. If he were caught, Arthur would never be able to explain himself in a way to not destroy what little independence he had earned. He walked slowly down the corridor, focusing on voices and footsteps, not wanting to run into anyone. He somehow made it to the stairs, but he could hear voices now, a group of men who were cheering obnoxiously among themselves. SHIT! The englishman took one step, flinching at the creek. The men seemed to have not noticed, so he continued down. After 4 or 5 steps more, the men got quite.

"What was that noise? Who is there!?" One of them called, and Arthur heard the shuffling of chairs and the stamping of feet. Holy shit. He wanted to run back up, but then the men would know which direction he was in, he would just have to lie if the catch him. After a few moments of anxiety, the men seemed to have returned to their seats, muttering. "It was just some mice, Eugene." One of them teased. Arthur sighed at the sound of their bickering, he was still safe. Walking, however, wasn't no longer an option, he had around 18 to 20 steps left. Perhaps he could... He threw one leg over the rail of the stairs and slid down, stopping just short of the end of the railing. He frowned as he got off, walking swiftly into the lounge. The way to the front door was through the lounge, but again, the men who heard him earlier were there, so he had to be careful to not be spotted. He kept to the darker parts of the lounge, grateful for the lack of lighting this time of night. He was able to walk around the perimeter of the room, if need be, hide behind some furniture. He finally made it to the front door opening it a sliver and squeezing himself out, the cold air an unpleasant shock.

He sighed relieved as he walked north, towards the harbor. Thank goodness he knew his way to the port. A staff member earlier that evening gave him directions under the misconception that he wanted to go there the next time he was in town. Arthur walked quickly, unsure of how long he had left until 11 pm. Hopefully, they hadn't started their battle yet. The air was freezing, but Arthur had a few layers on, so he was fine for now. He also had gloves, and a scarf, which he had taken from a rack in front of the door as he was leaving, last minute items that could prove to be useful.

After about 10 minutes of absolute silence, Arthur heard some rustling in the alleyway ahead of him. The brit stopped, alarms blaring in his head. Athur sighed, crossing the street and walking forward, not wanting to get snatched by a rapist or a homeless man. He still had his dagger, so he wasn't completely vulnerable, but he would prefer not to use it unless he was really in a tight spot. The smell of sea salt gave the brit an approximation of how far the harbor was, no longer than 4 minutes now. Hopefully the prince was still asleep and hadn't noticed his absence, or else all this effort would be for nothing. The closer he got to the harbor, the more he felt wary. Of course his brothers would be there, he knew that, so perhaps that's what he was feeling.

He could see the ship he arrived in now, he was less than a minute away from the harbor. The water, he could see, was sparkling and reflected the moon and stars. It was pretty, he thought, but he had more important things to do than watch the ocean. He felt the ground transition from dirt road to wooden docks. He barely had a chance to look around before he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. He was about to scream when a small hand covered his mouth, hushing him. Who was this? Was it one of his brothers!?

"Arthur, you actually came?" A familiar voice asked, and Arthur sighed in relief.

"Chancy, are you okay?" He asked in French, ignoring the other's question. The brit wiggled out of his grip and turned to face his friend, who looked normal. "Are my brother's here?" He asked as he pushed a strand of hair out of Chancy's face, searching his eyes for any indicators of regret. Chancy shook his head.

"You should hide though, they'll be coming soon. Be careful." He said, shooing the other off. Arthur nodded and ran to the boat he arrived in, somehow climbing some hanging rope and landing on deck of the steam ship. He entered one of the cabins and sat on the bed, sighing. Now that he was here, he strained his ears for any sounds of stress, or conflict. He chose to hide in a room because if he were out in the open, his brothers would spot him and possibly kidnap him, or worse, use him as bait. He would never want to be that useless that his friends would have to walk into an obvious trap to save him.

After what felt like 15 minutes, Arthur heard a crash, and the boat he was in began to rock. "Shit" he mumbled as more crashes were made, the brit praying Chancy was okay.


2 hours later...

The crashing was still going on, but less frequently, perhaps one every 4 minutes. The brit had had enough, standing and leaving the room. Chancy was being battered for 2 hours, no need for this to continue on, Chancy had done enough. As he stepped out onto the deck, he saw what appeared to be a massive wave rise. The englishman was going to run back inside, but then after another look, he realized it wasn't a huge wave, it was a huge hand, made out of water, that was holding someone. Arthur scanned around, eyes widening as he saw two bodies lying on the docks, and one standing nearby them, hand up menacingly in the direction of the giant hand. He must have been controlling it. Arthur forced his eyes to focus on the man on the docks, gasping as he finally recognized him to be Dylan, therefore the one being attacked was Chancy. Arthur began to hyperventilate.

Oh God, please protect Chancy!

"What do I do? What do I do?" he muttered to himself in french. He looked up at the man struggling in the giant fist. "How do I help him?" The world went blurry as doubled over, his stomach suddenly on fire. It was like that bad feeling he usually got in his gut, but this time more intense, and painful. What the fuck is going on?! He closed his eyes and breathed, trying to calm himself and focus through the pain. Whatever he was feeling, Chancy was feeling 10 times that. Maybe Arthur could throw something at Dylan and distract him long enough for Chancy to escape. Arthur ran back into the chamber and picked up a pouch of ink wells, some empty, some full. He ran back out and sat with his back against the railing of the boat, unseen. He turned and peeked his head out, picking up an inkwell and aiming for his brother. He threw it, and it landed nowhere near him. He quickly hid, terrified. Shit, what if he saw. He looked up again and sighed, the well landing too far for the other to notice.

Arthur threw again, but this time the well was full and the added weight allowed for there to be some manipulation by the wind without having it completely blown out of course. He smacked Dylan in the head, the well breaking and the ink scattering all over his face. To Arthur's amazement, the hand dropped. He had actually did something. Arthur crawled to the other side of the ship and peeked over. Chancy was swimming back to the dock, but awfully slow, Dylan would get the ink out of his eye at that rate. Arthur picked up another well and threw at Dylan again, not so lucky this time, hitting the man in the chest, causing him to fall backwards. Arthur jumped from the boat, using the rope to catch himself before he hit the floor, and snuck to the water, pulling the frenchman out. Chancy was panting. His pale skin, deathly white, teeth chattering. He looked as if he caught hypothermia. Arthur looked at the water, noting the ice blocks. Chancy probably did. Arthur, while Dylan was still blind, grabbed Chancy and ran to the other side of the dock, looking for an opened ship. Alas, not finding one, he settled on hiding behind some barrels.

Arthur took off his gloves and gave them to Chancy, not wanting his fingers to fall off. He slipped off Chancy's boots and peeled off his socks, ignoring the bruising on his leg and feet. He took off his own boots and gave his socks to Chancy, happy that he put on two pairs for extra warmth. He didn't have two pairs of boots on, unfortunately, so he was forced to give his up to the semiconscious male. Chancy's eyes were glassy, his cheek swollen, and lip busted. He rested his head against the brit's shoulder, writhing in pain.

"I'm fine... go home" He groaned and the englishman hushed him.

"No, not without you. Besides, don't you want to go home too, to Davie and Geoffrey. If I leave you here like this, you'll die." Arthur whispered. "It won't be long until they retreat. Dylan will give up search, opting to bring his brothers back to safety. When he leaves, we'll go. I'm proud you managed to take out 2 of them, and Dylan looked like he wasn't in good shape either. You did good, don't push yourself." Arthur praised quietly, intertwining his hands with the other's for warmth. Chancy smiled softly at him before closing his eyes, falling unconscious.

"I don't understand, but I don't think I need to in order to understand you are a traitor." Arthur flinched as the barrel he was leaning on was pulled away and kicked to the side. Arthur grabbed Chancy and pulled him into his body, to shield him from whatever was next. Dylan glared at him, still wiping at the ink on his face. "So this dog is yours? You sent him after us!?" He yelled, taking a threatening step forward. Arthur inched toward his dagger, making fearful eye contact with his brother.

"You killed Elizabeta." The brit spat angrily.

"She betrayed us!" Dylan yelled. "We want to protect you, Arthur! Come ho-

"You killed that innocent bartender." The brit added, not even hearing the other's excuses. "You tried to kill my friend. You're trying to kidnap me. You're ruining my life, why won't you go away!?" Dylan scowled at him.

"It's not just about you. It's about vengeance, and restoration of the british crown!" Dylan looked at him with pleading eyes. "Hear me out." Arthur scoffed. "Or else I will kill you both." Arthur bit his lip.

"Fine."

"Mom and Dad, before they were, well, mom and dad, Dad was the ruling king of England, but he abdicated the thrown for unknown reasons. He had no kids because he wasn't married, all of his relatives were dead, so Parliament took over. He became a farmer, changed his name from Pendragon to Kirkland, where he met mom and had us. Arthur... we're royalty." Dylan explained, and Arthur frowned. The brit knew better than to rule anything out now, nothing was too ridiculous.

"So? What does that have to do with me?"

"We've been in contact with Parliament, they want to restore us, but they're still angry about the war. They want all persons of royal blood to return to England to crown us as princes to the public. If you stay, then we'll never get the throne." Dylan explained, and their eagerness suddenly made sense. However...

"What makes you think they're telling the truth? They can just round us up and kill us. There hadn't been a monarchy for years, what makes you think they'll be okay with limiting their power?" Arthur questioned. "You can't just put all your eggs in one basket." Dylan stared at him for a while before speaking.

"We know that." He said, hand on hip. "But this is our only chance to get England back to how it used to be." Arthur shook his head.

"No it isn't." He noted the way Dylan stiffened a bit, but he continued on. "As you know, I'm the crown prince's mate, therefore I have some influence over him. I've been thinking this for a while, but once we get married, I can just ask him to help Britain. Through loans, help in infrastructure, lowering protective tariffs, you know, things to help our economy. But now, if whatever you say is true, me marrying him would help with our legitimacy as the heirs of England, and even with Parliament against us, their power is limited because they no longer have the power to authorize the people's lives due to the war." Arthur explained. "Of course, that's just in theory." He added.

Dylan eyes warily, biting his lip. "I don't trust you."

"If you take me, Alfred will return to the island and take me back. They'll kill all of your men if they have to. Help Britain in a bloodless way, you won't win against the Americans." Arthur reasoned, and Dylan sighed, conflicted.

"Fine." He said, and Arthur cried out in happiness. "But, we're not going back yet. We'll lay low and watch you, and in a year, if we are not acknowledged as the legitimate heirs to the british throne, we're doing it our way." He sighed. "Deal?"

Arthur didn't even hesitate. "Deal." Dylan turned and walked away, towards his brothers.


30 minutes later...

Arthur somehow opened the steamship and got chancy into a chamber. He pulled off his wet clothes and dressed him in warm pajamas someone had left behind. Chancy was no longer shivering, his color was a healthy hue, and his breathing wasn't labored, a good sign that he didn't have pneumonia. However, Arthur knew someone had noticed his absence now, and that both Alfred and Davie were worried sick. Arthur could handle Alfred's rage, but he wouldn't know how to cope with Davie's. He had lied to him about the encounter, and now Chancy was all bruised up, and it looked like a rib was broken. Davie would never forgive him, and would probably argue with Chancy, perhaps bar him from seeing Geoffrey. Arthur shook his head, Davie wasn't like that. He probably wouldn't talk to him again, but he would make it work with Chancy, so at least that was good.

Arthur shed some layers and snuggled in beside Chancy, allowing the other to bury his nose in his neck. The englishman yawned, closing his eyes, begging for sleep, but his neck was suddenly moist, and Chancy was sniffling. "Chancy!" Arthur sat up, Chancy rolling away from him and curling into a ball. "Chancy, what's wrong?" Chancy sniffled and hiccupped, rubbing at his eyes, apologizing. He tried to speak through his tears until he began to sob, all words lost on the brit. Arthur gave him some space, letting him get it all out. Another 10 to 15 minutes passed before the ice blond actually calmed down, burying his face in a pillow.

"Chancy?" The brit called again, and the frenchman ignored him, only offering a hand for the other to hold. Arthur took it hesitantly. "What's wrong? Answer me."

"I'm fine, petal. I just... thank you for saving me." He mumbled from the pillow. Arthur told him to speak clearly, and so he did, lifting his eyes and turning to face his friend, wincing a little. "I... I'm sorry for that, I don't really cry in front of others. I'm just... conflicted." Arthur cocked his head to the left, frowning.

"Conflicted? Why?" Arthur asked.

"I... I'm happy that I came here and fought those guys for you, but I... tomorrow... Davie... he's..." He trailed off and his eyes watered again, his breathing heavy. Oh, Arthur understood now, he was also anxious for the next day, but... he shouldn't cry over it. "He's going to be so angry with me." He continued and his voice cracked again. "He's done nothing but love me, and I know him so well, but he knows nothing about me and that's not fair!" Arthur gasped. He was completely wrong before, Chancy was upset about not telling Davie who he really was.

"Just tell him then, Davie isn't the one to discard you just because you're magical." Arthur said confidently, and Chancy shook his head.

"You don't know that!" He cried. "I'm too afraid to tell him!"

"Then don't!"

"No, you don't understand..." Chancy let the tears spill as he looked up at the ceiling. "I could have died today." He said slowly, letting his head hang. "I could have died, and Davie wouldn't have known why or how or who I was." Arthur bit his lip, understanding now. "I want him to love me yes, but if and when I die, I don't want his only perception of me to be false. I want him to love the real me, and I don't know if he will, so I'm scared. I don't want to hide this from him anymore, he's too good for lies." His breath was shaky, but he was breathing and that's all that mattered.

"If you think you're in hot water, wait till Alfred gets his hands on us." He chuckled, and Chancy hummed, lying down on his back. "Get some rest, I'll wake you up when I do." Arthur assured, and the frenchman nodded.


That morning...

The pair knocked on the door of the inn, not exactly excited for the day. The brit had tried to come up with excuses as to why he did what he did, but at the end he was still a liar. The door swung open and the bellman greeted them before recognizing them, eyes widening. He ushered them in quickly, the Frenchman's arm around the brit's shoulder because his ankle was sprained. Before they could take seats, the bellman ran out of the lounge, obviously to report that the two were safe and somewhat sound. Chancy was shaking, but Arthur knew he was screwed, so he was just waiting for the inevitable. Before long he heard running and heavy breathing, the smell of his alpha hitting his nose.

Chancy stood up and slowly hobbled towards his lover, who gingerly took him into his arms, scenting him. Chancy scented back half-heatedly, having a million things on his mind. Alfred, on the other hand, stared at him with empty eyes, taking the brit's face into his hands and searching his features. Arthur looked to the side, the other's eyes unnerving him. He had never seen Alfred so emotionless. He must have reached a new level of anger: indifference