The Stranger
The snow continued to shed itself upon Kattleroot, shrouding each dejected cabin and dog eared shop awning. Encumbering the ropey wooden structures with its icy weight and assaulting any retreating figures with the stinging whip of the crisp wind. Winter's first snow always hit too hard and too soon in Kattleroot; like a slap in the face of its inhabitants. Only the very young could show joy at the falling of the snow, for in a place like this the snow just seemed to make matters more sordid: the work was disrupted, crops were frozen and any livestock still hanging onto life was huddled into the bedrooms with the children to snuffle through the night and dirty their already humble homes.
Maybe Arthur had been one of those gleeful children that liked snow once. He often felt a moment of false happiness seeing the flakes begin the swirl above his head, imagining a fireplace with cups of hot chocolate and lots of laughing voices - with no explanation of course. He had disjointed dreams of snow, of running through it away from other boys his age with terror and glee. He would wake from these dizzy and disoriented but he preferred the dreams of snow to the dreams of fire. It was not long however, this false happiness, only a split second, and then the customary melancholy would take its place for the long term.
He let the snow do what it liked for now, crouched by the river's edge in the hollow place where the land dipped out of sight of the outer lying cabins, watching the enchanted things which drifted there, the illuminated figures of spirits who did not feel the cold. He watched with a sort of humourless focus, neither he nor these odd winter creatures (which looked like faeries with the antlers of fawn and skin the colour of ash) communicating directly. A few of the females gave him furtive glances but no more as they twirled with one another. The distraction did ease his mind though, considering the anger he had felt a few minutes before. Watching them move without cares or troubles was soothing: even in the midst of suffering, here is life which transcends all that.
He tried to focus on the anger at first, feeling defeated as it faded; feeling the fool for how he reacted. Now he let it seep away – Peter was just a brat, a kid, prone to tantrums and suffering like the rest of them – he wouldn't excuse his brother exactly, but he would forgive him. Even so, he felt glad to be away from the house even if the wind flushed his cheeks and bit through his clothes: he couldn't stand being boxed in with the loathing of his sibling radiating from him in waves while Mel hunched up over some meagre meal. And then there was the guilt, stabbing like a blade in his gut – was he doing his best? Was he protecting them? Not only the food but...he thought back to that awful cut on his leg. He had to consider what he really thought he was playing at. He had to make sure they weren't tied to whatever he could be getting into.
Why did he not just leave the prince be? Was it so hard? Why was he persisting without reason? He could not even explain to himself - or he did not want to. Yet each morning that he had promised to see Alfred he awoke earlier than usual to go to him all the same, left with lighter step than usual – even a smile on occasion. Any sense of duty to the boy had long been repaid – as much as a year ago it had been repaid! If he was not careful, he would be giving to him more than he was due.
Or was he doing so already?
It had been no less than a few minutes before Arthur felt that feeling again, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up; that sensation that he was not alone. The darkness was closing in on all sides of him and his sight was heavily afflicted, but the intense feeling was unmistakable. The only light came from the tiny creatures dancing on the river but it swirled dizzyingly and was formless, seeming to hit nothing other than Arthur's own pale face. Glancing around, his eyes locked jarringly on a dark shape beside him, shrouded in the shadow of the evening and momentarily formless. He squinted at it and felt his breath catch in his throat to see it become the hunched shape of a figure, of somebody crouching close to him, a black mass on the bank which then began to take the form of a woman with long tangled hair the colour of the moon. He felt an urge to run but couldn't tear his eyes from the figure on the bank; his heart skipped a shaky pulse as he saw the glint of one eye through the mass of hair watching him. For a moment he thought she might be a spirit or even a ghost, but something about her demeanour, her lack of light and glow, made him feel she was something altogether more real; altogether more frightening.
"...W-Who are you?" Arthur's voice seemed louder than he had planned and he was half hoping not to receive a reply.
The creature's posture responded, she straightened her back, eyeing him boldly and becoming something more human.
"Nobody you should know," her voice was like that of a snake with a razor tongue. Arthur's eyes adjusted to the mysterious light and he could now see her features, sharp, symmetrical, emotionless.
"That's not an answer!" Arthur persisted but not without disconcertion, the desire to be at home with the warmth of the fire and the comforting presences of Mel and Peter now tugging at him like an anxious child tugs at its mother's dress, "...you aren't from Kattleroot are you?" his tone became accusing and some of his fear turned to suspicion, "...a-are you the one who...?"
"The one who's been following you?," she replied and he almost thought she sounded amused now, "oh no, you don't have to worry about me...but aren't you a popular boy..." she grinned disjointedly, "...Arthur."
A sensation of frustration and fear overwhelmed him and before he could realise what he was doing his hand was at her throat, their sudden close proximity as a result surprised him, her dark eyes level with his. Her skin was like ice, so cold it almost burned against his fingers.
"Have you been following me?" he demanded frantically, "I want the truth!"
He had a moment to consider his action and panic inwardly that he was clutching the neck of a defenceless and possibly innocent girl. What a stupid thing to do – to grab her like that – his temper was always getting him into trouble.
In almost the same instant however he felt the cold uncomfortable edge of the blade on his own throat. It was almost impressive, how swiftly she had turned the tables, drawing her own knife and so locking them in an odd embrace by the edge of the icy water.
His mouth was at once dry and he felt himself fight to swallow, the success of this only bringing more discomfort as the sharp blade pressed against him just that bit harder. Only now that the situation was critical did Arthur actually think - about how she had known his name, about how she had been lurking beside him - what else had she seen? When else could she have been in the shadows watching?
"I haven't been following you," on her part she was nonplussed by Arthur's grip on her or his anger. Her eyes focused steadily on his, the only thing about her posture which had altered was the raised arm, holding the knife, "but I am well aware of you, Arthur."
"...How?" Arthur found his voice came out as a hoarse murmur and his eyes flicked down to the blade momentarily, "who has been following me then?"
"The royal guard of course - the Ace," her voice came out as a sharp hiss, her eyes narrowing, "those bastards," Arthur bit his lip as she dug the tip of her blade just far enough to break the skin, "my people have observed you on their books - so I came to pay you a visit before they did."
Knives aside, the way the girl spoke sent a shiver down his spine, her casually violent tone paired with her wild, black eyes and the slight growl of her voice all pointing towards the presence of threat. He saw her glance down at what must have been a pinprick of blood forming on Arthur's neck but if she felt remorse she did not show it.
"What does it have to do with you?" Arthur mustered some courage, ignoring the sting of the cut and resisting the urge to release her frozen flesh.
"I thought I could help you," she retained an intense expression and made no attempt to withdraw her weapon, "I thought...we could help each other a little bit."
He was silent, scouring her face for something, anything, which would make sense. He thought of the Ace, the stony faced man he had met in the woods. Now he came to think of it, what was the Ace doing out there in the woods that time he had threatened him off the land if not following him? Hadn't he been getting more and more fearful that the man was after him somehow? On their books? That didn't sound good...in fact it sounded very bad - if it was even true that it. He didn't trust her, not at all, but maybe he did believe what she was saying made sense. ...He still wasn't prepared to bare himself to this suspicious girl however.
"And what makes you think I want help?," Arthur snapped back, anxious that she would see his consideration of her words, "and what's more would I need help from someone like you? I have no quarrel with the guard - I haven't broken any laws."
Yes you have. His brain argued - he broke several little laws every single day, he had just been praying they weren't enough to get him noticed and he'd clearly started to fail that a long time ago. He attempted to keep his tone even and confident despite the worm of doubt that she had planted in his mind. In fact, the worm had already been there for a long time, all the stranger was doing was feeding it. Feeding it with the growingly plausible idea that the Ace was coming for him and something had to be done about it.
"You're spying on the palace! - are you not?" she kept her gaze on him, unblinking, "at least that's how it seems and that's all that will matter to them. And if you're spying then you're threatening the royals! And if you're threatening the royals then you're no good! So... they'll come and get you!" She was almost singing now, her voice a happy, disjointed melody, "I know you're not any kind of proper threat – a pest maybe – but what are you really capable of? Not a lot I doubt... what, did you think you could talk to the Prince and get him to help your people? Did you think you could be friends?" she paused to laugh, a sound like glass shattering, but as it wore off her expression became deathly serious once more, "...but it doesn't matter what I think... the Ace is ruthless, he doesn't care how old you are or where you're from or how honest you are - he'll purge and purge until it's only the purest of the pure left – don't you agree? And he is paralysed by blind fear when it comes to Clubs."
She spoke but her words didn't reach Arthur fully, the part about Clubs seemed an odd afterthought, and her taunts about his relationship with Alfred stung – but it was only the things she said about the Ace that really resonated with him. This army and war were all the doing of the Ace - even Alfred admitted that. The Ace who had come to their own lowly town and given them no more than the palm of his hand. 'Quiet' the palm said – because the Ace would purge and purge until only the pure was left. The pure: Only the rich, only the privileged – the rest for fighting or working like dogs; the rest for death. For once he felt what Antonio felt like a hot prong in the core of his being.
"Who...Who are you?" his words formed on their own. She had caught his attention but he still had no clue what he was looking at.
"I am part of a group that can save your head from the Ace's stake - they are known as Strangers. They have been working for over two years now to fight against the tyranny and incompetency of the new government."
"Like the Blackshirts?" Arthur felt his arms relax now, though he didn't let go.
"No!," she spat vehemently, "we are nothing like that rabble!"
"And...and do you seek to harm Alfred?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, concerned for the young man against his own will.
"You seem to be awfully concerned with the Prince of Spades, Arthur," her tone was suddenly abrupt and angry, her eyes narrowing fiercely "Was I right then...you really do think you're actually friends? You really do think 'Alfred' would care about what I could do to you right now if I wanted to?"
Arthur suddenly felt nervous, he was always so quick to forget the weight of Alfred's name and his person and it seemed to have triggered something black and furious within the woman with a knife at his throat.
"No! It's nothing - I'm just...I just agreed to tell him about life in the country," Arthur met her stare fixedly and with a straight face, "I used to do deliveries to the palace and I met him, that's all and...and it'd be a shame because he seemed like he could be a decent king - things considered."
"You're lying," she replied frostily and Arthur's heart dropped to his stomach but her flat expression left him uncertain as to what he should be feeling, "...but the Prince will not be harmed by the likes of us. He is an innocent - that's what my master says."
There was a tense silence in which they both did little but observe each other fiercely.
"Why did you come here?" Arthur was suddenly aware of himself, aware again of the sharpened blade, the power she felt she could freely exert over him here in his own town, "you said you wanted to help me – all you have done so far is wound me."
The dark eyes flicked again to that tiny river of blood and back to his.
"You're right," she did not attempt to remove the knife, "actually; I said we could help each other."
Arthur frowned at her and felt as if he could have laughed aloud, right in her face. Help the bitch! Arthur wanted to do nothing but run ten miles in the other direction at this stage! She was out of her head.
"I'm sure there's nothing I could do for you," he replied tensely and with a hint of annoyance.
"The truth is I've lost contact with the other Strangers recently," she carried on hurriedly as if he had not spoken, "They were in contact right up until I was sent out here and now everything has gone very...quiet. I just need to get to our group's base area somehow – only it's north of the capital and I have no horse or money and the woods is thick," she paused for a moment as if awaiting reply. Upon not receiving one she continued, "I need to find the other Strangers, but, having never met my master and only knowing the others by codename's - I have little hope. They are designed to be untraceable."
"-you don't even know your own leader?" Arthur could not suppress the incredulous reply, "who are these people?... why would I even want to get involved with such an unfathomable organisation?"
"It's in the name, Arthur!," she argued fiercely, "their philosophy is to be known to no one! That even includes each other at times!"
"Well, that's a rotten philosophy if you ask me!"
"They can help you!" her voice rose a few octaves, "they helped me in a time when I thought all help was lost!" she eyed him with what seemed like anger, "you can take us there – and they can protect you from the Ace and the guard – they'll sort all of that out and make sure you never have to go near the palace again, they aren't like the Blackshirts, they have noble support - people with connections."
"Then where are they now?" Arthur replied venomously, tired of her mood swings and of the graze of the metal blade and her icy skin pressed near him, "this powerful and well connected order has fallen silent, has it not? and besides, I never agreed to help you and I don't need your organisation to solve problems I don't yet have!"
"Yet!" she hissed, "you will need us, Arthur – you and I are meant to help each other! I have seen it!"
She angrily whipped her knife away and began wiping it on her skirts. When she looked back up at him she seemed to have calmed and her face was nonplussed and sharp once more. Arthur noticed that she was not ugly as he had initially taken her to be - she could actually have been called quite pretty.
"Those are beautiful, aren't they?" she nodded at the river and Arthur needed half a moment to comprehend what she meant, gazing at the floating spirits which had moved further up the water – away from the disturbance on their now lonely shore.
"You-?" his words caught in his throat as he realised that he must have finally met someone else who shared his ability. When he turned back in awe she was standing over him, knife hidden away in the folds of her dress or wherever she kept it.
"I will see you again, Arthur," she spoke solemnly and coldly.
Before she turned her back on him to disappear into the night she offered one last parting phrase:
"you can call me Natalia."
Alfred was void of reaction for a few seconds, engaged in a somewhat chaste lip lock with Angelique on the window seat, his body unmoving while his head rang vague alarm bells and his heart thudded in his ears. When he did remove her gently, searing with embarrassment, he saw her eyes were full of tears.
"Why don't you just try it, Alfred!" she fought against his firm hold on her shoulders, "why don't you give it a chance before you run away! ...You're not a little boy anymore!"
Mortified and guilty, Alfred could not answer her. He had never really felt like doing this stuff with Angelique, not that he hadn't thought about it before, but it worried him that he couldn't quite think of her that way. And yes things like love were meant to grow but did that make her right about how he was acting? Arthur had told him not to pin his hopes on love but is this what he meant? Since he'd received the advice he'd tried to take it even though it went against anything he'd ever dreamed as a kid. But how could it be followed? Should he try to please Angelique, even though he didn't love her? Is that what Arthur was trying to tell him?
Without waiting for a response, Angelique put her arms around him and kissed him again, forcefully. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to grimace. All he felt was the uncomfortable slash of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but suppose that was how he was meant to feel? Was that what people felt in those books he read? They never focused so much on the kissing part in those - something Alfred remembered with shame.
He was aware that he had no idea what to do and sat bolt upright with his hands resting on the window seat cover, never leaving his sides. Angelique seemed dissatisfied with this and altogether more determined than he was. She pressed herself against him and the action felt wrong to Alfred who was flustered just brushing against her cheek to greet her. He didn't want to offend her further but realised he didn't know how to go about reciprocating her enthusiasm in the slightest, nor if he wanted to. He was trying it, like she had said - he wasn't going to run away and he wasn't a little boy! But it overwhelmed him, her grip on his neck seemed too tight, her mouth opened just slightly too wide - this was the first time anyone had kissed him properly like this - perhaps he was the one doing it all wrong? He didn't hate it exactly but he felt the stirring emotions of nervousness, embarrassment and discomfort. If he really put his mind to it, he could enjoy this, he thought, maybe, and the feel of her body did...interest him...but overall he would be happy for the affair to end. It was when her palm grazed his waistband, provoking a fresh wave of mortification, that he finally had to push her away, maybe more forcefully than he had planned, his face burning.
He stood up, abruptly and awkwardly. Angelique only stared at him with her mouth agape, the light of the moon silhouetting her against the window.
"...Alfie?" her voice quivered and he feared her tears would return.
"I'm sorry! I...I can't," he hopped from foot to foot anxiously, a childish habit he couldn't break, "I really am sorry..." his eyes did not meet hers, "...I should go."
She regained her composure but barely, shaking her head in disbelief as she stood up shakily with her shoulders pushed back and her face colouring as she realised she had failed.
"I suppose I'm the one who should apologise!" She spat back at him, staring at the ground as she seized her lamp roughly, "I was clearly wrong."
"Please!" Alfred began to follow her across the room, "don't be like that! It's just-..."
"Goodnight, Alfred" she said curtly as she reached the door, "...'your highness'," she added as a sarcastic, stinging afterthought.
The light of her lamp disappeared down the long hallway with her retreating form and Alfred was left with the inconsiderate light of the moon, no longer a comfort but something ghostly which gave him the shivers. With a sheepish glance around him he too retreated, riddled with guilt and humiliation, back to his own bedroom.
A/N: Here is the next chapter for y'all I hope you like how the story is going (please let me know your thoughts)!
See you again soon! :D
