Hooray for the next chapter!

Warning: If there are any Mortimer fans reading this, I suggest that you just skim the chapter. If you insist on reading, I apologize beforehand to anyone that might feel offended.

Without further ado, please enjoy the chapter.

The Prince and His Valet

iv. – part 4

Then everything went black.

For about five seconds.

Suddenly, he was on the floor again, and he could breathe. For the first few seconds, he did nothing else but gulp in mouthful after mouthful of air, trying to make up to his burning lungs the oxygen they were deprived of. He didn't even notice that someone was beside him until he felt the hand rubbing gentle circles into his back.

"There, just breathe. You're doing fine. You're going to be fine. Just breathe. Breathe."

He listened to the voice and did just that. When he finally managed to calm himself down and his heavy breaths trailed off into light coughs, he looked up to see who the voice belonged to.

"H-Horace?" Doggone it, his voice sounded raspier than usual. He wouldn't be surprised if Horace didn't even know what he was saying. To his surprise, the advisor nodded. "Don't say anything else, now. Wouldn't want you to damage your throat any further than you already have."

Donald just nodded. Horace helped support him as he leaned back against the hard surface he was held against just moments before, which now he saw was actually the pillar he had hid behind earlier. The elder man was still rubbing his shoulders soothingly, and Donald took the moment to see what was happening.

Mortimer was on the ground, several guards surrounding him with spears pointed his way. Captain Pete stood right in front of the traitor, sword pointing threateningly at his throat. If it weren't for his aching throat at the moment, Donald wanted to laugh at the irony that this was almost exactly the position he and Mortimer were in only a few minutes ago (gosh, was it only minutes? It felt like an eternity). Have a taste of your own medicine, why don't ya?

Further from him, other guards were freeing the Prince from wall. As soon as the last knife was winched from its place, the teen tore from the circle of guards and rushed to where they were. He stopped in front of them, staring intently at Donald. The teenage duck knew that the Prince was only making sure he was all right with his own eyes, and settled for watching His Highness' face as the young royalty ran his eyes over him.

Which was pretty entertaining. Even with the trained poker face on, Donald could make out the relief and concern the older teen was trying so hard to hide in the twitches and subtle changes in muscle movement on his face. Then the short mouse's gaze landed to his left, and he visibly winced. The mallard was just about to wonder why when the last of his adrenalin finally wore off, and the white hot burning pain from before came back to him at full force.

He let out a sound that was a cross somewhere between a gasp, a quack, and a hiss, and immediately his right hand flew to his left, wanting to relieve the pain at least a little. But soon he found himself not knowing where to nurse. For one, his left hand was hanging limply and completely unresponsive (that can't be a good sign) and burned like fire whenever he actually tried to move it. But then, the slash wound on his upper left arm made sure he knew that any movement with his left arm was a very bad idea. He wouldn't be surprised if that gash was deep enough to see bone. It sure felt like something was nibbling away at his skeletal structure. Or maybe it was just his broken ribs (which probably came from that crash against the pillar) aching. He didn't know, and at that moment, he didn't really care. He just wanted it all to stop hurting.

He shuddered in the wake of the onslaught of agony and whimpered. Something was held to his bill, and he couldn't find it in himself to protest as he opened his mouth and gulped down the liquid offered to him. And gagged.

"What was that?" He gasped. Then coughed for five seconds straight. He could feel Horace's disapproving look on him before the advisor even spoke. "I told you not to talk. That was just some wine to help with your pain. Now, here's some water for your throat."

Donald gratefully swallowed the warm water given to him, which brought sweet relief for his aching throat. Slowly, he could feel the alcohol taking its effect, with the unbearable pain gradually fading into a dull ache. It was then that he realized how absolutely exhausted he was. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and not wake up for at least 12 hours. But any thoughts of sleep were eradicated when the sound of cold laughter began filling the room.

The reaction was immediate. He felt Horace's grip on him tighten, but was still gentle. He saw the Prince spin around to face the source of the laughter, arms spread almost protectively in front of the mallard. He would have been touched if he wasn't busy trying to suppress the irrational fear that was again bubbling up his spine. He was going to have nightmares after this. He was positive.

The Captain was the one who finally interrupted the loud, humorless laughter with a growl. "What's so funny, ya no good scum?" The laughing ceased, but the reply that followed didn't ease Donald's fear any, "You think you all accomplished something by stopping me? You're all wrong! I was going to mercifully kill you all, because I know the lot of you would rather die than serve under me! But now that you've stopped me, you have only signed yourselves up for a fate much worse! Mark my words, one day you will all be pawns in the hand of the very Captain whom you have entrusted the safety of your palace to!"

There was a dreadful silence as the occupants of the room let the words sink in, and all eyes inevitably focused on the one accused. The Captain himself was silent, still having his sword pointed at the traitor's throat. His head was slightly lowered, helmet obscuring the features on his face, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. All waited to see what Captain Pete had to say.

To say that people were shocked when the Captain went from motionless to plunging forward would have been an understatement.

Mortimer looked down at the blade in his chest, then up at the Captain himself. There was no pity or remorse on the large cat's face. Just disgust. "Don't you question my loyalty to the royal family, you scoundrel." He growled. Then he pulled the sword free and turned, didn't even bother to look back as the man he had stabbed coughed blood and fell sideways to the floor.

The silence that followed wasn't all that pleasant, either.

In the end, it was Horace who recovered fast enough from the shock to frown and give the Captain a stern look. "Really, Pete, was that necessary?" The Captain scowled as he wiped the blood off his blade with a rag he had taken out. "Shut your trap, Horsy. It was either that, or let him continue to terrorize your young ward there. I don't need another three years of waking up to nightmare induced screams."

Donald, for his part, just settled for being relieved that the man who had haunted his dreams for the past decade was finally gone (it was over; doggone it, it was over), too tired to actually feel anything else. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt his body shift and himself placed in a position that reminded him of being carried on someone's back. He let the uneven ups and downs from his carrier's running lull him into the darkness like the rocking of a crib he didn't ever recall lying in.

"Hang in there, pal. You're going to be just fine. I swear on the crown's honor."

Funny how the last time he succumbed to darkness, it was the same voice that had accompanied him.

To be continued…

Well there you have it! That's the end of Period iv! In the next period, we will finally enter into the events of the movie! Stay tuned!

I again apologize to any Mortimer fans reading this. I needed a way to show that while Pete had always been known to be ruthless, but still had the trust of generally the entire castle (not counting the soldiers he'd already corrupted). This just felt like something he would do that was in character, yet did not raise any doubt in the royal family's (and Horace and Donald's) trust in him. I believe that the royal family really did trust the captain, or Henry never would've let him become captain of the guards in the first place.

I really wanted to be historically accurate, but those that know their history would know that using alcohol to relieve pain is a method not used until the late 19th century (this story takes place in the 14th, for those that don't know). But, Wikipedia didn't really give me much other choice. Let's just say that Horace discovered this method but never thought to make it public and used it only when needed. Because Horace is awesome like that.

And yes, neither Donald nor the Prince had drunk any wine at this point. They're still underage, and even if it's a different period, it's easy to imagine Henry and Horace being way too overprotective. XD

Poor Donald. Let's hope he has better luck in the future.

~ruth~