Hannibal hastily counted out the remaining coins in his palm that didn't belong to him. The handwritten news was limited and expensive, but the words on the page struck Hannibal dumb for a beat or two when he passed by them. It took Fernando's hand clasping his shoulder to remind him it was time to return to the estate.
Hannibal slammed the coins into the palm of the salesman and snatched up the paper, shoving it into one of his pockets to burn a hole into it on the eternity of a walk home.
The paper grew heavier and heavier the longer he walked and the further and further away Fernando's voice grew. It became wind through the trees during a storm. A constant deep, low rumbling. The rock turned to a bolder in his pocket and his movements became mechanical.
Surprise Coronation rang like bells in Hannibal's mind.
The basket and remaining coins were passed off and Hannibal couldn't feel his limbs fully again until he was alone in the stables.
He slid into Maximus' stall, a lovely andalusian with a grey coat and docile disposition. Maximus pawed his front hoof in irritation, but allowed Hannibal the space he needed to slide to the floor, back flush to the wooden stall.
He pulled the paper from his pocket, heart racing so hard in his chest that he could see it through his shirt. The breath through his nose did nothing to calm his heart. He would be lying to himself if he said his hands weren't trembling, waiting to learn what had become of his home and the people there he had come to love and call friends.
That world felt years away now, planets away. And it only faded to galaxies apart when he finally allowed himself to sink into the words written on the page.
Each word clung to Hannibal's bones. Digging in deeper and deeper. The hints of home became shards that cut him. King Sanford had passed away, though there were no further details before him to confirm or deny his suspicions. The king had seemed in perfect health before Hannibal had set off. The only thing out of place had been Will. And Hannibal doubted he would be hearing from him anytime soon.
The royal wedding had been canceled as well and Hannibal was left with only his guesses as to what had caused the outcome, though his strong opinion rested on Mason Verger having a rather heavy hand in it. Whether Mason had any input on the king's welfare was speculation.
Hannibal could only hope that Will's new position would secure him safety, even if it came with the blackmail that Molson Verger had been dealing the kingdom all the years beforehand. If Hannibal could make it back to England, he could become the go between for the two kingdoms just as his father had been. That would be if Will was willing to accept him back. Even if he was never Hannibal again and stayed Commander Shikibu, he could be the safeguard for Will.
If he could just get home….
That was a problem for another day. For now, he needed to work. He needed to keep his head down until he could meet with Miguel and get his message out. He needed to-
"Get back to work!" Raçoso's voice barked, causing Hannibal to jump and crush the paper in his hands. He was met with a beet red face and a hand gripped tightly on a whip. A warning. "Just because you got picked to do the nice chores doesn't mean you get to sit and have tea."
Hannibal nodded and scrambled to his feet, looking around the stable at the nearest job possible to begin.
"Ceceilia?" Hannibal questioned over the pleasant chatter at dinner that night. The woman paused in her work of filling up plates with portions of food and her eyes landed on Hannibal. The raise of her brows told him to be quick with what he wanted. "Do you know how to get a hold of any ink?"
"Ink?" she repeated back, brows furrowing curiously. "Why would you be wanting ink for?"
"Personal reasons. Thought maybe writing would help pass the time." Hannibal's excuse must not have fooled the woman, because she sucked on her teeth for a moment before tutting her tongue.
"There might be some in the main house. I suppose I can check for you tomorrow."
"Thank you." Hannibal gave her a smile and she sighed with a stale nod.
"You'll be wanting a pen as well, won't you?"
"If that's a possibility."
Ceceilia rolled her eyes heavily and let a piece of bread clatter carelessly onto Hannibal's plate. She leaned her elbow onto the table top and put her face so close to Hannibal's that he had to lean back to keep his eyes from going crossed.
"If you are caught with those, you are taking the beating. Not me."
"Of course." Hannibal nodded quickly. "I won't tell a soul."
"Better not. Pork?"
"Yes please." Hannibal watched as two slices of salted pork was tossed haphazardly onto his plate and Ceceilia left to attend another call of her name. Hannibal pulled at his bread with a slight smile. Everything was lining up decently. He hoped that his luck continued to fair just as well going forward.
The voice was so soft that Hannibal thought it a whisper in the wind and didn't bother looking up from his work of caring for the horses. It took another two phantom whisper yells of Commander, for Hannibal to finally look up with furrowed brows from the coat he was brushing.
Over the top of a bush of green leaves, a young pair of eyes stared at him. Hannibal nearly let out a snort of laughter, but stopped himself at the sound of Raçoso's footsteps coming towards him.
Hannibal's attention swiftly returned to his work as Miguel's head dipped behind the bush. There was a pause in Raçoso's steps and Hannibal tossed a look over his shoulder at the large man whose face was ruddy with alcohol.
"Aren't you finished with this shit yet?" Raçoso demanded in a booming voice that was meant to scare more than it did.
"It takes time," Hannibal answered gently, hoping not to upset the man. He was on good terms with Raçoso so far and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. "I have one more mare to wash and then I will start on shoeing t-"
"Pick up the pace. We don't have all day to waste away on one stupid creature. There is a deadline we need this finished by." The words were said with an almost uncertain quality to them. As if Raçoso wasn't supposed to have let such information slip. He coughed heavily when Hannibal stopped and gave the man a curious look. "Never mind that now, boy. Just get the job done."
"Yes, Sir." Hannibal nodded and started back to work. He knew he needed to word this carefully. Even drunk, Raçoso had proven himself to be sharp minded over the week or so Hannibal had been there. "Sir, if I knew the timeline, maybe I could better see to the end of this project."
"What you on about?"
Hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "I understand how long it takes to take care of the horses and get them up to the standards of a nobleman. How short of a timeline am I working under? I can better prioritize-"
"Yes, yes, alright." Raçoso waved his hands in annoyance to halt Hannibal's rambling. "You have until the end of the week and then I need this stable ship shape. Not a single hair out of place."
Hannibal licked his lips that had suddenly gone dry and he nodded. "Ship shape," he repeated in barely a whisper. He cleared his throat and nodded. "I will see that it happens."
"You better or it won't just be your ass on the line."
Hannibal waited, listening carefully to Raçoso's steps fade away and disappear before he dared turn his attention back to the speaking bush. Hannibal set the brush aside and made his way out of the stall and towards the young head that popped up out of the bush once more. The boy's smile beamed, something proud in it probably from having done a good job at concealing himself.
"I'm here for the letter," the boy announced, the bush rustling around him as he attempted to free himself from it. Hannibal's hands took the newly emerged shoulders and gently coaxed them back into the bush, much against the muddled look from Miguel.
"Stay here. It's not safe for you." Hannibal kept his tone low and glanced over his shoulder to check that Raçoso hadn't decided to show his face again. "I will fetch it from my room and bring it back here. But you have to promise to stay hidden. Do you understand?"
Miguel nodded and sunk himself back into the bush, the disturbed leaves leaving a noticeable hole. Hannibal did his best to adjust the foliage before he rushed back towards the stables to look once more for Raçoso. Finding the drunk missing, Hannibal raced towards his housing quarters and entered the large room, thankfully finding it empty, everyone else still off on their duties.
In the corner of the room where Hannibal's bedding rested was where he dropped to his knees. He lifted the thin pillow and pulled the carefully written letter from beneath it. Making sure that the ink was still sealed and once more hidden, he rushed back towards the stables, letter hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt, over his racing heart.
He was breathing hard when he finally made it back, grateful to still find Raçoso out of the picture. Hannibal licked his mouth, willing moisture back to it as he went to the bush.
"Miguel," he called softly. His eyes flickered over the leaves and his heart sank when he found them unoccupied. His hands dove into the mess of sticks and green, a panic rushing through him. "Miguel!"
"I'm over here."
Hannibal jumped and spun around to find young eyes peeking out from behind the wall to the stables. Hannibal's eyes closed tightly and he let out a captured breath before heading over to Miguel.
"What are you doing?" he asked through clenched teeth, doing his best to keep his tone level. If anything happened to this child, it would all be on Hannibal's head.
"That rude man was looking around. Nearly fell over into the bush. I thought he saw me, so I moved."
Hannibal gave an understanding nod. "Listen very carefully to me." He leaned over to be a bit more of Miguel's height. He reached into his shirt and pulled the paper free, handing it to his helper. "Here is the letter I need you to send. It should be properly addressed. I just need you to get it to the correct person to send it."
"That would be Rodrigo."
"Perfect." Hannibal's patience was starting to dwindle the longer Miguel stayed out in the open. "Get this to Rodrigo."
"Alright!" Miguel nodded in determination.
"Please stay safe heading home." Hannibal ruffled the boy's hair before returning to his full height. "And don't tell anyone."
"Not a soul!" he agreed.
A loud crashing had become the new way that Hannibal woke in the morning. The door hit the wall harshly as a guard came to raise everyone, yells already on his lips. Hannibal's eyes scrunched up and he stretched out the soreness in his shoulders from how hard the floor was beneath him.
He blinked up at the wooden ceiling above him and inhaled deeply. He wouldn't have time to wait for that letter to send now. It would take weeks or months to reach Will and receive any sort of response back. He needed to act by the end of the week or he was as good as missing. Will would never find him, especially across the ocean. Hannibal would be lucky if he found anyone at all who even knew Will by name.
He sat up and stretched once more, his spine cracking as it aligned itself into the new position. Once dressed and coffee drank, Hannibal set off to the stables, mind lost deep in thought. Some of the variables would depend wholly on the horses being cooperative, but Hannibal was certain he could finish shoeing the horses within the next day or two. Would it be better to stretch the time out? Have it take as long as it can so that he can better strategize? Or would it be smarter to finish as quickly and be possibly given another task that could help his escape chances more?
With how little Raçoso slunk around the stables, Hannibal was nearly certain he could steal a horse and make a break for it. He was certain he had the ability to get away with as little damage done as possible to his own being, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the others.
In his short time here, he had been welcomed like part of the family. He was taken care of and in return he helped the others. Maybe it came from the years of being the person charged with protecting the many men under him, but the feelings of responsibility wrapped around him like a rope.
These people were about to be ripped apart from their lives, and while it wasn't the best of lives, at least they had some semblance of family here. If they were sold off or taken to the Americas like he was going to be, their own haven would fall apart. It wasn't much to hold on to, but he had to help everyone else here. They deserved their freedom just as much as he did.
Hannibal opened wide the door to the stable and glanced over each of the horses in the stalls. Feed and water, then let them out to clean before setting to work on shoeing them. That was the plan for the day.
Hannibal found the bag with the oats in it, scooping some into his hand and holding it out to the first stall. Lips nudged at his hand and he pet the nose of the animal with a small smile. He unlocked the stall and let it open to allow the horse to go find the fresh hay he had set out the night before.
A small nicker from one of the horses caught his attention though. Maximus had stayed towards the back of his stall while the others had come to the door the moment Hannibal had shown his face. He wiped his damp hand on his trousers while opening the stall door for the horse he was currently attending.
"Maximus," Hannibal said, trying to bring the horse over to him. The horse paced the back of his stall, but didn't come closer, not even when Hannibal held out a handful of oats to him. He clicked his tongue. "Come on Maximus. Oats are your favorite." The horse let out another nicker and stamped at the dirt. Hannibal sighed and rolled his eyes. "What's got you spooked?" He let the handful of oats fall to the floor. He would clean it later. Hannibal unlatched the stall door and let it swing open, only to fall still.
He had seen things like this before, but it still silenced his heart for a beat.
Hay lay in a mixture of mud, trying to soak up what had turned the dirt a dusty red. The boy lay half hidden beneath the hay, but Hannibal didn't need to see who it was to know who it was.
Hannibal lowered himself to his knees and reached out a hand, fingers caressing the cold skin of Miguel. He brushed back the boy's hair to find a gaping gash where the blood had come from.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. He swallowed the guilt down as best he could and rose to his feet. He had to get out now or he was as good as dead too. He could apologize later. He could-
Pain exploded like a burst dam, flooding every thought and sensation. It was a raw, primal agony, as if every nerve ending had suddenly been set ablaze. His mind screamed in protest, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensation. The harsh impact that reverberated through bone and flesh, his brain rattling in his skull as the world tilted and spun around him and his knees slammed into the floor.
"When i was told you were educated, I did not expect you to be this dim," a voice scolded above him.
Hannibal blinked in the now far too bright light, his hands clutching to his head as his body curled in on itself. A groan left his clenched teeth involuntarily and something hot and sticky was beginning to coat his fingers.
"You write exquisitely," the voice continued, the Spanish nearing foreign to Hannibal in the buzzing of his head. "I looked into your background commander and I have to say that with the praise that is sung of your victories for England, your brilliance is not reflected in your choices here."
Hannibal forced his eyes to focus and he took in the several beings that had circled around him. Marquess Guzmán was the one speaking to him, the letter Hannibal had written held firm in his grip. Beside him was Raçoso whose face was contorted into something that told Hannibal that he should have known better. The others wore the marquess' crest, his guard. One held a shovel in hand and Hannibal wondered if that had been what had killed Miguel.
Hannibal pushed himself back to his knees, but his head stayed hung heavy and in his hands, neck too weak to support his wants.
"You were the one who ended the war," Guzmán said, amusement in his tone. "You were the one who handled the treaty signing."
"Yes," Hannibal agreed, finding the strength to finally look up. Blood trickled down his face and he did his best to ignore it as he met the marquess' gaze head on. "That is who I am."
"Then the death of this child and the reasons behind it should not be of any sort of surprise. And neither should your punishment." Guzmán waved his hand and the guard seized Hannibal's arms. Hannibal was dragged to his feet and he fought the way his stomach churned from the sudden movement. Hannibal's letter was waved in front of his face and his jaw clenched. "You sound close to His Majesty, King William."
"No," Hannibal lied. "I worked for his father. William was a spoiled prince. Nothing more."
"You'll have to forgive me for not believing you." Guzmán's voice lowered as he got closer. "I'm sure his majesty would pay a pretty penny to have you returned, if the way you wrote to him is anything to go by."
"He wouldn't pay any ransom for me."
"I wholeheartedly disagree. I'm sure he will play along once he sees the state you'll be in."
Hannibal's brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could speak, Guzmán waved his hand in dismissal and the guards who held him jerked him from the stables. Hannibal did his best to keep track of where he was being taken, but the brightness of the sun rang in his ears like a bell.
The sound of livestock greeted Hannibal as he was ruthlessly tossed into the middle of the workshop. The field beyond them housed the cows he could hear above the sound of flickering fire.
Ropes burned as they secured themselves to his wrists and his arms were pulled from him. He was shoved so far forward on his knees that without the ropes in place, Hannibal would have tumbled to his face in the dirt.
He willed his body to obey him, to right back, but his head fought him. He was being jostled too much for his mind to settle into a firm forming thought. He felt like he was back on the ocean, bobbing back and forth on the waves and his stomach threatened to expel what little breakfast he had had.
The back of his shirt was torn and Hannibal tried to turn his head enough to see exactly what was coming for him, but found the angle he was bent at to be far too steep.
"I warned you boy," Raçoso's voice said somewhere behind Hannibal. "Why couldn't you just keep your head down and work?"
"Please," Hannibal muttered, eyes searching the dirt below him as if it would somehow magically have all of the answers for him. Maybe it was all a nightmare and he would wake up in the castle with an annoying prince snoring beside him. "If you can get my letter to the King, he will help us. I promise."
The sounds and footsteps behind Hannibal sent the hair on his arms to stand on end and his toes to curl in his shoes. He closed his eyes tightly, the ring of metal hitting something bright in its tone.
"I was starting to like you." Raçoso's shoes came into view and as if in answer to Hannibal's question, the flicker of something bright white caught his eye before it was pulled away from his sight. A decently thick stick was placed before Hannibal's eyes and his body tensed as the only warning he had received became fervently clear in his mind. He opened his mouth and the stick was placed between his teeth. He bit down on it and closed his eyes tightly, breathing deeply. "This is going to hurt you as much as it's going to hurt me."
Raçoso's boots left and wandered off somewhere behind him again.
There was no further words, no other warnings, no other signals.
The initial shock of searing pain, a white-hot intensity of burning metal sent his body trying to escape from the sensation. His spine bent inward and the sound that left Hannibal's mouth was inhuman. HIs mouth, nose and eyes watered, drool falling from the stick his teeth were embedded in.
The sizzle and hissing of his skin brought him the sharp, acrid scent of burning flesh. It was a scent that seared his nostril and lingered in the air. A scent that brought back snow, starvation and a red ribbon.
