Archive of Our Own

After he agreed to join Evrard’s mission, the lord had brought him to a different room than before and said Alia would be up soon. Arthur recalled nodding and having enough strength to take his breastplate and shoes off with John’s help before collapsing onto the bed, wheezing all the while. Knowing he would be rid of Horig’s curse was reassuring but that didn’t mean the fear was completely gone. 

The few minutes spent waiting for the witch were agonizing. Arthur thought he was close to passing out when John hurriedly told him Alia had arrived. He remembered his partner narrating her actions of taking a satchel off her shoulder and emptying out the contents; various vials and dried plants. He remembered her approaching his bed with tools and pouring one dark liquid out. John had been shocked by the mixture floating into the air and allowing Alia to manipulate its form. She’d covered her hands in it and lifted them to hover over his chest. He hadn’t felt anything at first besides the normal pain, but then a pressure began to build between his lungs. It had grown and expanded, feeling like it was physically pushing his organs aside, until Arthur could hardly breathe. He gasped for air, and thought he screamed. John’s voice had gone in and out of his ears and the sheer panic had been awful. He’d wanted to comfort him, but as soon as he thought that, he was being tugged down into something soft and warm and he couldn’t refuse.

When he wakes up, he’s laying in the same bed, but for the first time in days, Arthur feels okay. Not amazing, but much better than before. He hesitantly takes a breath in, and it comes and leaves with ease. He doesn’t feel as if he were choking or is about to faint from the simple action of moving his head. The relief that courses through him makes his eyes burn and that must have roused John because the next thing he knows, a hand is touching his face frantically. It brushes hair out of his eyes and feels his forehead and pats any skin it could reach and Arthur almost laughs.

“I’m okay,” he says. His voice is hoarse but not in the ghastly way it had been before. “I’m okay, my friend. I feel—God, I feel amazing compared to yesterday.”

His left hand cradles his face and a sigh rolls out from his head. “Jesus Christ, Arthur. I thought you…the way you were before she came in, I…I was terrified you…”

“I know, I know.” He lifts a hand and encloses it over the other’s. “Me, too. But it’s behind us now. We’re okay.”

John seems ready to disagree but decides not to. He makes a tired sound and just holds his arm closer. Arthur lets him, imagining how hard it had been for the entity to sit through another bout of him being unconscious.

“How long was I out?” he asks.

“You’ve been asleep for a while. I’m not sure how long exactly, but it was dark when Alia left. I can see some sunlight peeking through the curtains next to the bed.”

Arthur hums and shifts in bed. The mattress is like heaven. “So all night, then?”

“Yes. One of the servants brought some water and new clothes. Some sort of shirt and pants like we’re wearing now. Boots, too.” John finally lowers his hand but didn’t move it far. It rests on his chest. “It’s hard to tell without a clock, but Alia came in with Evrard maybe three hours ago. She checked you over and he asked about your state.”

“Hm, not surprising. I’m aiding him in the journey, it’d be disappointing if his savior croaked.”

“That is most likely his motivation, yes, but he also seemed…genuinely concerned. I don’t know, something about his voice sounded honest when he asked if you were okay and how you were reacting to her magic. If your eyes had been open, I would’ve been able to tell, so perhaps I am… projecting.”

Arthur smiles and rubs a thumb over Jon’s knuckles. “Well, we were wrong about him before, maybe we will be again. Either way, I’m not complaining. I cannot tell you how good it is to not have a headache every time you blink. Whatever Alia did was a miracle.”

“It was…odd. I haven’t seen magic like that,” the other says quietly. “The way she moved and how she was able to control it without speaking was…unsettling. But also very interesting.”

“Maybe we… we can ask her about it,” he mumbles and can’t stop a yawn. Lord, he already felt drowsy. One downside to getting better was having to actually sit down and wait for his body to heal, he supposed. He loathed idleness, it had never worked out when he had cases with Parker. 

“I don’t believe that will lend answers, but sure, we can try.” 

“Mmm…I’m tired.”

“So sleep.”

“But you…you’ve been alone all this time. We can talk, got loads to talk about.”

“Sleep, Arthur. We can discuss things in the morning.”

“It is morning.”

“Go to bed.”

He does. And the next time he wakes, it’s dark out. John tells him as much as he carefully stretches. His limbs ache, but he attributes that to having run for his life not too long ago. He assumes Alia’s healing was concentrated on the disease, not the general pains in his body. 

“How do you feel?”

“Same as this morning. Well-rested, however.” It’s instinct to push on his elbows and sit up. The action has his vision swimming and John throws out his arm to hold on to the sheets with a yell. Arthur coughs and gasps, the air thin as he tries to breathe in. When he’s steady enough, John lowers him back down against the pillows.

He inhales shakily. “Okay, so I am perhaps still very weak.”

“You think?” the entity growls, the sound making his neck vibrate. “Fucking pace yourself, Arthur. You were literally on death’s door yesterday and still chose to push yourself to the limit.”

“I know, I hear you.”

“Alia’s magic may be powerful but that doesn’t mean it took away all your injuries. You haven’t eaten or slept properly in weeks, you need to—”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Arthur cuts in, waving a hand. “I get it, no moving too fast.” 

John huffs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Well, I can’t stay in bed forever.”

“I’m sorry, do you have plans or prior engagements you made that I don't know about?”

“Prick. I’m being serious. It’s not good to stay in one place and not move even when you’re very sick or hurt. You still need to exercise your muscles.”

“Arthur, I’m not going to risk your health and let you worsen your condition just because you want to take a stroll around the castle.”

“And I’m not saying I’ll do that right now, I’m saying that at some point I’ll need to be able to get up and go about my life like normal.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “The journey is in two weeks. I’ll need to be able to dress myself and walk and fight. That means that while I heal, I need to be practical.” 

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but Alia only healed you last night. For all we know, Horig’s curse could be in your body, slowly fading, but still there. You’ve been running on fumes since we arrived in this damn timeline. I just want—” John pauses and blows out a frustrated breath. “You deserve time to rest and relax before you have to risk your life again.”

Arthur softens. “Okay, I promise I’ll be careful. We’ll take it slow.”

“Thank you.”

“Did we get any visitors while I was sleeping?”

“Alia came in quite a while ago, by herself this time. She didn’t do anything, just watched us and left.”

“Possibly making sure what she did is working.” He runs fingers up his left arm, feeling bumps of old scars. “I wish I was able to talk to her, to let her know how grateful I am.”

“You can when you’re healed. For now, you can give the message to Evrard to relay.”

“That wouldn’t end well, telling a lord what to do.”

“Why not? He’s proven he’s someone that can be trusted. Somewhat, at least, and he got rid of the curse.”

“I’d rather not be thrown out with nothing but the clothes on my back and a rotting skull. We’ll just let me know we’re thankful for her help.”

John hmphs. “Fine.”

Again, right as he’s about to ask what their plan for the blackstone is, he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion like he’s run for miles with no breaks. He tries to ignore it, but it’s too strong and his eyes slip close. 

“—do you think? Arthur? What are you… oh.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Th’magic, it’s… s’makes me feel heavy.”

“No, it’s alright. Don’t fight it, you need rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Fine. But you need t’wake me.”

“Arthur—”

“No, John, Don’ want to sleep the day away. Promise you’ll wake me in the morning.” He holds his hand out and waits.

He hears a huff and pictures the entity rolling his eyes, but another hand shakes his.

“Fine. I’ll wake you as soon as the sun shines through the curtains. Now, sleep.”

_____

John does wake him up. He lets him know the sun is bright and the sky is a cloudless blue. He also tells him there is food left on the small table next to their bed. He’s halfway through describing what’s on the plate when Arthur’s stomach growls loudly. He barely has time to make a comment before he has steady them as his partner sits up with no warning and swings his legs around to the edge of the mattress. 

“Arthur—” he starts.

“I know, I know, I’m going slow!” he replies even as he’s standing and reaching towards the plate. He grabs it and miraculously doesn’t drop the food.

“Jesus, why do I bother?”

“Oh, hush. My stomach is ready to devour itself and the last thing we had to eat was tainted water.” He lets out a bark of laughter as he settles back in bed. “Which isn’t even food, for God’s sake! I’m starving and having this now.”

“Okay, whatever, just be careful, don’t—”

He doesn’t even finish speaking before Arthur’s tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth. 

How did I get stuck with the stupidest human to ever live, John wonders as he stops himself from slapping the man. His irritation quickly shifts to alarm as Arthur begins to cough around the bread.

“Arthur! Fucking Christ, I said go slow!” He snatches the food from his mouth and throws it to the ground. “You are utterly ridiculous, can’t even wait a fucking minute to—”

The coughing turns to breathing fast and unevenly, and John’s worry goes right into terror when he hears one of those awful wheezes come from the other’s throat. No no no, not again! 

“Breathe, Arthur! Just breathe through it!” he instructs. “Take a deep breath in and hold it!” The hacking doesn’t stop and he’s terrified that Alia had failed, terrified the curse never left and is still killing his friend and he’s going to see a puddle of blood staining the sheets and there’s nothing he can do but watch. But John tries to swallow the panic and rubs circles on Arthur’s chest. 

After too many seconds of stuttered and ragged breathing, he calms and is able to swallow the bread he managed to bite away. They both sigh with relief and John feels Arthur’s mouth open to say something, but he stops for some reason. Then he tenses and makes a pained sound. His right hand goes to his stomach and the entity thinks shit and rushes to grab the headboard. He prevents Arthur from falling as he lunges to the side and vomits. Nothing comes up but bile and what John assumes is the bread.

Arthur groans as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. His chest heaves. “Fucking curse. Fucking hag. F-fucking bread.”

John bites back an I told you so because he’s not cruel and is sympathetic to his friend’s frustration. Maybe when he’s better and they’re not in danger can he crow about his obviously correct opinion. He instead simply listens to the cursing and exclamations of pain and pats his arm.

“...That fucking hurt,” Arthur moans and hangs his head, hand covering his face. “Christ, I just want to eat.”

“We should ask for something…lighter. More bland.”

“What’s more bland than plain bread?” 

“I don’t know, but you clearly need to work up to eating normally.” His partner’s shoulders deflate at the words. “You only recently had stitches in your stomach, Arthur, pulled stitches, might I add, and you haven’t had a consistent diet in weeks. Even what we ate in New York was few and far between.”

He mumbles something into his hand. “...I know, I’m sorry.” He turns his head and grimaces. “God, I’m a fucking idiot. I… I need to clean this up.” He moves the plate and with John’s guidance, stepsides the vomit. “Making an awful mess right after a goddamn lord has allowed us to stay—”

“Arthur, I don’t think it would be wise to clean this up.”

“John, I can’t just leave this here! It’s disgusting and disrespectful as hell!”

“I don’t mean just leave it there!” the entity snaps. “I mean call for one of the servants to come and help.”

He feels Arthur’s face burn. “I am not making some poor soul clean this up.”

“Well, it’s either that, or we attempt to do it ourselves and you faint and faceplant into it. Pick one.”

His answer is sullen silence. There’s no fight, however, as he walks them to the door and opens it. He peers out and looks around until he sees a servant walking to some stairs. 

“There, a woman in the same colors as the ones we’ve seen is about to leave, call for her.”

“Ugh, okay.” Arthur clears his throat. “Ehm, excuse me! Ma’am?” 

“Her head swiveled around to face us and…oh, she’s coming over. Quite quickly.”

Arthur hears the footsteps get closer. “Apologies, but could you…ah, could you help me?”

“She stares at us. Tell her, Arthur.”

It makes him feel even worse to be asking but his partner’s logic is something he can’t ignore. Even so, he inwardly groans. “The food one of you brought up, I—while I very much appreciate it, it, uh…wasn’t great on my stomach. There was a bit of a mishap and—”

“She listens intently and she…tilts her head to look past us. Her eyes widen.”

His face feels like it will melt off. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—it was my own fault, I—”

“She’s nodding and—turning away. I guess she is going to get cleaning supplies.”

“Or running to tell Lord Evrard his guest wasted his offering,” Arthur mutters, leaning against the door.

“Her mouth is sewn shut. She literally can’t tell him anything. Stop having a pity party.”

He does not pout, he doesn’t. His mouth merely contorts in a pursed frown.

“And quit pouting. She’s walking back to us.”

He steps to the side to let the woman in and she doesn’t waste any time kneeling on the floor and using a rag. Arthur stands nearby, wringing his hands until John grows sick of it and tells him to sit on the bed. After the servant is done, she gets up and looks at him.

“She appears to be waiting for something.”

“O-Oh! Thank you so much. Truly. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again. I don’t have anything to give for payment, uh—”

“I don’t think she’s looking for compensation, Arthur. She’s shaking her head and—oh. She points to the food.”

“Ah, the bread was lovely. I just was impatient and—”

“No, not that. Her eyebrows are furrowed. She points again.”

“Um…I don’t… Oh!” Arthur straightens. “Are you asking what I would like to eat?”

“She nods.”

“Okay, sorry. Ehm…if it’s no trouble, could I have some broth? If the…uh… cook doesn’t mind? And just water?”

“She nods once more and takes the plate.”

Her footsteps leave and Arthur breathes out. He slumps on the bed and touches his chest with a frown.

“She should be back soon. Nearly all of the servants I’ve seen are very prompt. Perhaps Evrard had Alia use her magic to make them so.”

“Mm.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Arthur, what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, just…” He sighs. “I don’t enjoy being like this. Dependent on others. Relying on them, especially when I make a mistake. I feel…weak and like a burden.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but now more than ever we need help. I can only do so much for you.” John’s hand brushes his other on his chest. “I don’t see you that way, just so you know. I never have. Even when, you know…you’re being a pesky little human and don't listen to me when I’m clearly right.”

Arthur’s lips twitch. “Thanks.”

“And to be honest, I’d suggest we take advantage of this grace period and—oh, the servant is back. She has a tray in her hands. On it is a large bowl of steaming brown liquid, a spoon, and a glass of water.”

Arthur can smell it and his stomach twists as his mouth waters. He hears her come into the room and set it down in the bed.

“Thank you,” he says quietly and after a moment, bows his head. While she and the others weren’t considered royalty—at least according to what he knew about the medieval ages and their society—he felt she deserved the same amount of respect he gave to Evrard. “I really appreciate it.”

“She blinks, then dips her head back at you.”

Arthur almost asks “Is she gone?” when the silence continues, then remembers he can’t. He smiles. “I’m okay for now, I’ll let you get back to your duties.” 

“She appears to hesitate, looking from the tray to you, before nodding. She’s turned away and is leaving. She closed the door, as well.” John hums a thoughtful noise, his finger tapping on the man’s knee. 

“What?” Arthur doesn’t look away from the broth in front of him. His insides son’t love the idea of eating again, but it’s too tempting. Plus, what the other  had said was right; he needed to at least try to have a decent diet before the journey. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s simply…I didn’t expect her to be so accommodating. Our first impression of the servants and guards Evrard keeps wasn’t all that welcoming. They allowed us in but didn’t interact with the others. It’s just strange.” 

“Christ, that smells amazing.”

“It looks very plain.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean it won’t taste good.” Arthur moves his hand carefully until he feels the spoon. He listens to the entity’s directions on where the bowl is. “Broth is something you’re supposed to have when you’re sick. It helps, the ingredients, the heat. And the act of smelling it just makes everything a little less shitty.”

“That makes no sense.”

He waves the spoon. “It’s a human thing.” He scoops up some of the broth and blows on it. It still burns his mouth but the warmth is soothing on his throat. It seems to spread his whole body and he wonders if the servant had Alia add something to it. “Mmm…”

“Good?”

“Very. Now I wish we’d gotten here sooner so we could’ve sampled what they prepared for the others.”

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to try more food. Evrard said we only had to ask one of the servants. And from how skinny you are, I don’t believe he said it casually.”

Arthur slowly works his way through the bowl. He doesn’t finish all of it, but he knows he has to limit himself lest they have a repeat of what happened earlier. He also has to stop himself from downing his drink in one go so he doesn’t choke but after sipping from that wretched stream, clean water is a blessing. By the time he’s done, his arms and back ache, but he feels better. Less like he’ll collapse at any second. The only thing that would improve his mood is…

“A bath,” he announces after wiping his mouth.

“What?”

“I want a bath.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“You don’t think it would be smarter to wait until you have more of your strength back?”

“I’m going to feel weak for a good bit, John. Alia merely got rid of the curse, not the rest of my injuries. I’m not going to wake up and suddenly be able to run laps around the castle.” He swings his legs to the side and with the other’s help, returns the tray to the table. “But I feel okay and want a bath because frankly, I feel disgusting. I crawled through a cave filled with corpses and maggots and all kinds of filth and then ran for my life two separate times. I haven’t gotten a bath since New York and that thought alone is enough to make me power through any aches and pains. I want to take a bath and then I will rest. I promise.”

He can sense the entity’s hesitancy. “Look, I’ll be careful and you—you can even set the pace, how does that sound?” It’s slightly ridiculous that he’s a grown man and letting someone who doesn’t even have a body dictate what he does, but he remembers how worried John was after they escaped the Witch’s hovel. It would maybe reassure him, let him support the other a little more. “If you think I’m going too fast, I’ll stop and take a breather. But I am not sleeping in that bed again ‘til I’m clean.”

“...Okay.” A sigh comes from his partner. “Only because I know you won’t give up on this, and if I were in your shoes, I’d likely feel the same way.”

“Thank you.”

“The clothes they left yesterday are still on the wooden chest. A little ways from where you’re standing, on the left. They—yes, there, there.”

“They’re soft.” Arthur wants to feel the fabric more, half out of curiosity— despite being a different timeline, he’s still gone back in time and who would have the chance to touch clothing made by hand that old?—and half from liking the texture. But he didn’t want to dirty them. He wasn’t sure how clean his hands were. They’d worn gloves but he wouldn’t be surprised if John hadn’t noticed if they lost them somewhere along the line. He gathers them up and listens to the other guide him to the bathroom.

“It’s fairly large. Not big enough to be lavish, but certainly bigger than the bathrooms we’ve seen. There’s a wooden bench on the left, a table with a metal bowl, and marble tub across from them. It has a small shelf on the wall, where it looks like a bar of soap rests, and a large square cloth on the edge.” John steps to the side so they can set the clothes down. “There are several buckets of water next to the tub. They possibly contained hot water at some point, but have certainly cooled.”

“As long as they’re clean, they could be freezing cold for all I care.”

“There’s a thin rug covering the floor. It’s red and gold, with intricate designs sewn into the material. A small window sits a little ways up the wall. Other than that, the room is bare.”

“Well, while I do miss running water, and readily available hot water at that, beggars can’t be choosers. Let’s get at it.” 

He practically throws his shirt to the side. It was covered in God knew what and he didn’t think anything could actually clean it besides fire. His pants are a little harder to take off. He wobbles and stumbles until John lets out what is almost a yelp and shouts at him to sit on the edge of the tub, for God’s sake. Once those are gone, they dump the water into the tub, and when Arthur lowers himself into the water, he breathes out. The water is lukewarm but that’s no problem for him as he sinks until he’s submerged. He revels in the calm, coolness, then pops back up.

“Christ alive, that feels good.” He rubs his eyes, anticipating John fussing about it. “Oh, I could cry.”

“An alarming amount of dirt has joined the water,” the entity tells him and his left arm lifts away from his face. “Here.”

He would’ve preferred a towel or rag of some kind, but it hadn’t been with the items John listed. He wasn’t sure if they would even have that sort of thing in the time period. If his clothes hadn’t been so dirty, he would have ripped off a piece to use. Nevertheless, Arthur didn’t waste a second accepting the soap. He scrubs at his hair vigorously, suppressing a shudder at the grease he’s able to feel. Once it seemed it was as clean as it could get, he moved on to the rest of himself. It took a few minutes longer than usual because John refused to let him pull any stitches or aggravate his wounds. His partner insisted he go slow and helped clean parts he couldn’t reach. Arthur normally would have protested, but with all he’d gone through in just a few days, he decided to shove his pride down and listen. And he was more than happy to lean his back and relax for once.

He could’ve stayed in the tub for the rest of the night if John let him. However, he was informed his fingers were getting wrinkled and the water had taken on a rather concerning shade of muddy gray, so it was time to get out. He felt around for the cloth they’d been provided with and was relieved it was closer to a towel than he’d thought. He could feel his energy diminishing as they dried his limbs, but John didn’t let him nod off. He continued to call his name and patiently instruct him as to where to put his arms and legs when they were done. Arthur had enough awareness to appreciate the sensation of clean clothes and touched the fabric as they walked back to the bed. He made a mental note, one he hoped he’d remember the next day, to thank Evrard for the outfit.

Falling onto the mattress was akin to bliss. Arthur let out a long, deep sigh as he stretched, joints popping and cracking satisfyingly. He flips over onto his side and buries his face into the pillow, damp curls falling over his cheek. A hand brushes them away.

“Feel better?”

“Mm…extremely,” he hums, voice low and drowsy.

“Good. You should sleep.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” His eyes grow heavier with each word and he brings his left arm close to his chest. After a moment, something sneaks under his shirt and presses above his heart. A quiet rumble goes through his head, vibrating down his spine and Arthur smiles.

“Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

____

They discuss their plan with Yorick in the morning. Arthur carefully eats whatever parts of breakfast he can handle and listens to John and the skull talk, i.e., argue. His partner doesn’t believe that joining Evrard’s mission was the wrong choice, while Yorick thinks it was foolish to agree. When asked why, he either clams up or offers a cryptic answer. By the time Arthur’s done, the pair are silent and annoyed with each other.

“Look, I’m not overjoyed at the prospect of going on what will undoubtedly be a dangerous journey, but I can’t go back on my word,” he says as he stacks the plates neatly. “We also don’t have any other lead on the blackstone, and with how we are literally stranded in this century, we have to take anything we can get. So, I’m going no matter what, Yorick, and I’m sorry if you don’t think that it’s the right thing to do.”

“It is not that I believe it to be the wrong choice, simply that…it will only cause complications for you and John,” the skull replies. His voice is stilted like he’s hiding what he truly wants to say.

The entity scoffs. “That happens wherever we go, anyway. We could drive down the street and manage to come face to face with some horrible creature. We’re used to complications.”

“Not like this,” Yorick says quietly.

John growls and seems ready to start a new round of bickering. Arthur can only put up with so much and claps his hands together to stop it. “Alright, we’re done! No more talking in circles and riddles!” He grabs the tray and gets out of bed. “We still have time to come up with a more concrete plan. For now, let’s use this time to recuperate while it lasts.”

With that, he turns to where John had said new clothes were and trades his sleep-wrinkled ones in for them. Again, the material is well-made as he slips it on, though, perhaps he has simply grown used to an ensemble that was stained and ripped.

“Where are we going?” John asks, his and Arthur’s fingers tying the strings on the shirt’s collar. 

“Not sure yet, anywhere but here. I need a change of pace, and I suspect you do, too.” He leans on the wooden chest and tugs on the boots he’d been given. They're dark brown, solid and fit nicely.

“Not untrue.”

“You alright to remain here, Yorick?”

“Yes, master.”

“Okay. We’ll be back soon.”

He holds a hand against the wall as they exit his room.

“The hallway is empty, The stone walls are covered in large landscape paintings. The torches that light every few feet flicker brightly.” 

Arthur hums as he listens, trailing down the corridor slowly but casually. The instinct to look over his shoulder wasn’t present, nor was the anxiety that came with being in an unfamiliar place. It was strange after all they’d been through, though he welcomes it all the same. He’d sort of forgotten what it was like to be a guest in someone’s home and have it be just that; a guest. Not a prisoner or an intruder. He supposed he was more than a guest after agreeing to Evrard’s proposal, but it was close enough. 

“There’s a corner a little ways from us. I believe it turns into stairs, so be careful.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Arthur hides a smile as his fingers feel the stone wall come to a stop. “I intend to keep my promise of leaning more on you. Don’t need to keep being such a mother hen.”

“Mother hen?” John parrots, sounding offended.

He stifles a laugh, a cough forming from the action. “Oh, don’t get tetchy. If anything, it’s a compliment.”

“What the fuck is it, then?”

“Eh, just a saying. Means you’re being a good friend.”

John makes a low noise similar to a motor starting. “Watch you step. Some of the stone has been chipped away.”

He descends carefully and eventually reaches the bottom. 

“The space has opened up. It—oh, it’s the room we were led to when we first arrived. The fireplace is burning and the chairs the others had used have been pushed into the table. I see no servants, though everything is quite neat. It’s very well-lit from the windows and the ceiling that’s adorned with chandeliers. They are lit with fire, but the flames…” His partner’s voice softens with curiosity. “They’re a light blue rather than an orange. It flickers the same, however.”

“Another one of Alia’s skills, I’d venture to guess,” Arthur murmurs, arm extending once more towards the wall. He believed John in that they appeared to be alone, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Evrard had people under his command whose whole job was to eavesdrop. It was the smart move to make, especially given the lord’s reason for inviting cultists.. It also just felt plain odd to speak at a normal volume to the entity when they weren’t in their room. “She was able to make Gerard’s body float and lift the curse without an issue, I’d say her talents are more than enough to light some candles—”

“Alia! She’s—she just walked in, Arthur,” John exclaims, his leg stalling their movement. “From one of the other hallways, at the other end of the room. She had been facing forward but turned in our direction. I don’t know how she heard us, but she’s heading over.”

For a moment, Arthur tenses. Then he reminds himself that while the woman was still largely unknown to him, she hadn’t done anything to harm him or John since they arrived at the castle. She’d healed him, for God’s sake. And Evrard trusted her immensely. So he makes himself relax as he hears quiet footsteps come closer.

“Morning,” he greets.

“Her expression is neutral, but she nods. Her vision remains covered and her slate is held under her arm.” John doesn’t say more. Arthur wonders if it’s from his shock at seeing her suddenly, or if her presence makes him nervous. “I barely heard her approach, she—oh. She’s pulling out the slate and writing on it. She...she asks how you are feeling.”

“Good. Whatever you did to get rid of the curse, it worked.” He isn’t sure how close she was and moves forward a bit. “I’m glad we ran into each other. I—I am indebted to you. I wouldn't have made it to see today's sun if it weren't for you. Truly, thank you so much for helping.” His left arm abruptly lifts and extends his hand. He swallows a questioning John? and hopes it didn’t appear too odd.

“I thank you as well, Alia,” his partner echoes seriously. “ My friend was suffering and I could do nothing. You saved him.”

Arthur waits, nervous that the gesture will be rejected or is the wrong etiquette, but no sooner does he think to step away, does a hand clasp John’s. He jerks slightly and the other seems surprised, too, but shakes her hand firmly.

“She lets go and takes to her slate again. It reads…‘You are welcome.’”

He smiles, then hears a rustle and the soft scratching of chalk. 

“She writes more. ‘I must meet with staff to prepare for journey.’” Another scuffle. “‘Your strength should return in a day or two.” More erasing. “Avoid strain and stress. Good day, Sir Arthur.’”

He blinks at the title. “Oh, no, you don’t have to call me that, just Arthur is fine—”

“She’s turned away and doesn’t appear to be listening.”

“Ah. Okay.” He listens to her steps fade. “Well.”

“Well.”

“That was…unexpected.”

“It was. But also…nice.”

“It was. Maybe we’ll be able to speak to her again later in the week.” He starts walking again, recalling a few details from the description John had given when they arrived. “If she's not too busy, that is. Or perhaps we can help her. Make use of ourselves.”

“She told you to not strain yourself, Arthur,” the entity reminds him, voice exasperated.

“And I won’t, but I don’t want to be a-a—a mooch.”

“Mooch?”

“A person who accepts help or rewards with no intention of returning the favor.” He hits a solid object and he moves away, towards the middle of the room. “It’s–it’s a saying. I’ve never acted like that and I don’t intend to start now. I’m sure there’s something I can do that won’t agitate my state.”

“Well, I’m sure if Alia or Evrard need your assistance with anything, they’ll tell you.” John directs him to the passage the witch came from, announcing it’s a corridor they hadn’t been down. “Until that happens, you need to rest, for fuck’s sake. Jesus, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

“Uh-huh, and how many men have you met?” Arthur realizes that may have came out too snippy after a beat. He had meant it as a joke, just some light teasing, but remembers how John had acted in New York and winces.

However, his friend makes a pfft sound and his left hand swats at his thigh. “Yes, my experience with humans isn’t as broad as yours, and yet, the spot for the most annoying, uncooperative, anxiety-inducing human ever belongs to you.”

“Mm, very flattering, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t hit your head on this corner coming up soon.”

They continue on and discover a handful of new rooms. One is the closest thing to a study they can guess, with a desk and small bookcase next to it. Another is a space filled with bags of dried food and herbs hanging from the walls. A large room filled with weapons and armor is a little ways from it, and a library is at the end of a corridor. It interests John the most and he requests they enter. Arthur agrees because the whole plan was to get away from his bed and the excitement in the other’s voice is endearing. 

It’s big. Nothing like the library in Arkham, but spacious enough for their steps to echo. Several tall shelves filled to the brim with books stand in rows and a ladder is propped against the first one. According to John, there doesn’t seem to be any labels of what section the books belong to, which makes searching for a specific type difficult. They pass through each aisle and the entity switches from mumbling titles to reciting them to him. A few catch his attention and Arthur tries to hide his amusement when he realizes they’re all fictional stories. 

“What’s with the smile?” John asks as he shifts his arm and adds another novel.

“Nothing. Just happy you’re enjoying yourself.” Arthur heaves his own arm up more, balancing the books on his hip. Their pile is becoming heavier by the minute. “I think we have enough to last us, but let’s see if we can’t find one about eldritch creatures or what comes close to them in this century, hm? Would help to have a better grasp on what we might have to fight.”

“We’ll most certainly have to fight a monster, Arthur. Probably even two.”

“I’m aware. Doesn’t hurt to be optimistic.”

They leave with around eight books. John hadn’t said there was a librarian or a type of guard inside, and it remains that way as they exit. Arthur wishes he could explore more, possibly even find a place to sit down and read. Curling up in a chair and listening to his partner recite tales of beasts and victory sounded lovely. However, fatigue has started to settle in his muscles and they still have to cross the floors and climb the stairs all the way back to his room, so the option sadly isn’t open yet.

John notices. In all fairness, Arthur figures it’s near impossible for him to not notice given his residence in his head and the fact that he does nothing but study him.

“Your pace is growing slower.”  

“Just getting tired, that’s all.”

“You should stop, then. Take a moment.”

“John, while I appreciate the concern, immensely might I add, if I take a moment, I won’t be getting back up and climbing those damn steps.” He huffs a laugh and turns the corner the entity announces. “I’m not in any horrible pain. It’s simply a normal reaction to moving more than I’ve been used to these past four days. I’ll be fine.”

“...Okay. But you’re getting in bed as soon as we’re there.”

“I already planned on that. Though, I thought someone wanted to read one of these adventure books…”

“You just said you’re tired, we can do it tomorrow.”

“Oh, come off it. I’m not going to pass out the second I sit down. I can stay up so you can read.”

“Are…are you sure? I can wait.”

“I’m sure you can, but you’ve done nothing but wait this whole time I’ve been resting. You deserve some downtime, too.” Arthur pauses, shrugging a shoulder. “And I… you know, I wouldn’t mind listening to some of it. If you wanted to read outloud.”

“I—No, I wouldn’t mind.” John’s voice is bashful and it makes him smile. It never failed to astound him at how human his friend could sound. “ I never do. I wasn’t…I didn’t know you enjoyed it that much.”

“‘Course I do. Can’t exactly do it myself anymore.”

The joke doesn’t land like before. 

 "I–I know.” John’s voice turns remorseful.

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“It’s okay. It’s…it's not as though it’s a lie.”

“No, it came out wrong. I’m not trying to—” Arthur takes a breath. “I didn’t mean it as a way to blame you. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I was just stating a fact. I can’t see, so I enjoy it when you read to me. You don’t have to all the time, but it’s…it’s nice that you do.”

John’s silent for nearly a minute and Arthur almost trips up a step when he finally speaks.

“I know you weren’t blaming me.” The words are soft. “I’m not mad, just…well, not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. And…ashamed. Your eyes are not your own because I took them. I made a selfish choice with no concern for anyone, and your life has been altered irreversibly because of it. Changed so viscerally and suddenly, and we don’t even know if Kayne will keep his end of the deal. It’s… it’s hard sometimes for me to remember what I did, to realize it’s my fault. Especially after what we’ve been through, after discovering who I am with your help. Not that I’m saying I’ve suffered more you or what’s happened to you doesn’t mean anything, or-or saying it to make you feel guilty, just that—” 

He pushes out a breath. His hand twitches and maneuvers over the books to grip Arthur’s. “You can feel any way you want about me. I won’t deny any blame or anger. And I’ll do whatever I can to make it right. So, if you want me to read to you, I will until my voice runs out.”

There’s something, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it feeling that’s broken and angry and frustrated inside him that urges him to snarl, Good. You should feel bad, you should feel guilty. You’re a fucking monster who ruined my life. It screams at him to throw all the horrible things John has done back in his face. 

But that wouldn’t do anything, not really. The only thing it would accomplish would be a fight, and that wasn’t something he wanted nor they needed. So Arthur exhales and the sad, devastated voice goes with it. He moves his hand to hold his partner’s. 

“You’ve grown so much, you know,” he says warmly. “The fact that you take accountability for something you did and regret it is proof of that. And the fact that you try again and again to be better. I don’t say it enough, but I’m very proud of you, John.”

His neck grows hot and the entity sputters before mumbling something unintelligible. 

Arthur snorts. “Love you.”

“...I love you, too.”

True to his word, he doesn’t fall asleep when they return to his room. He can feel exhaustion creeping up, making his limbs and eyes heavy, but he said he would stay awake and he plans to. John’s low voice reading lines of poetry don’t help his drowsiness, either. They’re halfway through a scene of a heroine fighting off their rival when two polite knocks break the peaceful silence.

Arthur looks up. The only visitors he’d received had been the servants dropping off clothing and food, and they knocked once.

“Perhaps it’s Alia?” 

“Maybe,” he whispers back and marks their place in the story. He places the book to the side with the others and straightens. “Enter!”

“Apologies, but I wanted to see how you were feeling,” a familiar voice says as the door creaks open. 

“Evrard!” Arthur exclaims, John’s echoing the name. “N-No need to apologize, please, come in.”

“He does so and closes the door. He wears a long, deep blue tunic and pants. He has a tray of food in his arms. A bowl of soup, a small loaf of bread, a teapot and a smaller cup sit on it.”

“The cook prepared this,” the lord states and Arthur hears metal hit the table. “I was on my way up here anyway, so I decided to bring it.”

The smile that forms is genuine, though he can’t say all of it is from the man’s gesture. The soup and bread smell wonderful, and the idea of having tea again…

“Thank you, that was very kind.” Arthur sits up in bed more and shifts to where he hopes he’s facing him. “The food has been amazing, please give my gratitude to your staff.”

“His face, usually quite severe and serious, softens and he returns the smile, albeit small. As though he doesn’t do it often.” John makes a thoughtful noise and doesn’t say more.

“I will. And I’m glad our hospitality has been to your liking.”

Arthur’s smile widens. “It’s been more than that, it’s like a vacation from everything.”

“Evrard’s eyebrows raise and he seems confused. Maybe don’t use such modern phrases.”

Right, he thinks. We’re still in the 13th century.

He coughs. “I only mean to say—this situation, you and the servants helping…it’s a nice change after being chased off or hunted every other day.”

“His expression remains questioning but he doesn’t appear to be suspicious. He takes a step closer and clasps his hands together.”

“You’ve lived quite the life if a simple stay at a castle is so different, Sir Lester.”

He coughs again, this time out of surprise, and waves a hand. “Ah, no, no, you don’t have to, um, call me that. Just Arthur is fine. Feels a bit strange otherwise.”

“His eyebrow lifts higher.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. It's been a while since I can freely use my name, so it would be nice to simply do that.” He’s aware of the societal norms in older time periods, but he doesn’t believe he could stand being addressed in such a way. “If it’s okay, that is.”

“...Alright.”

“Evrard’s confusion is evident but he doesn’t seem ready to provoke the issue.”

Arthur then realizes he hasn’t done one of the things he’d been most inclined to do. “Oh, I’m sorry, I should’ve come to you earlier. I was too drained from the curse, but now…” He extends his right arm, hand outstretched. “I know I sound like a broken record—ah, I-I mean I know I keep saying it, but thank you for—this. All of it. For having Alia heal me. For offering food and clothing and shelter and letting me help with the journey and…just being a decent person, I guess. Truly, Lord Evrard.”

“He—he looks stunned. Caught off guard. His dark eyes are wide. They stare at you and your hand.”

For a moment, he wonders if he messed up. Overstepped a line or missed a social cue. Or did he say something wrong? Were you not supposed to thank a nobleman so directly? Fuck, if he knew. His smile starts to slip and he’s about to retract his hand when it’s taken. Arthur jolts and he feels John’s hand twitch at his side.

“His hand grasps yours tightly. While he still seems surprised, it’s more of a… pleasant expression. His cheeks are pinkened and his mouth curls up.”

He’s embarrassed? Perhaps the action wasn’t so normal, then. Arthur shakes his hand nonetheless. Evrard’s hand is strong and warm. 

“Your thanks is appreciated.” His voice is sincere as he pulls away. “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying yourself. And I’m happy to see you in better health than when I last saw you.”

“Oh, yes, Jo—” Arthur bites his tongue. “I-I mean, I thought I heard you come in with Alia that first night. It was hard to tell, though. I had, ehm, very vivid dreams.”

“Nice save,” John remarks dryly. “He looks a little startled at knowing you heard him.”

“I wasn’t sure if the fever had overcome you,” Evrard says. “You were in quite the troublesome state after the climb up the stairs. I wanted to make sure her magic worked. Horig’s curse is extremely dangerous and no man I have encountered has survived.”

“Yes, I’d say so. It’s wonderful to taste something that’s not my own blood.”

“Jesus, Arthur.”

A quiet chuckle lets him know Evrard doesn’t find his joke too dark. 

“I can imagine. An alarming amount exited when Alia’s spell began working.”

“It did.” John must sense his incredulity because he hurriedly adds, “Not…a deadly amount, but enough to be concerned.”

Certainly don’t remember that. “Oh! I wasn’t aware I…sorry if I caused a mess.”

“Evrard waves a hand.”

“There’s no need for that. You were sick. My staff has cleaned up worse things than a little blood.”

“Well, it was more than a little …”  

Arthur pinches his left arm. “Still. Apologies.” 

“As I said, it’s no cause for concern.” Evrard pauses and his partner comments on how he shifts on his feet. “I, eh, noticed you made a trip to my library. Were you satisfied with its contents?”

They both stiffen. 

“O-Oh! Yes, I-I did,” he stammers. “I assumed it would be okay. Is it not open to guests? If I wasn’t allowed inside, I’m very sorry—”

“Evrard’s mouth quirks up again.”

“No, not at all. Any guest I have is welcome to explore the castle whenever they wish. You are no exception.” His voice comes a bit closer. “I only mentioned it because I saw your impressive collection on the bed. I see you’re a man of taste.”

Arthur lets out a breath of relief. He doesn’t know what he would have done if he were taken by guards and thrown out into the night. Probably lay down and cry. “I was getting a bit stir-cr—ah, restless in here. I mean, the room is very nice and I’ve been comfortable, I just needed…”

“A change of scenery?” Evrard suggests.

Arthur nods. “Yes.”

“He’s amused,” John tells him. “I believe he’s being truthful.”

“You have an impressive selection,” he confesses. “I was fine with choosing the first book I saw, but I found the fictional section and couldn’t help myself.”

“Do you enjoy fables?”

Well, when he says it like that, I feel like I have a nanny.  

“I do. My favorite is poetry, though, when I can find it.”

Evrard tsks. “Not my favorite by any means.”

“Hm. He probably hasn’t found the right one,” John mutters and Arthur bites his cheek to keep from laughing.

“It can be too wordy and tedious for some, but I’ve always had a fondness for it. I just kept coming back to certain lines from poets… especially in difficult times.”

“My tutors had their work cut out for them when it came to my studies,” the lord says, mirth coloring his words. “I can appreciate what they stand for, but you couldn’t bribe me with anything to sit down and analyze a poem. I’m more than satisfied with my fables.” 

“I have a friend who loves both. Can’t get enough of poetry and discovered fictional stories later in life. He enjoyed me reciting ones I can recall.”

“Seems like you keep good company. Quite a blessing, that is.”

“His gaze has fallen from us to his hands. He flexes them, touching the silver rings he wears. He looks—I don’t know. Not entirely sad, but not happy either.”

Bittersweet, Arthur’s brain supplies.

“My…my mother used to read fables to me, before she passed.” Evrard’s voice is low. “The life I live now is perhaps too similar to those tales and most likely not one she would approve of. But after my father’s madness and accepting the duty I serve for the world… I wanted to have something in the library she would’ve liked. I’m pleased to find someone who enjoys them as she did. Not much use for them these days.”

“His smile is dim.” John makes an empathetic hum.

Arthur tries to hide his surprise at the admission. “I’m so sorry for your loss, my lord.”

“Evrard, please. And I was young when it happened.”

“So was I.”

“His head snaps back to you.”

“You…”

“I lost my parents when I was around eight.” He shrugs a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter when it happens. The hurt never really goes away.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Sir—Arthur. It’s a truly…damaging experience.”

“It is.”

“Arthur...” The entity’s hand presses close to his stomach and side, fingers clenching the fabric. “Evrard’s gaze is… unreadable to me. He doesn’t seem upset, though. Maybe a little lighter from the conversation.”

“Well,” the lord starts, clearing his throat. “I won’t keep you any longer. The broth should have cooled by now and you need your rest.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go. I feel much better than before and I’m not too tired.”

“Arthur, your eyes have slipped closed no less than five times in the last hour,” his partner warns. “Don’t push yourself.” 

Evrard makes a sound almost like a snort. “Please don’t hear this as an insult, but you still look rather drained. I’d hate to be the reason you weren’t able to heal properly.”

Arthur grimaces. “I look that bad, do I?”

“He laughs outright and covers his mouth quickly. Like he didn’t mean to let it slip out.”

“The absence of blood and sweat is an improvement." Fabric rustles in front of him until a hand grips his shoulder. It holds him, thumb pressing to his collarbone and promptly halting any breath in his lungs. “You need to heal for the journey, and if I may be so bold, for my own sake. So please, Arthur, take care and don’t strain yourself. I would hate to see you injured even more than you already have been.”

Arthur gapes at the earnestness in the man’s voice. He hadn’t expected such a thing despite being given aid and shelter. Evrard just hadn’t seemed like that type of person, with his serious and suspicious nature. He supposed he’d been proven wrong plenty of times before, however, and this moment was certainly one of them.

“Oh,” he manages to get out. His face feels warm despite not having any signs of a fever. “I—I’m sorry if I’ve worried you. I guess I’ve been treating the curse like previous times where I’ve been hurt and had to keep moving, and…it's not. S’hard to remember I’m not immortal when I’ve been so close to death and come out the other side intact. Or mostly intact.” He shudders and can feel John’s reflecting unease. “I…I have been told I’m too stubborn for my own good. It’s a hard habit to break, especially when it’s helped in the past, but… I promise I’ll be careful. Your concern is appreciated. It’s a welcome change from how I’ve been living.” He lifts his hand and lays it on the other’s, smiling.

“Evrard nods, seeming satisfied. Though, his expression…it’s slightly contorted and his face has gone a light shade of red.” John hums with curiosity. “It’s like he’s in pain. I wonder if you offended him.”

Before Arthur can react to that, the lord in question coughs suddenly and retracts his hand like he’s been burned.

“Apologies, I just realized I, ah, have a meeting with Alia I need to attend,” he says in a rush, the words tripping over each other. “I-I will come again. To visit you. Make, uh, make sure everything is healing properly and what-not.”

“Oh, okay—”

“Evrard practically runs for the door. His face is scarlet.”

“Good day!” he calls out.

Arthur jumps at the loud slam. “Ah, same to you!” he yells back, bewildered. The footsteps, quick and panicked, fade and he scratches his head.

“That was…odd.”

“Yes, he acted very strangely.”

“Perhaps I did offend him.”

“I can’t think of anything you said that would have, Arthur.”

“Well, it could’ve been something that sounded fine to you and me, and implied something else entirely to him.” He brushes hair from his face. It was getting long again. “We won’t know unless he tells us and from the way he retreated, I doubt that will happen.”

“I suppose not.”

“I will admit, it’s a bit funny to hear a nobleman so flustered.”

“Yes, he seemed that way for most of the visit. And the way he kept staring at you was amusing.”

Arthur’s legs pause in moving to get out of bed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Hm?”

“What did you say?”

“...Evrard kept staring at you?”

“Yes.” 

“What about it?”

“What about—” Arthur shakes his head. “Why would you say that?”

“...Because it’s true?”

“He was staring—at me?”

“Yes. What are you not understanding here?” 

“It’s not that I’m not understanding, it’s that I’m wondering why he was doing—that.”

“Stare at you?”

He nods.

“Why?”

“W-Well, people maintain eye contact with others, but don’t typically do it like that. It’s not considered polite.” Again, his face feels too hot. “I’m confused as to why Evrard would do that.”

“I would hazard a guess and say it’s for the same reason Oscar and Noel did it.”

He feels like he’s been hit over the head with something blunt. “What.”

John’s hand yanks on his shirt. “Is there an echo in here? Or are you just not listening to me?”

“No, no, shut up, you—Oscar and Noel, they—what do you mean they stared at me?”

“I mean exactly that. It’s not that hard of a concept. Maybe the curse did a number on your brain.”

“John. How did they look at me?”

“Jesus fucking—I don’t know, Arthur! They just… did! They stared at you and always smiled when they saw you and paid attention when you talked and never looked away even when there were other people around! I don’t know humans interact with each other on a normal basis, I’ve only had contact with a handful of them.” He scoffs. “Noel and Oscar seemed to…I don’t know, enjoy your presence greatly. Oscar would stare at your hair and smile when you made a joke, and Noel would look at your hands a lot and appraise you when we met with him. They both acted like seeing you made their day better.”

“What…you…why the hell did you never tell me?” he exclaims, feeling as flustered as Evrard had sounded. “You caught them staring multiple times and not once did you think to let me know?”

“I didn’t think I had to, you prick!” John shoots back. “I was a king who ruled another dimension and was shoved into a book before meeting you. How the fuck would I know how humans act around each other, nevermind people they like?”

Arthur takes several deep breaths, feeling dizzy when he’s done. “And… y-you’re saying Evrard…?”

“Was acting like them.”

“He…”

“He was very focused on you, yes!” John snaps, sounding like he’s ready to stomp his foot. “He also glanced at your shirt often. I’m even more confused on why that caught his attention so much.”

Arthur brushes against said article and his face goes bright red when he realizes the collar is a deep cut and displays quite a bit of skin. 

Good lord, he was checking me out and I had no fucking clue.

“O-Okay, let’s, um…let’s talk about something else.” 

“Oh, now you want to move on?”

“Yes, because I would like to end the conversation there.”

“You’re being so weird about this. It’s not that big of a deal. Evard obviously likes you and wanted to look at you. Who cares?”

Arthur coughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not being weird, I’m just— anxious to discuss our plans for the journey. You know, I should Yorick out, he’s been stuck inside that bag all day—”

“Do you not like Evrard?”

“N-No, I like him. He’s been an exceptionally gracious host so far.”

“But you don’t like that he kept staring at you?”

“I—I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you’re being confusing as fuck right now, Arthur. Is this a human thing I’m not picking up on?”

“What? No. Actually…maybe. Sort of. No, I don’t know!” He closes his eyes, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Look, bottom line, it’s not normal to stare at people, even if you like them more than a friend.”

“Then what are you supposed to do?”

“In my experience? Don’t talk to them or go near them and pray they never interact with you.”

The entity groans. “Christ, this is exhausting. How do you keep up with all of these little ridiculous societal rituals? They mean nothing and only cause misunderstandings and problems.”

Don’t I know it, Arthur thinks, a bit hysterically.

“Did you like them?” John asks, a hint of curiosity in the words.

“Do I like who?”

“Oscar and Noel. Did you like them as well?”

Oh, for the love of— “I just said we’re done talking about this!”

“Just answer the question. Did you like Oscar and Noel?”

“God, you are—fine! Yes, I liked them! They were extremely nice and helpful to me when they had no reason to be. I worry about how they’re doing often and I miss them terribly.”

“So you like them how they liked you?”

Arthur resists the urge to bite the other’s hand. “No! I…maybe. I don’t know, John. It’s all very complicated and…well, it’s like you said. Very ridiculous rituals and social expectations and all that.” 

“But you liked them?”

“Yes, I suppose I did, but not in…that kind of way.”

“What kind of way?”

“A kind of way typically not—acceptable by most. Let’s leave it at that.”

“What does that mean?”

“No, nope, no, we’re done.”

“But—”

“End of conversation.”

“You’re being so—”

“No, I’m going to enjoy the soup and tea Evrard brought me in peace. That means no more interrogating me on my feelings and emotions toward all the men we’ve met.”

“Whatever.”

“Good.” 

“So you don’t want to know about that one time Noel looked at your ass?” John asks when he’s halfway through his meal.

Arthur chokes on the soup.

____

By the ninth day, Arthur had gone from restless to bored out of his mind. 

He got up for the day, washed and dressed, ate whatever the servants had brought for him, and attempted to entertain himself and his partner until he slept. They had read all the books from the library and gone back for more, studied the paintings littering the halls, and explored every nook and cranny of the castle they could reach. And despite his insistence of resting, even John was beginning to grow weary of the same routine. The upcoming journey provided a new topic to discuss, but they could only get so far into it before they had nothing else to talk about. 

That’s why, as soon as Arthur sits up in bed, he announces they will be doing something new.

“And where exactly is that?” John asks as he stretches. “We’ve seen all there is to see. If there are any more secret passages like the one the Friar found, I doubt they will be as easy to discover, even if Evrard seems to trust us.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur replies and gets out of bed. “Haven’t the faintest idea. I’m sure we’ll find something and maybe that something will be a secret room.” He yawns and feels for the clothes he’d been left with. Now that he knew they were provided regularly, he’d gotten used to where the servants would place them. “But we have to do something. We’ve started snapping at each other like when Parker and I had to stay at a shitty motel for a case and share a bed and bathroom. And I’m not having that. So. We’re gonna find something to occupy us.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You yelled at me for rubbing my eye too much the other day and last night I grabbed your hand because you were tapping it too loudly. We need a break.”

“...You have a point.”

They end up downstairs. A handful of servants pass them, supplies for the trip in their arms, John tells him. He waves and a few nod their heads. His partner steers them through corridors they’d already explored and notes the rooms they had entered previously. Nothing has appeared to change aside from some having more items stored away and a couple doors being closed. It wasn’t exciting by any means, but just the act of walking aimlessly eases some of the stiffness that had begun to settle. 

“The end of the hallway is within a few feet. Now what?”

Arthur passes a hand over the cool stone wall. “Well, we could try the library. See if we can uncover some guidebooks on monsters we haven’t read yet.”

“That’s all the way back where we came.”

He hums. “Perhaps not, then. Hm…”

“What about the armory? Take a look around and see what we can bring with us?”

“That’s an option, though I don’t know what I would take. I’ve never used a weapon that wasn’t a knife, gun or crowbar.”

“Crowbar?” John echoes.

“I—yes, once. A while ago.” Arthur waves a hand. “We were chasing some guy. Robbed an older woman two doors down from himself. I had left my gun in the car and Parker—well, he was better with his fists. I had to get some kind of defense, so I took a crowbar from the garage we tracked him to.”

“Did you use it?”

He nods. “Hit him once in the stomach and Parker took care of the rest. It’s a decent weapon, though not one we’ll find in this timeline. I think I’ll stick with the rapier and our revolver.”

He’s going over the mental map he’d created when a thought occurs to him. They hadn’t gone to the first level of the castle yet. From his limited knowledge of older buildings, there was bound to be something they hadn’t come across already.

“Ah-ha!”

“What?”

“I just thought of where we could go.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see. Are there any of the servants nearby?”

“Uh…yes. On the opposite side, there is a man sweeping.”

“Wonderful.” Arthur turns toward him and heads over. “Excuse me!”

“He’s looked up.”

“Hello! Lord Evrard said I was welcome to go anywhere in the castle, does that include the bottom floor?”

“He nods.”

“Would you be so kind as to show me the way?”

“He looks a bit confused, but nods again. He leans the broom against the wall and starts walking, down to the junction of the hall.”

Arthur follows. They pass familiar rooms and paintings, then take a turn they hadn’t seen before. John warns him of stairs and other servants that hurry by. Soon the scent of fire and food reach him, as well as a heat that could only belong to a large hearth. So this is where the kitchen is, he muses. They eventually reach another hallway and the man stops at the corner, turning to face them. 

“He points to a sign above an open room. It reads…’Garden’.” John makes a curious noise. “A sign next to it says ‘Waste’ and the next beside that is ‘Stables’. The servant looks to us and waits.”

“Oh! Sorry. Thank you for leading us here, you can, uh, return to what you were doing. We can find our way back.”

“He bows and exits, going down the hall and…disappearing. We’re alone.”

“Excellent. Which direction are the stables?”

“You—you want to go there?”

“Yup.”

“...To your right. No, not—there. Thick wooden doors with iron handles stand before us.”

Arthur touches them, feeling the aged grain texture and pushes. Surprisingly, they move without issue and creak open. Immediately, he’s hit with the smell of animals and dirt, two things John doesn’t seem to enjoy. 

“Which way are the stalls?”

“They’re on either side, in a long row—Arthur. What are we doing here?”

“We’re here because we are both bored.” Arthur holds his hand out in case they run into anything. “And once I realized Evard would most likely have a stable, I wanted to see them.”

“See who?”

“The horses, John.”

“...The horses?”  

“Mmhm.”

“Why?”

He smiles at the confusion in the entity’s voice. “Because if we are to be part of the journey, we should at least meet the steeds we’ll be using. It’s good to get acquainted if you’ll be riding them.”

“And how the fuck do you know that? You’ve never talked about horses since I met you.”

Arthur’s hand connects with what he assumes is the wall and he carefully moves forward, feeling rocks and hay under his boots. He shrugs. “I lived next to a farm when I was young. They had cows, pigs, chicken, a few goats and a handful of horses.” He smiles faintly. “The owner let me help him gather crops and feed his animals in the mornings if I got up early enough. And he showed me how to ride his youngest horse before he sold it.”

“Huh,” is all John says.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just…I guess I didn’t take you as the kind of person who did that.”

“Did what?”

“Oh, you know…physical labor and the like.”

“Are you calling me scrawny?”

“...I’m not not saying you are.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Mm. Where’s the nearest stall?”

“A little ways ahead of you, on your right. Yes, that—there.” He waits until the other is closer. “There are twelve in total, but only the ones on this side are occupied. Six horses are in them. Three of them are eating from the sounds of it while two are…well, I’m not sure. They’re simply…standing in place and not doing anything.”

“Oh, they’re probably sleeping.” He brushes a hand down the weathered wooden post.

“Sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“What?"

“Horses can sleep upright.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how, it’s just something I know. They’re able to while other animals typically lie down.”

“Hm. You should learn how to do that. Would make things a lot easier.”

“I’ll get right on that.” 

“There’s a horse with its head hanging out and it…doesn’t seem to be doing much. Hm... Oh! It must have heard us, it looks our way. Move down a little.”

Arthur hears the scuffling and breathing of the other animals as he passes them. “Here?”

“Yes. The horse has backed up as you got closer, but it stares at us. It’s… Jesus.” John makes a low, uncertain noise. “It’s very big, Arthur.”

“They tend to be, yeah. That’s why they’re the main source of power on a farm. They’re used to pull heavy loads and chase after livestock.” Musky air hits him and he can picture the horse’s head above him. “What does it look like?”

“It’s a bit hard to tell in the dim lighting, but its coat looks to be a warm brown. Like a chestnut. Splotches of cream cover its face and neck and limbs, with a long white patch on its nose. Its eyes are a deep brown.”

“Oh, don’t you sound handsome,” Arthur compliments and slowly holds out a hand. 

“What–What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing if this fellow is nice enough to let me pet him.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” He extends his arm, resting it on the stall door. “Hello, there! Hi!”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Why do you do this with every creature we come across?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t mind him, it's his ’first time around a horse. He’s a little scared.”

“I am not!”

“Don’t worry, he’s nice once you get past all the huffing and growling and insults.”

John pointedly does not huff nor does he growl. “What if it bites you? Its maw is huge.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Okay, first of all, it does not have a maw, it’s not one of the monsters we’ve fought, for heaven’s sake. It has a big mouth because it’s a bigger animal. And two, tell me what its ears are doing.”

“What?”

“It’s ears. How are they positioned?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just tell me, you sod.”

“Fine. They’re…standing up and facing the side.”

“And its head, is it low?”

“I—yes.”

“Then we’ll be okay.” He ignores the sputtering from the entity and again offers his hands. “Hello. My name is Arthur and my companion is named John. Seems like you’re a friendly guy.”

It takes a moment before a soft snout brushes against his fingers and sniffs. John makes an alarmed noise as Arthur smiles and strokes the nose.

“Ah, there we go. I knew you were a good boy. Is there any hay nearby?”

“For what?”

“To feed him.”

“I’m sure he has enough in there, and if he doesn’t, our hand would be a quick snack.”

“John.”

The other groans. “There’s a pile across the stall in a barrel.”

“Thank you.”

He backs up until he’s next to it and gathers a bunch in his arms. “Here you go,” he says, offering it to the horse.

“It just looks at it, perhaps it isn’t—oh! Oh, eugh! Arthur, you asshole! Fucking Christ, that is disgusting!”

He can’t help but cackle at John’s complaint, not caring in the slightest as the horse’s tongue swipes over their palms in search of more. 

“Oh, sorry, should’ve warned you that they do that.”

“You fucking prick.”

“S’what you get for calling me weak.”

“I didn’t call you weak! I said scrawny!”

“Same thing.”

“You’re horrible and this creature is wholly unappealing.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Arthur stage-whispers to the horse. “You’re lovely.”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts and strokes down the bridge of its nose. “You’re such a baby. It wasn’t that bad, just saliva. Would you rather stick your hand in another pile of unidentified goo? Or touch another dead body?”

John growls and yanks his hand away, wiping it on his pants aggressively. “You did that on purpose.”

“Me? I would never.”

“Twat.”

Arthur snickers at the insult. “C’mon, feel its hair, it’s very soft.”

“No.”

“Don’t be a sourpuss. Pet the damn horse.”

John snarls at him, but after a minute of his hand hanging limply at his side, it lifts hesitantly. 

“There we go, see? He’s nice,” he encourages, feeling the entity rub the horse’s nose. “He’s a good boy, isn't he? Such a lovely horse, yes, you are.”

“He’s…fine,” John mutters. “I guess.”

“Look at you, doing a human thing. Petting an animal. Very nice. What a good god fragment.”

“Oh, shut it.”

“What, I can’t compliment a friend?”

His neck grows warm. “Not when you sound like that, no.”

Arthur grins and brushes a hand over the ecquine’s mane, scratching its neck. It rumbles and leans into his hand. The repetitive motion unwinds something in him.

When it’s quiet, he speaks up. “You know…back when it was just the two of us, I used to take Faroe to the fair.” His voice softens in that imperceptible way whenever he thinks of her. “It was a lot of fun. Rigged games, overpriced food, too many people crammed into a single area. You probably would’ve hated it. Anyway, they had horses like this. Not in a castle, obviously, but in a pen where you could feed and ride them. Nothing fancy, but she loved it.” He smiles. “Once she saw a horse, a white one, I think, she wouldn’t stop staring and when I let her get close, she practically screamed with joy. She didn’t want to leave, so we spent the day eating cotton candy and watching them trot around. It was like magic to her.”

John is silent as he pets the horse’s snout. 

“When we had to leave, she started to cry and I said we could just come back again. I had been sort of joking, but then her little face—oh, it had lit up like a fucking christmas tree, John. I couldn’t say no.” Arthur chuckles. “We ended up walking to the fair grounds the whole week and every time she would act like it was the first. Even asked for us to get a horse to have at home, said she loved the animals that much. It was adorable.” 

“I…I can imagine.”

“I think one of the best things about being a parent is watching your child experience new things,” he says. “To you, it doesn’t carry much weight, but to them, seeing it with fresh eyes… it’s truly a gift.” 

“It sounds like it. And it sounds like she inherited a lot more than genetics from you.”

“What’s that?”

“The urge to befriend anything furry you see.”

He blinks away the moisture in the corner of his eyes and laughs.

They continue to pet the horse for a little longer and Arthur can tell the action is as relaxing for his partner as it is for him despite his refusal to admit so. He’s about to say they make their way to the room marked ‘Garden’ to check it out when John lets out a yell. Arthur jumps, the exclamation ringing in his ears, and the horse rears and backs up into its stall. 

“Jesus! What! What’s wrong?” he asks, whipping his head around.

“Something just touched my leg!”

“O-Okay, what was it?”

“I don’t know, it-it came out of nowhere! Look down!”

“Alright, alright!” He does so and hears John gasp, and Christ, now he’s getting nervous. “What? What is it?”

“A creature stands before us. It’s small and covered in thick, black hair, its features obscured by the darkness. And it’s eyes—” The entity makes a fearful noise and clenches his hand in Arthur’s pants. “They’re huge. Vivid golden yellow and slitted pupils stare at us, unblinkingly. It’s like they’re looking into our souls, Arthur.”

“Jesus. Okay, it’s okay, let’s just—”

“What the fuck is it?”

“I don‘t know, John! You’re the one who can see! Maybe it wandered in from outside—”

“It could be dangerous, though!”

“It could be, yes, but we don’t know that, let’s just take a breath and—”

“It took a step closer! It’s coming near us, get your gun!”

Good lord, he’s the most high-strung person I’ve ever met.

He backs up. “Even if I had my gun, which I don’t because it’s up in our room, I would not take it out! We don’t even know what this thing is, it might just be curious.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” John deadpans. “Now’s not the time to make friends, Arthur!”

“I’m not making friends, but I’m also not attacking some random animal that pops up.”

“So you want to wait until it attacks us first? While we’re alone and defenseless down here?”

“Fucking hell, John, calm down! It hasn’t done anything yet.” He gets twitching fingers and a growl in response. He rolls his eyes and leans down. “Hello, there. Who are you?”

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me—”

“Shut it, you big baby. I’m trying something.” He inches forward and holds out a hand. It’s a bit daunting, especially considering his history with being hurt by wild creatures, but there’s nothing else to do. “Hi, hi. I’m sure you’re nice just like the fellows over there. You’re not a monster, are you?”

“You’re a fucking idiot, oh my God—”

“Shush, just trust me—”

“I will not because you’re risking our safety by being a—”

“Mrrow!”

They both freeze.

Arthur blinks and stands. Then he laughs. And laughs and laughs because you’ve got to be joking, oh my God.

“Wh-What the fuck! Why are you laughing?!” 

John’s baffled outrage makes it funnier, so much fucking funnier that he has to bend at the waist and hold on to his knees.

“Holy shit,” Arthur manages to say through chuckles. “Holy fucking sh-shit.”

“What! What is it! Stop laughing, goddamnit, and tell me!”

He continues to gasp for air, voice cracking as he attempts to talk.

“Oh my G-God, you…had me thinking it was one of the Dark Y-Young, Jesus…”

“Arthur! Fucking tell me or so help me I’ll—”

“It’s a f-fucking cat, John!” Arthur gets out, laughter behind the words. “S’just a cat! It’s not a monster or anything dangerous, Jesus Christ…”

“What the fuck is a cat?”

Arthur wheezes. “Oh, stop it, it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My stomach! Stop making it funnier, you bastard!”

“I’m not doing anything, you’re being ridiculous! Calm down for Christ’s sake!”

“I’m t-trying!” He coughs, the ache is his abdomen shifting to a dull pain in his chest. “Ugh, damnit.”

“Arthur, take a breath!”

“I just said I’m trying!”

“Well, try harder! You can’t pass out here!” Worry had replaced the irritation in his voice. John’s hand lifts and reaches for this shirt. It fumbles with his collar and goes under the fabric, pressing over his heart. “Breathe, for God’s sake. Just breathe.”

He attempts to steady himself. It takes a long moment to calm his racing pulse and pounding heartbeat. He inhales and exhales until they come and go easily. Arthur lets out a sigh and straightens, rubbing his chest. 

“Jesus, you need to be more careful.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh so hard, it just happened!”

“Well, why the hell did you find it so funny?”

“Because! You were freaking out so badly over a tiny little—”

“Meow!”

 A giggle slips out. “—cat.”

John growls and removes his hand. “How the hell am I supposed to know what a cat is?”

Arthur smiles at the heat under his skin returning, buzzing up his neck. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m sorry for laughing.”

“I’m not.”

“Whatever you say.” He looks around. “Is it still here?”

“...Yes.” 

Lord, now he’s sulking. Arthur crouches, bending his knees, and holds his hand out once more. He clicks his tongue and wiggles his fingers.

“What the fuck are you doing now,” the entity groans.

“I’m showing you what a cat is.”

“You look and sound stupid.”

“You’re making fun, but just wait for…”

Something soft bumps into his knuckles and he grins. “That.” He reaches over and runs his hand up the cat’s spine, catching its tail. “Ohoho, aren’t you sweet? Little darling, you sent John into quite the tizzy, didn’t you. Yes, you did!”

“Ugh, why are you talking like that? It’s gross.”

“It’s how you talk to animals.” A quiet rumbling fills the air and John’s hand tightens into a fist.

“What the fuck is that?” he demands.

“Just purring.”

“Just what?”

“It’s something cats do when they’re happy or playful. It just…happens. I don’t know, I’m not a vet.” The feline butts her head into his arm. “I bet you’re a pretty girl, oh, what a nice girl.”

“She can’t understand you, why bother talking?”

“Just because she doesn't know what I’m saying doesn’t mean it takes away the impact. Tons of people talk to their pets and animals they find.” He scratches under the cat’s chin and the purring grows louder. “You should try, it’s fun.”

He receives a scoff.

“Suit yourself,” Arthur replies and lowers himself to the ground to sit. His legs had begun to ache. “Guess me and this little miss will enjoy each other’s company.”

“Arthur, why are…you shouldn’t do that, you could pull something or—”

“I’ll be fine, Mother Hen.” He scoots back and pats his leg. “And I’m only in my thirties! I’m not going to pull anything from sitting down.”

“Oh, right. I suppose the bones I hear cracking an obscene amount in the morning are just the wind.”

“Shush. I’m relaxing.” 

The cat chirps and sniffs his knee, then rubs against it. Its body vibrates and Arthur smooths down its coat. 

“Ooo, what a sweetheart you are,” he coos and gets his chin bumped by her head and before he knows it, she’s clambering over his legs and plopping down in his lap. “I’m sure you do a wonderful job keeping this place safe, yes, you do.”

“What are you on about?”

“Cats have been kept around humans for centuries, dating all the way back to Egyptian times,” he explains, smiling at how the feline was doing her damndest to get under his skin. God, he missed the simple things in life; making the perfect cup of tea, discovering some money stashed away in a pocket, finding a friendly cat. “They were seen as gods—” John lets out a disbelieving laugh “—and protectors. People also thought of them as good luck. In similar time periods as the one we’re in, they were popular because they keep away pests like rats, mice and other vermin that could carry disease or get into food.”

“Doesn’t seem all that special.”

“To you, I’m sure it doesn’t, but when you only have so much stored away for winter, it’s the most important thing in the world.” Arthur scratches the cat behind her ears, chuckling when she stands on her hindlegs and rubs her cheek on his neck. “Cats have always been linked with witches and magic, though that came from a more negative perspective. You said her fur was black, right? Black cats were especially targeted by religious groups, some even killed just for the idea of them being with someone who performed witchcraft. Aside from that superstition, they’re considered to have a sort of sixth sense and can see spirits. I wonder if that’s why Evard allows her to roam the grounds.”

“Maybe she does have powers,” John muses.

He bites his lip to keep from laughing. The idea isn’t impossible, given what they’ve seen from Alia. “Maybe.” A sandpaper tongue licks his fingers and he kisses the cat’s head before leaning back slightly. “Here, you try.”

“Try what?”

“Petting her.”

“I’m perfectly content not doing that, thanks. Already dirtied my hand enough.”

“Oh, stop it. Cat saliva isn’t the same as a horse’s and their tongues are dry, anyways. And you already pet the horse! Cats are even softer.”

“Arthur—”

“Give the cat a pet and I’ll leave you alone. Try new things and all that.”

The entity sighs in a long-suffering manner. 

“Stroke between her ears, gently, then down her neck.”

He has to trust John is doing as he instructs and after a moment, his partner hums. 

“Her fur is…quite nice to touch, I’ll admit. And her face…isn’t grotesque by any means.”

“You can just say she’s cute, John.”

“If these creatures are as revered as you claim, such a mundane word doesn’t seem to fit them.” The cat shifts in his lap, leaning to the left side, her purring never ceasing. “...But I suppose her appearance is pleasant and her temperament is ideal.”

“What a glowing review.”

The entity makes a soft noise. “You said cats are attuned to magic and spirits, perhaps that is why she came to us. Perhaps she can sense me.”

“You know, from what we’ve experienced so far, I  can’t even call the notion far-fetched.”

“Or she…could be protecting you from me.”

He can tell it’s meant to be a joke but he knows by now what it sounds like when John is trying to make light of an issue. 

“No, she couldn’t because you’re not a danger to me nor anyone in the castle,” he retorts, voice firm. “Don’t even start with that nonsense.”

“You say that, but—”

“Yes, I do, now shut up and enjoy the moment.”

John sighs, but falls quiet after that, and the only sounds in the stables are the horses and the cat’s purrs.

Arthur would have gladly spent the rest of his day with the animals, but his back and legs eventually started to ache. He stated as such and laughed when the cat meowed her displeasure at her napping place being disturbed.

“Yes, yes, I know you want me to keep petting you, but I have to leave,” he tells her as he lifts her out of his lap, her claws catching his pants and shirt. “I know, I know, I’m horrible for such a thing. I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“What a clingy creature,” John remarks as they stand and the cat goes right to his leg, rubbing against it.

Arthur dusts off his clothes. “Cats either want to spend every second with you or can’t be bothered to be in the same room. There’s no inbetween, cheeky buggers.” The feline in question reaches up with her paws, chirping and prodding until he gives in. He bends at the waist and scoops her up. She immediately purrs and bumps her head on his chin. “One last time, and then I have to go, sweet girl. I promise I’ll come back again. Maybe I can snag some fish from the kitchen for you, eh? Would you like that? I bet you would.”

“Didn’t know you were such a pushover with animals.”

“I am not. I’m just making sure she’s fine before we leave.”

“Sure.”

Arthur rolls his eyes even as he scratches her under the chin. He cuddles her until his back reminds him of its stiffness. “Alright, alright, that’s it, no more.” He pecks her on the head and leans down. “Go catch some mice, okay? And stay safe.” 

“She stares at us, but doesn’t seem like she’ll follow. Maybe she can understand us.” 

“That would be too easy, but it’s a nice thought. Which way is the exit?”

“To your left. There’s a series of buckets and a large barrel of hay near it so watch your step.”

“Okay. Well, that was fun.” Arthur waves in the direction of the stall and turns, carefully moves forward. The offhand words, “John, say bye-bye to the horse,” leave his mouth before his brain can catch up and he freezes. His face flushes when he realizes what he’d said. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I used to say that when we went to the faire and—”

“Goodbye, horse,” John says seriously, his left arm raising in a wave. When the other doesn’t move, he pokes his right arm. “When you went to the fair and what? What’s wrong?”

Arthur presses his lips together to hide his smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

They’re walking up the stairs to their room when John speaks up, tone thoughtful.

“You know, I think I understand yours and Faroe’s fascination with animals.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It’s very…calming to be with them. Peaceful. And I suppose they can be… cute.”

“That, they are. Just another nice human thing.”

“If—When we get out of this…Kayne’s deal and the fighting…could we go to a fair? Like the one you went to with her?”

He softens at the honesty in the entity’s voice and catches his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“I’d love nothing more, my friend.”