Even If The Gods Deny Us
As the prince, Ted had always been used to people reacting to him a certain way, certainly when he showed up somewhere unexpectedly. People would panic, they would start being overly polite and careful, they would offer wine and start bowing. Until he found himself in the smallish home of a tattoo artist, Ted hadn’t realised just how quickly he had gotten used to that behaviour again. His time as a prisoner then a slave had taught him some harsh lessons about how people viewed those who weren’t royalty and weren’t considered important and he had vowed to himself that he would not forget those lessons, that he would do something about the current status quo and attempt to be less formal in his own actions while protesting the need to keep people as mere tools or cattle, undermine the tradition of keeping slaves. However, he realised just how much of his resolve he had forgotten now that he was home and pampered once more when he found himself mildly outraged by the rather insouciant manner in which the tattoo artist greeted him.
He didn’t knock - he was a prince and he had never needed to, he simply walked into the house. Of course he was usually accompanied by an entourage and they announced his presence. When he entered the living room the tattoo artist was carefully using his tools on his own arm, eyes narrowed in concentration. When Ted walked in he looked up, raised his eyebrows and went back to his work.
“Good afternoon your highness,” he said casually. “To what do I owe this honour?”
He didn’t make it sound like an honour, he sounded more amused than anything else and Ted bristled slightly until he remembered why he was there. For Cody, he could endure a few harsh words. Hadn’t he endured slavery? And for longer than he had needed to, simply so that Cody would not be embarrassed by him.
“Are you alone?” asked Ted. “I was hoping to speak with you... I’m sorry. I do not know your name, or have forgotten it if I did.”
“Phil.” The man still didn’t get out of his seat and Ted found himself thrown by the slight, even though there had been no rudeness along with it. Phil should have stood to show his respect, knelt to show an allegiance and given his full name rather than that presumably used only among his friends and family. But Ted had the feeling that it would be the same if Brett had walked in, or anyone else for that matter. There was respect along with the curiosity in the man’s voice, but he wasn’t behaving as Ted was used to. In fact, he was behaving in the same way that Alex had done before he had learned that he and Ted were not of equal stature.
“I’m all alone right now.” Phil finished what he was doing to his arm, putting aside his tools and admiring the results. “Are you looking to get a tattoo from me?”
“Uh... no.”
“Then I’m at a loss as to how I can help you.” Phil looked up at him with a curious expression. “And I don’t often get casual visits from royalty. Sit, let me know what brings you here.”
Almost but not exactly an order, Ted noticed, but did as he was bidden. “Have you heard of events in the palace today?”
“I can’t say that I have. I have been alone here and no one has visited to tell me any news - and I don’t encourage gossip in any case.”
Ted nodded. “Brock has been causing some trouble in the palace. I need to find him.”
Phil frowned as he thought this over. “Are you alone?”
“I am.”
“If you wish to find Brock you shouldn’t be. With respect your highness, you can’t hope to confront Brock alone. He’s not able to manage his temper well and if you anger him it won’t matter to him who you are. And he will only have regrets after the fact because it will cause him trouble, not because he will be sorry he has harmed you.”
“I need to find him. He is involved in a plot that threatens the stability of the throne.”
There was a spark in Phil’s eyes, something. Ted wondered if he knew more than he was saying.
“Brock doesn’t have the brains for that kinda thing. Wait, no. He does have the brain to think he could do something about the situation if he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t have the brain to come up with a plan that might actually work though. If he was doing this, he would have been caught already.”
“I suspect he’s the muscle rather than the brain. But I need to find him regardless and time is against me.” Ted hesitated, wondering how much he should say, but one didn’t grow up surrounded by the politics of the palace without learning a few things about hiding emotions... or he would have believed that to be the case before meeting Cody. Remembering Cody renewed his urgency. “There may be a hostage involved.”
“One of the guests?” asked Phil.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose if something were to happen to that guest, then it would cause some animosity toward us.” Phil seemed oddly as if he was trying to convince himself of something, or remind himself of something. “Not only would there be the unrest caused by this conspiracy you suspect, but there would be potentially yet another angry army at the gates.”
“An army that would not be happy to merely pillage what we have and then flee,” replied Ted. Phil had given him nothing so far and he wanted to grab the man, shake the answers out of him - but he forced himself to wait. He knew that he had to give the man a little time and a little credit. He just hoped that his patience could last that long.
Phil considered for a moment, deep in thought before seeming to come to a decision and looking up. “I don’t know what you think I know about Brock. He is merely a soldier and I am not. I can tell you where he lives, although I suspect that you know that and I can tell you that he is a violent, dangerous man who thinks nothing of the damage he can do to others. An asset to an army perhaps, but he could well be a detriment to them as well. If he is working with someone he may well hide with them. Otherwise he will have taken his hostage and squirreled himself somewhere not especially well thought out, if not immediately obvious. He’s not a fool, he’s just not very bright is all.”
“You know,” said Ted before he could stop himself. “You know something Phil. Tell me.”
Phil regarded Ted steadily, not seeming fazed by the anger.”Perhaps I do, but you must understand, this is not a safe place for you to be, certainly unescorted. Return to the palace. Wait for the search parties and the soldiers to do what they can. Stay safe, Prince Theodore. We can ill-afford to lose you again.”
“And what will you do?”
Phil chuckled, startling Ted, who had never felt less like laughing in his life. “If there is anything I can do, I shall do it. Perhaps I can escort you safely back to the palace?”
“I can escort myself,” returned Ted with as much dignity as he could muster while showing his irritation at the man, letting himself out of the house; he was almost out of sight of the building before it occurred to him that Phil had deliberately raised his ire. Which meant that he had wanted Ted to leave the house - he wanted to be rid of him and there could only be one good reason for him to get the prince out of the way.
He knew more than he was telling. He knew who else was conspiring with Brock.
Ted thought about it, nodding slowly to himself. That had to be it. He didn’t think that Phil could have had any prior knowledge as to Brock’s actions otherwise he would have been more guarded and perhaps not even able to be found, but once Ted had told him about the conspiracy, Phil had made a connection in his mind that he wasn’t willing to share. Perhaps because of the potential for danger - perhaps because of something else. And would anyone even consider talking to Phil? Ted had only done so because he was the only person other than a soldier he had been able to think of that might talk to him.
The area that housed the tattoo artist’s home was relatively pleasant but not as affluent as the palace and Ted ducked around the side of a nearby house, cursing his finery. Had he thought on he might have been able to wear a slave’s clothing and blend in far easier than he could currently. And he had the feeling that he would soon need to blend in. He had no intention of leaving the area until he saw Phil again, already certain that the man would be leaving after a suitable pause for Ted to be long gone (or so he would think) before he acted upon the information that he had.
~::~
Phil could have cursed the second that Ted left, but he was careful to keep himself contained. He didn’t drink or indulge in other vices people of his time did-the only vice he had was perhaps his tattooing, both for others and on his own body. Forcing himself to keep calm Phil then reached down and picked up his cleaning cloth; using some boiling water he kept nearby alongside some alcohol, he cleaned each needle and then placed them away. In his line of work, much like a soldier with their armour, he knew the importance of keeping his equipment in tip-top condition. Shaking his head somewhat Phil then shouldered his cloak on, pulled the hood up over his head and then exited his house. Closing the door firmly behind him he started through the streets in the direction of the palace.
He didn’t see Ted as he went and assumed that the Price had probably headed back home-likely to fetch reinforcements if he was going to have a face-to-face confrontation with The Beast. Brock, as Phil had said, wasn’t a man to be taken lightly and Phil would be sorry (although not surprised) if he heard that something had happened to their newly returned Prince because he had been too caught up in his emotions and hadn’t utilised his head enough to heed the warnings that had been given to him. Cutting through a side alley towards the back of the palace Phil then slowed when he reached some of the old abandoned stable-huts. For all they weren’t used anymore the smell of horses and hay was still pungent in the air-a phantom mist that would never vanished despite best efforts.
Reaching the door of the one he wanted he glanced around with narrowed eyes, didn’t spot anyone following him or lingering nearby, and pushed the door open without pause. He closed it behind him, but not before Ted had crept right up to the side that was closest towards another hut and pressed against it to listen at the small window.
“You really fucked up this time,” he said without preamble, watching dispassionately as Paul squawked and flailed, tumbling to the dirt-floor and staring up at the newcomer with wide eyes, relief replacing his fear after a few seconds but even from the distance he was at Will could see there was an uneasy hesitance in his eyes even as his lips stretched into a smile.
“Punk, so good to see you!”
“You should have known better than to trust Brock with something like this, Paul, and when they find you you’ll all be for it.”
“Who’s going to tell?” Paul’s voice wavered somewhat, several octaves higher with his forced cheeriness, eyes darting around as though expecting the royal guards to jump out on him any moment even though there wasn’t anywhere they could hide in the small room. As his eyes checked the room Ted felt his heart leap, both with excitement and concern; Cody was seated upon a small, rough wooden stool and his hands were bound before him. There was a red mark around his neck, quite irritated, as though something had been placed there and a white-hot ball of rage ignited in the pit of his stomach to a raging inferno instead of a smouldering, somewhat maintainable candle-flame. He started to rise up, intending to burst in there and arrest the man, Paul (whom only looked vaguely familiar to Ted if he was honest, and he thought he would remember someone to… yeah) for what he had done with Cody, and demand his lover’s freedom and the names of all of Paul’s accomplices (including Phil if it turned out that he actually had something to do with the incident as opposed to just realising that Paul had), but Phil was speaking once more and he forced himself to keep still.
“I just thought I should come by and let you know that Prince Theodore already knows that Brock has something to do with-“his eyes darted to Cody for the first time as though he had just noticed him and he quirked a brow marginally, “-the visiting Prince going missing. He doesn’t look happy and I’d hate to be you, or Brock, or Curtis when they catch up to you. I trust Curtis had a hand in this too since he is one of your men.”
“You were my man too once,” Paul said almost meekly, levelling puppy-dog eyes on Phil as though cajoling him into keeping quiet for the sake of the bond they apparently once had. Phil, however, looked classically unmoved by the unspoken plea.
“Once, I’ve since moved on. You were a good friend to me once, Paul and that’s why I’m here now. If you know what’s good for you then you’ll let the Prince go, make up some story for Brock to cover whatever he’s done, and grovel like fuck should the Prince ever come looking for you. Oh, and you’d better start grovelling at the little cute one sitting over there-“the words were true but that didn’t stop Ted bristling over Cody’s attractiveness being complimented on by another man, Cody looking startled and then uncomfortable as he dropped his gaze to his knees, “Because if you do this right and let him go without any more incident, promise never to so much as look at him again, he might conveniently forget the faces and facts of the people who attempted to kidnap him for their own gain.”
Paul looked as though Phil had just kicked him in the teeth-though it might have been more pleasant for him if he had. He sputtered, his shiny face inching closer to puce with every passing second. His eyes kept darting from Phil, to the door, to Cody and then back to the door again as though waiting for something. “I can’t just let him go!” the man reached a frequency that made Cody wince and Phil also wrinkled his nose slightly in response before then recovering himself and levelling Paul with a look that was almost parental, demanding why without even speaking. Paul hesitated, biting down on his bottom lip momentarily before then standing, making his way closer to Phil and grasping at his wrist firmly. “I can’t let him go now because you know as well as I do that he-“he indicated Cody with a jerk of his head, “Won’t just forget what happened even if I do! He’ll go straight to Theodore and Brett and if he does that then we’re all dead like you said! If it’s going to cost me everything to lose then I might as well keep going to try to win and gain more first!”
Shaking his head Phil frowned, the smallest flicker of sorrow coming into his eyes, “This was why our ties frayed, Paul; you got greedy, couldn’t just be happy with what you had, the reputation you had built. You always had to want more and always had to drag people down into it with you. Brock would have managed without you even if he wasn’t where he once was and Curtis would have lived out a comfortable if mediocre life thanks to his father’s influence… but you couldn’t just leave well enough alone. I hope it was worth it, Paul, I really hope it was worth it.”
He turned and started back to the door, shaking off the hands clutching at him like the desperate claws of a bird, “Phil!”
“No, Paul. You got yourself and them into it, you can all get yourself out,” he sent one last look over his shoulder at Paul, shook his head a final time and then flicked the hood of his robe up back over his head and walked back the way he had come.
For the briefest of moments Ted toyed with following him once more, running to get reinforcements since he no knew where they had hidden Cody, but pushed the idea from his mind almost as quickly as it had come because he knew that chances were time was running out on Cody coming out of this without sustaining even more mental and physical damage than he already had. Standing slowly, watching through the window to make sure that Paul hadn’t seen him, Ted then started around to the front door of the abandoned stable. He lamented fleetingly that his pleasant childhood memories of riding his favourite steed Riggs would be forever tainted by these treacherous deeds, but then forced himself to focus.
He needed to get Cody out of there now whilst Paul was alone. He was angry, he had no doubt that feeling like this he could give The Beast a run for his money, but the Prince also had enough self-awareness left to know that he would be asking for trouble if he went charging in head-first without considering his options. And right now his own option that worked in his favour alone was this one.
Ted was so lost in his thoughts, however, that he didn’t notice the hulking figure advancing towards him until a dark shadow fell over him like an ominous storm-cloud, turning in time to receive a hard right-hook to the jaw. Pain exploded over one side of his face and he fell to one knee, though managed (with some effort) to retain consciousness. When large, meaty hands wrapped around his throat he gripped at them, clawing at the fingers and kicking out against his assailant. The smile of Brock’s face struck Ted more than the gravity of the fact that the man was trying to choke the very life out of him and he realised that he was insane; all of those years on the battlefield and then being disgraced as he had was enough to send the man over the edge. Well, he had to have taken leave of some senses at least to ever think that this was a good idea.
Despite his best efforts Ted felt himself struggling, his knees starting to give of their own volition because of his lacking oxygen, his hands beginning to turn limp as they fought against his assailant’s. However, just when he thought he might lose the battle and surrender to the sweet, oblivious darkness of unconsciousness Brock’s hands suddenly dropped from his throat and he slumped down on the ground. He choked, coughing and panting as coloured lights danced in and out of his vision.
“Your Highness, are you alright?!” a concerned voice floated down at him, seemingly from far away, and Ted gingerly lifted his head up.
“Josh,” he smiled fleetingly, “How-“he coughed again and felt arms go around him.
“Don’t try to talk,” Josh said firmly, pale and sweat beading on his brow, “It’s going to be OK now sire, we have you both.”
“Both?” Ted asked groggily, darkness threatening to overtake him once more.
“Teddy!”
That voice, Ted thought hazily, he knew that voice and he had to answer that voice. That was who he had been searching for all this time-Cody. Without thinking Ted reached upwards towards the brightness burning at his blacking eyes and smiled softly when Cody’s face filled his line of vision, a hand grasping firmly at his own
“We found you,” Ted croaked, smiling dazedly.
Cody hiccupped and sniffed, his eyes shiny even as he smiled and squeezed Ted’s hand, “Yeah, you did. I knew you’d come and get me, thank you.”
Ted’s eyes closed then and he slumped against Cody’s lap.
“Teddy!” Cody cried and shook his shoulders, only reluctantly holding when Josh firmly took hold of his hands and stilled him.
“It’s OK Sire,” he murmured softly, though he too looked a little pale, “He’s just fainted, he should come around soon.” The bruises blossoming around his throat from The Beast’s fingers explained why, and Josh was admittedly amazed he had retained consciousness as long as he had--- especially since the bleeding lip and bruised cheek indicated that the strangling wasn’t the only thing that he had endured in the meantime.
Cody nodded stiffly though that didn’t stop him praying to every God he’d ever heard of, good and bad, that Ted had sustained no lasting damage during this encounter because of him. A harsh roar rent the air and startled Cody hard, he and Josh snapping their attention back to the fight that was still raging behind them. Evan was standing to the side with his sword poised at Paul’s throat to keep him still (not that anyone present genuinely believed he’d run now, he knew the game was up and was instead thinking furiously about the best way he could minimise his involvement) though his attention was also wholly fixed upon Randy, John and Brock who were fighting furiously in the open space of the stable court-yard.
Each man was already ruddy-faced and sweating, blood flowing quite steadily from the wound that Evan had created on the back of Brock’s head when he had struck him with the hilt of his sword when he had been attempting to throttle Ted, and yet he was fighting as furiously as his two opponents who were not wounded.
“You were trusted!” John shouted accusingly, his blade whistling through the air as he swung with all he might at Brock who managed to just feint out of the way of the move in time to avoid beig eviscerated there where he stood.
“Trusted? What would you know about hard-work and trust? I am your superior and you dare raise your weapon to me, Cena?” Brock roared back and something hardened in John’s expression.
“You used to be my superior. But now? You’re nothing more than scum underneath my sandals, and I will delight in taking your head.”
Another bellowing roar emitted from Brock as he swung his own thick, heavy blade out, nicking John’s shoulder and causing him to hiss loudly as blood welled in the wound, starting to trickle down his arm and over his wrist, plinking silently from the blade to the dirt floor thanks to his increased heart-rate causing the blood to flow faster. Randy ducked as the momentum of the blade headed in his direction, just avoiding having himself scalped in consequence.
He charged Brock from one side as John did the other, and unbelievably Brock managed to move his blade fast enough to parry both of their blows. Sparks flew as they continued to fight and at one stage part of Brock’s sword even snapped off because of the exertion that was being placed into its use. The two men charged again, determined that they could wear The Beast down and then remove him from the equation; their eyes met and both knew it wasn’t in either of their views to let Brock live, to merely incapacitate him until he could be secured and brought to trial-no, Brock had to be eliminated.
What he had done, and what he was attempting to do now, proved that he was too dangerous to keep on sharing the same realm as they.
“Curse your black soul to Hades and may he piss on you nightly!” Randy snarled, ducking low and smashing the hilt of his sword into Brock’s knee.
There was a sickening crunch that made Cody’s stomach turn threateningly and as the young Prince managed to keep from losing his breakfast all over the ground Brock was forced down to one knee, though he was still fighting--- perhaps even more furiously than before. His eyes were wide, wild, and if Cody didn’t know better he would think he was watching a genuine animal instead of a man.
“Brock!” Paul’s voice suddenly rang out, choked and piteous, pleading and panicked, “Stop it, please, just give in! It’s over!”
“Never surrender!” Brock snarled back, and Paul looked as though he’d been slapped by the words; in that moment Cody realised that Brock had probably never disobeyed Paul before, and that the man also knew in that moment that Brock had signed his own death-warrant if they hadn’t already by what they had attempted to do.
Paul hung his head, sinking down to his knees and covering his face with his hands. He didn’t even seem concerned about the blade that was still trained on him-although albeit loosely because Evan was still watching Randy. He was as grey as the rest of them, though with each passing second the colour seemed to be worsening. He had been in combat and he knew there was nothing more dangerous than an opponent who wasn’t afraid to die.
He saw what Brock was going to do moments before Brock did, and he dropped his sword and ran forward without so much as a backwards glance at the man he was supposed to be keeping captive. The ‘schwick!’ sound that emitted as the sword pierced his side reminded him of the noise that was made when Brodus skewered a side of pork was the spit back home and he had the strangest desire to laugh.
He wasn’t laughing moments later though when Brock’s newly severed head hit the ground next to him, adding to the blood that was pooling around him, a small sense of warm satisfaction and relief through the wintery chill that was spreading from the open wound in his side.
He didn’t knock - he was a prince and he had never needed to, he simply walked into the house. Of course he was usually accompanied by an entourage and they announced his presence. When he entered the living room the tattoo artist was carefully using his tools on his own arm, eyes narrowed in concentration. When Ted walked in he looked up, raised his eyebrows and went back to his work.
“Good afternoon your highness,” he said casually. “To what do I owe this honour?”
He didn’t make it sound like an honour, he sounded more amused than anything else and Ted bristled slightly until he remembered why he was there. For Cody, he could endure a few harsh words. Hadn’t he endured slavery? And for longer than he had needed to, simply so that Cody would not be embarrassed by him.
“Are you alone?” asked Ted. “I was hoping to speak with you... I’m sorry. I do not know your name, or have forgotten it if I did.”
“Phil.” The man still didn’t get out of his seat and Ted found himself thrown by the slight, even though there had been no rudeness along with it. Phil should have stood to show his respect, knelt to show an allegiance and given his full name rather than that presumably used only among his friends and family. But Ted had the feeling that it would be the same if Brett had walked in, or anyone else for that matter. There was respect along with the curiosity in the man’s voice, but he wasn’t behaving as Ted was used to. In fact, he was behaving in the same way that Alex had done before he had learned that he and Ted were not of equal stature.
“I’m all alone right now.” Phil finished what he was doing to his arm, putting aside his tools and admiring the results. “Are you looking to get a tattoo from me?”
“Uh... no.”
“Then I’m at a loss as to how I can help you.” Phil looked up at him with a curious expression. “And I don’t often get casual visits from royalty. Sit, let me know what brings you here.”
Almost but not exactly an order, Ted noticed, but did as he was bidden. “Have you heard of events in the palace today?”
“I can’t say that I have. I have been alone here and no one has visited to tell me any news - and I don’t encourage gossip in any case.”
Ted nodded. “Brock has been causing some trouble in the palace. I need to find him.”
Phil frowned as he thought this over. “Are you alone?”
“I am.”
“If you wish to find Brock you shouldn’t be. With respect your highness, you can’t hope to confront Brock alone. He’s not able to manage his temper well and if you anger him it won’t matter to him who you are. And he will only have regrets after the fact because it will cause him trouble, not because he will be sorry he has harmed you.”
“I need to find him. He is involved in a plot that threatens the stability of the throne.”
There was a spark in Phil’s eyes, something. Ted wondered if he knew more than he was saying.
“Brock doesn’t have the brains for that kinda thing. Wait, no. He does have the brain to think he could do something about the situation if he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t have the brain to come up with a plan that might actually work though. If he was doing this, he would have been caught already.”
“I suspect he’s the muscle rather than the brain. But I need to find him regardless and time is against me.” Ted hesitated, wondering how much he should say, but one didn’t grow up surrounded by the politics of the palace without learning a few things about hiding emotions... or he would have believed that to be the case before meeting Cody. Remembering Cody renewed his urgency. “There may be a hostage involved.”
“One of the guests?” asked Phil.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose if something were to happen to that guest, then it would cause some animosity toward us.” Phil seemed oddly as if he was trying to convince himself of something, or remind himself of something. “Not only would there be the unrest caused by this conspiracy you suspect, but there would be potentially yet another angry army at the gates.”
“An army that would not be happy to merely pillage what we have and then flee,” replied Ted. Phil had given him nothing so far and he wanted to grab the man, shake the answers out of him - but he forced himself to wait. He knew that he had to give the man a little time and a little credit. He just hoped that his patience could last that long.
Phil considered for a moment, deep in thought before seeming to come to a decision and looking up. “I don’t know what you think I know about Brock. He is merely a soldier and I am not. I can tell you where he lives, although I suspect that you know that and I can tell you that he is a violent, dangerous man who thinks nothing of the damage he can do to others. An asset to an army perhaps, but he could well be a detriment to them as well. If he is working with someone he may well hide with them. Otherwise he will have taken his hostage and squirreled himself somewhere not especially well thought out, if not immediately obvious. He’s not a fool, he’s just not very bright is all.”
“You know,” said Ted before he could stop himself. “You know something Phil. Tell me.”
Phil regarded Ted steadily, not seeming fazed by the anger.”Perhaps I do, but you must understand, this is not a safe place for you to be, certainly unescorted. Return to the palace. Wait for the search parties and the soldiers to do what they can. Stay safe, Prince Theodore. We can ill-afford to lose you again.”
“And what will you do?”
Phil chuckled, startling Ted, who had never felt less like laughing in his life. “If there is anything I can do, I shall do it. Perhaps I can escort you safely back to the palace?”
“I can escort myself,” returned Ted with as much dignity as he could muster while showing his irritation at the man, letting himself out of the house; he was almost out of sight of the building before it occurred to him that Phil had deliberately raised his ire. Which meant that he had wanted Ted to leave the house - he wanted to be rid of him and there could only be one good reason for him to get the prince out of the way.
He knew more than he was telling. He knew who else was conspiring with Brock.
Ted thought about it, nodding slowly to himself. That had to be it. He didn’t think that Phil could have had any prior knowledge as to Brock’s actions otherwise he would have been more guarded and perhaps not even able to be found, but once Ted had told him about the conspiracy, Phil had made a connection in his mind that he wasn’t willing to share. Perhaps because of the potential for danger - perhaps because of something else. And would anyone even consider talking to Phil? Ted had only done so because he was the only person other than a soldier he had been able to think of that might talk to him.
The area that housed the tattoo artist’s home was relatively pleasant but not as affluent as the palace and Ted ducked around the side of a nearby house, cursing his finery. Had he thought on he might have been able to wear a slave’s clothing and blend in far easier than he could currently. And he had the feeling that he would soon need to blend in. He had no intention of leaving the area until he saw Phil again, already certain that the man would be leaving after a suitable pause for Ted to be long gone (or so he would think) before he acted upon the information that he had.
~::~
Phil could have cursed the second that Ted left, but he was careful to keep himself contained. He didn’t drink or indulge in other vices people of his time did-the only vice he had was perhaps his tattooing, both for others and on his own body. Forcing himself to keep calm Phil then reached down and picked up his cleaning cloth; using some boiling water he kept nearby alongside some alcohol, he cleaned each needle and then placed them away. In his line of work, much like a soldier with their armour, he knew the importance of keeping his equipment in tip-top condition. Shaking his head somewhat Phil then shouldered his cloak on, pulled the hood up over his head and then exited his house. Closing the door firmly behind him he started through the streets in the direction of the palace.
He didn’t see Ted as he went and assumed that the Price had probably headed back home-likely to fetch reinforcements if he was going to have a face-to-face confrontation with The Beast. Brock, as Phil had said, wasn’t a man to be taken lightly and Phil would be sorry (although not surprised) if he heard that something had happened to their newly returned Prince because he had been too caught up in his emotions and hadn’t utilised his head enough to heed the warnings that had been given to him. Cutting through a side alley towards the back of the palace Phil then slowed when he reached some of the old abandoned stable-huts. For all they weren’t used anymore the smell of horses and hay was still pungent in the air-a phantom mist that would never vanished despite best efforts.
Reaching the door of the one he wanted he glanced around with narrowed eyes, didn’t spot anyone following him or lingering nearby, and pushed the door open without pause. He closed it behind him, but not before Ted had crept right up to the side that was closest towards another hut and pressed against it to listen at the small window.
“You really fucked up this time,” he said without preamble, watching dispassionately as Paul squawked and flailed, tumbling to the dirt-floor and staring up at the newcomer with wide eyes, relief replacing his fear after a few seconds but even from the distance he was at Will could see there was an uneasy hesitance in his eyes even as his lips stretched into a smile.
“Punk, so good to see you!”
“You should have known better than to trust Brock with something like this, Paul, and when they find you you’ll all be for it.”
“Who’s going to tell?” Paul’s voice wavered somewhat, several octaves higher with his forced cheeriness, eyes darting around as though expecting the royal guards to jump out on him any moment even though there wasn’t anywhere they could hide in the small room. As his eyes checked the room Ted felt his heart leap, both with excitement and concern; Cody was seated upon a small, rough wooden stool and his hands were bound before him. There was a red mark around his neck, quite irritated, as though something had been placed there and a white-hot ball of rage ignited in the pit of his stomach to a raging inferno instead of a smouldering, somewhat maintainable candle-flame. He started to rise up, intending to burst in there and arrest the man, Paul (whom only looked vaguely familiar to Ted if he was honest, and he thought he would remember someone to… yeah) for what he had done with Cody, and demand his lover’s freedom and the names of all of Paul’s accomplices (including Phil if it turned out that he actually had something to do with the incident as opposed to just realising that Paul had), but Phil was speaking once more and he forced himself to keep still.
“I just thought I should come by and let you know that Prince Theodore already knows that Brock has something to do with-“his eyes darted to Cody for the first time as though he had just noticed him and he quirked a brow marginally, “-the visiting Prince going missing. He doesn’t look happy and I’d hate to be you, or Brock, or Curtis when they catch up to you. I trust Curtis had a hand in this too since he is one of your men.”
“You were my man too once,” Paul said almost meekly, levelling puppy-dog eyes on Phil as though cajoling him into keeping quiet for the sake of the bond they apparently once had. Phil, however, looked classically unmoved by the unspoken plea.
“Once, I’ve since moved on. You were a good friend to me once, Paul and that’s why I’m here now. If you know what’s good for you then you’ll let the Prince go, make up some story for Brock to cover whatever he’s done, and grovel like fuck should the Prince ever come looking for you. Oh, and you’d better start grovelling at the little cute one sitting over there-“the words were true but that didn’t stop Ted bristling over Cody’s attractiveness being complimented on by another man, Cody looking startled and then uncomfortable as he dropped his gaze to his knees, “Because if you do this right and let him go without any more incident, promise never to so much as look at him again, he might conveniently forget the faces and facts of the people who attempted to kidnap him for their own gain.”
Paul looked as though Phil had just kicked him in the teeth-though it might have been more pleasant for him if he had. He sputtered, his shiny face inching closer to puce with every passing second. His eyes kept darting from Phil, to the door, to Cody and then back to the door again as though waiting for something. “I can’t just let him go!” the man reached a frequency that made Cody wince and Phil also wrinkled his nose slightly in response before then recovering himself and levelling Paul with a look that was almost parental, demanding why without even speaking. Paul hesitated, biting down on his bottom lip momentarily before then standing, making his way closer to Phil and grasping at his wrist firmly. “I can’t let him go now because you know as well as I do that he-“he indicated Cody with a jerk of his head, “Won’t just forget what happened even if I do! He’ll go straight to Theodore and Brett and if he does that then we’re all dead like you said! If it’s going to cost me everything to lose then I might as well keep going to try to win and gain more first!”
Shaking his head Phil frowned, the smallest flicker of sorrow coming into his eyes, “This was why our ties frayed, Paul; you got greedy, couldn’t just be happy with what you had, the reputation you had built. You always had to want more and always had to drag people down into it with you. Brock would have managed without you even if he wasn’t where he once was and Curtis would have lived out a comfortable if mediocre life thanks to his father’s influence… but you couldn’t just leave well enough alone. I hope it was worth it, Paul, I really hope it was worth it.”
He turned and started back to the door, shaking off the hands clutching at him like the desperate claws of a bird, “Phil!”
“No, Paul. You got yourself and them into it, you can all get yourself out,” he sent one last look over his shoulder at Paul, shook his head a final time and then flicked the hood of his robe up back over his head and walked back the way he had come.
For the briefest of moments Ted toyed with following him once more, running to get reinforcements since he no knew where they had hidden Cody, but pushed the idea from his mind almost as quickly as it had come because he knew that chances were time was running out on Cody coming out of this without sustaining even more mental and physical damage than he already had. Standing slowly, watching through the window to make sure that Paul hadn’t seen him, Ted then started around to the front door of the abandoned stable. He lamented fleetingly that his pleasant childhood memories of riding his favourite steed Riggs would be forever tainted by these treacherous deeds, but then forced himself to focus.
He needed to get Cody out of there now whilst Paul was alone. He was angry, he had no doubt that feeling like this he could give The Beast a run for his money, but the Prince also had enough self-awareness left to know that he would be asking for trouble if he went charging in head-first without considering his options. And right now his own option that worked in his favour alone was this one.
Ted was so lost in his thoughts, however, that he didn’t notice the hulking figure advancing towards him until a dark shadow fell over him like an ominous storm-cloud, turning in time to receive a hard right-hook to the jaw. Pain exploded over one side of his face and he fell to one knee, though managed (with some effort) to retain consciousness. When large, meaty hands wrapped around his throat he gripped at them, clawing at the fingers and kicking out against his assailant. The smile of Brock’s face struck Ted more than the gravity of the fact that the man was trying to choke the very life out of him and he realised that he was insane; all of those years on the battlefield and then being disgraced as he had was enough to send the man over the edge. Well, he had to have taken leave of some senses at least to ever think that this was a good idea.
Despite his best efforts Ted felt himself struggling, his knees starting to give of their own volition because of his lacking oxygen, his hands beginning to turn limp as they fought against his assailant’s. However, just when he thought he might lose the battle and surrender to the sweet, oblivious darkness of unconsciousness Brock’s hands suddenly dropped from his throat and he slumped down on the ground. He choked, coughing and panting as coloured lights danced in and out of his vision.
“Your Highness, are you alright?!” a concerned voice floated down at him, seemingly from far away, and Ted gingerly lifted his head up.
“Josh,” he smiled fleetingly, “How-“he coughed again and felt arms go around him.
“Don’t try to talk,” Josh said firmly, pale and sweat beading on his brow, “It’s going to be OK now sire, we have you both.”
“Both?” Ted asked groggily, darkness threatening to overtake him once more.
“Teddy!”
That voice, Ted thought hazily, he knew that voice and he had to answer that voice. That was who he had been searching for all this time-Cody. Without thinking Ted reached upwards towards the brightness burning at his blacking eyes and smiled softly when Cody’s face filled his line of vision, a hand grasping firmly at his own
“We found you,” Ted croaked, smiling dazedly.
Cody hiccupped and sniffed, his eyes shiny even as he smiled and squeezed Ted’s hand, “Yeah, you did. I knew you’d come and get me, thank you.”
Ted’s eyes closed then and he slumped against Cody’s lap.
“Teddy!” Cody cried and shook his shoulders, only reluctantly holding when Josh firmly took hold of his hands and stilled him.
“It’s OK Sire,” he murmured softly, though he too looked a little pale, “He’s just fainted, he should come around soon.” The bruises blossoming around his throat from The Beast’s fingers explained why, and Josh was admittedly amazed he had retained consciousness as long as he had--- especially since the bleeding lip and bruised cheek indicated that the strangling wasn’t the only thing that he had endured in the meantime.
Cody nodded stiffly though that didn’t stop him praying to every God he’d ever heard of, good and bad, that Ted had sustained no lasting damage during this encounter because of him. A harsh roar rent the air and startled Cody hard, he and Josh snapping their attention back to the fight that was still raging behind them. Evan was standing to the side with his sword poised at Paul’s throat to keep him still (not that anyone present genuinely believed he’d run now, he knew the game was up and was instead thinking furiously about the best way he could minimise his involvement) though his attention was also wholly fixed upon Randy, John and Brock who were fighting furiously in the open space of the stable court-yard.
Each man was already ruddy-faced and sweating, blood flowing quite steadily from the wound that Evan had created on the back of Brock’s head when he had struck him with the hilt of his sword when he had been attempting to throttle Ted, and yet he was fighting as furiously as his two opponents who were not wounded.
“You were trusted!” John shouted accusingly, his blade whistling through the air as he swung with all he might at Brock who managed to just feint out of the way of the move in time to avoid beig eviscerated there where he stood.
“Trusted? What would you know about hard-work and trust? I am your superior and you dare raise your weapon to me, Cena?” Brock roared back and something hardened in John’s expression.
“You used to be my superior. But now? You’re nothing more than scum underneath my sandals, and I will delight in taking your head.”
Another bellowing roar emitted from Brock as he swung his own thick, heavy blade out, nicking John’s shoulder and causing him to hiss loudly as blood welled in the wound, starting to trickle down his arm and over his wrist, plinking silently from the blade to the dirt floor thanks to his increased heart-rate causing the blood to flow faster. Randy ducked as the momentum of the blade headed in his direction, just avoiding having himself scalped in consequence.
He charged Brock from one side as John did the other, and unbelievably Brock managed to move his blade fast enough to parry both of their blows. Sparks flew as they continued to fight and at one stage part of Brock’s sword even snapped off because of the exertion that was being placed into its use. The two men charged again, determined that they could wear The Beast down and then remove him from the equation; their eyes met and both knew it wasn’t in either of their views to let Brock live, to merely incapacitate him until he could be secured and brought to trial-no, Brock had to be eliminated.
What he had done, and what he was attempting to do now, proved that he was too dangerous to keep on sharing the same realm as they.
“Curse your black soul to Hades and may he piss on you nightly!” Randy snarled, ducking low and smashing the hilt of his sword into Brock’s knee.
There was a sickening crunch that made Cody’s stomach turn threateningly and as the young Prince managed to keep from losing his breakfast all over the ground Brock was forced down to one knee, though he was still fighting--- perhaps even more furiously than before. His eyes were wide, wild, and if Cody didn’t know better he would think he was watching a genuine animal instead of a man.
“Brock!” Paul’s voice suddenly rang out, choked and piteous, pleading and panicked, “Stop it, please, just give in! It’s over!”
“Never surrender!” Brock snarled back, and Paul looked as though he’d been slapped by the words; in that moment Cody realised that Brock had probably never disobeyed Paul before, and that the man also knew in that moment that Brock had signed his own death-warrant if they hadn’t already by what they had attempted to do.
Paul hung his head, sinking down to his knees and covering his face with his hands. He didn’t even seem concerned about the blade that was still trained on him-although albeit loosely because Evan was still watching Randy. He was as grey as the rest of them, though with each passing second the colour seemed to be worsening. He had been in combat and he knew there was nothing more dangerous than an opponent who wasn’t afraid to die.
He saw what Brock was going to do moments before Brock did, and he dropped his sword and ran forward without so much as a backwards glance at the man he was supposed to be keeping captive. The ‘schwick!’ sound that emitted as the sword pierced his side reminded him of the noise that was made when Brodus skewered a side of pork was the spit back home and he had the strangest desire to laugh.
He wasn’t laughing moments later though when Brock’s newly severed head hit the ground next to him, adding to the blood that was pooling around him, a small sense of warm satisfaction and relief through the wintery chill that was spreading from the open wound in his side.