Everything Not Forbidden is Compulsory 2/3
Title: Everything Not Forbidden is Compulsory
Type: bandom
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, vague Jon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick
Word Count: ~14000
Time: three weeks
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: I wrote the first part of this fic for no_tags . But the story wasn't done for me yet, apparently! Everything else was written after the challenge was over. For those that didn't participate or read the no_tags fics this year, this is my translation of the Robin Hood mythos into bandom. Title from The Once and Future King. Also, hopefulgenius made me an absolutely beautiful mix for this piece, and I strongly encourage everyone to download and listen to while you're reading. It really does capture a lot of the emotions that I wanted this fic to have. She's also my tireless, amazing beta.
Summary: Ryan is seven when he meets Brendon Urie.
Mix; Masterpost; Part 1; Part 2; Part 3/Epilogue
When Spencer and the others come back later that night, they all seem surprised by the fact that Ryan is curled up on one of the upper branches of the oak, alone.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer asks, brow furrowing.
Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t know. Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan repeats, and they all leave it at that.
***
Brendon doesn’t actually go far. He apparently stayed on the outer edges of the camp’s grounds for the rest of that night, but by morning, he’s back.
“Go home, Brendon,” Ryan tells him, busying himself with carving out a couple of new arrows.
Brendon sets his jaw, eyes red-rimmed and fixed in a harsh glare. “No.”
“It wasn’t an option.” Ryan’s cut arm burns from the exertion of carving, but he pretends not to notice. “You need to go home. You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” Brendon says.
Ryan looks up at him then, face grim. He looks meaningfully at Spencer, who is making breakfast with Jon. “I already told you I-”
“Don’t be so conceited,” Brendon snaps. “This isn’t about you, Ryan.”
The words sting, and they shouldn’t. Ryan doesn’t want Brendon to be pining over him anymore than he wants to be pining over Brendon. But he is pining, and the idea that Brendon isn’t hurts. “Then what is it about? This life isn’t a vacation, Brendon. There’s no such thing as fairytales.”
Brendon’s mouth thins at that, and Ryan knows he hit a sore spot. “I don’t want to be a part of what William is doing. The people of my father’s land are suffering just like the people here in Nottingham, and I can’t stand to sit around and do nothing anymore. I’m here to help, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Ryan knows that arguing with Brendon further is useless. They’re both as stubborn as they ever were as children.
So he takes it to his men instead. He tells them that he doesn’t want them to make any sort of contact with Brendon. No talking to him. No helping him out. No giving him food or shelter. Brendon should be at the palace being waited on hand and foot with a change of clothes at every meal and a feast for dinner every night, not running from the sheriff in a constant game of cat and mouse, wondering every day if today he’ll get caught and hanged.
Ryan just wants Brendon to be safe. At night, he berates himself for ever bringing him here in the first place. He’d let emotion get in the way of logic for those few precious moments.
But Brendon will return to the safety of the palace, one way or another.
***
Brendon doesn’t leave. During the day, he hangs around camp and tries to make conversation with people who refuse to speak to him. At night he disappears, but he’s always back the next day.
How he’s surviving absolutely baffles Ryan for about a week or so before he notices that Spencer, Dallon or Jon, at every single meal, is filling up their bowl with twice as much food as they normally eat, then disappearing, claiming they either don’t feel well or are tired when asked.
Ryan follows Dallon one day, silently moving from behind one tree to the next. He discovers that Brendon is set up with a little camp of his own not too far away from them. He’s got blankets and food, tinder for a fire, a couple of sets of green outfits hanging on a clothesline.
Ryan can’t help but feel a little betrayed by his friends, but he can’t very well blame them either. They all ultimately just wanted to help other people. How could they refuse to help someone that was right in front of them every single day?
So, he pretends not to notice when the men sneak away to Brendon’s little camp or start responding when Brendon talks to them during the day.
Ryan just wishes he knew what to do that would make Brendon just go home.
***
“Hey,” Spencer says one day, “let’s go to the orphanage.”
Ryan’s eyebrows raise. “I thought you said you already delivered the gold.”
“We did, but the kids were all asking where you were. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing much around here anyway.” Spencer nudges his shoulder. “It’d do you some good to go see the kids.”
Ryan nods his assent. “Okay.”
***
Ryan loves going to visit the orphanage. To William he’s a crook, to the people he’s a helping hand, but to the kids, he’s a flesh and blood hero. Whenever he gets time, he likes to teach them how to shoot, and he’ll tell them stories about the raids he and the men go on, embellishing a little around the edges.
It’s been a while since the last visit; he can tell just how long by how hard the kids fling themselves at his legs, almost taking his feet right out from under him.
Ryan scoops a little girl up into his arms, and smiles. “Hello, Amy. How are you today?” She just blushes and buries her face into his shoulder, giggling happily.
“Ryan, Spencer,” Greta greets them, laying down a book she’d apparently been reading to the children, “it’s good to see you two.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Greta,” Spencer says, grabbing his own set of kids into his arms, twin boys from the looks of it. “Jesus, what have you been feeding these kids? They’re growing like beanstalks.”
Greta laughs. “Well, that’s what happens with five year olds. Turn around for one minute, and suddenly they’re half-grown.”
“How’s everything been going around here?” Some of the kids are grabbing Ryan’s shirt, pulling at it for his attention, so he kneels down to their level and is instantly smothered in hugs and babbling children.
Greta comes to his rescue, shooing the kids off of him. “Come on, kids, everybody give Ryan and Spencer some room to breathe. They’re our guests, remember? And we have to be polite to guests.” The children make a collective sound of disappointment but back off a little bit. Greta shakes her head hopelessly. “What am I going to do with you all? Anyway, we’ve been doing just fine, Ryan. Thanks to you and your men, anyway.”
“No trouble with that mean old Prince William?” Spencer asks, lightly tickling the feet of one of the boys he’s holding. The boy shrieks and wiggles out of his grasp, pulling his brother down with him.
“No, thank goodness. I’ve been watching what we spend, and as long as the taxes don’t go up anymore, we should be all right for a few months.”
Greta is smiling, like she always is, but it doesn’t fool either Ryan or Spencer. She looks tired. Even with Hayley, who had once been an orphan at the orphanage herself, and several other volunteers helping out, taking care of twenty kids all day, every day is hard work without having to worry about taxes.
Ryan wishes he could help out more, but he doesn’t want to cause trouble for them with William either. He’d never let himself live it down if the orphanage closed because one of the guards thought they saw him here. “I really wish we could do more, Greta.”
“Ryan, don’t you even think about worrying about that. You’re doing the best you can, just like everybody else.” She picks up a baby crawling at her feet, rocking him gently. “What else could I possibly ask for?”
“Not having to worry about stupid laws and whether or not you can afford to feed everyone this month?” Spencer suggests bitterly.
Greta shrugs. “What good would wanting those things do? None. So stop worrying about it. Would you boys like to join us for dinner? Hayley is in the kitchen cooking it as we speak.”
Amy makes a sour face at that, and Ryan laughs. “No, thank you, Greta. From what I understand, Hayley isn’t the best cook in Nottingham.”
“If you keep talking, I’ll strap you down and force feed you, Ryan!” Hayley calls from the next room, apparently having heard him.
“You’re a fabulous cook, Hayley,” Greta assures her. “Don’t let Ryan get to you. He’s only teasing.”
Ryan wrinkles his nose, and Amy giggles, wrinkling her nose back at him. Ryan smiles and gives her an extra little squeeze. “Were you guys reading a book before we left, Amy? Would you mind if I read started where Ms. Greta left off? Of course, if Ms. Greta doesn’t mind.”
The kids flock to Greta, begging her to let Ryan read to them, and she holds the book out to them. “By all means. I’ll just go help Hayley with the food.”
The children run the book to Ryan, handing it to him. He sits down on the floor, crossing his legs and placing Amy in his lap. “Cinderella?”
“My favorite,” Amy says, snuggling into her spot.
“I like it too,” he says, opening the book. “Where were you guys?”
“The page with the picture of the mice,” one of the boys pipes up.
Ryan flips to the page, and starts reading. He reads the rest of Cinderella plus another book and is about to start a third when Hayley comes in with a huge pot, setting it on the table. “All right, kiddos, time for some food.”
“But Ryan was going to read us Jack and the Beanstalk!”
“If Ms. Hayley says it’s time to eat, then it’s time to eat,” Ryan says, pulling Amy from his lap and setting her on her feet. “It’s time for Spencer and me to get back home, anyway.”
Greta comes in from the kitchen holding her own large pot. “Like I said, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.”
Ryan knows that food is hard to come by for so many kids. Greta and Hayley look like they’ve both lost weight. He wouldn’t stay even if he was starving at this point. “We really can’t, but thank you, Greta.”
Spencer holds a small bag of gold out to Greta, who takes it solemnly. She bites her lip, her eyes shining. She pulls Spencer in for a tight hug, then does the same for Ryan. “Ryan, you do so much for us,” she whispers into his shoulder. “Some day, they’ll call you a hero.”
Ryan laughs softly. “First, they have to stop calling me the villain.”
Greta pulls away from him, quickly wiping around her eyes. She smiles. “It’ll happen. In the meantime, you take care of yourselves, okay? You’re all skin and bones.”
Spencer laughs. “He’s always been skin and bones.”
Ryan makes a face at him before taking Greta’s hand, bowing and giving it a light kiss in respect. If anyone deserved to be called a lady, it was Greta. “Goodbye, Greta.” He straightens, then waves to Hayley and the kids. “I’ll come back soon, okay?”
They wave back, and Ryan and Spencer begin their journey back to Sherwood.
***
They walk in silence for a few moments before Spencer says, “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Brendon that day?”
Ryan is taken off guard, barely having time to bristle before answering. “No.”
Spencer stops then, his voice firm when he speaks. “You keep calling him a liability. If he really is a liability, he needs to be eliminated.”
Ryan turns to him, his expression dark.
They watch each other, the silence stretching thin and tight between them until Spencer sighs, tension releasing from his shoulders. “We all know that he’s not really a liability, Ryan. Brendon would never betray you. He’d do anything for you just like you’d do anything for him. That’s the reason William basically baited you with him, anyone with half a brain could see that.”
Ryan sets his jaw, and his voice drips with sarcasm. “Well, don’t hold back, Spencer. Tell me what you really think.”
Spencer tiredly runs his hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to be an ass, Ryan. We all need to know what’s really going on. It’s not just your life that’s put in jeopardy when loose ends aren’t taken care of.”
“You make it sound more dramatic than it is,” Ryan says, though he knows that Spencer is right. Spencer is almost always right. “I told Brendon that I was in love with you.”
Spencer’s blinks in surprise. “What? Why?”
“I thought he’d go back home. If he told William that he felt in danger if he hadn’t gone with me or something, William would have to take him back. Brendon could probably even get away with telling him the truth. William couldn’t risk breaking ties with Lord Urie.”
“Wow.” Spencer stares at him, shaking his head. “Ryan, you’re a piece of work. When are you going to come off your damn inferiority complex and realize that you’re not the only one hurting here?”
Ryan scowls. If anyone would be on his side, he thought it would have been Spencer. “You just don’t understand. This life isn’t the life I want for Brendon. The life of a criminal, always on the run… It’s not what he deserves. Hell, it’s not what any of us deserves. This life-”
“Won’t last forever,” Spencer cuts him off, his face softening.
There’s another silence between them that reeks of defeat. Ryan softly says, “What if it does? I can’t let Brendon live like this.”
“Ryan,” Spencer reaches out and squeezes Ryan’s shoulder, “that’s not your decision to make.”
Ryan opens his mouth to speak again.
“Ryan!”
He and Spencer immediately turn and pull their bows from their backs, drawing an arrow and notching it in one smooth, automatic motion.
The person doesn’t seem to care that he’s got two of the most highly skilled archers in England taking aim at him. He keeps running toward them.
“Gerard?” Spencer asks.
Ryan lowers his bow just as Gerard gets to them, grabbing Ryan by the lapels. “They took him,” Gerard gasps.
Ryan holds Gerard up by his elbows; he’s fairly sure Gerard would collapse if he let go. “What? Gerard, what happened?”
“Frank.” Gerard looks up at Ryan with wide, terrified eyes. “They arrested Frank. They said they have reason to believe that he’s been talking to you. He’s been charged with treason.”
“Shit,” Spencer mutters.
“You’ve got to help him, Ryan,” Gerard pleads.
Ryan pulls him upright as best he can. “Of course we will. Frank is one of our oldest friends.” Ryan offers a reassuring smile. “No man left behind. Come with us to camp. We’ll get Frank back.”
Gerard bites his lip and nods.
***
When they finally get back to the oak tree, Ryan makes sure to calmly give Gerard food and to set him up to rest. Afterward, he explains the situation to the rest of the group.
As soon as Ryan tells the men what happened, everyone gets up and starts getting ready to go. They understand the gravity of the situation.
Brendon has been standing off to the side the entire time Ryan spoke, listening just like the others. As Ryan is gathering up arrows for his quiver, Brendon approaches him and says, “William accused him of treason?”
Ryan just nods, counting out twenty four arrows. He regrets that he hadn’t made more recently. Even if that was the maximum amount of arrows his quiver could hold, he could find somewhere to stash a few more, if he had to.
“Then they’re planning to kill him.”
Ryan looks at Brendon then. The boy looks filled to the brim with anxiety. “That’s what happens to people who associate with me. He’ll be hanged at dawn if we don’t get to him first.”
Brendon’s expression changes quickly, shifting into disdain. “Give me a bow. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Ryan turns away from him, heading toward the area where Jon is distributing darker clothing to better disguise the men at night.
“Yes, I am.”
Ryan waves him off. “Brendon, I don’t have time to fight about this. Someone’s life is in danger.”
“Then stop fighting a losing battle with me, Ryan.” Ryan looks over his shoulder at Brendon, whose hands are fisting tightly. “Look, you either give me a bow and I go in armed, or you don’t give me a bow and I don’t have a way to defend myself. Either way, I’m going.”
Ryan takes a deep breath. Brendon has never been one to back down. He’s all fire and rash decisions, all emotion. It’s something Ryan loves about Brendon. It’s something that’s going to get Brendon killed. “Fine. Go tell Dallon I said to give you a bow and some arrows.”
Brendon smiles and heads off without another word.
***
Ryan crouches down next to Spencer, cloaked in the shadow of the castle jail’s walls. He jerks his head to the side, and Spencer, dressed in a guard’s uniform, nods. He walks into the moonlight and easily approaches Ryland, who has been guarding the castle gates. The two speak briefly, then disappear together into the night.
Ryan waits until he can’t hear them speaking anymore before he motions for the others to move toward him. “All right,” he whispers as they gather around him. “Jon, Dallon, you two get the key. Spencer should have gotten it from Ryland and dropped it near the gate. Everyone else, you stay on the border, near the trees and in the castle shadows as back up. I want everything to involve as few people as possible.”
“And you?” Jon asks.
Ryan smirks. “I’ll be in the treasury, where else? I’m going to shoot an arrow into a window of the prison. Jon, I want you to rescue Frank, then look for that arrow and tie the rope that will be attached to it down somewhere. I’ll be sending some of the gold to you, and I’ll carry some myself. ”
“I want to come with you,” Brendon says.
“No,” Ryan says sharply. “If you go near this castle, I’ll make sure you’re left here. I promise you that, Brendon.”
Brendon looks like he’s about to speak again, but Jon places a hand on his arm and stops him. For once, Brendon relents, nodding.
Ryan returns his focus to the others and says, “Good luck, everyone.”
***
Ryan is starting to regret not sending Spencer to infiltrate the treasury instead of distract the guard. Spencer is so much better than him at using a grappling hook to scale high walls.
“It’s all in the arms,” he hears Spencer tell him in the back of his mind.
Ryan grits his teeth and puts one hand over the other, pulling his own body weight up inch by inch. By the time he reaches the balcony, sweat is beading at his temples, his arms are burning, and he’s breathing heavily. He swears softly to himself and vows never to use a grappling hook again.
He hoists himself up over the balcony’s edge and ties a rope to an arrow, shooting it down into a window near the top of the prison. He waits until he feels a tug from the other side, then ties his own end down.
He opens up the treasury’s doors, stopping short.
There are piles and piles of gold coins everywhere. In one corner is a small stack of papers, and when Ryan picks it up, he sees that they’re deeds from houses and businesses that presumably have been taken to make up for unpaid taxes. A bad taste forms in the back of Ryan’s mouth, and he pulls his leather bag from his back, taking out a bunch of bags and rope from within it. The first thing he does is stuff the papers into a sack, tie it off, and send it down the rope to Jon and Dallon. The angle of the rope is steep enough that the bag doesn’t stop sliding until it’s in the window. Ryan thinks he sees Jon give him a thumbs up, and he smiles. Good.
He starts filling bags as quickly and quietly as he can. It’s harder than it sounds; the stack of coins clink against each other every time he shifts them, and if he picks up too many at a time, the whole stack shifts like it’s about to fall over. The work is tedious, but his adrenaline is soaring, and he quickly finds a rhythm. Before he knows it he’s used all of his smaller bags and is filling his larger leather satchel.
There’s not much gold left, just a couple of small clusters here and there. Ryan hates that he didn’t bring just a few more bags, but it’s too late now. He shoulders his bag, grunting under its weight, and prepares to slowly make his way back down the rope he climbed up on.
“Ryan.”
Ryan jolts at his name, swerving on his heel. William is standing in the doorway, a drawn sword at his side. Ryan can feel his heart pounding in his ears. He starts toward the doors to the balcony, but the bag weighs him down and William gets to him first, swiping the sword at Ryan.
Ryan dodges, drawing a dagger from his hip and dropping the bag. “William, I don’t want to fight you.”
“You’re a thief, a liar, and a traitor,” William says, his mouth a hard line.
William swings at Ryan again, and he deflects with his dagger. His arm, still bandaged and healing from the cut Gabe dealt him, burns in protest. Ryan’s voice is strained as he says, “I never wanted this.”
He tries not to wince when William swings again, this time from above, and Ryan drops into a crouch, blocking again.
Their blades scrape against each other, screeching in protest.
Ryan kicks out, swiping William’s legs out from under him. He kicks away William’s sword and moves over him, putting his dagger to William’s throat. “I have to do what’s right by the people, William.”
William scowls at him, still dignified and entitled, even with his life hanging by a thread. “You fancy yourself a hero, but you’re nothing more than a coward who hides behind his band of criminals.”
Ryan searches William’s face, looking for any hint of the person that raised him. He’s more disappointed than he should be to find none. Ryan’s own face drains of anger and stress, slides into hopelessness and pity. “Maybe all of that’s true. But,” he raises the dagger, and in that moment, he sees fear in William’s face and thinks, well, at least he’s still human. He brings the dagger down, burying it in the sleeve of William’s shirt and effectively pinning him down. “I’m not a murderer.”
A sharp pain erupts from Ryan’s shoulder, and he looks up to see Gabe with his sword drawn, Ryland and Siska, who is notching a second arrow on his bow, flanking him. “How does it feel to be brought down by your own weapon, Ryan?”
“Ryland,” Ryan smiles grimly, “nice to see that Spencer’s charm eventually wore off. You two looked like you were getting along so well, I was afraid you two were going to start necking before it was all said and done.”
Ryland flushes, growling out, “You’re just lucky he escaped before I was able to kill him.”
Ryan breathes a sigh of relief. At least Spencer was safe. Ryan presses down on the arrow, trying to keep it from moving too much as he begins to stand. Ryland and Nate jump, ready to shoot, but Gabe stops them. “Let him stand. He can be a man and take what’s coming to him with his face held high for once in his life.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet, Sheriff,” Ryan says, smiling. “But you should have let them shoot me when you had the chance.”
Before they can react, almost before Ryan can even think about what he’s doing, he dashes onto the balcony, throwing himself over the edge.
***
Brendon, Spencer and Jon have been waiting by the castle lake, beneath a willow tree whose branches offered them a place to hide. Frank had been a little roughed up when they got to him, but he’d been able to walk once they picked the locks of his shackles. They handed both Frank and the gold off to Dallon and the others; now they were anxiously watching the balcony of the treasury, waiting for Ryan to reemerge.
“Where is he?” Brendon whispers, eyes fixed on the doorway. “Shouldn’t he be out by now?”
No one says anything, because they all know he should be. Ryan should be out, and they all should be halfway back to camp by now.
But they’re not.
Brendon bites his lip anxiously, and Jon puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
There’s a dark flash from the door, and Jon says, “Is that..?”
It’s Ryan, Brendon thinks, his heart leaping. Ryan climbs above the stone railing and a flurry of arrows fly around him.
“He’s too high. Hitting that water is going is going to be like hitting a brick wall,” Spencer says, fear accenting his tone.
“No, Ryan, don’t!” Brendon yells, but it’s too late. Ryan jumps off the balcony, falling toward the water with a fresh spray of arrows following him into the lake.
Without another thought, Brendon jumps in after him. The water is freezing, and he feels his lungs automatically seize up from the cold. But he doesn’t worry about his instant need to breathe. He pushes forward, remembering how he taught Ryan how to swim in this very lake so many summers ago. An arrow pierces through the water next to Brendon, and he knows that he must be close now.
He dives down deeper, his lungs screaming. He catches a glimpse of Ryan, eyes widening at the sight of the arrow in his shoulder, and he pushes himself to swim faster. He grabs Ryan around his waist and uses the last ounce of strength he has to pull him to the surface.
Brendon gasps for air, inhaling a mouthful of water that leaves him sputtering. The arrows have stopped raining down now, and Brendon guesses that the guards either ran out or have assumed that Ryan is dead. He focuses on keeping Ryan’s head above water and swims for shore as quickly as he can.
Spencer and Jon are waiting for them there, and Jon takes Ryan from him while Spencer hauls Brendon up.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, patting Brendon on the back as he heaves.
He nods and crawls over to where Jon has laid Ryan out. Jon snaps the end of the arrow off and checks his wrist for a pulse. Ryan’s lips are blue, and his hair is plastered to his forehead. The area where the arrow is imbedded is stained red.
Brendon feels like he’s about to cry. “Is he..?”
Jon doesn’t say anything, just softly lays Ryan’s hand back beside him and bows his head.
“No.” Brendon’s vision blurs. “Ryan, don’t… don’t leave me.”
“You son of a bitch!” Spencer yells at the balcony. “I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill you, William. I won’t rest until you’re dead!”
Jon grabs Spencer’s wrist and forces him into a hug. Spencer struggles against it for a moment, then sags against Jon, burying his face in Jon’s neck and fisting his hands into his shirt.
Brendon’s body shudders with a sob. He readjusts carefully, oh so carefully, lifting Ryan’s head into his lap and slides his thumb down the line of Ryan’s jaw. “I love you, Ryan.”
Ryan shifts in Brendon’s lap, and his eyes screw tightly as he starts coughing up water and pushing himself up on his elbows. He grimaces, pressing his hand to his shoulder.
Brendon blinks and immediately grabs onto Ryan, smashing their mouths together. Ryan winces and makes a pained sound, and Brendon pulls away. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Fuck, Ryan. I thought you were dead.”
Ryan offers a pained smile. “Me? Never.”
Spencer comes to Ryan’s side, touching his arm gingerly. “Come on. Let’s go home and get that arrow out of you.”
Spencer and Brendon hoist Ryan to his feet, and the four slowly head back into Sherwood Forest.
***
When Ryan wakes up, his vision is swimming. He’s still a little hungover from all the alcohol they gave him to cope with the pain of having the arrow extracted and the wound bandaged. When he first sees Brendon, he thinks he’s still half asleep and dreaming.
Brendon smiles down at him. “Hello, sleepyhead. How do you feel?”
Ryan finds it exhausting just to smile back. “Tired. Is Frank okay?”
“A few scrapes and bruises and a nicely blackened eye from the guards but nothing permanent. Gerard is still worrying over him like he’ll never walk again, though.” Brendon picks up a rag from a bowl of water that is sitting beside the mat Ryan is on. He dabs Ryan’s forehead with it. “I think Frank’s going to go batshit if Gerard insists that he can’t feed himself one more time.”
Ryan closes his eyes, appreciating the cool water against his skin. He must be running a fever. “That sounds about right. If Gerard really needs someone to feed, he can come to me. I don’t think I ever want to move again.”
“I’m sure Gerard would gladly take you up on that. Any time he opens his mouth, he’s either fussing over Frank or praising you for how much of a super hero you are. If you’re hungry, I’ll get you something. I think Spencer made stew.”
Ryan snorts. “Why do we always have stew? Anyway, no. I just want to lie here a little longer.”
Brendon nods. “Okay. Spencer will probably be coming in here soon to check your bandages.”
Guilt instantly darts through Ryan’s mind. “I lied about Spencer and me.”
“I kind of got that when I caught Jon and Spencer half-undressed in a tree one day.” Brendon gently pushes Ryan’s hair out of his eyes. “I was just waiting for you to come around.”
“I don’t-“
“Please, Ryan,” Brendon cuts him off, “please let’s not do another titles-are-everything-Brendon-doesn’t-know-what’s-best-for-him song and dance. I love you, Ryan. I’ll do anything it takes to be with you, whether that’s renouncing my title and running from William for the rest of my life or being your royal consort when Pete finally comes home and announces you his heir. I love you, and I’ve loved you since I was six years old. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
Ryan reaches up for him with his unbandaged arm, says, “Come here,” and Brendon complies, lowering his head so Ryan can slide his fingers into his hair and press a soft, slow kiss to his mouth. When they part, Ryan whispers, “I love you, Brendon. Stay with me.”
Brendon touches his forehead to Ryan’s, grinning. “Always.”
Part 3/Epilogue
Type: bandom
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, vague Jon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick
Word Count: ~14000
Time: three weeks
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: I wrote the first part of this fic for no_tags . But the story wasn't done for me yet, apparently! Everything else was written after the challenge was over. For those that didn't participate or read the no_tags fics this year, this is my translation of the Robin Hood mythos into bandom. Title from The Once and Future King. Also, hopefulgenius made me an absolutely beautiful mix for this piece, and I strongly encourage everyone to download and listen to while you're reading. It really does capture a lot of the emotions that I wanted this fic to have. She's also my tireless, amazing beta.
Summary: Ryan is seven when he meets Brendon Urie.
Mix; Masterpost; Part 1; Part 2; Part 3/Epilogue
When Spencer and the others come back later that night, they all seem surprised by the fact that Ryan is curled up on one of the upper branches of the oak, alone.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer asks, brow furrowing.
Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t know. Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan repeats, and they all leave it at that.
***
Brendon doesn’t actually go far. He apparently stayed on the outer edges of the camp’s grounds for the rest of that night, but by morning, he’s back.
“Go home, Brendon,” Ryan tells him, busying himself with carving out a couple of new arrows.
Brendon sets his jaw, eyes red-rimmed and fixed in a harsh glare. “No.”
“It wasn’t an option.” Ryan’s cut arm burns from the exertion of carving, but he pretends not to notice. “You need to go home. You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” Brendon says.
Ryan looks up at him then, face grim. He looks meaningfully at Spencer, who is making breakfast with Jon. “I already told you I-”
“Don’t be so conceited,” Brendon snaps. “This isn’t about you, Ryan.”
The words sting, and they shouldn’t. Ryan doesn’t want Brendon to be pining over him anymore than he wants to be pining over Brendon. But he is pining, and the idea that Brendon isn’t hurts. “Then what is it about? This life isn’t a vacation, Brendon. There’s no such thing as fairytales.”
Brendon’s mouth thins at that, and Ryan knows he hit a sore spot. “I don’t want to be a part of what William is doing. The people of my father’s land are suffering just like the people here in Nottingham, and I can’t stand to sit around and do nothing anymore. I’m here to help, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Ryan knows that arguing with Brendon further is useless. They’re both as stubborn as they ever were as children.
So he takes it to his men instead. He tells them that he doesn’t want them to make any sort of contact with Brendon. No talking to him. No helping him out. No giving him food or shelter. Brendon should be at the palace being waited on hand and foot with a change of clothes at every meal and a feast for dinner every night, not running from the sheriff in a constant game of cat and mouse, wondering every day if today he’ll get caught and hanged.
Ryan just wants Brendon to be safe. At night, he berates himself for ever bringing him here in the first place. He’d let emotion get in the way of logic for those few precious moments.
But Brendon will return to the safety of the palace, one way or another.
***
Brendon doesn’t leave. During the day, he hangs around camp and tries to make conversation with people who refuse to speak to him. At night he disappears, but he’s always back the next day.
How he’s surviving absolutely baffles Ryan for about a week or so before he notices that Spencer, Dallon or Jon, at every single meal, is filling up their bowl with twice as much food as they normally eat, then disappearing, claiming they either don’t feel well or are tired when asked.
Ryan follows Dallon one day, silently moving from behind one tree to the next. He discovers that Brendon is set up with a little camp of his own not too far away from them. He’s got blankets and food, tinder for a fire, a couple of sets of green outfits hanging on a clothesline.
Ryan can’t help but feel a little betrayed by his friends, but he can’t very well blame them either. They all ultimately just wanted to help other people. How could they refuse to help someone that was right in front of them every single day?
So, he pretends not to notice when the men sneak away to Brendon’s little camp or start responding when Brendon talks to them during the day.
Ryan just wishes he knew what to do that would make Brendon just go home.
***
“Hey,” Spencer says one day, “let’s go to the orphanage.”
Ryan’s eyebrows raise. “I thought you said you already delivered the gold.”
“We did, but the kids were all asking where you were. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing much around here anyway.” Spencer nudges his shoulder. “It’d do you some good to go see the kids.”
Ryan nods his assent. “Okay.”
***
Ryan loves going to visit the orphanage. To William he’s a crook, to the people he’s a helping hand, but to the kids, he’s a flesh and blood hero. Whenever he gets time, he likes to teach them how to shoot, and he’ll tell them stories about the raids he and the men go on, embellishing a little around the edges.
It’s been a while since the last visit; he can tell just how long by how hard the kids fling themselves at his legs, almost taking his feet right out from under him.
Ryan scoops a little girl up into his arms, and smiles. “Hello, Amy. How are you today?” She just blushes and buries her face into his shoulder, giggling happily.
“Ryan, Spencer,” Greta greets them, laying down a book she’d apparently been reading to the children, “it’s good to see you two.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Greta,” Spencer says, grabbing his own set of kids into his arms, twin boys from the looks of it. “Jesus, what have you been feeding these kids? They’re growing like beanstalks.”
Greta laughs. “Well, that’s what happens with five year olds. Turn around for one minute, and suddenly they’re half-grown.”
“How’s everything been going around here?” Some of the kids are grabbing Ryan’s shirt, pulling at it for his attention, so he kneels down to their level and is instantly smothered in hugs and babbling children.
Greta comes to his rescue, shooing the kids off of him. “Come on, kids, everybody give Ryan and Spencer some room to breathe. They’re our guests, remember? And we have to be polite to guests.” The children make a collective sound of disappointment but back off a little bit. Greta shakes her head hopelessly. “What am I going to do with you all? Anyway, we’ve been doing just fine, Ryan. Thanks to you and your men, anyway.”
“No trouble with that mean old Prince William?” Spencer asks, lightly tickling the feet of one of the boys he’s holding. The boy shrieks and wiggles out of his grasp, pulling his brother down with him.
“No, thank goodness. I’ve been watching what we spend, and as long as the taxes don’t go up anymore, we should be all right for a few months.”
Greta is smiling, like she always is, but it doesn’t fool either Ryan or Spencer. She looks tired. Even with Hayley, who had once been an orphan at the orphanage herself, and several other volunteers helping out, taking care of twenty kids all day, every day is hard work without having to worry about taxes.
Ryan wishes he could help out more, but he doesn’t want to cause trouble for them with William either. He’d never let himself live it down if the orphanage closed because one of the guards thought they saw him here. “I really wish we could do more, Greta.”
“Ryan, don’t you even think about worrying about that. You’re doing the best you can, just like everybody else.” She picks up a baby crawling at her feet, rocking him gently. “What else could I possibly ask for?”
“Not having to worry about stupid laws and whether or not you can afford to feed everyone this month?” Spencer suggests bitterly.
Greta shrugs. “What good would wanting those things do? None. So stop worrying about it. Would you boys like to join us for dinner? Hayley is in the kitchen cooking it as we speak.”
Amy makes a sour face at that, and Ryan laughs. “No, thank you, Greta. From what I understand, Hayley isn’t the best cook in Nottingham.”
“If you keep talking, I’ll strap you down and force feed you, Ryan!” Hayley calls from the next room, apparently having heard him.
“You’re a fabulous cook, Hayley,” Greta assures her. “Don’t let Ryan get to you. He’s only teasing.”
Ryan wrinkles his nose, and Amy giggles, wrinkling her nose back at him. Ryan smiles and gives her an extra little squeeze. “Were you guys reading a book before we left, Amy? Would you mind if I read started where Ms. Greta left off? Of course, if Ms. Greta doesn’t mind.”
The kids flock to Greta, begging her to let Ryan read to them, and she holds the book out to them. “By all means. I’ll just go help Hayley with the food.”
The children run the book to Ryan, handing it to him. He sits down on the floor, crossing his legs and placing Amy in his lap. “Cinderella?”
“My favorite,” Amy says, snuggling into her spot.
“I like it too,” he says, opening the book. “Where were you guys?”
“The page with the picture of the mice,” one of the boys pipes up.
Ryan flips to the page, and starts reading. He reads the rest of Cinderella plus another book and is about to start a third when Hayley comes in with a huge pot, setting it on the table. “All right, kiddos, time for some food.”
“But Ryan was going to read us Jack and the Beanstalk!”
“If Ms. Hayley says it’s time to eat, then it’s time to eat,” Ryan says, pulling Amy from his lap and setting her on her feet. “It’s time for Spencer and me to get back home, anyway.”
Greta comes in from the kitchen holding her own large pot. “Like I said, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.”
Ryan knows that food is hard to come by for so many kids. Greta and Hayley look like they’ve both lost weight. He wouldn’t stay even if he was starving at this point. “We really can’t, but thank you, Greta.”
Spencer holds a small bag of gold out to Greta, who takes it solemnly. She bites her lip, her eyes shining. She pulls Spencer in for a tight hug, then does the same for Ryan. “Ryan, you do so much for us,” she whispers into his shoulder. “Some day, they’ll call you a hero.”
Ryan laughs softly. “First, they have to stop calling me the villain.”
Greta pulls away from him, quickly wiping around her eyes. She smiles. “It’ll happen. In the meantime, you take care of yourselves, okay? You’re all skin and bones.”
Spencer laughs. “He’s always been skin and bones.”
Ryan makes a face at him before taking Greta’s hand, bowing and giving it a light kiss in respect. If anyone deserved to be called a lady, it was Greta. “Goodbye, Greta.” He straightens, then waves to Hayley and the kids. “I’ll come back soon, okay?”
They wave back, and Ryan and Spencer begin their journey back to Sherwood.
***
They walk in silence for a few moments before Spencer says, “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Brendon that day?”
Ryan is taken off guard, barely having time to bristle before answering. “No.”
Spencer stops then, his voice firm when he speaks. “You keep calling him a liability. If he really is a liability, he needs to be eliminated.”
Ryan turns to him, his expression dark.
They watch each other, the silence stretching thin and tight between them until Spencer sighs, tension releasing from his shoulders. “We all know that he’s not really a liability, Ryan. Brendon would never betray you. He’d do anything for you just like you’d do anything for him. That’s the reason William basically baited you with him, anyone with half a brain could see that.”
Ryan sets his jaw, and his voice drips with sarcasm. “Well, don’t hold back, Spencer. Tell me what you really think.”
Spencer tiredly runs his hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to be an ass, Ryan. We all need to know what’s really going on. It’s not just your life that’s put in jeopardy when loose ends aren’t taken care of.”
“You make it sound more dramatic than it is,” Ryan says, though he knows that Spencer is right. Spencer is almost always right. “I told Brendon that I was in love with you.”
Spencer’s blinks in surprise. “What? Why?”
“I thought he’d go back home. If he told William that he felt in danger if he hadn’t gone with me or something, William would have to take him back. Brendon could probably even get away with telling him the truth. William couldn’t risk breaking ties with Lord Urie.”
“Wow.” Spencer stares at him, shaking his head. “Ryan, you’re a piece of work. When are you going to come off your damn inferiority complex and realize that you’re not the only one hurting here?”
Ryan scowls. If anyone would be on his side, he thought it would have been Spencer. “You just don’t understand. This life isn’t the life I want for Brendon. The life of a criminal, always on the run… It’s not what he deserves. Hell, it’s not what any of us deserves. This life-”
“Won’t last forever,” Spencer cuts him off, his face softening.
There’s another silence between them that reeks of defeat. Ryan softly says, “What if it does? I can’t let Brendon live like this.”
“Ryan,” Spencer reaches out and squeezes Ryan’s shoulder, “that’s not your decision to make.”
Ryan opens his mouth to speak again.
“Ryan!”
He and Spencer immediately turn and pull their bows from their backs, drawing an arrow and notching it in one smooth, automatic motion.
The person doesn’t seem to care that he’s got two of the most highly skilled archers in England taking aim at him. He keeps running toward them.
“Gerard?” Spencer asks.
Ryan lowers his bow just as Gerard gets to them, grabbing Ryan by the lapels. “They took him,” Gerard gasps.
Ryan holds Gerard up by his elbows; he’s fairly sure Gerard would collapse if he let go. “What? Gerard, what happened?”
“Frank.” Gerard looks up at Ryan with wide, terrified eyes. “They arrested Frank. They said they have reason to believe that he’s been talking to you. He’s been charged with treason.”
“Shit,” Spencer mutters.
“You’ve got to help him, Ryan,” Gerard pleads.
Ryan pulls him upright as best he can. “Of course we will. Frank is one of our oldest friends.” Ryan offers a reassuring smile. “No man left behind. Come with us to camp. We’ll get Frank back.”
Gerard bites his lip and nods.
***
When they finally get back to the oak tree, Ryan makes sure to calmly give Gerard food and to set him up to rest. Afterward, he explains the situation to the rest of the group.
As soon as Ryan tells the men what happened, everyone gets up and starts getting ready to go. They understand the gravity of the situation.
Brendon has been standing off to the side the entire time Ryan spoke, listening just like the others. As Ryan is gathering up arrows for his quiver, Brendon approaches him and says, “William accused him of treason?”
Ryan just nods, counting out twenty four arrows. He regrets that he hadn’t made more recently. Even if that was the maximum amount of arrows his quiver could hold, he could find somewhere to stash a few more, if he had to.
“Then they’re planning to kill him.”
Ryan looks at Brendon then. The boy looks filled to the brim with anxiety. “That’s what happens to people who associate with me. He’ll be hanged at dawn if we don’t get to him first.”
Brendon’s expression changes quickly, shifting into disdain. “Give me a bow. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Ryan turns away from him, heading toward the area where Jon is distributing darker clothing to better disguise the men at night.
“Yes, I am.”
Ryan waves him off. “Brendon, I don’t have time to fight about this. Someone’s life is in danger.”
“Then stop fighting a losing battle with me, Ryan.” Ryan looks over his shoulder at Brendon, whose hands are fisting tightly. “Look, you either give me a bow and I go in armed, or you don’t give me a bow and I don’t have a way to defend myself. Either way, I’m going.”
Ryan takes a deep breath. Brendon has never been one to back down. He’s all fire and rash decisions, all emotion. It’s something Ryan loves about Brendon. It’s something that’s going to get Brendon killed. “Fine. Go tell Dallon I said to give you a bow and some arrows.”
Brendon smiles and heads off without another word.
***
Ryan crouches down next to Spencer, cloaked in the shadow of the castle jail’s walls. He jerks his head to the side, and Spencer, dressed in a guard’s uniform, nods. He walks into the moonlight and easily approaches Ryland, who has been guarding the castle gates. The two speak briefly, then disappear together into the night.
Ryan waits until he can’t hear them speaking anymore before he motions for the others to move toward him. “All right,” he whispers as they gather around him. “Jon, Dallon, you two get the key. Spencer should have gotten it from Ryland and dropped it near the gate. Everyone else, you stay on the border, near the trees and in the castle shadows as back up. I want everything to involve as few people as possible.”
“And you?” Jon asks.
Ryan smirks. “I’ll be in the treasury, where else? I’m going to shoot an arrow into a window of the prison. Jon, I want you to rescue Frank, then look for that arrow and tie the rope that will be attached to it down somewhere. I’ll be sending some of the gold to you, and I’ll carry some myself. ”
“I want to come with you,” Brendon says.
“No,” Ryan says sharply. “If you go near this castle, I’ll make sure you’re left here. I promise you that, Brendon.”
Brendon looks like he’s about to speak again, but Jon places a hand on his arm and stops him. For once, Brendon relents, nodding.
Ryan returns his focus to the others and says, “Good luck, everyone.”
***
Ryan is starting to regret not sending Spencer to infiltrate the treasury instead of distract the guard. Spencer is so much better than him at using a grappling hook to scale high walls.
“It’s all in the arms,” he hears Spencer tell him in the back of his mind.
Ryan grits his teeth and puts one hand over the other, pulling his own body weight up inch by inch. By the time he reaches the balcony, sweat is beading at his temples, his arms are burning, and he’s breathing heavily. He swears softly to himself and vows never to use a grappling hook again.
He hoists himself up over the balcony’s edge and ties a rope to an arrow, shooting it down into a window near the top of the prison. He waits until he feels a tug from the other side, then ties his own end down.
He opens up the treasury’s doors, stopping short.
There are piles and piles of gold coins everywhere. In one corner is a small stack of papers, and when Ryan picks it up, he sees that they’re deeds from houses and businesses that presumably have been taken to make up for unpaid taxes. A bad taste forms in the back of Ryan’s mouth, and he pulls his leather bag from his back, taking out a bunch of bags and rope from within it. The first thing he does is stuff the papers into a sack, tie it off, and send it down the rope to Jon and Dallon. The angle of the rope is steep enough that the bag doesn’t stop sliding until it’s in the window. Ryan thinks he sees Jon give him a thumbs up, and he smiles. Good.
He starts filling bags as quickly and quietly as he can. It’s harder than it sounds; the stack of coins clink against each other every time he shifts them, and if he picks up too many at a time, the whole stack shifts like it’s about to fall over. The work is tedious, but his adrenaline is soaring, and he quickly finds a rhythm. Before he knows it he’s used all of his smaller bags and is filling his larger leather satchel.
There’s not much gold left, just a couple of small clusters here and there. Ryan hates that he didn’t bring just a few more bags, but it’s too late now. He shoulders his bag, grunting under its weight, and prepares to slowly make his way back down the rope he climbed up on.
“Ryan.”
Ryan jolts at his name, swerving on his heel. William is standing in the doorway, a drawn sword at his side. Ryan can feel his heart pounding in his ears. He starts toward the doors to the balcony, but the bag weighs him down and William gets to him first, swiping the sword at Ryan.
Ryan dodges, drawing a dagger from his hip and dropping the bag. “William, I don’t want to fight you.”
“You’re a thief, a liar, and a traitor,” William says, his mouth a hard line.
William swings at Ryan again, and he deflects with his dagger. His arm, still bandaged and healing from the cut Gabe dealt him, burns in protest. Ryan’s voice is strained as he says, “I never wanted this.”
He tries not to wince when William swings again, this time from above, and Ryan drops into a crouch, blocking again.
Their blades scrape against each other, screeching in protest.
Ryan kicks out, swiping William’s legs out from under him. He kicks away William’s sword and moves over him, putting his dagger to William’s throat. “I have to do what’s right by the people, William.”
William scowls at him, still dignified and entitled, even with his life hanging by a thread. “You fancy yourself a hero, but you’re nothing more than a coward who hides behind his band of criminals.”
Ryan searches William’s face, looking for any hint of the person that raised him. He’s more disappointed than he should be to find none. Ryan’s own face drains of anger and stress, slides into hopelessness and pity. “Maybe all of that’s true. But,” he raises the dagger, and in that moment, he sees fear in William’s face and thinks, well, at least he’s still human. He brings the dagger down, burying it in the sleeve of William’s shirt and effectively pinning him down. “I’m not a murderer.”
A sharp pain erupts from Ryan’s shoulder, and he looks up to see Gabe with his sword drawn, Ryland and Siska, who is notching a second arrow on his bow, flanking him. “How does it feel to be brought down by your own weapon, Ryan?”
“Ryland,” Ryan smiles grimly, “nice to see that Spencer’s charm eventually wore off. You two looked like you were getting along so well, I was afraid you two were going to start necking before it was all said and done.”
Ryland flushes, growling out, “You’re just lucky he escaped before I was able to kill him.”
Ryan breathes a sigh of relief. At least Spencer was safe. Ryan presses down on the arrow, trying to keep it from moving too much as he begins to stand. Ryland and Nate jump, ready to shoot, but Gabe stops them. “Let him stand. He can be a man and take what’s coming to him with his face held high for once in his life.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet, Sheriff,” Ryan says, smiling. “But you should have let them shoot me when you had the chance.”
Before they can react, almost before Ryan can even think about what he’s doing, he dashes onto the balcony, throwing himself over the edge.
***
Brendon, Spencer and Jon have been waiting by the castle lake, beneath a willow tree whose branches offered them a place to hide. Frank had been a little roughed up when they got to him, but he’d been able to walk once they picked the locks of his shackles. They handed both Frank and the gold off to Dallon and the others; now they were anxiously watching the balcony of the treasury, waiting for Ryan to reemerge.
“Where is he?” Brendon whispers, eyes fixed on the doorway. “Shouldn’t he be out by now?”
No one says anything, because they all know he should be. Ryan should be out, and they all should be halfway back to camp by now.
But they’re not.
Brendon bites his lip anxiously, and Jon puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
There’s a dark flash from the door, and Jon says, “Is that..?”
It’s Ryan, Brendon thinks, his heart leaping. Ryan climbs above the stone railing and a flurry of arrows fly around him.
“He’s too high. Hitting that water is going is going to be like hitting a brick wall,” Spencer says, fear accenting his tone.
“No, Ryan, don’t!” Brendon yells, but it’s too late. Ryan jumps off the balcony, falling toward the water with a fresh spray of arrows following him into the lake.
Without another thought, Brendon jumps in after him. The water is freezing, and he feels his lungs automatically seize up from the cold. But he doesn’t worry about his instant need to breathe. He pushes forward, remembering how he taught Ryan how to swim in this very lake so many summers ago. An arrow pierces through the water next to Brendon, and he knows that he must be close now.
He dives down deeper, his lungs screaming. He catches a glimpse of Ryan, eyes widening at the sight of the arrow in his shoulder, and he pushes himself to swim faster. He grabs Ryan around his waist and uses the last ounce of strength he has to pull him to the surface.
Brendon gasps for air, inhaling a mouthful of water that leaves him sputtering. The arrows have stopped raining down now, and Brendon guesses that the guards either ran out or have assumed that Ryan is dead. He focuses on keeping Ryan’s head above water and swims for shore as quickly as he can.
Spencer and Jon are waiting for them there, and Jon takes Ryan from him while Spencer hauls Brendon up.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, patting Brendon on the back as he heaves.
He nods and crawls over to where Jon has laid Ryan out. Jon snaps the end of the arrow off and checks his wrist for a pulse. Ryan’s lips are blue, and his hair is plastered to his forehead. The area where the arrow is imbedded is stained red.
Brendon feels like he’s about to cry. “Is he..?”
Jon doesn’t say anything, just softly lays Ryan’s hand back beside him and bows his head.
“No.” Brendon’s vision blurs. “Ryan, don’t… don’t leave me.”
“You son of a bitch!” Spencer yells at the balcony. “I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill you, William. I won’t rest until you’re dead!”
Jon grabs Spencer’s wrist and forces him into a hug. Spencer struggles against it for a moment, then sags against Jon, burying his face in Jon’s neck and fisting his hands into his shirt.
Brendon’s body shudders with a sob. He readjusts carefully, oh so carefully, lifting Ryan’s head into his lap and slides his thumb down the line of Ryan’s jaw. “I love you, Ryan.”
Ryan shifts in Brendon’s lap, and his eyes screw tightly as he starts coughing up water and pushing himself up on his elbows. He grimaces, pressing his hand to his shoulder.
Brendon blinks and immediately grabs onto Ryan, smashing their mouths together. Ryan winces and makes a pained sound, and Brendon pulls away. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Fuck, Ryan. I thought you were dead.”
Ryan offers a pained smile. “Me? Never.”
Spencer comes to Ryan’s side, touching his arm gingerly. “Come on. Let’s go home and get that arrow out of you.”
Spencer and Brendon hoist Ryan to his feet, and the four slowly head back into Sherwood Forest.
***
When Ryan wakes up, his vision is swimming. He’s still a little hungover from all the alcohol they gave him to cope with the pain of having the arrow extracted and the wound bandaged. When he first sees Brendon, he thinks he’s still half asleep and dreaming.
Brendon smiles down at him. “Hello, sleepyhead. How do you feel?”
Ryan finds it exhausting just to smile back. “Tired. Is Frank okay?”
“A few scrapes and bruises and a nicely blackened eye from the guards but nothing permanent. Gerard is still worrying over him like he’ll never walk again, though.” Brendon picks up a rag from a bowl of water that is sitting beside the mat Ryan is on. He dabs Ryan’s forehead with it. “I think Frank’s going to go batshit if Gerard insists that he can’t feed himself one more time.”
Ryan closes his eyes, appreciating the cool water against his skin. He must be running a fever. “That sounds about right. If Gerard really needs someone to feed, he can come to me. I don’t think I ever want to move again.”
“I’m sure Gerard would gladly take you up on that. Any time he opens his mouth, he’s either fussing over Frank or praising you for how much of a super hero you are. If you’re hungry, I’ll get you something. I think Spencer made stew.”
Ryan snorts. “Why do we always have stew? Anyway, no. I just want to lie here a little longer.”
Brendon nods. “Okay. Spencer will probably be coming in here soon to check your bandages.”
Guilt instantly darts through Ryan’s mind. “I lied about Spencer and me.”
“I kind of got that when I caught Jon and Spencer half-undressed in a tree one day.” Brendon gently pushes Ryan’s hair out of his eyes. “I was just waiting for you to come around.”
“I don’t-“
“Please, Ryan,” Brendon cuts him off, “please let’s not do another titles-are-everything-Brendon-doesn’t-know-what’s-best-for-him song and dance. I love you, Ryan. I’ll do anything it takes to be with you, whether that’s renouncing my title and running from William for the rest of my life or being your royal consort when Pete finally comes home and announces you his heir. I love you, and I’ve loved you since I was six years old. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
Ryan reaches up for him with his unbandaged arm, says, “Come here,” and Brendon complies, lowering his head so Ryan can slide his fingers into his hair and press a soft, slow kiss to his mouth. When they part, Ryan whispers, “I love you, Brendon. Stay with me.”
Brendon touches his forehead to Ryan’s, grinning. “Always.”
Part 3/Epilogue