It couldn't have been more than five minutes in that forest, and already Bret has come to two conclusions:
One, this Prince is batshit insane. Why else would this twig of a boy (pardon the pun) think he has any shot at all at completing this so-called quest? Fancy swords, magic talismans, and sweet-smelling herbs aside, Bret need only take one look at the kid to know he'd last about two seconds out there alone, in the dark, with god knows what. Any guy would be crazy to think any of this "plan" makes any sort of sense.
Which leads into his second conclusion... He's insane too. Sure, he'd been pretty gung-ho about the whole thing, but that was when he thought they were still just joking around and he was forever stuck in that stupid room. Now here he is, wandering through some forest with a sword at his hip and two gold coins in his pocket. Every now and then he'd pinch himself, just to make sure.
He prefers to think of himself as plucky, though really all this shows is his inexperience with the world at large. Yes, he has made journeys before, but in the safety of carriages flanked by royal guards, his entire family for company. Still, a week on his own already is quite an acheivement, if one ignores how many houses there had been along the way. Even this forest isn't the proper wilderness; that title is reserved for the White Mountains, and they'll both realise that soon enough, provided they head there briskly enough.
"A small town named Koboldheim. We can get proper food there and equip you, and there ought to be an inn one might sleep at. After that we set out for the White Mountains. "
Certainly sounds simple enough, but most tasks do until you're knee deep in them. Bret is still a little petulant he got tricked into all this in the first place (because it sounds a lot better than 'willingly volunteered'), but he doesn't slow his steps or drag his feet as he follows behind the prince.
With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he spares a panning look around as they walk. "So where are we at now?"
"Heading out of Neustein Forest," comes the blithe reply, the prince turning back to offer a smile at his new bodyguard, whom he believes to be perfectly happy wih the arrangement he more or less walked right into without a complaint. He can't help but stop for a moment when he spots some wildlife, a litte dormouse that runs right into his path and disappears almost as soon as he spots it. "In the former principality of Rosigblomen, if you want to be extra specific. If we travelled north-westwards we'd eventually wind up at the Winter Palace, but there'll be no luxury on the route we're on."
He sounds almost gleeful at that, like a child playing at adventures, only minus a wooden sword and no dragon at the end to fight, nor princesses to save and marry. But then, so far this has all been like one big camping trip.
Bret can't help the wary look he gives the back of the prince's head, falling back on his earlier conclusion concerning the prince's mental status. He has to wonder just how sheltered the boy must have been for him to find such pleasure in their situation. Optimism and naivete - what a dangerous combination.
A twig snaps nearby and Bret's instincts kick off. Too far away to dash in front of the price, he thinks quickly and wraps his arms around the boy's middle instead, easily picking him up and spinning around to place the prince safely behind him. Half a second passes before a boar runs across their path, squealing in its fright, and Bret sighs at himself, his hold loosening but nkt releasing.
"False alarm," he tells the prince, as if he needs the clarification.
Out of his mouth comes the smallest of squeaks before the prince gathers what exactly seems to be happening; for a moment the first wave of fear hits, and that happy go lucky expression disappears under a cloud of concern.
That is, until the boar runs past.
Leaning against Bret (he can't do much else whilst in his grip) Florian gives a little sigh, his smile returning, though diminished, slightly.
"For now," Bret replies grimly, certainly less optimistic than the other. There is a moment's pause, where Bret's mind stalls on the fact that Florian is nestled in the circle of his arms, leaning back against his chest. His mind stalls, but comes to no rea conclusion over it. He finally releases the prince after another quick look around, his large hand falling over a shoulder to give it a reassuring little pat. There is a smile on his lips, but it seems uncertain. "Shall we?"
Florian doesn't seem to have been all too perturbed by the contact, taking it all as part of Bret's duties as a bodyguard. His smile, however, has the prince's brows furrowing slightly, something off in the way those lips curl upwards. "Let's. Not too far now."
"Lead the way." Though Bret is much more careful to keep up behind Florian now, never more than a step behind. His hand remains on the hilt of that sword, despite the fact he has no real knowledge of it. He doesn't quite believe they'll meet any real danger in this forest, but he's starting to think wolves and thieves are the least of his worry now.
There are no dragons, at least, or trolls (up north is a different story, but those are rare enough). The only thing for Bret to watch out for is the way Florian stumbles on a tree root, just managing to keep his balance and laughing the whole thing off in a moment of clumsiness. It takes them close to an hour, but soon enough they're finally treated to a view of open fields and the bright sunlight, unobscured by the tops of trees. Another two hour trek later, and one might even find civilisation, if a creaky traveller's inn on the road to Koboldheim can be called as such.
It's a lot better than most of the motels Bret has seen around his area, and certainly more notable than the trailer park he resides in (whenever he can bring himself to actually go home). He gives the inn a good once over, nodding in approval. "Looks cozy," he says, though he has to wonder if it doesn't look all that ideal to a prince with four homes.
"It's quaint, isn't it?" Still, Florian treats this as if it were a stop on some sort of holiday tour (he hasn't seen the actual rooms; the magic of the little trip will start to wear then, perhaps). The place seems ever so slightly claustrophobic, and the owner a little grumpy, giving the boy a look of suspicion as he listens to what sounds to him like a snooty city accent. That and a flash of those travelling documents, and the poor prince winds up swindled into paying double the usual amount for a single room. ...At least it comes with dinner.
Bret waits until they've been escorted into their room and the grumpy little owner had left them to speak.
"Maybe next time you should let me do the talking."
Especially considering the single room only comes with a single bed that doesn't even look like it could fit all of Bret. He's already eyeing the floor with a bit of resignation though, to be truthful, it's not the worst place he's had to sleep on anyway. Sighing, he sets his sword down by the floor, starting to toe off his boots to prepare for what he hopes would at least be a nice long night of rest.
"I wasn't sure how he'd react; you do look terribly foreign."
Off come those boots, and finally Florian gets to show off that saucy bit of calf (though he doesn't suppose Bret and his jeans will ever really understand). He eyes that bed, as if sizing it up, looking towards the other with a brow furrowed in concentration.
"You'll have to get in first, I suppose. Then I'll squeeze in." He can't see why not; surely to suggest that Bret sleep on the floor would be positively barbaric.
Bret pauses in the middle of pulling off his sweatshirt, the thick material still bunched up around his arms. "Come again?" He's looking at Florian as if the boy's just suggested something else entirely, but would certainly involve a bed and two bodies squeezed tight together. He looks towards the bed then back towards the boy, his own brows furrowed in confusion. "Aren't there rules about getting into bed with princes? Like, 'don't do it'?"
Florian only shrugs, neatly unbuttoning his shirt, having divested himself of cloak, coat and waistcoat. He looks as though he's actually attempting to recall legislation that might say something similar, just in case.
"I don't think so," he finally answers. "And where else are you to sleep?"
One, this Prince is batshit insane. Why else would this twig of a boy (pardon the pun) think he has any shot at all at completing this so-called quest? Fancy swords, magic talismans, and sweet-smelling herbs aside, Bret need only take one look at the kid to know he'd last about two seconds out there alone, in the dark, with god knows what. Any guy would be crazy to think any of this "plan" makes any sort of sense.
Which leads into his second conclusion... He's insane too. Sure, he'd been pretty gung-ho about the whole thing, but that was when he thought they were still just joking around and he was forever stuck in that stupid room. Now here he is, wandering through some forest with a sword at his hip and two gold coins in his pocket. Every now and then he'd pinch himself, just to make sure.
"What comes after this forest anyway?"
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"A small town named Koboldheim. We can get proper food there and equip you, and there ought to be an inn one might sleep at. After that we set out for the White Mountains. "
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With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he spares a panning look around as they walk. "So where are we at now?"
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He sounds almost gleeful at that, like a child playing at adventures, only minus a wooden sword and no dragon at the end to fight, nor princesses to save and marry. But then, so far this has all been like one big camping trip.
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A twig snaps nearby and Bret's instincts kick off. Too far away to dash in front of the price, he thinks quickly and wraps his arms around the boy's middle instead, easily picking him up and spinning around to place the prince safely behind him. Half a second passes before a boar runs across their path, squealing in its fright, and Bret sighs at himself, his hold loosening but nkt releasing.
"False alarm," he tells the prince, as if he needs the clarification.
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That is, until the boar runs past.
Leaning against Bret (he can't do much else whilst in his grip) Florian gives a little sigh, his smile returning, though diminished, slightly.
"How lucky."
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"Maybe next time you should let me do the talking."
Especially considering the single room only comes with a single bed that doesn't even look like it could fit all of Bret. He's already eyeing the floor with a bit of resignation though, to be truthful, it's not the worst place he's had to sleep on anyway. Sighing, he sets his sword down by the floor, starting to toe off his boots to prepare for what he hopes would at least be a nice long night of rest.
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Off come those boots, and finally Florian gets to show off that saucy bit of calf (though he doesn't suppose Bret and his jeans will ever really understand). He eyes that bed, as if sizing it up, looking towards the other with a brow furrowed in concentration.
"You'll have to get in first, I suppose. Then I'll squeeze in." He can't see why not; surely to suggest that Bret sleep on the floor would be positively barbaric.
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"I don't think so," he finally answers. "And where else are you to sleep?"
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