White Collar Fic: The Princess Bride, by R. Child, Conclusion
Title: The Princess Bride, by R. Child, Conclusion
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Elizabeth/Peter
Spoilers: You kidding?
Content Notice: It’s White Collar vs. The Princess Bride (film). With apologies to William Goldman… and Rob Reiner while I’m at it. Also: character death.
Word Count: 6,100
Summary: Part the last, in which True Love prevails… and all the best lines are uttered.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
----
Peter and Jones were walking at the edge of the Thieves’ Forest, very near the Palace grounds, when they heard a sound that made the birds leave the trees in a panic and all of the woodland creatures flee to their nests and burrows. Peter stopped walking and grabbed Jones’ sleeve, nearly staggering under the weight of that sound. It was a wail of pain and anguish so dark and profound it left tears in Peter’s eyes.
“Jones, do you hear that?” Peter said, his voice gruff. “That is the sound of ultimate suffering. It is the sound my heart made when Keller slaughtered my Diana. The Man in Black makes it now.”
“The Man in Black?”
“His Love marries another tonight - who else has a cause for ultimate suffering?”
Jones shrugged - there was no arguing with Peter’s logic. They followed the sound to what they concluded must be its source, but found themselves standing in a clearing in the forest with no sign of anyone or anything. Except… for a strange albino who seemed to have come from nowhere, pushing a wheelbarrow.
“You there! Where is the Man in Black?” Peter demanded, affecting his best lawman’s demeanor. It seemed to work, for the albino’s face looked fearful, but that might also have been the roughly 7 feet of giant standing at Peter’s side. Still, the albino wasn’t talking. “Hey Jones, jog his memory.”
Jones made a massive fist and brought it down on the albino’s head; he fell to the ground, unconscious. “Snap, I didn’t mean to jog him so hard. Sorry, Peter.”
Peter drew his sword and got down on one knee. He rested the point of his weapon into the ground and lay his hands on the hilt, closed his eyes and began to pray. “Diana, I loved you like a daughter, and I have sworn my life to avenging your murder. Somewhere close by is a man who can help me, but I cannot find him alone. I need you to guide me - to guide my sword. Please, Diana, please. Please…” Peter kept his eyes closed but was drawn to his feet by an unknowable force. It seemed as if a large hand were guiding the weapon through the clearing, and he did not fight it. At last, the point stuck into the wood of a gnarled old oak at one end. Peter opened his eyes and looked at the thing.
“What is this? I don’t understand… I thought it was working.” He leaned against the tree, dejected, resting his head against his forearm with despair. From somewhere inside the tree, he heard a faint click, and a door opened up in the side. “Jones!” Peter breathed, his eyes goggling. Jones followed him down the long stairs that revealed themselves within.
At the bottom of the stairs was what appeared to be a vast dungeon, given over to all manner of unspeakable torture. Peter averted his eyes from some of the more horrific instruments, but he was of course drawn to the Machine that dominated the center of the room. And beside it was the man he sought, the Man in Black.
He lay on a table, strange bands of leather binding him to it, but he was pale and unmoving. Peter reached out a trembling hand and felt for a pulse at his neck, but there was none. He sighed, running his fingers over the young man’s jaw, his proud brow. So handsome, he was, so noble and brave. To meet such an end… it hurt Peter’s heart to even think of the Man or his Love hurt or harmed in any way - strange feelings, to be sure, in a man devoted to the Vengeance business. He’d only been with the couple briefly, and their contact had been contentious - he was the Princess’ kidnapper after all, and the Man in Black defeated him in battle. But still, in the intervening weeks, as he pieced together their story - he was still a good investigator - he couldn’t help but be affected by the magic that was their love, their bond, their devotion to each other. And to want a piece of it for himself.
Peter shook his head - such thoughts were unwelcome and largely irrelevant now. “He’s dead. The Man in Black is dead,” he pronounced.
Jones laid a great, sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much this means to you.”
Peter closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hand lingering on the Man’s shoulder. But then something occurred to him. “Wait, I’ve got an idea!” He began to unbuckle the straps around Neal’s body. “Jones, help me.” When they’d gotten him disentangled from the table, he said. “I’ll grab his clothes, you bring the body, we must hurry.”
“The body? Hurry? Where are we going?”
“You have any money?”
“I’ve always got cash, Peter.”
“Good. Here’s hoping it’s enough to buy a miracle!”
----
Peter and Jones arrived at the ramshackle hut that was the dwelling of Miracle Moz, Ph.D., who had served Old King Byron for many years. His reputation for pulling off the impossible was widely known, and if there was anyone who could help Peter find a way into the Palace, it was him.
Peter banged urgently on the door, and heard shuffling feet approach from inside. A small door where a peephole might have been opened up from the inside, and Peter found himself looking down on a bald old man, blinking up at him through thick spectacles.
“What, what?” Miracle Moz demanded.
“Are you Miracle Moz, who worked for the king all those years?” Peter asked.
A look of pain crossed the old man’s features and his eyes narrowed. “I was until the king’s nogoodnik son fired me. And thank you for bringing up such a painful subject, by the way! Why not just poke me in the eye with a pointed stick? We’re closed!” With that, he slammed the little door shut.
Peter would not be deterred, and banged on the door again.
“Cut it out or I’ll call the Brute Squad!” Moz threatened.
“I’m on the Brute Squad,” Jones said.
Moz looked him up and down, his jaw dropping open. “You are the Brute Squad.”
“Please, we need a miracle, it’s vitally important,” Peter said.
Moz looked at him with contempt and suspicion. “I’m retired. And besides, why would you want someone the king’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you want me to miracle.”
“He’s already dead.”
Moz raised both eyebrows, his professional curiosity piqued. “You don’t say? Bring him in.” He closed the tiny door and at last, opened the real door. Peter was surprised to see he was even shorter than he’d appeared through the door - he must have been standing on a stool to speak with them. He danced from foot to foot, though, and gestured for them to come inside.
Jones laid Neal onto a nearby workbench, and Miracle Moz began to examine him closely, poking, prodding, using strange and delicate instruments on him.
At last, the waiting was too much, and Peter had to say something. “Sir? Please, we’re in a bit of a rush, so…”
“Don’t rush me, Brute. You rush me, you get terrible miracles. You got any cash?”
“Jones, pay the man.”
“A hundred enough?”
“A hundred? I’ve never worked for so little! Your cause had better be a noble one.”
“He is going to help me avenge the death of my closest friend, murdered by a treacherous and sadistic monster.”
Miracle Moz looked up at him blandly, ignoring Peter’s emotional plea. “He owes you money, doesn’t he? Well, why don’t I just ask him.”
“Ask him? He’s dead.”
“Oh ho,” Moz said, peering up at him. “Shows what you know. Your friend here is only mostly dead.” He jumped off the stool he’d used to examine Neal and went over to the hearth, returning with a small bellows. “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all-the-way-dead. Just ask Sir Elvis - he’ll tell you.”
“Sir Elvis Presley has been dead for twenty years,” Jones felt it important to point out.
“That’s only what they want you to think, Brute. The real story is a lot more complicated, involving black ops, crop circles, and New Coke. You really should subscribe to my newsletter, The Grassy Knoll. I’ve exposed things that’ll turn you white.” He looked Jones up and down and thought better of his last comment as he hopped back up on his stool . “Or, you know, paler. Anyway, help me - open his mouth.”
Peter obliged and Moz inserted the end of the bellows into Neal’s mouth. He then gently puffed air into the man, until his belly and chest became alarmingly distended. Moz removed the bellows and then hunkered down near Neal’s slack face. “Hey, handsome!” he yelled into his ear. “Hello! You in there? Tell me, what’s so important? What have you got that’s worth living for?” Moz leaned over Neal’s prone body and pressed down on his chest with all his weight, his tiny feet dangling in the air.
“Truuuuuuuue… Looooooooovvve…” was the reply that came out of Neal in a long, pained groan.
“True Love! You see?” Peter said. “What cause could be nobler?”
Moz leaned against the table and looked wistful for a moment. “Yeah, True Love is something - maybe the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice, heady Bordeaux, you know? Aged properly? I had one in Paris once that was… well… is sublime the appropriate word? I’m not sure - I’ll have to consult a Thesaurus.” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Anyway, that’s not what he said at all.”
“What?”
“Look, he clearly said ‘to blave,’ which we all know is an Old English word for ‘to bluff.’ So, what - you were playing cards and he cheated you?”
“Liar! You are so full of shit, Moz!”
Peter and Jones turned, surprised, as a stunning young redhead entered the room. She pointed accusingly at Miracle Moz, her large eyes flashing.
“Go back, witch!” he said, making an anti-hex sign.
“I’m no witch, I’m your wife!” she said, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side. Peter and Jones traded impressed faces. “But after what you just said, I’m not sure I even want to be that anymore!”
“You’ve never had it so good!”
She strode up to him, snagged him by the ear, and hissed. “Youhave never had it so good. And if you ever want any of it again, you will help these men. True Love, Moz. He said, ‘True Love!’”
“Not another word, Sara!” Moz complained, but she had already turned to address Peter and Jones.
“He’s afraid, my husband. Ever since Prince Adler fired him, his confidence has been shattered.”
“Why would you say that?” Moz whined. “And I thought I asked you never to say that name in my presence.” He was truly hurt now, and she went up to him, cradling his head against her.
“I’m sorry, darling, but you must help them.”
“I’m not listening.”
“True Love is dying, and you won’t help? That’s not the man I married. That Adler schmuck really did a number on you.”
“Sara, please -“ he moaned, burying his face against her breasts.
Peter leaned forward then, eyes shining as he got a sudden insight. “This man is Princess Elizabeth’s True Love. If you heal him, it will stop Adler’s wedding!”
Suddenly, all grief and upset had disappeared, and Miracle Moz looked at him shrewdly. “Wait. You mean if I heal him, Adler suffers?”
“Humiliations galore.”
“’Nuff said. Sara, get me my books!”
“Yippee!” Sara hopped for joy a little and ran off to help him gather supplies.
An hour later, she stood at his elbow and painted a rather alarmingly large pill with a coating of rich Belgian chocolate.
“That’s a miracle pill?” Jones asked, dubious.
“The chocolate helps it go down easier,” Sara told him, and then popped it into a small pouch and handed it to Peter. “But you should wait fifteen minutes for it to reach full potency before you give it to him. And he should probably avoid alcohol for, what, honey - a day or two?”
“Make it a week, to be safe,” Miracle Moz said.
Sara smiled at him fondly and put her hand on his cheek, “My Miracle Man, so smart,” she purred and then kissed him deeply. Miracle Moz leaned up against her and she clutched at his face; he ran his hands up her back and then she hiked her knee up against him and began grinding.
“OK, so… guess we’ll be going…” Peter said, uncomfortable.
“Oh, of course,” Miracle Moz said, disengaging from his wife’s arms and straightening out his glasses, which were falling off his face. He escorted them to the door, Jones carrying Neal in his arms like a baby.
“Bye, boys. Good luck!” Sara called after them, pinching Moz’s ass.
Moz jumped delightedly, then waved at them as they left. “Have fun storming the castle!”
----
Peter and Jones found themselves on a small hill overlooking the Palace’s main gate and saw that there were far more than thirty men now guarding it, a fact Jones felt compelled to point out.
“OK, I’ll allow it’s not looking as good as before. But we’ve got him,” Peter indicated Neal. They were hiding behind a small retaining wall that concealed them from sight of the gates. Peter pulled Neal into a sitting position against his chest and forced his mouth open. “Help me, Jones? We’ll have to force the pill down his throat.”
“Has it been fifteen minutes?” Jones asked, handing Peter the pill.
“It must have - we had to walk all the way over.” Peter tilted Neal’s head back against his shoulder and popped the pill into his mouth, then massaged his throat until it seemed as if he’d swallowed it.
“How long should it take…” Jones began to ask, but immediately Neal sprang to life.
“You fiends! I’ll take you all on! Where’s my sword!”
“I guess not long,” Peter observed.
Neal was agitated in Peter’s arms, but largely unmoving. “Why won’t my arms move?”
“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Jones informed me.
“We got Miracle Moz to make a pill to bring you back,” Peter explained.
He was still confused. “Who are you? Are we enemies? Where’s Elizabeth?”
Peter moved Neal so that he was seated comfortably against the wall, and then addressed him. “Let me explain.” He thought a moment. “No, there is too much to explain, so I’ll give you the bullets. Elizabeth is set to marry Adler in less than half an hour. So, we need to get into the Palace, stop the wedding, steal the Princess and make our escape. Oh, after I kill Count Keller.”
Neal eyed Peter and recognition dawned. “You’re that ex-sheriff swordsman for hire I met all those weeks ago.”
“Hi.”
Neal looked up at Jones, who in fact was difficult to miss. “And you’re the giant I lay that sleeper hold on.”
“Yeah, about that -“
“Look, we don’t have time,” Peter said urgently.
“You’re right,” Neal said, twitching his right forefinger.
“You just wiggled your finger - that’s impressive,” Jones noted.
“I’ve always been a quick healer. Now, we don’t have much time to plan. What are our liabilities?”
“There is but one way into the Palace proper and it’s guarded by sixty men.” Peter put his hands under Neal's arms, lifted him up so he could see, then settled him back down.
“And our assets?”
“Your brains, Jones’ strength, and my steel.”
“That’s it? Impossible! If I had a month to plan, maybe, but -“ He shook his head.
“You just shook your head!” Jones said. “That’s wonderful.”
Neal glared at him. “My brains, your strength and his steel against sixty and you think a little head jiggle is wonderful? I mean, if we had a wheelbarrow, maybe -“
“Where did we put the wheelbarrow the albino had?” Peter asked.
“Over the albino, I think.”
“Why didn’t you list that among our assets in the first place?” Neal snitted. “Man, what I would do for a holocaust cloak about now.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Peter admitted.
“Will this do?” Jones asked, pulling a long, dark garment from inside his shirt.
“Where’d that come from?”
“From Miracle Moz. I liked it so much, he gave it to me for half price.”
“OK, OK, help me up,” Neal said impatiently, “help me up. I’ll need a sword eventually.”
“What for - you can hardly lift it,” Peter pointed out.
“True, but we’re the only ones who know that. Attitude and presentation are all you need to sell a con sometimes.” Peter obligingly strapped a scabbard around Neal's waist. “Now, there may be some difficulties once we’re inside. Here’s what we’ll do…”
----
Elizabeth sat staring at her image in the mirror as her ladies prepared her for the wedding. A movement out of the corner of her eye turned out to be her betrothed. “You don’t seem excited, my poppet,” Adler pouted.
She sighed - he was such a pill. “Should I be?”
“I understand brides often are.”
She shrugged and looked away. “I do not marry tonight. Neal will come for me.”
Thirty minutes later, she stood at the altar with her delicate hand engulfed in Adler’s carefully manicured one, with Archbishop Hughes standing before him. The old fellow, tall and painfully thin, looked like he was about to collapse under the weight of his elaborate vestments.
“Mawwiage!” Hughes intoned. “Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew today! Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam!”
Elizabeth, Adler and most of those assembled in the Palace chapel jumped at a shout and a crash outside the gate.
“Stand your ground men!” Captain Fowler’s voice carried over them. “STAND YOUR GROUND!”
Outside, Jones, clad in his new holocaust cloak, glided as if he flew towards the sixty men in front of the gate. “I am the Dread Highwayman Caffrey!” he shouted, deepening his voice for effect. “There will be no survivors!”
The men began to show disquiet, and many of them drew their swords.
Behind Jones, Peter struggled to keep the wheelbarrow steady as he rolled Jones forward. Neal, being nearly paralyzed, sat leaning against the back of Jones’ legs. “Now?” Peter grunted.
“Not yet,” Neal muttered.
“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey leaves no survivors!” Jones continued, clearly enjoying his role as nightmare monster. He held his hands out, the sleeves of the cloak billowing dramatically in the breeze. “All your worst nightmares are about to come true!”
“How about now?” Peter gasped, shaking - he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage.
“Light him up.”
Peter lit the holocaust cloak, which was immediately engulfed in orange flames three feet high.
“Stay where you are!” Fowler ordered his men fruitlessly.
“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey has come for your SOULS!” Jones pronounced, and all of the men save Captain Fowler hightailed it out of there.
Inside the chapel, Archbishop Hughes was going on with the ceremony as if total chaos had not erupted just outside the gate. “And wuv, twue wuv, wiww fowwow you fowevah. So tweasuwe youw wuv - “
Outside, Jones flung the holocaust cloak aside, it having lived up to its promise, and he and Peter advanced on Captain Fowler. “Give us the key,” Peter ordered him calmly.
“Key? I have no key.”
“Jones, tear his arm off and beat him to death with it.”
“Oh, did you say key?” Fowler stammered, producing one from a pocket inside his jacket. “Here you are.”
At the altar, Adler was getting increasingly antsy. “Skip to the end!” he ordered Archbishop Hughes.
Hughes blinked at him. “Have you a wing?”
Adler glanced at Elizabeth, who watched the doors of the cathedral expectantly. “I killed your Neal myself,” he delighted in telling her.
“Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” she observed calmly.
Hughes cleared his throat and continued with the ceremony. “Do you Pwincess Ewizabeff take this man -“
“Man and wife!” Adler said sharply to the cleric, growing impatient with the pomp. “Just say man and wife!”
“Man and wife?” Hughes said.
And then the despair she’d been holding at bay for so many weeks finally descended on Elizabeth as she realized that Neal had not come for her, and that she was now married to the most vile and venal man in the Two Kingdoms.
“He didn’t come,” she said, shock compelling her to speak. She didn’t notice that Adler was leading her out of the chapel, handing her off to her ladies.
“Escort the Princess to her chambers,” he said, and Elizabeth meekly let them.
----
In the corridor just outside the chapel, Peter advanced with his sword drawn, ready to fight. Jones brought up the rear, Neal's limp body under his right arm. It did not take time for them to meet with resistance, but he could not believe his luck when the first group of defenders he encountered included Count Keller.
“You!” Peter said, immediately dropping into a fighting stance.
Keller smiled smugly, then gestured at Peter as he ordered his men to attack. “Kill that one and the giant, but leave the third for questioning.” His men immediately complied, but Peter made short work of them, killing half a dozen in less than twenty seconds.
Taking two steps toward Keller, Peter raised his sword, locked his eyes on the villain’s, and said in a low and dangerous voice, “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.”
Keller immediately turned on his heel and ran toward a heavy door nearby, disappearing behind it.
Peter gave immediate chase, but the door was locked and he could not budge it. He threw his shoulder against it once, twice, a third time, but it was too heavy. “Jones!” he screamed, desperate. “He’s getting away!”
“I can’t leave him alone!” Jones said, referring to Neal, who looked at Peter with sympathy in his eyes, but in his current state, there was little he could do.
“Jones! I need you!”
Jones looked down on Neal apologetically and threaded his arms around the waist of a suit of armor that stood conveniently nearby. Neal sagged against it but did not fall. “Sorry, but I’ll be right back.”
“Carry on,” Neal told him.
“Jones!”
Jones went and tore the door off its hinges for Peter, who disappeared down the corridor on its other side. When Jones turned to retrieve Neal, he found that he too had gone.
“Now what?” he asked no one in particular.
----
Elizabeth was joined at the door to her chambers by Old King Byron and his wife, Queen June. When she put her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly knew what she must do. Somehow, the clarity it offered her made her feel calmer. She turned to the old king, got up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he said.
“Because you've always been so kind to me, and I won't be seeing you again. I’ll be killing myself once I get inside.”
King Byron, who was nearly deaf, patted her on the hand and said. “Won’t that be nice, dear.” Then he turned to his wife and beamed. “She kissed me!”
“Yes, dear,” June said and Elizabeth watched them toddle off for their afternoon nap.
----
Peter chased Keller headlong down a series of stairwells and corridors, further into the bowels of the palace. He didn’t know how far he had gone, nor where the chase would take him, and he didn’t much care. The only thought in his head was catching Keller, and the only image in his mind was of Diana’s body lying in her coffin, his arm around her girlfriend Christie as she wept bitterly.
At length, he came upon a closed door and hoped it was not also locked. It was not, and he hauled it open, rushing through it without looking. A stabbing pain brought him up short and he looked down at the dagger protruding from his belly.
Peter’s legs turned to water and he fell to his knees. He heard a laugh and looked up; there before him with a triumphant grin on his hateful face stood Count Keller. He walked up to Peter and stood there, arrogance pouring off of him. “You must be that sheriff I taught that lesson to all those years ago. That was your daughter? Forgive me, I didn’t know - you looked nothing alike.”
“She was like a daughter -“ Peter gasped, wincing as he pulled the dagger out.
“And you’ve been looking for me all of this time? It’s been what - ten years? Only to fail now? I think that’s the most pathetic thing I have ever heard.”
Peter winced at the pain in his belly, reached a shaking hand down to try to staunch the flow of blood. He struggled to his feet and Keller took a step back.
“Good God, are you still trying to win?” Keller mocked. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance if ever I’ve seen one. I’d study it if my own work wasn’t currently so all-encompassing.”
Peter tried to straighten his back, raised his sword with a hand that was shaking terribly now. “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die,” he said weakly.
Keller thrust his sword at Peter, who parried it away from his chest, if not entirely successfully - the tip of the sword pierced his left shoulder.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” Peter’s voice was louder this time, as the words he’d longed to say for a decade began to give him power.
Keller lunged again, and Peter once again parried. This time, Keller’s sword merely cut his right arm.
“Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” He surged forward as the adrenaline and the words - his mantra for so long - made him increasingly strong.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!”
“Stop saying that!” Keller ordered, lunging forward, but Peter easily deflected this attack.
Now Peter’s voice was a roar as he himself went on the offensive. “Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!” He bashed his sword against Keller’s - the metal clanging loudly in the enclosed space - and advanced, all of his skills and training finally paying off.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!”
He soon had Keller disarmed, backed up against a nearby table and sniveling. Peter flicked the tip of his sword twice at Keller’s face, slicing his cheeks in an exact replica of the horrific scars that marred Peter’s own handsome face.
“No!” Keller begged. “Please!”
“Offer me money,” Peter said, and stabbed him in the left shoulder.
“Yes!”
“Power too. Promise me that!” Peter flicked his wrist and cut Keller’s right arm.
“All that I have and more!!”
“Offer me everything I ask for!”
“Anything you want!” Keller said, but he had a stiletto up his sleeve, which he unwisely tried to use to stab Peter.
Peter easily caught his wrist with his left hand, then ran Keller through with his sword, leaning forward so that he could whisper into his enemy’s ear, “I want Diana back, you son of a bitch!”
----
In her chamber, Elizabeth paused briefly at her door, as if bidding the outside world farewell, then crossed over to her dressing table. On the top was a beautiful gift box, inlaid with ivory and semiprecious stones; inside she knew was a set of steak knives, a gift from some Duke somewhere. She took one up, tested the keenness of its blade against her thumb and pressed its tip to the space between her breasts.
“There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world,” said a familiar voice from behind her. “It would be a pity to damage those.”
She spun around to find her love lying on his back on her bed. “Neal!” She ran to him and straddled him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him all over. “Oh Neal! My darling! I knew you’d come!”
Neal kissed her back but did not lift his arms to place them around her, a feeling she had been longing for for weeks. “Neal,” she said between kisses, “why won’t you hold me?”
“Gently, darling.”
She sat back, pulling him with her. “Gently? I’m jumping your bones here, and all you can say is ‘gently’?” She let him go and his head fell back against the headboard with a dull thump.
“Ow.”
But she ignored his total lack of movement. “Oh Neal, I hope you can forgive me!”
He smiled at her indulgently. “What hideous sin have you committed?”
“I got married,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to! But it all went by so fast.”
“Never happened.”
“What?”
“It never happened.”
She gave him her patented, “don’t be stupid” look. “It did, hon, I was there. This old guy said ‘man and wife.’”
“Did you say ‘I do,’ or any vows?”
“Well, no. They skipped that part.”
“Then you’re not married. If you didn’t say it, you didn’t do it. That’s kind of the point of the vows. Wouldn’t you agree, Prince?”
Elizabeth was shocked to realize that Adler had entered her chamber uninvited and unheard - the man was 100% creeper. She scrambled off of Neal and the bed.
“A technicality. We’ll fix it soon enough.” He drew his sword. “Shall we fight to the death? And I’ll be sure to make this one stick.”
“No,” Neal said, still remaining unmoving on the bed. “We’ll fight to the pain.”
Adler cocked his head mockingly. “To the pain? I’m not familiar with that one.”
“Then I’ll explain in short-syllabled words so that even an inbred moron such as you can understand.”
“That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me!”
“Really? It won’t be the last.” Neal drew a breath and fixed Adler with an intense look, his eyes as cold and hard as Elizabeth had perceived them on the plains of Jardin. She suddenly realized how he could have embodied the Dread Highwayman Caffrey for the last few years. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists, and then your nose.”
“And, I suppose my tongue too. I killed you too quickly last time, Caffrey.”
Neal's eyes flashed. “I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.”
Adler made a get-on-with-it gesture with his hand. “And then my ears. I think I’m catching your drift.”
“Wrong!” Neal shouted. “Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, ‘Dear God, what is that thing?’ will echo in your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.”
Adler took a step backward at Neal's horrifying description. “You’re bluffing.”
“It's possible, pig. I might be bluffing. It's conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that the only reason I'm lying here is because I lack the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all.” Neal slowly sat up and got out of the bed. He pulled the sword from the scabbard at his waist and leveled it at Adler, its point not wavering, nor his voice as he said, “Now. Drop. Your. Sword.”
Being the coward he was, Adler let his sword drop to the floor with a clatter. “Have a seat,” Neal ordered, and Adler took the one that sat in front of Elizabeth’s dressing table. Neal looked over to her and smiled. “Tie him up.” She leapt to comply, using the sashes from the drapes. “Make it as tight as you like,” Neal advised, and Elizabeth was only too happy to comply, Adler whimpering in protest as she did.
A movement in the doorway got her attention. It was Peter, the man who had been so kind to her when she’d been kidnapped weeks earlier. His handsome face was drawn, and she could see the blood staining his clothes. She rushed to his side to help him, but he stayed her with a blood-smeared hand. “I’ll be fine. It is Neal who needs your help.”
Elizabeth looked over and saw that Neal was trembling with the effort of remaining upright. She rushed to his side before he fell. “Why does he need helping?” she asked.
“Because he has no strength.”
“I knew it! I knew he was bluffing!” Adler crowed from his seat.
Peter gave him a dirty look. “Shall I kill this sniveling toad for you?” he asked Neal.
“Thanks, that means a lot, but no. Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice.”
“Where’s Jones?”
“He’s not with you?” Neal asked.
There was a sharp whistle in the courtyard outside Elizabeth’s window and they rushed over to find that Jones had somehow procured four white steeds, plus Elizabeth’s beloved dog Satchmo, and was waiting for them below.
“There you are, Peter!” he said, waving. “Hello, Princess.”
“Hello,” Elizabeth called to him with a smile.
Jones blushed and toed at the dirt with his boot. “So I thought we could use these horses to get away. Do you want to come down?”
“We’ll be there in a moment,” Neal called down, and turned to go, Elizabeth supporting both he and Peter.
----
Some weeks later, Neal and Elizabeth found Peter in the gardens of Neal’s estate on a remote island outside Manhattan known as Feu. They’d retreated here after making their escape from the Palace, and had remained safe - the Prince dared not pursue. Elizabeth had insisted on seeing to Peter’s wounds herself, and he seemed to be at least functional as he and Jones prepared to take their leave the next morning.
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Neal said, taking a seat on a small wall beside him.
But Peter couldn’t look at him and his face colored. “I have to.”
“We don’t know how to repay you for all that you’ve done,” Neal said, and laid a hand on Peter’s arm.
Peter, who’d realized days earlier he had feelings for both Neal and Elizabeth, flinched away. “There is no need,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t think he could bear being with them any longer - their love was so strong, he did not want to spoil it by mooning over them.
“But must you go?” Elizabeth said, seating herself on his other side.
“I - I have to sort things out, you know?” Peter stammered as her hand rested lightly on the back of his neck. “I’ve been in the vengeance business for so long, I’m not sure what do to with myself.”
“You could stay here,” she suggested. “I for one would like that. What do you think, my love?”
Neal's hand joined hers on Peter’s neck, and their fingers entwined. “As you wish,” he answered. They leaned across Peter to kiss each other. He watched with such longing, wondering at their behavior, wishing he could participate. And then, the thing he’d wished since he first met them and heard their story, had first seen their love for each other first hand, finally came true. Neal and Elizabeth turned their faces to Peter and included him in their embrace.
And so Neal, Elizabeth, and Peter lived on together happily and perfectly in love until the end of their long lives. For the course of True Love has never been a predictable one, nor is there anything to say it only has room for two.
----
The End
----
Wow! That was 21,600 words over a solid week - thanks to everyone who hung in there with me for your time!
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Elizabeth/Peter
Spoilers: You kidding?
Content Notice: It’s White Collar vs. The Princess Bride (film). With apologies to William Goldman… and Rob Reiner while I’m at it. Also: character death.
Word Count: 6,100
Summary: Part the last, in which True Love prevails… and all the best lines are uttered.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
----
Peter and Jones were walking at the edge of the Thieves’ Forest, very near the Palace grounds, when they heard a sound that made the birds leave the trees in a panic and all of the woodland creatures flee to their nests and burrows. Peter stopped walking and grabbed Jones’ sleeve, nearly staggering under the weight of that sound. It was a wail of pain and anguish so dark and profound it left tears in Peter’s eyes.
“Jones, do you hear that?” Peter said, his voice gruff. “That is the sound of ultimate suffering. It is the sound my heart made when Keller slaughtered my Diana. The Man in Black makes it now.”
“The Man in Black?”
“His Love marries another tonight - who else has a cause for ultimate suffering?”
Jones shrugged - there was no arguing with Peter’s logic. They followed the sound to what they concluded must be its source, but found themselves standing in a clearing in the forest with no sign of anyone or anything. Except… for a strange albino who seemed to have come from nowhere, pushing a wheelbarrow.
“You there! Where is the Man in Black?” Peter demanded, affecting his best lawman’s demeanor. It seemed to work, for the albino’s face looked fearful, but that might also have been the roughly 7 feet of giant standing at Peter’s side. Still, the albino wasn’t talking. “Hey Jones, jog his memory.”
Jones made a massive fist and brought it down on the albino’s head; he fell to the ground, unconscious. “Snap, I didn’t mean to jog him so hard. Sorry, Peter.”
Peter drew his sword and got down on one knee. He rested the point of his weapon into the ground and lay his hands on the hilt, closed his eyes and began to pray. “Diana, I loved you like a daughter, and I have sworn my life to avenging your murder. Somewhere close by is a man who can help me, but I cannot find him alone. I need you to guide me - to guide my sword. Please, Diana, please. Please…” Peter kept his eyes closed but was drawn to his feet by an unknowable force. It seemed as if a large hand were guiding the weapon through the clearing, and he did not fight it. At last, the point stuck into the wood of a gnarled old oak at one end. Peter opened his eyes and looked at the thing.
“What is this? I don’t understand… I thought it was working.” He leaned against the tree, dejected, resting his head against his forearm with despair. From somewhere inside the tree, he heard a faint click, and a door opened up in the side. “Jones!” Peter breathed, his eyes goggling. Jones followed him down the long stairs that revealed themselves within.
At the bottom of the stairs was what appeared to be a vast dungeon, given over to all manner of unspeakable torture. Peter averted his eyes from some of the more horrific instruments, but he was of course drawn to the Machine that dominated the center of the room. And beside it was the man he sought, the Man in Black.
He lay on a table, strange bands of leather binding him to it, but he was pale and unmoving. Peter reached out a trembling hand and felt for a pulse at his neck, but there was none. He sighed, running his fingers over the young man’s jaw, his proud brow. So handsome, he was, so noble and brave. To meet such an end… it hurt Peter’s heart to even think of the Man or his Love hurt or harmed in any way - strange feelings, to be sure, in a man devoted to the Vengeance business. He’d only been with the couple briefly, and their contact had been contentious - he was the Princess’ kidnapper after all, and the Man in Black defeated him in battle. But still, in the intervening weeks, as he pieced together their story - he was still a good investigator - he couldn’t help but be affected by the magic that was their love, their bond, their devotion to each other. And to want a piece of it for himself.
Peter shook his head - such thoughts were unwelcome and largely irrelevant now. “He’s dead. The Man in Black is dead,” he pronounced.
Jones laid a great, sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much this means to you.”
Peter closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hand lingering on the Man’s shoulder. But then something occurred to him. “Wait, I’ve got an idea!” He began to unbuckle the straps around Neal’s body. “Jones, help me.” When they’d gotten him disentangled from the table, he said. “I’ll grab his clothes, you bring the body, we must hurry.”
“The body? Hurry? Where are we going?”
“You have any money?”
“I’ve always got cash, Peter.”
“Good. Here’s hoping it’s enough to buy a miracle!”
----
Peter and Jones arrived at the ramshackle hut that was the dwelling of Miracle Moz, Ph.D., who had served Old King Byron for many years. His reputation for pulling off the impossible was widely known, and if there was anyone who could help Peter find a way into the Palace, it was him.
Peter banged urgently on the door, and heard shuffling feet approach from inside. A small door where a peephole might have been opened up from the inside, and Peter found himself looking down on a bald old man, blinking up at him through thick spectacles.
“What, what?” Miracle Moz demanded.
“Are you Miracle Moz, who worked for the king all those years?” Peter asked.
A look of pain crossed the old man’s features and his eyes narrowed. “I was until the king’s nogoodnik son fired me. And thank you for bringing up such a painful subject, by the way! Why not just poke me in the eye with a pointed stick? We’re closed!” With that, he slammed the little door shut.
Peter would not be deterred, and banged on the door again.
“Cut it out or I’ll call the Brute Squad!” Moz threatened.
“I’m on the Brute Squad,” Jones said.
Moz looked him up and down, his jaw dropping open. “You are the Brute Squad.”
“Please, we need a miracle, it’s vitally important,” Peter said.
Moz looked at him with contempt and suspicion. “I’m retired. And besides, why would you want someone the king’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you want me to miracle.”
“He’s already dead.”
Moz raised both eyebrows, his professional curiosity piqued. “You don’t say? Bring him in.” He closed the tiny door and at last, opened the real door. Peter was surprised to see he was even shorter than he’d appeared through the door - he must have been standing on a stool to speak with them. He danced from foot to foot, though, and gestured for them to come inside.
Jones laid Neal onto a nearby workbench, and Miracle Moz began to examine him closely, poking, prodding, using strange and delicate instruments on him.
At last, the waiting was too much, and Peter had to say something. “Sir? Please, we’re in a bit of a rush, so…”
“Don’t rush me, Brute. You rush me, you get terrible miracles. You got any cash?”
“Jones, pay the man.”
“A hundred enough?”
“A hundred? I’ve never worked for so little! Your cause had better be a noble one.”
“He is going to help me avenge the death of my closest friend, murdered by a treacherous and sadistic monster.”
Miracle Moz looked up at him blandly, ignoring Peter’s emotional plea. “He owes you money, doesn’t he? Well, why don’t I just ask him.”
“Ask him? He’s dead.”
“Oh ho,” Moz said, peering up at him. “Shows what you know. Your friend here is only mostly dead.” He jumped off the stool he’d used to examine Neal and went over to the hearth, returning with a small bellows. “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all-the-way-dead. Just ask Sir Elvis - he’ll tell you.”
“Sir Elvis Presley has been dead for twenty years,” Jones felt it important to point out.
“That’s only what they want you to think, Brute. The real story is a lot more complicated, involving black ops, crop circles, and New Coke. You really should subscribe to my newsletter, The Grassy Knoll. I’ve exposed things that’ll turn you white.” He looked Jones up and down and thought better of his last comment as he hopped back up on his stool . “Or, you know, paler. Anyway, help me - open his mouth.”
Peter obliged and Moz inserted the end of the bellows into Neal’s mouth. He then gently puffed air into the man, until his belly and chest became alarmingly distended. Moz removed the bellows and then hunkered down near Neal’s slack face. “Hey, handsome!” he yelled into his ear. “Hello! You in there? Tell me, what’s so important? What have you got that’s worth living for?” Moz leaned over Neal’s prone body and pressed down on his chest with all his weight, his tiny feet dangling in the air.
“Truuuuuuuue… Looooooooovvve…” was the reply that came out of Neal in a long, pained groan.
“True Love! You see?” Peter said. “What cause could be nobler?”
Moz leaned against the table and looked wistful for a moment. “Yeah, True Love is something - maybe the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice, heady Bordeaux, you know? Aged properly? I had one in Paris once that was… well… is sublime the appropriate word? I’m not sure - I’ll have to consult a Thesaurus.” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Anyway, that’s not what he said at all.”
“What?”
“Look, he clearly said ‘to blave,’ which we all know is an Old English word for ‘to bluff.’ So, what - you were playing cards and he cheated you?”
“Liar! You are so full of shit, Moz!”
Peter and Jones turned, surprised, as a stunning young redhead entered the room. She pointed accusingly at Miracle Moz, her large eyes flashing.
“Go back, witch!” he said, making an anti-hex sign.
“I’m no witch, I’m your wife!” she said, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side. Peter and Jones traded impressed faces. “But after what you just said, I’m not sure I even want to be that anymore!”
“You’ve never had it so good!”
She strode up to him, snagged him by the ear, and hissed. “Youhave never had it so good. And if you ever want any of it again, you will help these men. True Love, Moz. He said, ‘True Love!’”
“Not another word, Sara!” Moz complained, but she had already turned to address Peter and Jones.
“He’s afraid, my husband. Ever since Prince Adler fired him, his confidence has been shattered.”
“Why would you say that?” Moz whined. “And I thought I asked you never to say that name in my presence.” He was truly hurt now, and she went up to him, cradling his head against her.
“I’m sorry, darling, but you must help them.”
“I’m not listening.”
“True Love is dying, and you won’t help? That’s not the man I married. That Adler schmuck really did a number on you.”
“Sara, please -“ he moaned, burying his face against her breasts.
Peter leaned forward then, eyes shining as he got a sudden insight. “This man is Princess Elizabeth’s True Love. If you heal him, it will stop Adler’s wedding!”
Suddenly, all grief and upset had disappeared, and Miracle Moz looked at him shrewdly. “Wait. You mean if I heal him, Adler suffers?”
“Humiliations galore.”
“’Nuff said. Sara, get me my books!”
“Yippee!” Sara hopped for joy a little and ran off to help him gather supplies.
An hour later, she stood at his elbow and painted a rather alarmingly large pill with a coating of rich Belgian chocolate.
“That’s a miracle pill?” Jones asked, dubious.
“The chocolate helps it go down easier,” Sara told him, and then popped it into a small pouch and handed it to Peter. “But you should wait fifteen minutes for it to reach full potency before you give it to him. And he should probably avoid alcohol for, what, honey - a day or two?”
“Make it a week, to be safe,” Miracle Moz said.
Sara smiled at him fondly and put her hand on his cheek, “My Miracle Man, so smart,” she purred and then kissed him deeply. Miracle Moz leaned up against her and she clutched at his face; he ran his hands up her back and then she hiked her knee up against him and began grinding.
“OK, so… guess we’ll be going…” Peter said, uncomfortable.
“Oh, of course,” Miracle Moz said, disengaging from his wife’s arms and straightening out his glasses, which were falling off his face. He escorted them to the door, Jones carrying Neal in his arms like a baby.
“Bye, boys. Good luck!” Sara called after them, pinching Moz’s ass.
Moz jumped delightedly, then waved at them as they left. “Have fun storming the castle!”
----
Peter and Jones found themselves on a small hill overlooking the Palace’s main gate and saw that there were far more than thirty men now guarding it, a fact Jones felt compelled to point out.
“OK, I’ll allow it’s not looking as good as before. But we’ve got him,” Peter indicated Neal. They were hiding behind a small retaining wall that concealed them from sight of the gates. Peter pulled Neal into a sitting position against his chest and forced his mouth open. “Help me, Jones? We’ll have to force the pill down his throat.”
“Has it been fifteen minutes?” Jones asked, handing Peter the pill.
“It must have - we had to walk all the way over.” Peter tilted Neal’s head back against his shoulder and popped the pill into his mouth, then massaged his throat until it seemed as if he’d swallowed it.
“How long should it take…” Jones began to ask, but immediately Neal sprang to life.
“You fiends! I’ll take you all on! Where’s my sword!”
“I guess not long,” Peter observed.
Neal was agitated in Peter’s arms, but largely unmoving. “Why won’t my arms move?”
“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Jones informed me.
“We got Miracle Moz to make a pill to bring you back,” Peter explained.
He was still confused. “Who are you? Are we enemies? Where’s Elizabeth?”
Peter moved Neal so that he was seated comfortably against the wall, and then addressed him. “Let me explain.” He thought a moment. “No, there is too much to explain, so I’ll give you the bullets. Elizabeth is set to marry Adler in less than half an hour. So, we need to get into the Palace, stop the wedding, steal the Princess and make our escape. Oh, after I kill Count Keller.”
Neal eyed Peter and recognition dawned. “You’re that ex-sheriff swordsman for hire I met all those weeks ago.”
“Hi.”
Neal looked up at Jones, who in fact was difficult to miss. “And you’re the giant I lay that sleeper hold on.”
“Yeah, about that -“
“Look, we don’t have time,” Peter said urgently.
“You’re right,” Neal said, twitching his right forefinger.
“You just wiggled your finger - that’s impressive,” Jones noted.
“I’ve always been a quick healer. Now, we don’t have much time to plan. What are our liabilities?”
“There is but one way into the Palace proper and it’s guarded by sixty men.” Peter put his hands under Neal's arms, lifted him up so he could see, then settled him back down.
“And our assets?”
“Your brains, Jones’ strength, and my steel.”
“That’s it? Impossible! If I had a month to plan, maybe, but -“ He shook his head.
“You just shook your head!” Jones said. “That’s wonderful.”
Neal glared at him. “My brains, your strength and his steel against sixty and you think a little head jiggle is wonderful? I mean, if we had a wheelbarrow, maybe -“
“Where did we put the wheelbarrow the albino had?” Peter asked.
“Over the albino, I think.”
“Why didn’t you list that among our assets in the first place?” Neal snitted. “Man, what I would do for a holocaust cloak about now.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Peter admitted.
“Will this do?” Jones asked, pulling a long, dark garment from inside his shirt.
“Where’d that come from?”
“From Miracle Moz. I liked it so much, he gave it to me for half price.”
“OK, OK, help me up,” Neal said impatiently, “help me up. I’ll need a sword eventually.”
“What for - you can hardly lift it,” Peter pointed out.
“True, but we’re the only ones who know that. Attitude and presentation are all you need to sell a con sometimes.” Peter obligingly strapped a scabbard around Neal's waist. “Now, there may be some difficulties once we’re inside. Here’s what we’ll do…”
----
Elizabeth sat staring at her image in the mirror as her ladies prepared her for the wedding. A movement out of the corner of her eye turned out to be her betrothed. “You don’t seem excited, my poppet,” Adler pouted.
She sighed - he was such a pill. “Should I be?”
“I understand brides often are.”
She shrugged and looked away. “I do not marry tonight. Neal will come for me.”
Thirty minutes later, she stood at the altar with her delicate hand engulfed in Adler’s carefully manicured one, with Archbishop Hughes standing before him. The old fellow, tall and painfully thin, looked like he was about to collapse under the weight of his elaborate vestments.
“Mawwiage!” Hughes intoned. “Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew today! Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam!”
Elizabeth, Adler and most of those assembled in the Palace chapel jumped at a shout and a crash outside the gate.
“Stand your ground men!” Captain Fowler’s voice carried over them. “STAND YOUR GROUND!”
Outside, Jones, clad in his new holocaust cloak, glided as if he flew towards the sixty men in front of the gate. “I am the Dread Highwayman Caffrey!” he shouted, deepening his voice for effect. “There will be no survivors!”
The men began to show disquiet, and many of them drew their swords.
Behind Jones, Peter struggled to keep the wheelbarrow steady as he rolled Jones forward. Neal, being nearly paralyzed, sat leaning against the back of Jones’ legs. “Now?” Peter grunted.
“Not yet,” Neal muttered.
“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey leaves no survivors!” Jones continued, clearly enjoying his role as nightmare monster. He held his hands out, the sleeves of the cloak billowing dramatically in the breeze. “All your worst nightmares are about to come true!”
“How about now?” Peter gasped, shaking - he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage.
“Light him up.”
Peter lit the holocaust cloak, which was immediately engulfed in orange flames three feet high.
“Stay where you are!” Fowler ordered his men fruitlessly.
“The Dread Highwayman Caffrey has come for your SOULS!” Jones pronounced, and all of the men save Captain Fowler hightailed it out of there.
Inside the chapel, Archbishop Hughes was going on with the ceremony as if total chaos had not erupted just outside the gate. “And wuv, twue wuv, wiww fowwow you fowevah. So tweasuwe youw wuv - “
Outside, Jones flung the holocaust cloak aside, it having lived up to its promise, and he and Peter advanced on Captain Fowler. “Give us the key,” Peter ordered him calmly.
“Key? I have no key.”
“Jones, tear his arm off and beat him to death with it.”
“Oh, did you say key?” Fowler stammered, producing one from a pocket inside his jacket. “Here you are.”
At the altar, Adler was getting increasingly antsy. “Skip to the end!” he ordered Archbishop Hughes.
Hughes blinked at him. “Have you a wing?”
Adler glanced at Elizabeth, who watched the doors of the cathedral expectantly. “I killed your Neal myself,” he delighted in telling her.
“Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” she observed calmly.
Hughes cleared his throat and continued with the ceremony. “Do you Pwincess Ewizabeff take this man -“
“Man and wife!” Adler said sharply to the cleric, growing impatient with the pomp. “Just say man and wife!”
“Man and wife?” Hughes said.
And then the despair she’d been holding at bay for so many weeks finally descended on Elizabeth as she realized that Neal had not come for her, and that she was now married to the most vile and venal man in the Two Kingdoms.
“He didn’t come,” she said, shock compelling her to speak. She didn’t notice that Adler was leading her out of the chapel, handing her off to her ladies.
“Escort the Princess to her chambers,” he said, and Elizabeth meekly let them.
----
In the corridor just outside the chapel, Peter advanced with his sword drawn, ready to fight. Jones brought up the rear, Neal's limp body under his right arm. It did not take time for them to meet with resistance, but he could not believe his luck when the first group of defenders he encountered included Count Keller.
“You!” Peter said, immediately dropping into a fighting stance.
Keller smiled smugly, then gestured at Peter as he ordered his men to attack. “Kill that one and the giant, but leave the third for questioning.” His men immediately complied, but Peter made short work of them, killing half a dozen in less than twenty seconds.
Taking two steps toward Keller, Peter raised his sword, locked his eyes on the villain’s, and said in a low and dangerous voice, “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.”
Keller immediately turned on his heel and ran toward a heavy door nearby, disappearing behind it.
Peter gave immediate chase, but the door was locked and he could not budge it. He threw his shoulder against it once, twice, a third time, but it was too heavy. “Jones!” he screamed, desperate. “He’s getting away!”
“I can’t leave him alone!” Jones said, referring to Neal, who looked at Peter with sympathy in his eyes, but in his current state, there was little he could do.
“Jones! I need you!”
Jones looked down on Neal apologetically and threaded his arms around the waist of a suit of armor that stood conveniently nearby. Neal sagged against it but did not fall. “Sorry, but I’ll be right back.”
“Carry on,” Neal told him.
“Jones!”
Jones went and tore the door off its hinges for Peter, who disappeared down the corridor on its other side. When Jones turned to retrieve Neal, he found that he too had gone.
“Now what?” he asked no one in particular.
----
Elizabeth was joined at the door to her chambers by Old King Byron and his wife, Queen June. When she put her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly knew what she must do. Somehow, the clarity it offered her made her feel calmer. She turned to the old king, got up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he said.
“Because you've always been so kind to me, and I won't be seeing you again. I’ll be killing myself once I get inside.”
King Byron, who was nearly deaf, patted her on the hand and said. “Won’t that be nice, dear.” Then he turned to his wife and beamed. “She kissed me!”
“Yes, dear,” June said and Elizabeth watched them toddle off for their afternoon nap.
----
Peter chased Keller headlong down a series of stairwells and corridors, further into the bowels of the palace. He didn’t know how far he had gone, nor where the chase would take him, and he didn’t much care. The only thought in his head was catching Keller, and the only image in his mind was of Diana’s body lying in her coffin, his arm around her girlfriend Christie as she wept bitterly.
At length, he came upon a closed door and hoped it was not also locked. It was not, and he hauled it open, rushing through it without looking. A stabbing pain brought him up short and he looked down at the dagger protruding from his belly.
Peter’s legs turned to water and he fell to his knees. He heard a laugh and looked up; there before him with a triumphant grin on his hateful face stood Count Keller. He walked up to Peter and stood there, arrogance pouring off of him. “You must be that sheriff I taught that lesson to all those years ago. That was your daughter? Forgive me, I didn’t know - you looked nothing alike.”
“She was like a daughter -“ Peter gasped, wincing as he pulled the dagger out.
“And you’ve been looking for me all of this time? It’s been what - ten years? Only to fail now? I think that’s the most pathetic thing I have ever heard.”
Peter winced at the pain in his belly, reached a shaking hand down to try to staunch the flow of blood. He struggled to his feet and Keller took a step back.
“Good God, are you still trying to win?” Keller mocked. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance if ever I’ve seen one. I’d study it if my own work wasn’t currently so all-encompassing.”
Peter tried to straighten his back, raised his sword with a hand that was shaking terribly now. “Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die,” he said weakly.
Keller thrust his sword at Peter, who parried it away from his chest, if not entirely successfully - the tip of the sword pierced his left shoulder.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” Peter’s voice was louder this time, as the words he’d longed to say for a decade began to give him power.
Keller lunged again, and Peter once again parried. This time, Keller’s sword merely cut his right arm.
“Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die.” He surged forward as the adrenaline and the words - his mantra for so long - made him increasingly strong.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!”
“Stop saying that!” Keller ordered, lunging forward, but Peter easily deflected this attack.
Now Peter’s voice was a roar as he himself went on the offensive. “Hello! My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!” He bashed his sword against Keller’s - the metal clanging loudly in the enclosed space - and advanced, all of his skills and training finally paying off.
“Hello. My name is Peter Burke. You killed my daughter. Prepare to die!”
He soon had Keller disarmed, backed up against a nearby table and sniveling. Peter flicked the tip of his sword twice at Keller’s face, slicing his cheeks in an exact replica of the horrific scars that marred Peter’s own handsome face.
“No!” Keller begged. “Please!”
“Offer me money,” Peter said, and stabbed him in the left shoulder.
“Yes!”
“Power too. Promise me that!” Peter flicked his wrist and cut Keller’s right arm.
“All that I have and more!!”
“Offer me everything I ask for!”
“Anything you want!” Keller said, but he had a stiletto up his sleeve, which he unwisely tried to use to stab Peter.
Peter easily caught his wrist with his left hand, then ran Keller through with his sword, leaning forward so that he could whisper into his enemy’s ear, “I want Diana back, you son of a bitch!”
----
In her chamber, Elizabeth paused briefly at her door, as if bidding the outside world farewell, then crossed over to her dressing table. On the top was a beautiful gift box, inlaid with ivory and semiprecious stones; inside she knew was a set of steak knives, a gift from some Duke somewhere. She took one up, tested the keenness of its blade against her thumb and pressed its tip to the space between her breasts.
“There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world,” said a familiar voice from behind her. “It would be a pity to damage those.”
She spun around to find her love lying on his back on her bed. “Neal!” She ran to him and straddled him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him all over. “Oh Neal! My darling! I knew you’d come!”
Neal kissed her back but did not lift his arms to place them around her, a feeling she had been longing for for weeks. “Neal,” she said between kisses, “why won’t you hold me?”
“Gently, darling.”
She sat back, pulling him with her. “Gently? I’m jumping your bones here, and all you can say is ‘gently’?” She let him go and his head fell back against the headboard with a dull thump.
“Ow.”
But she ignored his total lack of movement. “Oh Neal, I hope you can forgive me!”
He smiled at her indulgently. “What hideous sin have you committed?”
“I got married,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to! But it all went by so fast.”
“Never happened.”
“What?”
“It never happened.”
She gave him her patented, “don’t be stupid” look. “It did, hon, I was there. This old guy said ‘man and wife.’”
“Did you say ‘I do,’ or any vows?”
“Well, no. They skipped that part.”
“Then you’re not married. If you didn’t say it, you didn’t do it. That’s kind of the point of the vows. Wouldn’t you agree, Prince?”
Elizabeth was shocked to realize that Adler had entered her chamber uninvited and unheard - the man was 100% creeper. She scrambled off of Neal and the bed.
“A technicality. We’ll fix it soon enough.” He drew his sword. “Shall we fight to the death? And I’ll be sure to make this one stick.”
“No,” Neal said, still remaining unmoving on the bed. “We’ll fight to the pain.”
Adler cocked his head mockingly. “To the pain? I’m not familiar with that one.”
“Then I’ll explain in short-syllabled words so that even an inbred moron such as you can understand.”
“That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me!”
“Really? It won’t be the last.” Neal drew a breath and fixed Adler with an intense look, his eyes as cold and hard as Elizabeth had perceived them on the plains of Jardin. She suddenly realized how he could have embodied the Dread Highwayman Caffrey for the last few years. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists, and then your nose.”
“And, I suppose my tongue too. I killed you too quickly last time, Caffrey.”
Neal's eyes flashed. “I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.”
Adler made a get-on-with-it gesture with his hand. “And then my ears. I think I’m catching your drift.”
“Wrong!” Neal shouted. “Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, ‘Dear God, what is that thing?’ will echo in your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.”
Adler took a step backward at Neal's horrifying description. “You’re bluffing.”
“It's possible, pig. I might be bluffing. It's conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that the only reason I'm lying here is because I lack the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all.” Neal slowly sat up and got out of the bed. He pulled the sword from the scabbard at his waist and leveled it at Adler, its point not wavering, nor his voice as he said, “Now. Drop. Your. Sword.”
Being the coward he was, Adler let his sword drop to the floor with a clatter. “Have a seat,” Neal ordered, and Adler took the one that sat in front of Elizabeth’s dressing table. Neal looked over to her and smiled. “Tie him up.” She leapt to comply, using the sashes from the drapes. “Make it as tight as you like,” Neal advised, and Elizabeth was only too happy to comply, Adler whimpering in protest as she did.
A movement in the doorway got her attention. It was Peter, the man who had been so kind to her when she’d been kidnapped weeks earlier. His handsome face was drawn, and she could see the blood staining his clothes. She rushed to his side to help him, but he stayed her with a blood-smeared hand. “I’ll be fine. It is Neal who needs your help.”
Elizabeth looked over and saw that Neal was trembling with the effort of remaining upright. She rushed to his side before he fell. “Why does he need helping?” she asked.
“Because he has no strength.”
“I knew it! I knew he was bluffing!” Adler crowed from his seat.
Peter gave him a dirty look. “Shall I kill this sniveling toad for you?” he asked Neal.
“Thanks, that means a lot, but no. Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice.”
“Where’s Jones?”
“He’s not with you?” Neal asked.
There was a sharp whistle in the courtyard outside Elizabeth’s window and they rushed over to find that Jones had somehow procured four white steeds, plus Elizabeth’s beloved dog Satchmo, and was waiting for them below.
“There you are, Peter!” he said, waving. “Hello, Princess.”
“Hello,” Elizabeth called to him with a smile.
Jones blushed and toed at the dirt with his boot. “So I thought we could use these horses to get away. Do you want to come down?”
“We’ll be there in a moment,” Neal called down, and turned to go, Elizabeth supporting both he and Peter.
----
Some weeks later, Neal and Elizabeth found Peter in the gardens of Neal’s estate on a remote island outside Manhattan known as Feu. They’d retreated here after making their escape from the Palace, and had remained safe - the Prince dared not pursue. Elizabeth had insisted on seeing to Peter’s wounds herself, and he seemed to be at least functional as he and Jones prepared to take their leave the next morning.
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Neal said, taking a seat on a small wall beside him.
But Peter couldn’t look at him and his face colored. “I have to.”
“We don’t know how to repay you for all that you’ve done,” Neal said, and laid a hand on Peter’s arm.
Peter, who’d realized days earlier he had feelings for both Neal and Elizabeth, flinched away. “There is no need,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t think he could bear being with them any longer - their love was so strong, he did not want to spoil it by mooning over them.
“But must you go?” Elizabeth said, seating herself on his other side.
“I - I have to sort things out, you know?” Peter stammered as her hand rested lightly on the back of his neck. “I’ve been in the vengeance business for so long, I’m not sure what do to with myself.”
“You could stay here,” she suggested. “I for one would like that. What do you think, my love?”
Neal's hand joined hers on Peter’s neck, and their fingers entwined. “As you wish,” he answered. They leaned across Peter to kiss each other. He watched with such longing, wondering at their behavior, wishing he could participate. And then, the thing he’d wished since he first met them and heard their story, had first seen their love for each other first hand, finally came true. Neal and Elizabeth turned their faces to Peter and included him in their embrace.
And so Neal, Elizabeth, and Peter lived on together happily and perfectly in love until the end of their long lives. For the course of True Love has never been a predictable one, nor is there anything to say it only has room for two.
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The End
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Wow! That was 21,600 words over a solid week - thanks to everyone who hung in there with me for your time!