SPN Fic: Handsome (5/5)
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*****
Jared convinces Jensen to rest for a few hours, arguing that they’ll have a better chance to sneak into the Palace under cover of night. He doesn’t need to argue much; Jensen feels as tired as he was the first morning he woke up in Jared’s care. And given the embarrassing near-faint in the counsel room, Jensen concedes that it’s risky for him to attempt anything without a break.
He lies down on the narrow cot. Jared settles into the chair with his feet propped on the table.
Jensen finds himself thinking of the night before. Of curling up under Jared’s wing on the mountainside. For a moment, he longs for his bed back at Jared’s castle, big enough to hold both of them. It’s strange. He’s never sought out that kind of physical intimacy with anyone in the past.
Jensen closes his eyes, certain he’s too wound up to actually sleep. But the next moment Jared is shaking him awake in a darkened room. “The clock outside tolled an hour past midnight,” he whispers. “And the activity outside seems to be settling down. Although it’s hard to tell exactly, because this room faces the back alley and not the courtyard. Which would probably be appreciated by most guests who stayed here, but-“
“Alright,” Jensen says, blinking away the cobwebs. “Let’s go.”
Jared throws his glamour over both of them, and they slip out of the room and down the stairs, Jensen in the lead. Once safely outside the manor, they hurry down moon-flooded streets, dodging into doorways to avoid the squads of Brock’s soldiers that march toward the Palace’s front gates where the assault will be focused.
Jensen guides Jared, however, in the other direction, searching for the same hidden entry from which he’d spirited Brock in their initial flight from Alaina. There’s a good chance she’s discovered it since then, but it’s the most viable entrance point Jensen knows. He can only hope she’s not anticipating his return.
Against the Palace wall, there’s a grate set in the cobbled stone, what looks like just an ordinary drain for rainwater. Except that when Jensen hooks his fingers into one edge and pulls it up, beneath is a wide hole with a rope ladder dangling down into the pitch dark.
“I’ll climb down and wait for you at the bottom,” Jensen murmurs. “The passage beneath the walls is only a few dozen yards long.”
Jared nods, and Jensen descends into the black void of the passage. When he reaches the floor, he holds onto the ladder to steady it, feeling it bend and twist as Jared follows. He puts a hand on Jared’s calf in warning, then his leg, his lower back, guiding him down. Then, he takes Jared by the hand, and extends his other to touch the wall beside him. He blindly feels his way down the tunnel, tugging Jared along behind.
It’s a much easier trip without a bullet hole in one side.
“If I were in dragon form,” Jared says in a plaintive whisper, “I could light a fire for us to see the way.”
“If you were in dragon form, you’d get stuck wedged in here and be no help at all. Now quiet, I’m not sure how far voices carry down here.”
Jensen counts steps in his head-hundredneleven, hundredntwelve-until he feels the rude stone of the tunnel wall turn into smooth brick. He squeezes Jared’s hand in warning. There should be stairs right in front of them.
Up they go, still in complete darkness, Jensen with his arm extended out in front of him so he doesn’t accidently crash into the door at the top. When they reach it, he sends up a wordless prayer before reaching out to turn the latch.
Incredibly, it clicks and the door falls open. Jensen scrabbles to catch it before it can swing wide. He peers through the small gap. There’s enough moonlight filtering in through the wall of stained-glass windows beyond to show that the Royal Council Chamber is empty. The tables and chairs lay scattered in disarray, left exactly as they’d been the day of the Queen’s murder. Jensen pushes aside memories of scarlet splashes of blood and the acrid, burnt smell of gunpowder and steps out into the room, motioning Jared to follow.
“Up or down?” he whispers. Back in the room at the Lord Mayor’s, he and Jared had debated whether Alaina would be holding Colin prisoner in his lavish suites in the Summit Tower or whether she’d relegated him or the others to the dank criminals’ cells in the basement.
Jared shrugs and shakes his head.
Jensen knows they are in danger of running out of time. Colin’s got to be their primary goal, he’s the key to any power Alaina still has. Jensen figures better to go up first, and if they don’t find him there, they can work their way down through the castle, be ready to aid Brock when he arrives.
He feels the warm tingle of Jared’s magic wash over him, and looking down, Jensen sees he’s dressed now in a common guardsman’s uniform.
“No sparkles,” Jensen mutters.
“I’ll try,” Jared says stiffly.
They slip out of the Council Chamber, and walk purposefully, side by side, as if they’re on some kind of patrol of the halls. Really, they ought to be carrying muskets of some sort, but Jensen’s not sure whether Jared’s illusions could extend to something like that. Jensen starts to rehearse an explanation for if they run into any real guards. However, their luck holds, and without being detected, they make it to the circular stairs leading up to the royal family’s rooms.
Jensen’s really tired of stairs.
Up and up they climb. There are oil lamps set in small niches, every third one burning low and throwing up flickering shadows on the walls. The twist of the staircase is tight, dizzying. Jensen’s made this trip any number of times with Brock, but tonight it seems to go on forever.
Eventually they do reach the top, and Jensen stops on the last step, peeking out from the archway to check whether the coast is clear. The main antechamber is empty, all the doors to the various suites are closed.
Colin’s is the first one on the left, and there’s nothing to do but go in to see. Jensen decides to take it at a rush; sneaking won’t help if there are armed guards on the other side.
Confident Jared will follow his lead, Jensen sprints from the stairwell, prepared to bust through the door with his shoulder. But it’s unlocked, and he’s able to fling it open and rush inside. He spots a man huddled across the room on the floor by the massive curved window bay, shackled hand and foot to a heavy iron curtain rod bolted to the wall.
But the man isn’t Prince Colin. It’s Jensen’s father.
Jensen glances around to make sure they’re alone, that it’s not some sort of trap. He runs through a shower of sparks as Jared’s illusion upon him dissipates, dashing over to kneel at his father’s side. Alan appears to be unconscious, but when Jensen lays a hand on his shoulder, he rouses. His face is haggard and ashen. Jensen’s never seen him like this; even in his old age he’s always seemed invincible.
“Sir,” Jensen says softly. He notes with dismay his father’s abraded wrists, his shallow, labored breaths. “You’re as cold as ice. We have to get you out of here.”
His father catches sight of Jared over Jensen’s shoulder, his eyes widening with alarm.
“Jensen,” he barks, voice harsh with disuse, but urgent. “I want you to leave this place.”
“We’re here to liberate you. You and Prince Colin.”
"You must go... now! Forget the prince. Forget kingdom,” his father says, struggling to sit upright, coughing and wheezing. “You must get Jared out of here. Don't you understand? Jared is one of the last dragons on earth. Possibly the very last. You must protect him at all costs."
Jensen twists around to look at Jared, who’s still near the suite’s doors. "Is this true?"
But before Jared can answer, Jensen sees something’s truly wrong. Jared’s slumped down on the floor with his back to the wall, his face is as pale as a ghost. Even from across the room, Jensen can see he’s trembling.
“What's wrong?” Jensen calls, torn between going to him and staying at his father’s side.
Jared doesn’t answer; his father does. “He can't stay in his human form so long.”
“He told me he could make it until tomorrow night!” Jensen protests. He turns from his father then, and hurries back to Jared’s side. “Are you alright? Tell me you’re alright.”
Jared looks up at him with a wan smile. "Performing sorcery while in this form… it's harder than I anticipated. Much harder.”
Jensen looks back and forth between the two. Both incapacitated. What does he do now? How can he get them out of the Palace if they can’t even stand? How can he leave without Colin?
His father is laboring to get to his knees, the manacles around his wrists clanking too loudly in the midnight stillness. If the window was open, they’d hear it all across the courtyard.
If the window was open.
Jensen grabs Jared’s arm and hauls it over his shoulders, helping him stand and shepherding him over to the bay’s bench seat. Once there, Jensen uses his free hand to unfasten the windows' latch and throws them wide open.
“Can you change back?” he asks Jared urgently. “Can you fly?”
“What?” Jared asks faintly.
“You can go out the window and change back into dragon form. Take my father and fly back to the castle. I will find Colin and, once I have him safe, I will meet you back there. Tomorrow, or as soon as I can.”
“No,” Jared says, squaring his shoulders. “You’ll be killed. I can’t leave you here. ”
“You must. Unless you leave, with my father, we will all be discovered and killed. Now, can you fly?” He starts unbuttoning Jared’s waistcoat, stripping it off and then pulling at the hem of his shirt.
Jared hesitates for a second, his lips pressed in a thin line, but then he starts to help, stripping quickly out of the rest of his clothes. Without thinking, Jensen stands between Jared and his father, shielding his naked form, to provide some privacy. He takes Jared by the hand and helps him climb up onto the bench. Then Jared sets his other foot on the window frame, ducks his head, and steps out into mid-air, swinging himself around to the side.
Between one blink and the next, the man is gone, and the dragon sits, clinging to the vine-covered stone of the tower, his tail wrapped around the curve of the wall. Moonlight glints off of his sleek skin, but it blends enough with the foliage that, if they didn’t know to look for him, no one from the ground would spot him there.
He snakes his head around to look Jensen in the eye. “Come with us. Please.”
Jensen’s not sure whether Jared, in his weakened state, will be able to carry his father, much less both of them. “I will meet you back at home,” Jensen responds adamantly.
Jared doesn’t protest further. He reaches a clawed hand in through the window and rips Jensen’s father’s chains from out of the wall effortlessly. He scoops Alan up and hurtles away without another word. They almost immediately disappear from sight into the dark sky, and Jensen waits by the window until he can no longer hear the flap of Jared’s wings.
***
He’s alone now. No companions. No magical disguises to shield him. No idea where Colin might be.
But nothing can be gained by even a minute’s more delay. Jensen turns away from the windows and scans the room for something he could take up as a weapon. He doubts the prince keeps a firearm in here, but he does spy a decorative pair of ancient swords displayed on the wall, blades crossed and gleaming.
It’s better than nothing, so he rips one down, checks its heft and edge. He leaves the other behind, wanting one hand free for whatever might come next, and slips out of the door and back out into the anteroom.
Jensen methodically checks the other living quarters-Brock’s and the empty suite traditionally reserved for consorts. When he gets to Queen Amanda’s suite, he hesitates out of habit, knowing that all but her own personal armsmen and servants are forbidden to enter. But then he pulls the door open grimly, recalling that she’ll never require such privacy again.
A swift glance around reveals that these rooms don’t appear to be deserted like the others. There are discarded piles of clothes on the floor and used dishes strewn across an ornate dining table.
From the archway leading to the bedroom area comes a glimmer of light, and Jensen sneaks closer to observe a small candle burning in a holder by the bed. A slim shape lies under the comforters, and Jensen prays it’s either Colin or Alaina. Either one would bring him one step closer to success.
He practically runs across the room, sword upraised, but when he reaches the bed, he tosses it down onto the richly carpeted floor. Because it’s the young prince sleeping there, his head wrapped in bandages, blood seeping through them at the place where his right ear once had been. He’s curled up on the edge of the mattress, his gangly teenage limbs tucked tight in a ball.
“Colin-“ Jensen whispers, reaching out to touch the boy’s shoulder lightly.
“If it’s time to take more of me, make it swift. Or kill me now, I beg you.” Colin says it in an awful, calm tone, not recognizing Jensen in the dimness.
“It’s Captain Ackles, Your Highness. Jensen. I’m here to rescue you.”
“Jensen?” Colin gasps, and he struggles to shove the blankets away. Jensen comes to his aid and together they get him up and standing. Like Jensen’s father, he’s weak, his eyes even more hollow and tormented. Jensen deliberately keeps his gaze away from the boy’s hand.
“Come,” Jensen urges. “We have to escape quickly.”
But even as the words leave his mouth, the doors to the suite burst open, and in sweeps Alaina, flanked by ten of her soldiers. It’s the middle of the night, and her castle is under siege, and yet she’s groomed to the same height of elegance she’s always maintained, hair piled up in an elaborate chignon, lips red as blood. She’s had an outfit tailored that matches the royal armsmen’s livery, but with more sumptuous materials and feminine flourishes. It should look silly, but she makes it resplendent.
Jensen shoves Colin behind him, backing them both toward the far wall. The sword lays on the floor by the bed, but it doesn’t matter. All of Alaina’s men carry guns.
“So kind of you to join us, Handsome Jen,” Alaina purrs, as if meeting him in a drawing room for a royal audience. “I thought we’d seen the last of you, but you’re much like a cat with nine lives.”
Jensen doesn’t reply, doesn’t bother with a riposte, clever or not. His mind’s too busy scrambling, searching for some way out of this.
“I still have need of my sweet nephew,” she continues, and from the corner of his eye Jensen sees Colin shudder violently. “But you? I think I’ll send your body out on a slab for Brock to cry over. Maybe you and your father both? We’re coming down to the end, now, and I needn’t scruple over sacrificing pieces.”
Jensen takes brief solace in the thought of Jared carrying his father far, far away as they speak, then focuses back on the danger before him.
“You can’t possibly think you can take the throne from the Heir, my lady,” Jensen temporizes. The honorific rolls off his tongue automatically, but he feels nothing but contempt for her and her treason.
“I do. And I will,” she replies. “I just have one question for you. Answer me truly, and perhaps I’ll spare your father after all.” Jensen herds Colin back a few more steps. This is clearly some kind of trap. “Pellegrino blundered in from patrol this morning, alone,” Alaina goes on conversationally, “raving like a lunatic. We all heard him, didn't we?” She looks around at her soldiers for confirmation, and they all nod their heads. “He said he’d captured you, Captain Ackles, in the woods but that you’d been rescued by a dragon. A dragon! As he tells it, one with a long, ugly snout and sharp, cruel fangs. You don't get much crazier than that.” She scoffs, and the soldiers behind her echo her with derisive laughs.
Then she fixes Jensen with a piercing stare, all humor gone. “Is there a dragon in our land, Captain? Where is it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jensen grits out. If he’d ever thought his father consumed by his dragon obsession, it was nothing to the madness he sees in Alaina’s eyes.
“Either tell me where it is, or my men will carve the information out of you, just like they’ve sliced up that miserable stripling behind you.”
She signals to her minions, and the soldiers advance as one across the room toward them.
“Jensen?” he hears the prince whisper shakily, as they back all the way against the curve of windows that match the one’s in Colin’s rooms.
Jensen thinks about the vines Jared had clung to, the ones growing thick up the side of the tower. Could Jensen try to hold their captors off while Colin climbed down them? Was it even possible from so many stories high? It was a hopeless plan, a suicidal one, but he had nothing else.
Time almost seems to slow down then. Every moment stretches out, dreamlike, as he spins and grabs Colin around the waist, leaping onto the bench seat and kicking out at one of the window latches, sending the entire panel flying open. Behind him he hears Alaina scream something to her men, in front of him the wind whistles past, the darkness beyond the windows like a solid black wall.
“Climb out!” he yells at Colin.
“No!” the prince cries, clinging to Jensen’s shoulder.
But just as the pack of soldiers reaches for them, Jensen hears Jared’s voice boom out from somewhere below. “Jump! Jensen, jump to me!”
He doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate. He instantly launches himself and Colin together out into the abyss, his fear of falling forgotten in the split-second of choice, his bone-deep trust in Jared.
He feels Colin’s hands go lax, falling away, and Jensen clutches him in an iron grip as they tumble downward. But their fall is arrested, solid arms wrapping around them both. Jared swoops away from the tower, pumping his wings to send them shooting straight upward, Jensen’s face buried in his chest.
Gravity drags at them with each surge of Jared’s wings. Jensen can feel himself shaking, delayed panic setting in, turning all of his bones to water. If Jared didn’t have them held so tightly, they would surely fall, because Jensen has no more strength to hold on, and Colin is a limp weight across his lap. The prince is unconscious, must’ve fainted from the shock. Jensen wishes he had, likewise, but instead he’s all too aware of their flight. He feels them stall at the top of their climb, and then Jared sends them into a tight spiral, coming down, down from their height above the City.
With a sudden jerk, Jared halts their quick descent, and they float lightly down the last few feet to landing.
Jensen drags in a shuddering breath, willing his heaving stomach to subside. He opens his eyes and sees that they’re in the narrow alley behind the Lord Mayor’s House. It’s deserted, none of the troops they’d seen moving about the streets earlier that night are in evidence. Jensen listens to see if he can hear the sound of battle, but the city is asleep, everything is still.
“This is as close as I can get without being seen,” Jared pants. He sets Jensen down, and props Colin, still out cold, carefully up against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
“My god, Jared-“ Jensen begins, but is interrupted by the sight of his father, hobbling out from a doorway in the manor’s rear, as if he’d been waiting for their arrival.
“You did it!” Alan calls out softly.
“Yes,” Jared replies quickly. “Go in now and rouse the house, please. The prince needs medical care. And so do you!”
The dragon turns to Jensen, looking him over from head to toe, and then tugs him into a swift embrace.
Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s neck as tightly as he can in return. “Thank you for saving my life… again,” he whispers into Jared’s skin.
“And it’s marvelous that you were able to save the prince and your father. You never gave up. I hope they know how lucky they are to have you. That they value you as you deserve.” Abruptly, Jared pulls back, steps away. “I have to leave, before I’m seen. It will be light soon.”
“Take me with you,” Jensen blurts out.
“I would. I long to. To be back there, just you and me. But if you stay here, you can help me, make up a story of the young prince’s rescue that doesn’t include my presence. I fear it may be too late, but if there’s some way to cover my tracks, perhaps they won’t come to hunt me down. And you’ve proved that-“ Jared’s voice hiccups, but he continues, ”-that your place is here. As a hero.”
He reaches out and touches Jensen’s cheek with one long claw. “Goodbye, Jensen… my love.”
Then, before Jensen can reply, he turns and bolts down the alley, gathering speed and spreading his wings to lift himself into the air.
Jensen drops to his knees next to the prince’s unconscious body, eyes raised to the sky. Barely a minute later, dozens of servants and soldiers come swarming out of the rear of the manor carrying a cavalcade of candles and lanterns, lighting up the dark alley like midday. Their exclamations ring out, breaking the quiet, as they rush to Jensen and Colin’s side, surrounding them. They begin to minister to the prince, try to lift Jensen to his feet, but he brushes them off.
His father comes up behind them all, pushes his way through the crowd to where Jensen kneels. He claps Jensen on the shoulder. “You’ve done well, son. I’m so proud of you.”
They are words that, in the past, Jensen would’ve given anything in the wide world to hear. But right now he barely notices, they simply wash over him. The only thing he cares about is gone. Flying north.
***
Messengers are quickly sent to the army gathering at the Palace gates, and-just a few minutes after the staff gets Prince Colin awake and into a bed with his wounds carefully being re-dressed-Brock comes sprinting into the room.
He throws himself at Colin, remembering at the last second to be gentle as he catches him up in his arms, laughing aloud in relief and joy. Jensen watches as Brock runs his hands all over his brother’s body, ascertaining that he’s, if not whole, at least well. Colin cups his good hand around the back of Brock’s neck and pulls him down so he can put his lips up against his brother’s ear, whispering, and the Heir responds by laying kisses on his cheek.
It’s such a nakedly emotional reunion, Jensen dismisses most of the staff who’re milling around the room and herds the rest down to the far end, in order to give the brothers a small degree of privacy. And if any should question whether the brothers seem too close, well, Jensen stands ready to rebuke them. The boys have lost both parents, now, and all they have is each other.
Besides, Jensen happens to be in love with a dragon. He has no room to judge anyone else’s choices.
Eventually the princes’ reunion is complete, and Brock calls the physicians over to continue their attentions to Colin. Jensen sees Colin slump back into the pillows, pain etched across his face.
If only I had some of Jared’s tea to share, Jensen thinks. He presses his palm to his side, but the pain from his gunshot wound is gone. All that remains is weariness from the night’s adventures.
Brock walks over to Jensen and takes him by the hand, bringing it up to Brock’s chest to rest over his heart. “How can I ever repay you, Captain?”
“There is no need, Sire,” Jensen replies, pulling his hand away and clapping Brock on the shoulder familiarly. “I’m honored I could be of service.”
“Sometime I’d like to hear the whole story, but we still have Alaina to deal with.”
Jensen hopes he can hold off telling that story until he has a chance to speak with his father and with Colin to come up with a common version. One that doesn’t include Jared. “What will she do when she discovers Colin is gone?”
“I’m not sure,” Brock says. “But at least there’s no need for us to wage an outright assault now. And I’ve already put out word of an offer to spare the life and position of any of her men who submits and swears loyalty to me. I think my aunt will find only a few bad apples will stay with her now.”
A group of commanders enters the room, and Brock turns away to confer with them. A maid approaches Jensen and offers to see him to a separate room to rest, but Jensen can’t bring himself to leave the hub of action quite yet, not until he hears whether Alaina will surrender. So he asks for food and washing water to be brought, and sits in a chair at the foot of Colin’s bed as the sky beyond the window turns grey with dawn.
It’s possible Jensen nods off for a minute or two, he’s not sure. But when General Morgan marches in, he automatically bolts to attention. Morgan nods sharply at Jensen but doesn’t hesitate in making a beeline for the Heir. He murmurs some news to Brock in his low, gravelly voice.
Jensen hears Brock exclaim in surprise, “She’s gone? To seek a dragon? Surely you’re joking?”
Jensen rushes across the room in time to hear Morgan say, “I only know what the surrendered armsmen told us. They opened the Palace gates to us just minutes ago. They tell us she’s fled with her closest confederates under cover of the night, overpowering the company we left guarding the entry by the Lower Kitchens. I spoke to the informants myself. According to them, Lady Alaina’s convinced she knows where a dragon’s castle is, and she’s planning to kill the beast and take its gold so she can flee the kingdom and live in comfort.
Jensen’s heart starts to pound before Morgan’s halfway through his report. Jensen isn’t sure if Alaina really knows where Jared’s castle is. But he knows there’s no gold. And he also knows that Alaina and her men might slay Jared in the attempt to find some.
“Good riddance to her,” Brock is saying to Morgan. “If by some miracle there is a dragon, either it kills her or she manages to kill it and she leaves forever. Either way we’re better off.”
“Your Highness,” Jensen interrupts, taking a knee at Brock’s feet. “A boon,” he says. “I ask a boon from you.”
His mind is racing, struggling to come up with a way to protect Jared, to enlist help. Unfortunately, the Heir-soon, as a matter of course, the King-will be among the first to call for the destruction of any monster that dared venture so close to the city and its citizens. It’s too dangerous to reveal that a dragon’s actually out there. But he must find a way to-to-
“There is no dragon!” Jensen blurts it out, just the germ of a plan, but it’s all he can think to try. “I believe I know what Alaina’s aim is. But it’s only a man who lives on the mountain, not a dragon. The tale of a beast, of treasure… it’s nothing but a rumor. Please, Sire,” he bows his head lower, trying to walk the fine line between a simple entreaty and outright, indecent begging. “He took care of me when I was wounded. He got me back to the City in time to help. I want to go back and aid him now. Would you send troops with me to save him from Alaina’s depredations?”
For a moment Jensen wonders whether Jared would fly away to escape attack. But no. The library. Jared would never abandon it. He would defend it with his life. And although in dragon form he’s formidable, Alaina’s men have guns. They’re more prepared than Pellegrino’s camp was. And likely they have stronger numbers, enough to overwhelm Jared and bring him down.
Jensen squeezes his eyes shut against the mental image of Jared’s corpse, bloody and torn, the head cut off as a trophy.
He jumps to his feet, unable to wait longer, desperate to rush off to Jared’s aid, alone if necessary.
“Hold,” Brock says. Jensen holds himself rigid, not breathing, as Brock looks at him thoughtfully. Then the Heir glances over at the bed where Colin is deep asleep. “We have many companies mobilized and at the ready, with no one for them to fight. And, upon further consideration, I believe it would be more prudent to make sure my aunt is not roaming free, possibly to return someday and bring the kingdom more grief.” He turns to Morgan. “Will you stay here and clean up the rest of this mess? Guard my brother from further harm? I’m going with the Captain to hunt down the traitor.”
“There’s no need,” Morgan protests, “for you to go personally.”
Brock locks eyes with Jensen again. “Yet, with the Ackles clan involved, I would not be surprised if there is indeed, miraculously, a dragon. And when else will I have the chance to fight one, protect the people of LeGeai from one?” His expression hardens. “Or, if there is no dragon, to avenge myself on the villain who murdered my mother and disfigured my brother?”
“Let’s convene your Counsel, Sire,” Morgan suggests, “and craft a more deliberate plan. We’ve barely finished dealing with the current emergency.”
We must go now, Jensen thinks desperately. Every minute we wait, every minute she gets farther ahead could mean Jared's death.
But he holds his tongue, not daring to tempt fate with presumption. If the Prince chooses delay, Jensen will go on alone.
“No, General,” Brock says. “I’m tired of waiting. Give the command to saddle our horses.” He turns to Jensen. “Now, Captain, tell me where we’re going.”
Getting a royal army regiment moving is no light manner-especially when the soon-to-be-crowned King is at the head of the company-and Jensen is nearly beside himself by the time they are fully armed and equipped and riding out of the city toward the mountains. Alaina has a huge head start on them. Jensen's only hope is that he knows exactly where the castle is and can lead the army directly there. If he's lucky, they can get to Jared before Alaina does.
During the long ride, Jensen catches Brock watching him, and he tries to stop himself from fidgeting and keep his head down, not sure what he’s giving away, but not wanting to be called to further account.
Morgan stayed behind to safeguard the city, but Omundson is with them, and so is Beaver, and Jensen feels confident that, whatever they face, Brock will be well-protected by these veteran officers. The farther off the mountain they stray, the more anxious Jensen gets, seeing signs of a troop’s recent passage-undoubtedly Alaina’s and her men-but no sign of catching up to them.
At last, after hours of travel, of restraining himself, they approach the castle, and Jensen simply cannot wait a moment longer. As they reach the final rise, Jensen suddenly spurs at his horse. He takes off past Brock and his commanders, shouting, "I will see you at the top!" and his horse races up the slope.
Once he hits the flat, he sends his mount galloping across the footbridge over the moat and flies through the gates onto the grounds.
It’s chaos there. Enemy soldiers rush toward him in twos and threes across the lawn, but they don’t attack or even stop, just run past him, panicked, away from the castle. Jensen throws himself out of the saddle, intercepting one man, who babbles about enchanted objects-hat racks and mops and furniture-coming to life. That they’re somehow defending the castle.
Jensen finds himself grinning at Jared’s tactics. Child’s magic, indeed. But then it turns into a frown when he realizes he must find a way to keep these rumors from coming to Brock’s ears. They mustn’t raise doubts in him about Jensen’s claim that Jared isn’t truly a sorcerous monster.
But he can’t worry about that now. Above all else, he has to get to Jared. Right now.
Jensen draws both pistols and sprints toward the castle. The doors stand open, their ornate knobs splintered into pieces, as if they’d been battered open.
There’s no one in the Great Hall. Frantic, Jensen hesitates, hears Jared’s roar echo down the corridor, and takes off in that direction. Just a few steps down the hall he surprises two of the invaders. They hastily try to bring their muskets to bear, but Jensen mercilessly shoots one through the heart, the other in the face. No one is going to stop him from reaching Jared.
He rushes on, tossing the empty guns onto the ground and immediately drawing his sword from its sheath.
He skids into the ballroom and sees Alaina’s troops ranging up the West Wing stairway. At a glance, Jensen counts possibly a score, but no more. The room reeks of gunpowder, but there are no shots being fired, so Jensen figures the attackers must be out of ammunition. They’ll be no match for the troops Brock is bringing up in reinforcement, but they are sufficient to overwhelm Jared, who’s cornered, slowing inching upward along the rail. Jared can’t even use his fire for fear of burning down the entire castle.
Alaina is at the front of the mass of men, her own sword pointed at the dragon’s throat.
“Where is it?” Jensen hears her scream hysterically at Jared. “Tell me where the treasure is and we will kill you cleanly. I swear, if I cannot find it, it will take you days to die.”
If her men had any more rounds for their guns, it’s clear Jared would be done for. He’s nearly beaten already. Jensen can see that one of his wings is lying at a strange angle against his back, unusable, and he’s limping, a hop-skip favoring a leg, as he retreats down the corridor. Rivulets of blood stream bright red down the copper and gold of his belly.
Jensen can’t understand what Jared’s doing. Why is he leading them up these stairs? There’s no safety there. As Jensen well knows, the floor above is moments away from collapse.
But then it hits him that Jared cannot lure the enemies into a trap without himself as bait. And his wing is broken, useless.
“No!” He whispers it to himself in horror as he watches it all unfold in seconds. Jared, letting Alaina close, past his defenses. Her remaining men, following hard on her heels. Jared-timing so that just as they reach him, finally swarming over them, their swords raised high to strike-steps back onto the weakened structure.
And where Jensen had merely fallen through the floor, the weight of all those bodies-Jared’s and his human foes-topples the entire structure of the wing. The whole platform and staircase shears away, the floor opens up, large chunks of wall and ceiling and an entire section of the roof come tumbling down as Jared and the soldiers fall into the gaping maw left by the disintegration of the floor beneath them.
Pieces are still raining down as Jensen surges forward, throwing his sword heedlessly aside. The ballroom is unrecognizable, destroyed in the collapse, the building’s guts spewed into a pile in the middle of what was once a room. The castle wall to the exterior is gone and a soft rain has started, pattering down onto the rubble.
Jensen runs headlong toward the giant pile of debris and digs through the wreckage with his bare hands.
He can’t hear any cries of pain or screams for help. They must all have been crushed. But that does not stop him from continuing to dig, shoving away huge pieces of wood and plaster and stone and shingle. He sees a flash of green and redoubles his efforts, finally able to free part of Jared’s body from the top of the pile of rubble.
Jensen works harder, digs faster, calling Jared’s name, scanning for any signs of movement, of life. He finds that he’s weeping, his tears falling onto Jared’s skin and leaving splotches in the dust that covers him.
Jensen can’t remember the last time he cried.
At last he has Jared unearthed. He lays his cheek against the dragon’s chest. Faintly, almost imperceptible, he hears a heartbeat. It could be wishful thinking, imagination. Jensen waits, holding his breath. So long, so long. And then, drub drub. Another. Unmistakable.
The unbearable weight on his chest dissolves and a sob of relief scrapes from his throat. He’s still crying as he clears the rest of the rubble carefully away from Jared’s limbs, particularly cautious of his delicate wings, wanting to smooth them gently into place, but fearful of touching them and doing more harm than good.
Jared stirs. His eyes slit open. The first thing he sees is Jensen.
“You came back.”
It hardly sounds like him, his voice cracked and feeble. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s alive. Jensen reaches out to caress Jared’s cheek, the lightest of touches.
“Of course I came back. I couldn't let them... this is all my fault. If only I'd gotten here sooner.”
“At least I got to see you one last time,” Jared says.
“What are you talking about? You'll be all right. Everything's going to be fine.”
“They know what I am, Jensen.” And maybe Jensen’s imagining it but it seems like Jared’s voice is already stronger. “I have to leave. The humans will kill me for certain if I stay.”
Jensen hears shouts from the courtyard and realizes that Prince Brock and his troops have caught up with him and are rounding up the last of Alaina’s fleeing men.
Jared hears them, too. He shifts trying to get up, but he’s still too weak. He lets his head fall back, his eyes close.
“It’s too late. They won’t let me live, even if they are your friends. You must go. Leave me here.”
Jensen takes Jared’s hand and holds it to his face, the wicked talons feel fragile against his cheek. “No. I won’t. I won’t let them hurt you.”
“Why?”
“Because-because I love you, too.” Jensen smiles down at the dragon. His dragon. “Besides, I have a plan.”
***
Minutes later, Jensen walks out of the castle’s ruined front doors, Jared with him, his arm slung over Jensen’s shoulder to support his limping steps.
Jared is in human form, Jensen having run from one side of the castle to the other to find Jared’s clothes, the richest set he could gather up at a moment’s notice. He’d swiftly helped him dress, although Jared hadn’t had nearly enough time to heal in dragon form, still battered and fractured. Jensen had whispered a constant stream of apologies and encouragement as he’d eased him into the linen shirt and ornamented trousers, gold vest and a rich blue coat embroidered with gold and high calfskin boots. Enough to convince the crowd of witnesses outside that Jared was a man, and a noble one at that.
Together they approach Prince Brock, who has dismounted and is surrounded by his soldiers and their prisoners. The brief rain has stopped, and bright rays of sunlight break through the clouds like arrows aiming straight at the heart of the dragon’s garden. The rose bushes are blooming, with a riot of tiny red flowers adorning the grounds.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jared murmurs, low enough that only Jensen can hear.
“I hope so, too,” Jensen replies, giving Jared an encouraging squeeze where his hand supports his waist.
“Ow.”
“Your Majesty,” Jensen calls out once they’re close enough. “May I present to you Jared, Crown Prince of the land of Padalecki. Years ago he was enchanted by a terrible dragon, who used sorcery to transform the Prince into a hideous beast like himself. Jared hid away in this abandoned hulk,” Jensen gestures at the castle behind them, “where Lady Alaina sought him out. She and her men were crushed by the castle’s collapse, buried under the stone and wreckage.” A wave of surprised murmurs rolls over the crowd at that news.
Jensen continues, “But Alaina was sorely mistaken in thinking she could find a dragon’s treasure, for no such beast actually lived here. Today the spell has been broken and Prince Jared is once again a man.”
Jensen pauses to let his outrageous proclamation sink in, waiting to see what the response will be. He knows most of his countrymen know very little about dragons, and even less about magic. It should work. It should.
Brock looks skeptically at the pair of them, and then glances up to study the ruined castle, the whole west side collapsed in on itself. Jensen’s heart starts to sink as he senses the Heir suspects that there’s more to this story than meets the eye.
“Congratulations, on your release from your curse, my lord,” Brock says finally. And if there is a small curve to the edge of his mouth that hints that he is not completely taken in, only Jensen detects it. “How was the spell broken, Captain Ackles?”
Jensen glances at Jared, his hair pulled back in a hasty queue, revealing his face scored with cuts and bruises. Still so beautiful.
He looks back at the King. “True love, Your Majesty,” he says simply.
“Ah,” Brock replies. “I see.” His smile widens, this time wholly approving.
“May I have your permission,” Jensen asks, “to take leave of your service, Sire, and escort Jared back to his homeland?”
“With my blessing. Thank you for all you’ve done,” Brock says, adding with a deeper note of gratitude, “and for my brother’s life.” He nods and then turns to his company, raising his voice imperially. “Now that this is settled, who among you are hardy enough to take the trip back down to Grandcoup with me right now? I am impatient to start on the business of restoring peace after Alaina’s treachery. We now have time to honor my mother in state, with all respect and grief.”
With that, he kicks his horse into a trot and sets off out of the courtyard and on his way, his astonished men scrambling to follow behind.
Jensen is slightly astonished too, that his plan had actually worked. He turns a smiling face to Jared, only to find him slowly sinking to the ground with a groan.
Jensen helps him down, kneeling and then sitting to rest beside him in the soft grass. He guides Jared’s head down to his lap and pulls the leather tie from around his queue, combing through his hair to let it fall free in a fan over his thighs.
Jared sighs. “Tell me when they are far enough away that I can turn back safely.”
“I shall. But give it another few minutes, if you can.” He hates to ask it of Jared, knowing he must be in pain and that in dragon form he will heal much faster. But it would be tragic if, after pulling that feat off, they were discovered by a random armsman coming back to fetch some commonplace item he’d left behind.
“Where is the kingdom of Padalecki anyway?” Jared asks without opening his eyes, turning his face into Jensen’s petting like a big cat.
“Wherever you want it to be.”
“Can we take my books with us?” Of course that would be Jared’s main concern. Jensen smiles down at him. There’s a powerful ache in Jensen’s chest, like it’s too weak to contain the torrent of emotions surging within.
“Yes,” Jensen assures him. “We’ll find a way to take the books.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little. I’m not really prepared for this.”
“Me neither. But we made it this far, right? None of your tales would’ve predicted that.”
“No. I guess they’ll have to write something brand new about us.”
~THE END
