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miss-ingno · 3 years

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Triple Duke Coup, 2/?

Fandom: AH RPF/AH Kings Ships: Fionsay, Alfreyco, Mavin Words: 5.5k Tags: king au, prince!Alfredo, princess!Fiona, mage!Trevor, sorcerer!Lindsay, elf!Gavin, bounty hunter!Michael, action, mystery

Summary: When his uncle, the Duke of Luzon, stages a coup, Crown Prince Alfredo has to flee the castle, leaving his sister behind to deal with the mess. But what could have caused the sudden shift in power?

A/N: next chapter might take a bit, the writing muses haven’t been kind ^^° thank you for all your lovely comments and tags, though, they really help! 💖

Read here on Ao3. Chapter 1 |

***

Fiona flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath. The guards passed by, never noticing her boots poking out from under the curtain. Once they’d walked down the hall and around the corner, a sigh escaped Fiona in relief. Poking her head out, she snuck further down, took a left, up another hall until she reached the stairs of the tower. There she stood still, listening for steps echoing down from the stone. Once she started up the stairs, there would be no place to hide.

And she wasn’t supposed to leave her chambers, so.

She crouched behind the round tower stairs filled with half-empty crates and cobwebs, waiting for the faint sound of footsteps to grow louder. Fiona could hear the sound of slippers switch from the gait of someone hurrying down the stairs to hitting the carpet of the hall. Peeking out from behind her hiding place, she could see a maid scurrying down the corridor, arms laden with dusty sheets. As her footsteps faded in the distance, Fiona darted out from behind the crate and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The tower which stood on the southernmost corner of the royal castle was the domain of the court sorcerer, magical advisor to the throne and protector of the kingdom. It was there that Fiona hoped to discover answers.

Like where the fuck Alfredo was. And what the fuck her uncle thought he was doing.

A bloody coup, like, what the hell.

She had been out riding with her ladies, her guard detail trailing a polite distance behind, skipping out on yet another boring court session. Nothing of import had been on the itinerary, nevermind anything interesting, and since she wasn't the heir (suck it, Fredo!) her parents were lenient. Except then a black something had shot across the open field, coming straight at her. At first she thought it a bird, what with the long, black wings, but it quickly came apparent to be something more.

While her guards shouted in alarm, Fiona urged her horse to race across the field, dirt flying up from thundering hooves. The projectile - the spell veered off as she did, always aiming straight for her.

It wasn't until later that Fiona understood: the guards weren't trying to protect her - they were attempting to intercept the message, stop word from reaching her.

Not that they ever stood a chance.

As it came closer, wings flapping erratically, Fiona barely had enough time to make out the vague form of a flying rodent before it exploded in her face. Black smoke dispersed, tendrils of it spreading over her skin, rising into her nostrils and diving into her ears, her mouth, muffling her scream of shock.

And then her brother’s voice in her mind, like a distant whisper, speaking a warning. The king is dead...

Fiona shook her head, dispelling the memories. She had to focus, trying to get up the stairs as noiselessly as she could. If she could reach the court sorcerer at the top, without her uncle any the wiser, she would finally be able to get to the bottom of this.

Her uncle, who had told her next to nothing when her guards had ushered her back into the castle, splitting her up from her ladies. Her uncle, who had lied to her, unaware that Alfredo managed to give her a head’s up. Something about a terrible accident, of Alfredo going missing, about how he was named regent for the interim until the emergency had passed.

In short, just loads and loads of bull fuckin’ shit.

Determined, Fiona pressed on, sneaking up the stairs, only pausing to listen for steps. There weren’t many places to hide in the spiral of the tower, only a closed door on each level. Except for the one on the third floor, that one stood wide-open. Fiona took a quick, little peek in, seeing maids bustling about dusting what looked like ancient furniture. Ducking past the open door when no one was looking, Fiona mulled that discovery over.

The only rooms in use were supposed to be the court sorcerer’s laboratory, their library, and their chambers at the foot of the tower.

So why had her uncle sent maids to clean up the third floor chamber?

She was still contemplating the significance of that change when she heard voices just as she came up to the fourth floor’s landing. Pressing her ear to the door, it swung open. Heart pounding, Fiona pressed herself up against the wall, but the voices didn’t so much as stutter. Peeking around the corner, she could see the rows of bookshelves lining the walls, and the shadow of two people on the opposite side.

One of them was her uncle, the Duke of Luzon. The crown of the regent made his silhouette unmistakable.

He was speaking to the second person, the court sorcerer. His voice gave away his irritation, tone sharp and impatient. The court sorcerer interjected here and there, their voice a dry drawl, clearly not intimidated by the Duke’s snapping. Fiona watched their shadow shift as they crossed their arms and had to stifle a sigh.

Lindsay was so cool.

Then what they were talking about filtered through the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the mere thought of the court sorcerer, and Fiona stiffened. Lindsay’s words were too quiet to make out well, but her uncle was still feeling snappish, his voice echoing out into the staircase.

“-with no further delay! The artefact is of the most import, its power necessary, but useless while it’s locked away. Do not make excuses!”

Lindsay’s reply sounded nonchalant. As far as Fiona could puzzle together, they were missing something that was “needed”, some sort of key, and possibly something about a prophecy? Shaking her head, she frowned and inched closer to the doorjamb, hoping to get a better angle for the sound to rebound.

“The princess, yes, I got that part,” her uncle growled, sounding surly. Fiona’s eyes widened. “She’s been brought back to the castle. I have no doubt she will comply with our request."

“The princess isn’t stupid,” Lindsay stated, their own tone growing sharper in response. “She will know something is up.”

Fiona had to see Lindsay’s expression. Had to see for herself those minute reactions before they were absorbed into that perfect poker face, to know what Lindsay was truly feeling. Holding her breath, Fiona took the risk and stuck her head through the door. To her good fortune, either Lindsay nor her uncle were looking her way.

“That bird? It can’t have been a spell, or if it was, it had no effect,” the Duke of Luzon dismissed the sorcerer’s concerns, turning his back on the door. Fiona took her chance to sneak inside, ducking low and behind the bookshelves to the left. For a moment, it felt like eyes landed on her, piercing through her skin, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing up in alarm. However, as she peeked through the tomes and scrolls, neither occupant spared her so much as a glance.

“Besides, little Fiona trusts me. I am her uncle, after all, her only remaining family.”

Fiona had to bite back curses, fighting the urge to jump the arrogant jerk and punch that smug smirk off his face. She knew better, of course, but the impulse was hard to contain, knowing what he did.

Father is dead at the hands of our uncle. The Duke is holding the throne.

The words were burned into her memory, down to the quiver in Alfredo’s voice and the stink of the smoke they arrived with. It was good to know her little play at confusion had convinced their uncle, however.

“You still have to convince her to help with the ritual,” Lindsay cautioned, and Fiona’s stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. There was no way Lindsay had sold them, sold her out. Not to her uncle of all people. Right?

“She will,” the Duke replied with certainty, raising his chin in challenge. Lindsay simply shrugged.

“Then everything will proceed as planned,” they stated, arching a brow at the Duke. “As soon as you manage to find the person you’re seeking.”

The Duke of Luzon scoffed. “We have spread the word and put up wanted posters all over the big cities weeks in advance. It is only a matter of time.”

Her uncle turned on his heel, cloak flaring out dramatically. His eyes landed directly on Fiona, and she felt cold dread run down her spine, spreading over her head and shoulder like dripping slime, with the sound of an egg cracking just behind her ear making Fiona flinch. The Duke’s brow furrowed lightly, then his gaze trailed past her and he stalked out of the sorcerer’s library.

Leaving her alone with Lindsay.

Despite this being the whole point of her little excursion, Fiona hesitated. She should step out from behind the shelves, announce herself, pepper Lindsay with all of her questions, and yet… could she be sure, after this, that they were on her side? She’d never doubted Lindsay’s loyalties before. The court sorcerer, after all, served the people by serving the throne.

And now Uncle holds the throne.

“You can come out, you know,” Lindsay called, shutting the door with an echoing click. It sounded final. “I know you’re here, Fiona.”

Swallowing, Fiona rolled her shoulders back and raised her head, unwilling to let her hesitation show as she stepped out from behind the bookcases. As she did, it felt like she walked right through a wall of hot air, chasing away the slimy, cold feeling that had plagued her since she met her Uncle’s eyes.

“Court Sorcerer,” she greeted in her most regal impression.

“Princess,” Lindsay returned dryly, tilting their head as they mustered her intently. “I presume you heard quite a bit of that, hm?”

Fiona grimaced, moving to cross her arms, before deciding to put her hands on her hips instead. Like Mama would, when she was displeased with Papa. She resolutely did not linger on the thought, focussing instead on the present.

“I came here for answers,” she declared. Lindsay’s lips twitched up into a smirk.

“Then may I assume you got what you came for?” They jerked their chin towards the door. For a second, Fiona thought Lindsay was throwing her out, before she realized it was simply meant to indicate the Duke who’d just left.

Fiona narrowed her eyes. “I still have questions.”

Lindsay hummed, then shrugged one shoulder as if without a care in the world. “Alright. Follow me, your Highness.”

They led the way out of the library and up the stairs, past the door of the laboratory and onto the very top of the tower. The warm wind played with Fiona’s short hair as she stepped outside, staying at the stairs while Lindsay leaned back against the battlements, propped up on their elbows.

“Well, then. Ask away, your Highness.”

Fiona crossed her arms, less out of a feeling of defensiveness but a growing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. “Lindsay… I-” She wrapped her arms around her own waist, not quite daring to meet the sorcerer’s eyes. “What happened? Uncle said it was an accident, but…”

“But Trevor told you otherwise?” Lindsay guessed, all humour vanishing from their tone. Glancing at them from the corner of her eyes, Fiona saw they’d adopted a serious expression finally. “Yes. It was a coup.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Fiona gave a jerky nod in acknowledgement. She’d thought the warning would have braced her, that she’d accepted the truth, yet having confirmation… somehow, that made things worse.

“What of Alfredo? He’s not-” He wasn’t missing, she knew that much. He’d gotten a warning to her, after all. But what she didn’t know… She turned her head to meet Lindsay’s eyes. “Is he in the dungeons?”

For a long moment, Lindsay just watched her. Then they shook their head, just as Fiona’s patience started wearing thin. “He managed to flee the castle in the chaos.”

Fiona exhaled shakily, relief making her knees feel wobbly. To hide the weakness, she stalked over to the battlements, keeping a safe distance between her and the court sorcerer.

“Uncle is looking for him, isn’t he,” she murmured, and Lindsay stayed quiet. Fiona shook her head and sighed. The answer was obvious, and there were more important questions. For a breath-taking, grief-stricken moment, all Fiona could think of asking was Why? Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting air expand until the tightness left her chest. “What ritual were you talking about?”

“One to unlock a great power,” Lindsay explained. Fiona shivered.

“Sounds ominous,” she quipped, rubbing a palm over her bare arm. “How’s that work?”

Lindsay mustered her for a long moment, the breezed hiding their expression behind long locks of hair dancing in the wind. Through that curtain, they appeared unreadable and all-knowing at the same time.

“An elven artefact,” they finally offered, their gaze turning piercing. “Your late father brought it to the castle recently. It’s been a great point of contention between the Crown and the Dukes ever since.”

And the reason they staged a coup. Fiona nodded slowly, turning the information over in her head. An artefact that promised great power, but for some reason her father had been unwilling to use it… and she was necessary to unlock it, somehow.

“Why me?” she thought aloud. At her side, she caught Lindsay tense before rolling their shoulders and putting on a show of nonchalance.

“Royal blood,” they drawled, flipping their hair over their shoulder. It gleamed rose pink in the sunlight. “Your uncle may be regent, but he is not crowned. Alfredo would be better, but the Duke is impatient.”

And he thought Fiona would be more easily duped, what with Fredo witnessing their parents’ death. Or perhaps he wanted to use her as leverage against her brother. Neither idea particularly appealed to her.

From the top of the southernmost tower, she could watch the city bustle beyond the castle. The streets were crowded around the marketplace, patrols of soldiers moved about in groups, and caravans of horses navigated through the crowds. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, sinking everything into tones of red. Somewhere out there, Alfredo was hiding. For one fanciful moment, Fiona imagined she knew exactly where through their sibling bond.

Better that she didn’t, though. She had no doubts the Dukes would use her to find him if possible.

The thought gave her pause. She didn’t know much of sorcery, but surely there were tracking spells that used blood. And while they’re uncle was a close relation, wouldn’t it make more sense to use hers to find Alfredo? Her uncle could even weave it into his tale of Alfredo potentially being kidnapped, getting her help to save him.

Yet Lindsay hadn’t mentioned so much as the possibility, to her or her uncle, as far as she knew. She wondered why.

If only she knew whether she could trust Lindsay. Not two days ago, it wouldn’t even occur to her to doubt the sorcerer. Hell, she had snuck out of her house arrest to meet with Lindsay on the assumption that they would help her, no questions asked. If she hadn’t run into them discussing magical matters with her uncle, she wouldn’t have thought twice about trusting them.

Where did Lindsay’s loyalties lie, truly? If they were colluding with her uncle in truth... why were they answering her questions? Could Fiona trust the answers in the first place, or were they simply another misdirection, another web of lies?

Her uncle’s betrayal cut deep. Fiona didn’t want to imagine a world where Lindsay betrayed her, as well.

“Are you going to tell my uncle about this?” she finally forced herself to ask, staring off into the distance. The sky was turning a beautiful purple, the clouds heavy in the sky. It would rain soon.

“Will he have reason to ask?” Lindsay returned, an evasion that was a sign in itself. Fiona nodded to herself, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“He won’t even know I left my chambers,” she promised, shooting Lindsay a half-hearted grin.

Whether or not she could trust Lindsay… she would trust them to keep this a secret for now. And in the meantime, she could verify the information shared, double-check how much of it was true. Then she would know for certain whether the court sorcerer could be trusted or not.

And whatever the results, Fiona would deal with it.

***

The first truth possessed by the noble ones: life is suffering, death is suffering.

***

The cart rattled down the uneven path, every bump and dip shaking the unwilling passengers to the core. From where they sat, hands bound behind their backs, they could only see the two bandits bringing up the rear guard. Most of the injured had stayed behind to heal up in the little town, since it was closer than the capital. They'd taken Hidalgo and their saddle bags with them, much to Michael's outspoken dismay.

Gavin gave up on sleep around the time the sun rose. They’d travelled through the woods all night, presumably because the bandits wished to avoid further ambushes stealing their prize. Between his hands tied behind his back and the rough wood digging into his shoulders, jostling him whenever he started to drift off, sleep wasn’t coming any time soon. Michael laid curled up next to him, eyes closed and breathing even, but Gavin thought he knew him well enough to tell he was faking it.

Not that it mattered. If the bandits pressed on at this pace, they’d make it to the capital before nightfall.

The sun was nearing its apex when they finally made it out of the forest, the dappled shade of leaves giving way to large fields of corn and rows of other vegetables as far as the eye could see. Every other acre stood a lone farmhouse surrounded by fruit trees, or stables attached to fenced off pastures filled with sheep and cows.

Without the trees breaking their line of sight, the bandits relaxed, ranging further ahead of the cart to scout ahead. At this, Michael seemed to decide faking sleep was no longer worth it, as he sat up with a grunt, shoulder bumping into Gavin’s as he tried to find his balance. Gavin steadied him wordlessly until he pulled his legs under him.

“You should have run,” Michael muttered, not looking at him. Gavin bowed his head, watching him from under his fringe. Michael huffed and kicked at the wall of the cart, frustrated. “Idiot. Why didn’t you?”

“Aw, Michael, I couldn’t leave my boi behind, boi.” Gavin tossed his hair back, using the gesture to glance over his shoulder. The closest person was the bandit leading the horse pulling the cart. Most of the rest had gone ahead, possibly to talk out of earshot, with two on foot bringing up the rear. Then he met Michael’s furious gaze. “They would have killed you, boi.”

“So what?” Michael snapped, tugging impatiently at his bound hands and nearly unbalancing himself as the cart wheel hit a stone. “What do you care? I’m the one who got you into this mess in the first place, remember?”

Gavin pressed his lips together and looked away.

It was true, they both knew it. Michael was a bounty hunter, just after the money like the bandits who’d ambushed him. And yet, Gavin couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at his friend.

“That’s different,” he asserted, jerking his chin up defiantly at the disbelieving glare Michael shot him. Leaning forward and wiggling his bound hands, Gavin gave Michael a pointed look. “If we escaped… could you…?”

But Michael was already shaking his head. “It’s tied to whoever set the bindings. In case the prisoner learns the passphrase - so they can’t free themselves.”

“Well, shite,” Gavin murmured, brow furrowing. As long as he was bound, he couldn’t reach his magic. Which he’d been fine with when he knew Michael would protect him, but with both of them tied up, that wasn’t an option.

He glanced at Michael, trying to guess at what his boi was thinking. But unlike Gavin, Michael wasn’t counting the bandits or keeping track of their positions, too busy glaring at the wood of the cart under his feet, face drawn into a dark frown. Knowing Michael, that could only mean one thing.

Gavin let the movement of the cart sway him close, bumping into Michael’s side and then just dropping his whole weight on the other, head resting on Michael’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Michael protested, but compared to his usual shouting it was downright quiet.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Gavin stated, ignoring Michael’s squirming to get away from him. Michael froze at the words, and when Gavin raised his head to look at him, he avoided Gavin’s gaze.

“You should,” Michael muttered, still refusing to meet Gavin’s eyes. Gavin jammed his elbow into Michael’s ribs, just so Michael would glower at him. Since it worked, Gavin grinned and winked, which only made Michael’s scowl darken. “I mean it. I ruined your life, asshole.”

“Nah,” Gavin replied easily, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against Michael’s. “Life’s a journey. This was really just a detour, boi.”

“Shut up.” Michael tried really hard to keep the scowl, but Gavin could see his lips quirk at the corner of his mouth. Delighted, Gavin flopped back against him, letting Michael take all of his weight. “By the gods, what do you even eat, you’re so fucking heavy, fuck Gav.”

“M’not!” Gavin objected, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. He wriggled until he laid half on top of Michael, who dropped onto his side in an attempt to squirm out from under him. “Take that back!”

“Heavy as a fuckin’ boulder, dammit, Gavvers.” Michael rolled onto his stomach, pulling his knees under him in an attempt to buck Gavin off. Gavin ignored him, sitting on Michael’s legs instead. Their hands brushed, and Michael stilled. “...Gavin?”

“Once we’re in the city,” Gavin said quietly, keeping an eye on the bandits behind the cart. They were closer now, paying attention, probably due to their conspicuous squabbling. Just to be safe, Gavin lowered his voice even further. “Once we’re in the city, you need to make a run for it, boi. Okay?”

“The fuck I will,” Michael grumbled, keeping his hands painfully still as Gavin fumbled with the rope tying them together. If he could just pry them loose enough to push his finger into the loops…

“Boi, I don’t know what they’ll do with you, boi,” he replied absent-mindedly, all his focus on the rope. He glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t quite see the knot, not with how both their hands were behind their respective backs. “We both know what’ll happen to me, but you’re a loose end.”

“I’m not just going to leave you!” Michael’s voice rose in protest, and Gavin pinched his palm. “Ow! Asshole, what-” Michael’s teeth ground audibly.

“They’re watching, boi.”

The bandits, for whatever reason, hadn’t decided to investigate yet, but the rearguard was slowly catching up with the cart. They needed to hurry up, even if he only loosened the bindings enough for Michael to slip them later. He didn't know why the bandits decided to bring him along, what their plans were for Michael, but at least they hadn't killed him - yet. And Gavin had the ominous, foreboding feeling it had everything to do with securing Gavin's cooperation after he'd come back for the bounty hunter.

At least they wanted, needed Gavin alive. Michael had no such guarantee.

He managed to loosen the knot enough to slip one end of the rope through its loop by the time the bandits caught back up and forced them apart. Gavin settled into one corner of the cart with Michael on the opposite site under the bandits’ stern eye. He hoped it would be enough to give Michael a shot at freedom - or they’d have another opportunity later.

The sun reached and passed its peak. The cart only stopped long enough to give the horse a chance to drink from a nearby river, while the bandits broke out the rations. As captives, Michael and Gavin weren’t fed, but they were allowed to wet their parched throats a little before they moved on. The sun just started setting when they crested one last hill, revealing the sprawling walls of the capital ahead of them. They’d caught glimpses of towers on the horizon for the last hour or so, but it had been hard to tell how far away they were at any given moment.

Now they were less than two miles out.

“It’s my fault,” Michael murmured, sounding as if the words were pulled from him against his will, pressing out from between gritted teeth. “They’d never have caught you if I hadn’t…”

“Shut up, boi.” Gavin kicked at his ankle, forcing down the panic bubbling up in his chest. Focussing on Michael blaming himself helped to distract him. "I forgive you, boi. You know that, right?"

Scowling, Michael met his [genuine] eyes with a dark look of his own. "You shouldn't."

"That's not up to you, innit," Gavin returned lightly, undeterred. "Michael, I know why you did it, Michael. I understand."

"Doesn't make it right," Michael muttered, tossing his head and rolling his shoulders, his spine a single line of tension. "I tricked you. You trusted me, Gav."

"I still do," Gavin admitted quietly. Now it was his turn to avoid the other's burning gaze. Clearing his throat, he switched the subject before Michael could work himself up into a retort. "You should make a run for it at the gates. The guards will want to check the cart, they won't be able to chase you far. I'll distract them, buy you some time."

"The hell you will," Michael grumbled. His eyes darted from one bandit to the next. Then he leaned into Gavin, ducking his head and keeping his voice low. "Once we're through the gates, I'll feint an escape, grab myself one of their weapons. Fight them long enough for you to run, find yourself a place to hide."

Gavin scowled, whipping his head around to glare at Michael and nearly braining him with how close they were. Their noses brushed, but Gavin didn’t let that stop him from hissing, “I didn’t come back for you only to leave you at their mercy now.”

“And I’m not going to sell you out just to save my own fucking hide,” Michael grumbled, his arms shifting as if to cross over his chest before he remembered to pretend they were still tied up behind his back. He glowered instead. “I’m not stooping that low, Gav.”

“No,” Gavin murmured, eyeing the other contemplatively. “No, you wouldn’t. Not for your own sake.”

A grimace crossed Michael’s face at the reminder of what he would sell Gavin out for, for what he had set out to do. He grit his teeth and lifted his chin, glaring back at Gavin defiantly. “Well, I’m not getting any money out of this anymore, am I? So there.”

Their eyes locked into a staring match, jaws clenched in equal stubbornness, neither willing to give in or blink first. A stalemate.

Gavin was the first to break, lashes fluttering before he scowled at Michael’s smug grin. “Alright. But only if you make a break for it, too, as soon as I’m off.”

“Yeah, sure,” Michael lied easily. Gavin narrowed his eyes.

“Swear it, boi.” He knocked their knees together, grimacing when the force vibrated through his bones. Despite that, he held Michael’s gaze. “Swear it, or I won’t run.”

The cart came to a shuddering halt. Michael’s eyes darted back over their shoulders, and Gavin’s followed, brow furrowing. They had arrived at the capital, a small queue building in front of the looming gate. They’d run out of time.

Meeting Michael’s solemn, brown eyes, Gavin pressed his forehead to his boi’s. “Swear it, Michael.”

Michael licked his lips, then his head dipped barely perceptibly. “Alright. Fine. Fuck.”

The guards talked with the leader of the bandits, who gestured towards Gavin while pulling the wanted poster from his pouch. One of the guards unrolled the crumbled parchment, reading it over with a frown before glancing between the poster and Gavin, who ducked his head. The other guard poked him in the side with the butt of his spear, and Gavin flinched, head jerking up to glare at them. The first guard nodded, rolling up the parchment and clasping the leader’s shoulder.

“What about the other one?” the second guard asked, their spear snapping to hit Michael in the chest, who snarled in response.

“Insurance,” the leader replied shortly, pulling their hood down and tossing their hair over their shoulder. “To make the el-” They cut themself off, glancing around at the dwindling crowd, before correcting to, “-the prisoner behave.”

“Very well.” The guard nodded. “We will take it from here.”

Immediately, the bandits fell into protest, until their leader raised their hand to silence them. They stared steadily at the guards. “What about our reward?”

“You will receive the bounty once the prisoner is secure,” the guard declared. The leader crossed their arms and glared.

“No. I will not hand the elf over until we’ve got our money.” They bared their teeth. “You understand, of course.”

“And what makes you think you can make those demands?” the second guard questioned, a growl to their voice and their grip tightening on their spear.

The leader tossed their long hair over their shoulder with an elegant shrug. “I hold the wards binding the elf’s magic. He cannot be released by anyone else than the one who set the bond.”

The first guard narrowed their eyes, then snorted. “You will hand over the warding in return for the bounty?”

Gavin exchanged a quick, wide-eyed look with Michael as the bandits came to an agreement with the guards. The first guard took the cart from the bandits and only the leader was allowed to follow. The moment the bindings were released - that was when they’d have to stage their escape.

Michael gave him a subtle nod, having come to the same conclusion.

The guard brought the cart to a halt shortly behind the gates, next to the guard house. Inside, Gavin could here more guards, back-up or the next rotation on break, probably. But right now, it was just the one guard, the bandits’ leader, Michael, and him. He cracked his fingers behind his back and rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension in his muscles from the uncomfortable position he’d been forced to spend the day in.

They brought Gavin down from the cart, to stand between the leader and the guard. They spoke the passphrase, the binding dropping from his wrists. He brought his hands up to rub at where the rope had cut into his skin, a heavy, gauntleted hand on his shoulder keeping him from making a run for it.

“And I just repeat those words?” the guard asked, and the leader nodded.

“Yes. Just tie the rope around his hands first. Here, let me-”

Before they could go through with it, Michael jumped off the end of the cart, landing on the bandit leader with all of his weight, hands immediately going to their belt for the dagger strapped there. The guard shouted in surprise, and Gavin ducked out from under their hand on his shoulder, shaking them off in that moment of shock.

“Run!” Michael grunted, having won the struggle for the knife and kicking the bandit in the gut, only barely catching the guard’s spear attack on his bracer.

“You, too!” Gavin yelled back, scrambling past the cart and darting down the street, dodging into the first alley he could find. The sooner he got away, the better chance Michael had at making a run for it. He knew his boi wouldn’t go for it until Gavin was out of sight, at the earliest.

He dodged past the evening crowd on the streets, ducking into alleys in an attempt to get as far away as possible. His breathing came in harsh pants and his legs were burning from the sudden exertion after so long of sitting still, yet he pushed on. Alarm bells started ringing, guard squads jogging through the streets, pushing the crowds aside.

“There he is!” Gavin heard the yell from ahead of him, and without pausing he darted off, jumping onto a stack of crates, rolling across a canopy, before sprinting over a roof. He hopped over the edge, into an alley, the landing jarring his legs to the bone. Taking a quick breath, Gavin pushed off, back out onto the street, glancing back.

The guard squad raced around the corner, chasing him. Shit.

A quick spell helped him propel himself up onto another roof, roots creating footholds for him to use as a stair. Leaping across the gaps between the houses, Gavin made it several streets down before coming up against the stone wall encircling the capital. Deciding against going up - too easy to see him, and besides, he needed to meet up with Michael later - he slid down with the help of another rapidly growing root, saving his legs the force of landing.

Gavin paused only long enough to catch his breath, before darting around the corner, knowing he needed to put some space between where the guards last saw him on the roofs and where he came down. So busy plotting a route to juke them, he ran face first into a patrol, his nose nearly breaking against the iron chestplate of the surprised guard.

The guard stared at him in surprise as Gavin fell back over and onto his arse, before levelling their spear at his throat and slowly stepping forward, until one boot on his chest pinned him on the dirt.

Well, fuck.

Hopefully Michael managed to escape at least.

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miss-ingno · 3 years

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Triple Duke Coup, 1/?

Fandom: AH RPF/AH Kings Ships: Fionsay, Alfreyco, Mavin Words: 5.5k Tags: king au, prince!Alfredo, princess!Fiona, mage!Trevor, sorcerer!Lindsay, elf!Gavin, bounty hunter!Michael, action, mystery

A/N: inspired by the Coup card games and all the Triple Duke jokes, especially that one video where everyone had two Dukes in hand 😂

kinda ran out of steam on this, so posting in hopes of getting new motivation from your reactions 💖

Read here on Ao3. Chapter 2 |

***

The doors to the throne room opened, the herald announcing the men entering in quick succession. Alfredo straightened in his seat to the right of his father. The supplicants consisted of the three dukes, the most powerful nobles in the land after the crown. For them to show up uninvited, a united front… Something was going on. Something big.

The oldest of them, the Duke of Luzon, rose first out of his bow without waiting for the king’s permission. From the corner of his eyes, Alfredo saw his father’s lips thin.

“Your Majesties, your Highness,” the duke greeted, inclining his head.

“Uncle,” Alfredo murmured. “What-?”

The king held up a hand, and Alfredo fell silent, glancing between his father and uncle, taking in their grim expressions.

“What brings Your Grace to Our domicile?” the king asked, his words sharp and mien severe.

The duke jutted his chin out, meeting the king’s eyes in open challenge. Behind him, Alfredo could hear his silent shadow hiss.

“The recent matter we discussed in letters, Your Majesty.”

Alfredo’s brow furrowed, unsure what his uncle was referring to. He was old enough to be at least present for most ruling decisions, as part of his training as crown prince. He hadn’t been part of this. Which either meant the matter was trivial, or...

His father glowered down at the duke from his throne. “And We have decided. The matter is closed.”

His uncle scowled at the words. The other two dukes stepped up to stand at his shoulders.

“We,” his uncle started, gesturing to his companions, “that is, their Graces and I, politely disagree, brother.”

Another hiss, and Alfredo glanced over his shoulder to meet Trevor’s eyes. That hadn’t sounded polite at all.

The king rose from his chair, shaking off the queen’s restraining hand on his arm.

“You dare question your king?” he growled, crossing his arms. “You dare challenge Us?”

“We dare call your judgement into question, dear brother,” the duke stated, and the court held its collective breath. “You have grown weak in your age. Soft. Your decisions are not for the best of our people.”

The king’s face turned dark as a thundercloud. “Do you now, little brother.”

“We concur,” said the duke to his uncle’s left, drawing all gazes on him. “The dukes of Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao are in agreement. Your Majesty has failed our people.”

A murmur went through the court, nervous rustling of clothes mingling with whispering voices to combine into a wave of noise. A hand landed on Alfredo’s shoulder, and he glanced up at Trevor, who in turn was staring at the dukes intently.

“I see,” the king said, voice dark and forbidding. He took the steps down from the throne, walking up to the duke, their eyes locked. “You wish to play with forces outside of your control, little brother. Turn back now, and I will forget the words you spoke here.”

The king’s voice was quiet, as private as one could get in the echoing chamber of the throne room. The duke’s response, in comparison, was loud and bold, for everyone to hear.

“You put me in an impossible position, my king. But I have made my choice: I will stand up for our people, even if that means going against my own blood.” The duke’s grim expression softened around the edges, and he lifted one hand to cup the king’s cheek. “I’m sorry, brother.”

“You-!”

The king coughed, bending forward until his head rested on the duke’s shoulder, the crown tumbling from his head and landing with a loud clatter on the stone floor. The queen shot up from her throne, and the crowd gasped.

“Even if it means spilling said blood,” the duke murmured, voice loud in the ringing silence.

Alfredo sat frozen in his chair, eyes wide as he watched his uncle take a step back, blood spurting across his robes as he pulled the dagger out of the king’s chest. His father stumbled, falling to one knee in front of the dukes, gloved hand coming up to press on the wound.

“You…”

“You have betrayed your people, brother,” the duke announced, gentling his tone as he continued. “You left me no choice.”

“Guards!” the queen yelled, and the shock-still room burst into sudden action.

The other two dukes drew their blades and stood back to back with his uncle. His mother ran down the steps to kneel by his father, the hem of her dress soaking up blood immediately. She helped him up into a crouch, trying to pull him back. The two guards by the throne joined her, and Alfredo started rising from his chair as well, hand settling on the grip of his ceremonial sword.

“Something’s wrong,” a voice whispered in his ear, and Trevor’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.

“Hell yeah, something’s wrong! No shit, Trevor,” Alfredo hissed back, trying to shake him off. “Uncle just sta-”

His mother’s scream tore through the noise, and Alfredo’s head whipped around to see a sword sticking out from her back, the guard’s gauntleted hand still on the grip. The other guard turned their sword on them, pushing the traitor back with a yell and a furious swing of their own sword, but it was too late. Alfredo met his mother’s wide, shocked eyes before she crumpled to the floor, coming to lay right next to her dying husband.

He didn’t have time to process the sight, however, as a cold, tingling feeling slid over his skin. One second, he was half-raised from his chair, the next he stood behind it, his hand on Trevor’s shoulder rather the other way around. And not a second too soon, as an arrow lodged itself into the back of the chair, inches from Trevor’s head.

Trevor stood, shaking off Alfredo’s hand, a motion that hid his gesture signalling Alfredo to retreat.

“Uncle,” Trevor called out with Alfredo’s voice, hand on the hilt of a sword that doesn’t exist because it’s still on Alfredo’s hip. He steps down from the platform, and all eyes turn to him. “This is treason.”

“No, nephew,” the Duke of Luzon said, his tone mild, even as blood still dripped off his dagger at his side. He walked around the dying king, skirting the spreading puddle of blood. “It’s a coup.”

“Potatoes, potahtoes.” Trevor waved him off, coming to a stop at the bottom step. “What do you intend to do next, if I may ask Your Grace?”

“I will politely ask you to step down, of course,” his uncle explained, tone dripping with condescension as he stopped in front of him. “You may be young, nephew, but you ain’t naive. Surely you understand it’s for the best?”

Trevor didn’t budge, despite his uncle’s looming. “And if I don’t? You did just kill my father, the rightful king.”

The duke affected a sad expression, but his eyes remained flinty. “Then you leave me no choice, nephew.”

The blade glinted as it caught the light, still covered in his father’s blood as the duke - his uncle - shoved it into Trevor’s side, thinking it was him, that he was stabbing his nephew. Alfredo stumbled away from the throne, his back hitting the wall. His hand fumbled over the bricks to his right, even as his gaze was glued on the spectacle.

Trevor grinned up at the duke as the knife passed harmlessly through his chest, his body turning to smoke.

“Shadow,” the duke snarled, spitting at his feet.

“You really thought I’d make this easy for you?” Trevor taunted him, his voice slowly fading from Alfredo’s cadence to his own. “Really?”

Alfredo’s sweaty palm finally landed on the right stone and he pressed it back. With a click, the wall behind him shifted, letting him slip through a thin slit and vanish from the throne room. His eyes met his uncle’s just before the wall slid shut, and he could hear the shouting on the other side, muffled as it was.

With a flicker the torches flared to life in the narrow passage, Trevor stepping out of the shadows and pulling the nearest torch out of its bracket.

“Go, go, go,” he urged, pushing Alfredo ahead of him. Alfredo didn’t need to be told twice, falling into a loping run.

“What about Fiona?” he called back to Trevor, though he didn’t waste time looking back. He knew Trevor would always follow in his footsteps.

“Your sister went out riding this morning.” Trevor reached forth and tugged on Alfredo’s cloak, nudging him to take the next left. “She should be safe for now.”

“Until she comes back, not knowing what happened,” Alfredo bit out. “Presuming her escort isn’t in on this coup. Shit.”

He came to a sudden stop, punching the wall next to him.

“Not now,” Trevor muttered, hooking an arm through his and dragging him further down the passageway. “Run now, break apart later.”

“Uncle just killed Father!” Alfredo burst out, stumbling forwards a couple steps before catching up with Trevor. “Mother-”

“-was stabbed in the back by her own guard, yes, I saw,” Trevor finished for him, whirling around and pressing Alfredo up against the wall. “Focus! We need to get you out of here.”

“We need to warn Fiona,” Alfredo snapped, pushing at Trevor’s shoulders. “There has to be someone-”

“We can’t trust anyone!” Trevor shouted, throwing up his hands. “Don’t you get it?”

“Shut up!” Alfredo hissed, shoving Trevor into the opposite wall. “Of course I do! Fuck!”

He held Trevor there with one arm crossed over his chest, his free hand dragging through his hair, snatching on the circlet denoting him as crown prince. He pulled it off, staring at the silver band rather helplessly.

“We need to hide that,” Trevor mused, fingers brushing over the polished silver. Then he reached out to tug at Alfredo’s silken tunic. “That, too.”

“Alright. Right.” Alfredo closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “What about Lindsay? They like Fiona, right?”

Trevor hesitated. “Normally, I’d say we can trust them without a doubt, but…”

Alfredo sighed and nodded. His uncle had somehow managed to subvert even the queensguard, the most loyal to the throne. Still.

“Can’t you send her a message?” he begged, as they started down the narrow hall together, voice dipping into desperation. Trevor paused, shooting him a considering look over his shoulder, and Alfredo pounced. “Please, Trevor. I- I need to know she’s safe.”

“It’s risky,” Trevor pointed out, rounding the corner ahead of him. Alfredo followed on his heels.

“I know.”

“If someone in her escort is in on the coup, they’ll see.”

“I know.” Alfredo reached out, tugging on Trevor’s sleeve. “I know, Trevor. I just- I can’t lose her, too. Not after...”

Trevor stopped in the middle of the hallway, whirling around to glare at him. “And I- we can’t lose you!”

Alfredo reared back in shock at the unexpected outburst. Trevor’s chest was heaving and he closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Then his eyes snapped open and he pressed the torch into Alfredo’s hands. “Fine.”

Alfredo watched as Trevor’s eyelids drooped, the white growing cloudy. His fingers twisted into various shapes as he muttered under his breath, words Alfredo couldn’t understand. Tendrils of shadows stretch from the walls, the ceiling and the floor, reaching for Trevor’s fingers, curling around pale skin and each other. Trevor’s eyes snapped wide open, glowing a deep, dark red and he exhaled the last part of the chant, grey smoke escaping his lips. The shadow tendrils rose to meet the dark air, mingling until the form of a bat took shape.

Without taking his eyes off the spell, Trevor jerked his chin in Alfredo’s direction. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Father- The king is dead,” he told the bat, watching as the smoke flickered, creating the illusion of wings beating. “At the hands of the Duke of Luzon. Uncle- the duke is holding the throne.” Alfredo swallowed, fingers clenching around his royal circlet. “Be careful.”

Without looking at him, Trevor raised his hands and exhaled, blowing the smoke away. The bat faded through the wall, its false wings flapping.

“Let’s hope no one sees that,” Trevor muttered, taking a faltering step down the hall. Alfredo was at his side in the blink of an eye, supporting his weight. Trevor grimaced, pushing at him half-heartedly. “I’m fine. Just need a moment.”

“You’ve expended a lot of magic,” Alfredo observed, ignoring Trevor’s attempts and slinging an arm under his shoulders, bracing him. If Trevor’s reserves were low, they’d need to be extra careful not to get caught. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

They slipped out of the secret passage into the servants’ corridors, the ones that let the castle’s staff move through the place unnoticed and unseen. Trevor stopped leaning on Alfredo the moment they stepped out, grabbing his hand to tug him down the left hallway. Alfredo entwined their fingers and squeezed, eyes flitting about. They passed several maids hurrying down the halls, averting their gazes the moment they caught sight of the duo. Alfredo’s stomach twisted into worried knots, wondering if they would tell.

Trevor dragged him into a room with four bunk beds, falling to his knees next to one the nearest chest. He tugged on the iron lock, muttering a few words under his breath, and a tendril of shadow slipped from under his sleeve and into the lock. Seconds later it clicked open. Trevor dropped it to the floor without a second glance, throwing the chest open and rummaging through the clothes inside.

He tossed a dark grey tunic Alfredo’s way, pulling a cream-coloured one out next. He chucked his dark robes and pulled the white tunic on, and Alfredo followed suit. He set his turquoise tunic down on the bed, the silver circlet on top. Once he slipped the grey tunic over his head, Trevor lobbed a bundle of brown cloth his way. Unfolding the cloth, it turned out to be a cloak.

“We can’t just leave that here,” Trevor mused, tapping a finger to his lips. Alfredo followed his gaze to the things he discarded on the bed.

“It’s just stuff, though.” Alfredo shrugged. “Like, I get it’s got like symbolic weight and what not, but it can be replaced.”

“Not if we don’t want you replaced. Which we don’t,” Trevor shot back, mouth twisting thoughtfully. He crossed his arms and gave Alfredo a pointed look. “Two options: we leave it here for your uncle to find and risk him using them-”

“He’ll just have a new one made anyway,” Alfredo pointed out. Trevor grimaced and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“-or we take it with us and risk being discovered.” He tilted his head first left, then right. “On the upside, we could prove your identity when we come back.”

“Will we?” Alfredo asked, biting his lip. At Trevor’s questioning glance he clarified, “Come back, I mean.”

Trevor’s expression grew grim, his brow a determined line as he reached out to squeeze Alfredo’s shoulder.

“We won’t let the dukes get away with this, will we?”

Alfredo clenched his jaw and nodded sharply. “We won’t.”

Trevor returned the nod, his grip tightening on Alfredo’s shoulder. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, sharing in that promise. Then Trevor’s hand dropped away and he turned, pulling a leather satchel from the chest. Alfredo rolled his tunic around the circlet and stuffed it to the bottom of the satchel, Trevor adding another tunic on top to hide them away.

And with that, it was time to leave.

Alfredo met Trevor’s eyes, reached out to intertwine their fingers. “Let’s go.”

They left the way they came: through the servants’ hallways and secret passages, even as guards combed the castle looking for them. Hoods pulled up to hide their faces, they stuck to the shadows and managed to slip away unseen.

***

The King is dead. Long live the Dukes Three.

***

Gavin ducked his head, dodging through the crowd. The tavern was full, loud and sparsely lit, perfect for blending in. He brushed up against people, fingers quick and clever, pocketing whatever he could reach without looking up, mumbling excuses as he jostled people. The door was up ahead, only a couple more bodies to bypass before he walked free-

A hand on his elbow stopped him in his tracks, whirling him around to come face to face with his captor.

"And where the fuck do you think you're going," the man growled, a truly awful scowl on his face. Gavin pushed his lower lip out and pouted.

"Aww, Michael, boi, c'mon."

The scowl grew darker, but his eyes flicked over the crowd, the obvious way the nearest strangers were leaning in to eavesdrop. With a low snarl, Michael tugged Gavin through the door and into the stables, which really was more of a canopied trough attached to the side of the tavern.

“I told you to stay close,” he complained, pulling Gavin up to the trough and planting himself between him and the street. He held his bound hands up and wiggled his fingers at Michael in reminder.

“Not like I could go far with these.”

The strips of leather lit up as Gavin pulled his hands apart, tightening around his wrists until they touched again. Michael glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and grunted, before focussing back on the saddlebags he was rummaging through. Gavin slumped against the bar their horse was tied to, pouting.

Michael rolled his eyes, giving the horse’s hind a friendly pat as he finished.

“Will you shut up if I let you ride Hidalgo?”

Gavin dropped the pout immediately, tilting his head as he pretended to ponder the suggestion. Michael snorted and pulled down the stirrup.

“Get on, idiot.”

Michael helped him up into the saddle before untying the horse and tugging him away from the stall. Hidalgo huffed a soft protest but followed obediently. Gavin watched Michael as they walked down the streets, heading for the gate of the small town they’d found themselves in.

“No luck at the inn?” he asked, keeping his tone light. Michael grunted in reply, not answering before they’d left the gates - and the guards at the gate - behind them.

“They didn’t have any work to trade,” he finally said, his voice gruff and shoulders up to his ears. “Besides, their ale tasted like shit.”

Gavin hummed agreeably and didn’t push it. The sun stood low on the horizon, drenching the meadows around them in red hues. If his internal map was correct, this was the last town before they reached the capital, they wouldn’t find anywhere else to rest for the night. Gavin eyed Michael, noted how tight his shoulders curled, the tension of his spine. Pointing out the obvious didn’t seem worth it.

They’d been getting along surprisingly well, considering their circumstances. Gavin wanted to keep it that way.

Michael stayed silent while they entered the woods, the tightness slowly easing from his shoulders, though he still had a distinctly grumpy air. Gavin went from watching him surreptitiously to keeping an eye out for a good campsite, aware that he could see better in the low light conditions than his human companion.

They were well past the treeline when Gavin noticed them.

"Uh, Michael?"

"What?" the man grumbled, turning to look over his shoulder at Gavin, who stared past him. Ahead, half-hidden between bushes and shadows, were vaguely humanoid shapes. Gavin couldn't quite make them out in the dim darkness of dusk, but the light reflected in their eyes, enough to give them away. Gavin counted at least eight, though some sixth sense told him there were more than that.

"We should head back," Gavin suggested, eyes scanning the underbrush. A twig snapped behind them, and Gavin tensed.

"To the inn?" Michael scoffed and shook his head. "I already told you-"

"No, boi," Gavin interrupted, an ominous feeling sitting in the back of his neck. "Out of here. It's not safe."

Michael stopped and frowned up at him. "Look, I get it. This must be hard for you, your last days of freedom and such. But the bounty clarified alive, so I don't think-"

"Michael, boi." Gavin huffed exasperatedly, tugging on the reigns and turning the horse sideways to offer him at least some cover. "It's not about that."

"Then what-" Michael sounded just as exasperated.

"We're surrounded, boi."

Michael stared at him for a long moment, expression closing off. Then his eyes darted to both sides without moving his head, but he clearly couldn't find anything. His brow furrowed and he uncrossed his arms, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.

"Look, buddy. You don't have to like it, but we're gonna camp out here tonight," Michael said out loud, projecting his voice across the clearing. Then he stepped closer and lowered it, "How many?"

"Too many." Gavin jerked his chin subtly to indicate where the bulk of them were hidden. "Ten, maybe more." Then he, too, raised his voice to complain, "At least take these off me for a couple hours? I can't feel my fingers anymore."

Michael was contemplating it, Gavin could see it in the twist of his mouth, weighing the risk of Gavin fleeing versus his help in this fight. But they had run out of time to make decisions as a crossbow bolt flew across the clearing, burrowing into the tree behind Gavin. A warning shot.

Michael drew his sword.

Five of the ambushers stepped out of the trees in a half circle around them, the rest remaining in their hiding places. Gavin glanced at the apparent way out, wondering what traps had been laid for them. He could make out two more of their opponents lying in wait, but there was a sizable gap between them. Triprope? Or a net, perhaps?

"Who are you?" Michael demanded, stepping between the visible group and Gavin. "What do you want?"

"Your bounty, hunter," the leader replied, his tone calm and bored. "Hand over the elf, and you won't come to any harm."

Michael jutted out his chin and raised his sword. “And if I don’t?”

“Then we will take him whatever means necessary,” the leader declared and snapped his fingers. Anticipating their next move, Gavin rolled off Hidalgo on the far side, coming to a crouch just as more crossbow bolts sailed through the air. His gaze darted once more to the gap in the group, eyes narrowing. They were expecting him to make a run for it, weren’t they?

Well, he didn’t intend to make this easy for them.

He peeked through Hidalgo's legs, watching as Michael met the leader strike for strike, metal clanking against metal. Michael was obviously the more skilled of the two, quickly gaining ground, until two of the other attackers swiped at him from opposite sides, forcing him back. But Gavin didn't have time to watch how Michael fared, as three more of their ambushers slipped around the side to corner him.

“Surrender, elf,” one of them called, a wide grin over their face as they twirled their sword showily. “There’s nowhere to run.”

“Not bloody likely, you prick,” Gavin muttered, though he held up his bound hands as if to surrender. From the corner of his eyes he watched them fan out, assured in their easy victory. But just before the speaker could step into sword range, Gavin darted forward and under, poking Hidalgo’s belly in the spot he knew the horse hated.

Predictably, Hidalgo rose up on his hindlegs in protest, hooves kicking through the air and forcing their attackers back.

Gavin rolled under the horse’s belly, getting dangerously close to those hooves, and came up on the other side close to Michael. Hidalgo, meanwhile, came back down and kicked out his hindlegs, hitting the bandit standing behind him straight in the chest, denting in their armour and making them fly into the trees.

Scrambling to his feet, Gavin took in this side of the clearing, mentally marking the position of the marksmen littered amongst the treeline, crossbows loaded and at the ready. Michael was fending off attacks from two angles, while a third sword fighter circled around, watching. As they stepped behind Michael, while the bounty hunter was distracted parrying an attack, they found an opportunity and darted in.

“Watch out, boi!” Gavin yelled, alarmed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Michael pushed up the sword he’d blocked with his own and ducked under, leaving his attacker in the line of their comrade. The bandit didn’t have time to pull his attack, their short sword driving into their fellow’s stomach.

“Thanks, Gav!” Michael called, not even looking his way as he engaged his third opponent while the other two were distracted, pushing him back into the treeline until a rain of crossbow bolts forced him back.

Meanwhile, the confusion around Hidalgo had calmed down, one of their ambusher’s having caught the horse by the bridle and was working on moving his stubborn ass out of the middle of the clearing with the help of one of their compatriots. The person who got kicked was still out of commission and probably well out of it for the rest of the fight, but that still left two of the bandits free to advance on Gavin once more.

“Well, shit,” Gavin muttered under his breath as they both raised their weapons.

Gavin dodged under the swing before catching a sword between his wrists. The magical bindings shone in resistance, holding strong against brute force. The bandit had barely enough time to register what happened before Gavin took advantage of their shock, using the unbreakable leather to twist his hands around and disarm his attacker. The sword clattered to the forest floor, and Gavin gave it a quick kick out of reach.

Then Michael's back collided with his and Gavin stumbled a step forward before bracing himself against the bounty hunter.

"They're after you," Michael grit out in between grunts of effort as he parried two attacks at once.

"Isn't everybody?" Gavin quipped, jumping up and using his back against Michael's to steady himself, kicking at the bandit in front of him. One of his feet connected with the man's gut, the other a little lower, forcing him back.

"These ones are a pain in the ass about it," Michael commented, stepping neatly around Gavin and intercepting a sword strike.

A hail of crossbow bolts thudded into the ground at their feet in a neat half circle forcing them back. Gavin glanced at the bandits they'd taken out of the battle, being helped by a handful of unarmed ones. And yet they were still outnumbered.

The quick look around also revealed they were being herded towards the traps, slowly but surely.

Michael seemed to reach the same conclusion, deflecting a new rain of crossbow bolts to step closer to Gavin.

"There's a gap in their defenses behind us," he murmured, bright eyes on the advancing sword fighters.

"Trap," Gavin told him sharply, and Michael nodded as if he expected it.

"On my word," he said, lowering his voice until even Gavin with his enhanced senses could barely hear him, "you run. I'll distract them."

By springing the trap, Gavin presumed.

"No way, boi," he hissed, fucking behind Michael to give him space to swing his sword, even as they retreated, each step closer to the trapped underbrush. "I'm not leaving you behind!"

Before Michael could reply, their attackers stopped playing with their prey, three of them ducking in and out to slash at Michael from multiple sides, stealing all his focus. Gavin tried his best to help without hindering Michael, grabbing dirt to throw into one attacker’s face and trying to trip another to give Michael a chance.

For a moment it seemed to work.

Then Michael lost his sword.

It flew in a high arch, time seeming to slow down. The last rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon made the blue sheen almost glow purple before it clattered to the forest floor with a dull thump, the sound swallowed by the much heavier thump of Michael hitting the ground, all three attackers piled on top of him.

Gavin stared at them, wide-eyed, taking an unconscious step back.

A twig snapped under his foot.

Everyone’s eyes turned to him, except for one. Michael's gaze dropped to his hands, the line of his brow smoothing out while his mouth twisted in determination. Gavin realized what he was going to do a second before he did, the magic word slipping from Michael's tongue like a sibilant hiss, hidden under the noise of the attack.

The rope shone a brilliant blue-white - then fell to the ground, dull brown leather blending into the leaves.

"Go!" Michael shouted, struggling against the two people pinning him to the ground. The third stood up, pointing their sword at Gavin.

"Surrender now, or the bounty hunter dies."

Gavin grimaced, stumbling several steps backwards. He could feel the triprope go taut against his heel and froze.

"What makes you think I care?" he spat, fingers brushing over the bush at his left. He just needed to buy a little time…

"He's protecting you, isn't he?"

Gavin shot the leader an unimpressed look. "He's a bounty hunter. The only thing he cares about is money."

He could hear Michael wince at the words and felt a pang of guilt how callous he sounded. It wasn't like he actually believed his own words, but he needed the group to think Michael a worthless hostage.

"Besides," he drawled as his fingers curled around a loose branch that seemed sturdy enough, "I hear I'm worth much more alive than dead."

The leader glowered at those words. "Look, elf, enough of this farce. Come with us quietly, and we'll even scrounge up some dinner for you."

Gavin tilted his head, grip tightening on the branch, skin tingling with magic at his beck and call for the first time in weeks.

"No, thank you."

"Then you leave us no choice." The leader gestured with their sword, and Gavin braced himself. "Get him!"

Michael started struggling harder at the command, but Gavin had to watch the people rushing him. It was clear that they made more noise and showy swings of weapons to scare him into running, hoping to herd him into the net trap a couple feet behind him. However, Gavin had other plans. The branch in his hand elongated and straightened out with a push of magic, and Gavin twirled it in his left hand, cutting the trip rope and triggering the traps.

In the cacophony of swirling leaves disturbed the net, he vanished from view.

But he didn’t go far. From his spot in the crown of a nearby tree, Gavin watched the chaos his disappearance caused unfold. The bandits ran around like a disturbed anthill, poking through the underbrush and yelling at each other. One of them confronted their leader, clearly unhappy about how things went.

It was the perfect time to get the hell out of dodge.

Gavin couldn’t. Not yet.

Using his branch-stick as a pole, jumped from tree to tree, timing each landing to coincide with the noises the ambusher made in an attempt to root him out. Michael was dragged off to the side to be out of the way, his hands and legs wrapped with rope for good measure. Gavin considered the problem from across the clearing. If he could somehow free Michael and get them both to Hidalgo…

However. There was one problem. Gavin’s eyes flit across the clearing, trying to catch the blue sheen of Michael’s sword, and his heart sank as he found it sheathed at the leader’s belt. No way was Michael gonna leave his sword behind.

A different plan, then. Half their attackers were still out of commission. If Gavin could manage to whittle away at their numbers further… Michael could definitely take the leader in one on one combat. From the snippets Gavin caught of their fight, Michael was both the stronger and more skilled fighter of the two. Now, if he only-

The branch under Gavin’s feet shifted with a resounding crack.

Fear jolted down his spine as Gavin looked back, only to see the bough had a deep split running through it. Under his weight, the branch strained to hold onto its roots - and failed. Gravity did the rest. Gavin cursed, jumping into a roll forward as the branch broke away, managing to soften his fall. He rolled up into a crouch, stick held up in a defensive position-

-in the middle of the clearing.

The bandits all turned at the noise to stare at him.

“Goddammit, Gavin!” Michael groaned, his head hitting the tree behind him with a loud thunk.

Gavin glanced around, shifting on his feet. None of their attackers had gone far, and there was at least four uninjured ones. And unlike Michael, Gavin wasn’t much of a fighter, though he did have an ace up his sleeve. Magic sparked at his fingers, roots shifting below everyone’s feet.

The second-in-command seemed to notice the movement immediately, but instead of attacking they sidestepped their comrades to come up at a bound Michael’s side, roughly grabbing his curls and holding their sword to his throat.

Reluctantly, Gavin dropped his stick and raised his hands in surrender, adopting an innocent mien.

“Whoops?”

#achievement hunter kings #ah kings #ah alfredo #ah trevor #ah michael #ah gavin #king au #ah lindsay #ah fiona #fic rec #ragehappy #ingno writes #triple duke coup #tdc #fantasy au

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