Chapter Text
—///Simon Riley\\\—
Ghost had been part of the royal guard since, his now Captain, John Price, had picked him up off the streets. Bruised and beaten after barely making it over the border with nothing but the ripped clothes he wore. Price had seen some sort of potential in him. To this day, he didn’t quite understand, but he wouldn’t dare question the objectively best thing that had happened in his, until then, more than miserable life.
Now he had a job, one he was bloody good at, if he dare say so himself. The…mostly warm broom closet, he called his own and…existing pay were nice too. Better than what he had before.
So when the man, that had basically raised him, even though he was only a few years older himself, asked him, not ordered him, asked if he wanted to take on a higher position it hadn’t felt right to decline.
That’s how he ended up here, seriously reconsidering his decision. With all the love he could muster up for Price, he steeled his nerves as he passed by the next group of staring Lords.
Outside, on his guard post no one really mentioned his mask, and even if they did, he could always justify it with the freezing temperatures.
Or just…intimidation purposes. Inside the castle walls though, he had already been questioned twice and been whispered about so often he didn’t even bother to count anymore.
"It’s been two minutes, bloody hell"
Simon shook his head and made a right, the layout of his new post already memorized beforehand, he found himself in front of two large wooden doors. A guard on each side, they eyed him cautiously.
"Who are you? What is your business here?" one of them asked, voice surprisingly stable for the way he shrunk back against the wall, under Ghost’s gaze.
"They’re expecting me."
He really didn’t want to deal with them right now. He wanted to get the whole pleasantries over with and get back to doing his job, without tiring conversations.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. That was probably why Price had allowed him to keep his post outside the wall, even as he had climbed the ranks.
The guards shared a look and hurried to open the doors for him, he ignored their, honestly pitying efforts and moved to push it open himself. Probably breaking some form of etiquette, but he wasn’t here to be pleasant. Either they wanted his services or not.
Ghost sighed as the door fell shut behind him, announcing his entry louder than any introduction could’ve. Three pairs of eyes turned to him; six had already been on him as soon as he had entered.
Ghost looked around, scanning the room. Little had changed since he’d benn welcomed in the royal guard.
Two guards posted left and right of the throne, to his sides and at the far back exit.
The room was long, its right brightly illuminated by the sunlight that fell through large, artfully crafted windows, pillars along a middle path.
Church-like benches were symmetrically placed in the empty space. And finally the raised platform that stood at its end, where one large and several smaller throne-like chairs were placed.
Ghost had changed, last time he’d just crawled out of Simon‘s own grave, not even the dirt washed from under his fingernails, as Price had lead him into the room.
Neither he blood on his ribs, nor the last tears Simon shed, had time to dry; the wet streaks burning on his cheek as he tried and failed, to focus on the words spoken by Price and the King.
Now, on the ugliest and most uncomfortable throne he could’ve ever imagined, sat an old, grim looking man. His few, grey hairs stood out against the muddy-brownish throne that might’ve actually been a bright copper once.
They matched somehow.
Both looked like they were well past their best years.
Ghost never cared for Politics, his life already difficult enough. But even he knew that this King was popular with the lords and…less so with the people.
Shepherd had made it very clear over the years that his focus lay on his own interests.
Not even his Captain spoke well of him, oftentimes even outright 'traitorous'. Ghost never dared to ask about the -obviousy personal- history the two men shared.
Ghost trusted Price‘s judgment blindly, an unwavering faith the Captain had earned, over and over again.
He bowed to the king nonetheless, no use in risking punishment because of a ridiculous formality, it’s not like that would do him any good.
He nodded to his Captain who stood at attention behind the king, returning the greeting before tilting his head towards the third person on the platform, making Ghost follow his gaze.
On a chair, to the king's left, sat a man, who in all honesty made it look like a child’s chair. He sat, thick thighs thrown over one armrest, broad chest facing the room like he just turned around a moment ago.
How he managed to wear just a short sleeved tunic was beyond Ghost.
He, himself, was freezing even with several thick layers, covering every inch of skin. Leaving only the blackened space around his eyes exposed to the cold air.
The man didn’t look like someone that should lounge on a throne. His brown hair was cut short on the sides, only a broad stripe in the middle, grown out and falling loosely into his eyes.
Simons breath hitched, when those eyes met his own, very few people actually looked into his eyes nowadays.
He raised his eyebrow, daring, a reflex, before dropping it again, having no idea who the man was. It was a dangerous game.
But Ghost somehow couldn’t tear his gaze away from the stark, blue irises, visible even from this distance. They glinted with something he couldn’t yet distinguish.
Fear, he knew, that certainly wasn’t it.
Ghost shook his head lightly, trying to focus on the King, he stepped closer and straightened his back as he stood before the long stairs that lead to the throne.
"Your Majesty."
He bowed again, for good measure, not sure what else he should do.
Price leaned over to the King, whispering something, by the somehow simultaneously exasperated and amused smile that barely hid under his beard, Ghost could guess that his captain was introducing him, again.
In the corner of his eye he saw the blue eyed man turn, letting his legs drop from the armrest and spreading them leisurely, still not an ounce of respect in his posture.
Ghost didn’t know why the mans aloof demeanor agitated him so much. Though probably because, he looked like a man who‘s life had never been anything but easy.
The king nodded sluggishly and took a swig from his cup.
Ghost had never related more to a slab of meat, than right now, as King Shepherds eyes raked along his body.
"Looks good to me." He chuckled darkly and slapped Price‘s shoulder. His captain tensed.
"Keep him in check."
The king’s voice fell, a dark tone, a threat that rolled freely of his tongue, as he glared at the younger man beside him. Though it was clear, that the command was directed towards Ghost.
The old, sickly looking King, was now much more akin to general Shepherd, the former king‘s second in command, who took over the throne after the last king’s passing.
A tragedy some some would say, others might call it murder, betrayal. Ghost didn’t care either way, they were all equally awful rulers and even worse people. King MacTavish had certainly been favorable, though even the former King had his flaws.
His only son had fallen from grace years before his death, nobody really knew what had happened behind closed doors. Only that the Prince had somehow angered his father and was sent off to god knows where.
Ghost hadn’t been in the Kingdom back then, his only knowledge stemming from the very few books that dealt with it’s recent history. It had never been his main focus, too trivial for his taste, just some petty royal drama.
But now, as he looked towards the man, Shepherd had eyed so full of hatred…maybe it should’ve been.
The resemblance between the young King MacTavish and this man wasn’t uncanny, but definitely prominent.
His eyes traveled along the exposed skin again, actually paying attention this time, small scars were littered along toned arms. What had seemed like a shadow just moments before was now a cleary visible burn scar…
What the fuck had he been up to?
Ghost could see the man’s jaw grinding in anger, clearly wanting to say something, when Price cut him off.
The Prince(?) snapped his mouth shut. He pouted, honest to god, pouted like a child would before throwing a tantrum.
Oh this was going to be fun, why did Price think that Ghost would even want to tolerate this shit? He glared at the Captain, who wasn’t facing him anymore.
"Your Majesty, we have a council to attend." Price turned back towards him again, not faltering under Ghost‘s annoyed gaze. "Ghost, Prince John is now under your Protection, I will find you later to go through the details with you."
So, the cocky man-child really was the exiled prince, John MacTavish.
He nodded goodbye to Price, he‘d talk some sense into the old man later, and bowed to the King before having to taking a step to the side as the Prince pushed past him.
Their arms brushed, Simon tensed. Ghost suppressed a growl.
He was still quick to follow the prince. Falling into step behind him begrudgingly.
"Away n‘ bile yer heid, don’t need ah fuckn personal guard."
At least they had the same opinion on the matter…
Anger was still seeping off MacTavish‘s statue, his shoulders pulled back, seemingly bracing for something, even though they were already far out of sight.
'Holding a grudge, little Prince?'
Prince John marched confidently, surprisingly even steps echoing in the cold hallways, unaffected by the apparent anger of the man in front of him, he’s, at least, got some grip on his emotions, Ghost thought. A few, probably Gaelic, curses were muttered as the prince turned a corner, he followed silently.
As amusing it was to watch the Prince fume, his nerves were starting to fray, an angry noble under his protection wouldn’t make this any easier. And certainly wasn’t what he had expected either.
As they reached the hallway that led to the prince‘s chambers, the man in front of him took a deep breath, sighed, rolled his shoulders and addressed Ghost for the fist time. He still didn’t look at him though, maybe Ghost could’ve deciphered the piercing gaze this time, from up close, or maybe he couldn’t have.
"‘ave ya eaten anythin’ today?"
…That certainly hadn’t been what he expected. The Prince‘s voice was wasn’t harsh, unsurprisingly gravelly, yes, but somehow gentle. He had expected anger, agitation maybe, even being yelled at hadn’t been out of the question. So the tone definitely was a surprise by itself, but the question? It took Simon a second to even process it.
"I- No…I haven’t…?" What was he getting at? No, he hadn’t eaten today, gave his ration to some poor bloke that looked a bit too close to collapsing for Ghost’s comfort.
They had never been a rich province per say, too small to provide for itself, the common folk always bordering on starvation, but after, then General, now King shepherd had taken over, it had gotten even worse. Ghost couldn’t even count the amount of riots he had to stop over the past few years, always feeling bad when he had to send away starving townsfolk.
Even saving some of his own rations, to give to the mothers and children, it was all he could do, really.
He could see the man in front of him nod, his shoulders sagging. Ghost didn’t trust the sudden mood change. A tired laugh emerged from the Prince‘s lips as he turned to look at Simon. Somehow it was the first expression that seemed genuine.
"Should’ve expected thah’. They still pay you in gratitude `nd honor?"
Ghost snorted before he could catch himself. His own steps faltered, he stood completely still, eyes blown wide. They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Something in the prince‘s gaze softened.
Almost like relief.
"You’re fine. Fuckn hell, come in." The Prince, turned away again and stepped through the door, into his private chamber.
Maybe it was a trap, probably even. Confusing him. Making him feel safe, getting him to admit a dislike towards their King to get rid of him. It had all happened before, it was easy to get rid of someone unwanted, when the littlest hint of treason was enough to get them locked up. Or worse.
But somehow the glint in Prince John‘s eyes didn’t seem deceiving.