Work Text:
Those whispers came in the deadest nights.
Ivan heard the murmurs across the halls. The knights shooting him dirty looks behind his back while he rode his horse ahead. The bodyguards stood by the door with their lips thinned and brows furrowed as he walked pass them, his sword tying at his waist and the crown weighing him down. The maids, God bless them, threw themselves onto the ground and beg for his mercy when he entered his room while they were cleaning, as if him catching them rearrange and fluff his pillows is treason. Ivan had to make sure he stays away from the room when it’s time for them to clean because, seriously, his carpet does not need to be dampened by another drop of tear.
He’s going to fail us.
He shook his head to get that away from his head.
He cannot be our next king.
He took a deep breath, willing the headache to go away.
What’s inside his chest, that sister banishing son of a monster. It’s not heart, I can tell you. Princess Irina does not deserve this.
No. The familiar nausea was coming back. Ivan massaged his temples. Don’t remember this, he said to himself. Not this.
But when did his brain ever listen to him?
“He’s going to ruin us. I can feel it. In my belly. If someone doesn’t assassinate him soon, he will have us wash the kingdom in blood.”
Someone let out a huge sigh, “we’re on this, again?”
“Come on, don’t be a prude, Gil. You know he’s a demon to banish Princess Irina.”
There’s a whistle when his sister’s name was brought up. Ivan adverted his eyes, hiding himself further away from the sarcastic laughters and hoarse voices as the soldiers smoke their night away. He was only taking a night walk, a habit he adapted ever since he sent his sister away. Sleep had escaped him since then, but no one seemed to notice the darkening circles under his eyes.
“If you are such a damn hero, why don’t you kill him then?” Gil’s voice cut through the thick summer air and hit Ivan.
“Kill the prince, yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
“Then don’t whine about it like a loser. You either do something, or you shut up.”
“Oh oh. Here comes Gilbert the conscious. Always the moral standard. Always the highroad.”
Ivan’s throat closed up. He wanted to see if Gilbert is going to get beaten up, but the only noise he heard were from a loud obnoxious laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Make the way, peasants! Here comes Sir Gilbert. You all have to fucking bow at me, fuckers!” Gilbert ordered, “Casandra, you first. Then it’s you, Pork belly.”
“Hale to Sir Gilbert!” the first voice shouted—Casandra? If there’s someone’s name as distinct as Casandra Ivan would have memorized it.
“Lord, have mercy and I will kiss your boots.” was the third voice, Pork belly, was it?
“No, Porky, kiss my boots, and we will talk about mercy.”
“Gilbert you can fuck yourself with it.”
“You are no fun, Porky. Casandra can do it, why can’t you?”
“Casandra can suck it too. And stop calling me Porky. What do you nickname a nickname for? ”
Gilbert’s laughing again. Ivan found the corner of his lips lift up as well. He schooled his face, even though nobody would see him in the dark.
“In all seriousness, though.” Casandra started talking after the laughters died down, “I’m worried. He’s going to fuck us over. And you know it.”
Someone clicked their tongue. Ivan had to guess it’s Gilbert.
“It’s true though, Gil. You don’t want to see it. But this kingdom is doomed if that’s our future king.” Pork belly said.
“Heard your brother’s training to be a soldier as well. Might want to tell him to quit it now. Like Porky said, no future here.”
“Alright, alright. Whatever. Go back to farm your land, feed the animals, live in your freaking bubbles. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be the knight, especially if you think this kingdom is falling apart. I will become the fucking knight. Just wait and see.”
“Hale to Almighty Gilbert!” was followed by another loud laugh. Ivan heard Gilbert ask for another smoke. He turned and walked away.
His eyes flew open as he felt a light touch on his wrist.
“Geez, another ‘the world’s mocking me’ dream, eh?” the voice that was saying he would become the knight even if the kingdom’s doomed in his hazy subconscious now was loud and clear. And close.
Ivan looked up and found Gilbert’s eyes shone in its red glory, the dim candle light softened the usual hard line of his jaw , “you are on top.”
“What?”
“What are you doing?” Ivan croaked out. He half pushed Gilbert off him, and reached for the cup next to his bed.
“No, wait.” Gilbert stopped him, taking the cup himself and drew out a silver needle. He gave Ivan a glare as he stuck the needle into the liquid, “how are you alive by now?”
“You’ve done all the poison check for me.”
“No, before that.”
Ivan looked away for a second. I didn’t. He said in his brain, I was wishing for the sweet release of death to save me. He turned his gaze back, “so?”
Gilbert examined the needle under the light, before giving back his cup. Ivan finished the water in two gulps. Gilbert adjusted to a more comfortable position, took off the cape and folded it up, and then threw the nicely folded clothing to the floor next to the bed. Ivan wondered what would the maids do if they see Gilbert goes star-fish like on his satin covered bed, or how he just rolled around while kicking one of Ivan’s pillows to the foot of the bed so he could lie more comfortably?
Definitely not begging for mercy, Ivan thought. Maybe they would drag Gilbert onto the floor and made him ask for Ivan’s mercy.
“Ask me.” Gilbert started.
Ivan put the cup away, lay down again, “Sir Gilbert.” he nodded, “to what do I own the pleasure of having your bottom on me at such a late hour?”
Gilbert frowned for a second, but then a smile broke through his face, “the edict came.”
Ivan nodded.
“The white knight.”
He nodded again.
“The thirteenth.”
“Yes, I’m aware of your crowning, Sir Gilbert. I remember distinctly that I myself told you the news.”
“You say the shittiest things, Ivan. Verbal does not hold any power until it’s printed in letters.”
“I always keep my promises.”
“You do. But your father, our great King Braginsky does not.”
“King Braginsky.” Ivan mused, “Please don’t call me that when the time comes.” Even just the name terrified Ivan, made him sick from the bottom of his stomach.
“See? The shitttested thing! It’s a tradition, it’s name inherited from your ancestors. You are King Braginsky in waiting.”
Ivan snorted, “Of course people are going to call me that. You won’t, though. Right?”
“Bear claw Ivan, or Bear belly Ivan?” something flashed through Gilbert’s eyes, “hey, you know, I used to have a buddy named Pork belly.”
“Sure.”
“He went back town though, I think. Last time I heard from him that guy’s got a baby.”
“Porky?”
“Porky!” Gilbert clapped his hands together, “yes! Porky! See, Pork belly’s too much trouble for a nickname it needs a nickname itself.”
Ivan chuckled, the dark memory of Pork belly and Casandra slowly fading into darkness. Speaking of which, “um, I think I heard a soldier Casandra? Do you know him?”
Gilbert honked out a laugh, “fuck! You heard of it?”
“I thought Casandra is a goddess’ name?”
“Yeah. I only called him that because that shithead wouldn’t stop bragging about his fiancé.”
“Casandra.”
Gilbert nodded.
“You are the worst.” Ivan smiled despite of his words, “you call your friends the lousiest names. Whoever’s your friend has the worst luck in the world.”
“Porky is kind of nice, you have to admit.”
“Why Porky?”
“He tried to steal my pork chop on my first day. Punched him hard. Taught him the lesson of touching what’s not his.”
“Violent. Sir Gilbert. Violent you are.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Ivan remembered Gilbert’s words from a long long time ago: I’m going to be the knight, especially if you think this kingdom is falling apart.
He turned his head to look at Gilbert, whose head bent at a weird angle as he tried to use his feet to push the pillows at the end of the bed together, “hey.”
Gilbert hummed, still concentrating on the task his feet’s facing.
“You become the knight.”
A smirk rose up even though Gilbert’s pouting a little in concentration, “hell yeah I did.”
“It’s not the best time for the country, though.” Ivan said it lightly, “we are on a thin line, you know it, I know it. One step wrong, and that might be it.”
Gilbert shot him bored glance, “not anymore.”
“Eh?”
“It’s Sir Gilbert the Greatest white knight. No kingdom shall fall under his power.”
That made Ivan giggled. “Because you are awesome.” he copied Gilbert’s catchphrase.
Gilbert just gave him the “awesome” smile that lit up just an inch in the dark corner in Ivan’s heart, here lay in his gigantic yet cold lonely bed, with his arrogant knight in white lying lazily at his side, and the night still young.