Chapter Text
Will hates the cold. He hates the way he can’t fight off the way it exposes the vulnerability to seek warmth and discard anything else - the way it makes him relive the past.
But right now, he’d give anything to be back in his freezing chambers. The torch beside him is well past distractingly hot, making his cloak feel like a deliberate attempt to cook him alive. He tugs his hands placed behind his back once, twice, but the rope wrapped around his wrists cuts like a knife and won’t budge.
Will looks around dazed, eyes slowly adjusting to the environment. The walls are metal, but based on the sound of horse hooves on the ground below him and the occasional bump in his seat, he knows he’s not in a cell.
Not yet.
He’s not sure how long he’s been out for, but the panic is beginning to set in. He tries to call out, but any sound he makes is muffled by the cloth gag in his mouth. So he settles for the next best option - frenzied thrashing that reminds him of an unfortunate creature stuck in a trap.
“Looks like he’s awake,” someone says from somewhere.
“Doesn’t matter - we’re already here anyway,” a second voice answers, accompanied by a sudden halt in the carriage’s movement.
Already where? Dread sinks in, a slight tremor arising in his leg, but he does his best to quell it, lest anyone see his fear. A door into the carriage swings open, a burly man holding a club stepping through.
Will feels pathetic, but he begins to quiver despite himself. The man spares Will no more than a mere glance before hitting him over the head and picking up his limp body.
—
When he wakes up again, Will is thankful for the lack of heat. It’s dark, but it makes him feel safer - less exposed. The only thing he can feel is that his arms and legs are secured by iron shackles that are much tighter than they need to be.
“Hey, you awake?” Will snaps his head towards the unfamiliar voice, squinting his eyes at the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he settles with, curious but hesitant.
He hears a sigh of relief, “Thank god, I was starting to think you were dead.” There’s a moment’s pause, “Are you… alright?”
Alright? Will wants to laugh. He’s god knows where, speaking to god knows who when he should be sleeping in his royal chambers, plush pillow beneath his head. But no, he’s sitting on the damp stone ground, very much awake and yet this stranger dares to ask if he’s ‘alright’. God, he knows he sounds stuck up right now, but who wouldn’t given the circumstances?
“Where am I?” Will asks, mainly to himself, but if the stranger wants to make himself useful, that’s a win too.
“I… don’t know,” the man’s voice is soft, “but I guess that’s kinda the point, right?” he struggles out a laugh.
“Why are we here?” Will pushes, desperate for any sort of answer.
He hears the shifting of fabric that he assumes is a shrug, “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Just as Will begins to open his mouth to pester him with more questions, he hears the grating sound of a metal door swing open. His head snaps towards the sudden intrusion of firelight and noise, met with the sight of the same man who had knocked him out before. The man lights a torch outside the cell and whacks a small metal club against the iron bars, a sick smirk spreading across his dulled features.
“Stay still,” he demands as he unlocks the cell and ducks inside. The man places a bowl in front of Will and undoes his shackles. He then turns to face the stranger from before and does the same, “Eat.”
The gruff man leaves, confident in their lack of supervision. But now things are better - brighter. At least he can see. The chamber is flooded with light, and Will’s eyes wander deliberately over to the stranger he had been talking to. His hair is black and shaggy, and his eyes are pure brown with innocence and determination. From the deep bags under his eyes and torn blue tunic, Will can tell he’s been here for a while.
He looks up and locks eyes with Will, absently rubbing the red marks around his wrists from the shackles. Will swears he sees recognition flicker in those eyes, “You can eat it, you know? They could’ve easily killed us by this point, but they didn’t. Why poison us now?”
“Huh? Oh,” Will tears his eyes down to the wooden bowl in front of him, instantly disliking the way he couldn’t determine a single ingredient. He hesitantly reaches out and grabs the bowl, the slight warmth giving his fingers a fright. Will looks up at the stranger, wanting to make sure eating (or drinking, Will wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it) the substance really was ok.
Will furrows his brow upon seeing that the stranger has already finished his meal and is currently in the process of licking the bowl clean, “That good, huh?”
Will’s surprised to hear him laugh in response, “Pity they’re not offering seconds.”
He feels himself relax a little and takes a drink from the bowl. It doesn’t taste too bad, but Will can’t help but pull a face.
“Not up to your royal standards, I presume?” The stranger smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Will’s face hardens. How did he-?
“Michael, by the way,” he says with his hand out as he stands up and shuffles over towards Will to the best of his ability, which isn’t great given the shackles around his feet.
“Will,” he takes his hand and shakes, but he can’t get rid of the feeling of unease this stranger - Michael - brings him.
—
He’s sure it’s been a few days now, but neither Will nor Mike has any more answers than they had to begin with. They’re both miserable and cold and losing hope.
“We need to get out of here,” Mike sighs into his palms.
“Really? I thought we could just sit here and wait for the rest of our lives,” Will shoots back, too tired to mask his aggression.
Mike ignores him, “Next time that man brings us a meal and takes off our cuffs, we need to take advantage of it. Together, at the same time.”
“How do you suggest we do that? Our legs will still be restrained; the best we can get is an angry captor.”
Mike waves his hand in dismissal, “He’s already angry. What’s important is that he has the keys. Think about it - all we have to do is take them, get back our stuff, and then we’re home free!”
Will considers it for a second, and Mike prompts him again, “Would you rather sit here and try nothing?”
Will sighs and prays this random man knows what he’s doing, “Fine. What do I need to do?”
The determined look in Mike’s eyes shines brighter than before, and Will can’t help but think they might actually be getting out of there.
—
Will’s in the middle of the chamber, head between his knees in a way he hopes screams ‘I’ve given up’. He doesn’t dare look up, but he’s fairly certain Mike’s doing the same somewhere. Will almost can’t believe he’s doing something so… risky. Placing his life in the hands of a suspiciously well-informed stranger, and for what? A tiny sliver of hope that they could actually escape? Stupid.
Before he can do anything smart like call the whole thing off, he hears the familiar voice, “Stay still,” along with the familiar grating of metal. The man goes to Mike first, and Will tries not to flinch at the sound of shackles being discarded on the stone floor.
However, when the man comes over and undoes his, he jolts his head up suddenly, “I don’t feel well.”
He bobs down to Will’s level, hands on his knees in an awfully patronising way, “Does the little Prince have a stomach ache? Does he need attention for his mild discomfort?”
Will grits his teeth as he listens to the mocking laughter, “No, but I think you will.”
Mike takes this as his cue to aim a blow across the man’s face with the discarded torch. Their captor bolts up immediately, face scrunched up from the heat and pain. The sudden movement catches Mike off guard, and he stumbles backwards, tripping over his shackles and onto the floor.
Will catches his eye and decides it’s his turn to make a move. Mike somehow understands this like they’re speaking aloud and does exactly what Will wants him to do - he throws him the torch. With another satisfying crack, Will slams it into the blinded man, jabbing the heat where he knew it would hurt.
The man stumbles backwards, and Mike sticks out a leg to trip him up. Will vaguely smiles at how in sync they are, but that thought is quickly overshadowed by the groans coming from his captor. Will pounces on the man, choking him between the cold stone and the burning torch.
“The keys!” He yells at Mike, who crawls over a little awkwardly, given his chained legs, but eventually manages to grab the rusting keys from his belt.
He immediately works on his own legs, freeing them and standing up in a matter of seconds. Will watches the hesitation flash through Mike’s features as he eyes the chaos below him, and for an awful beat, Will thinks he might just abandon him. But Mike has other plans.
He seizes the dulled man’s foot, sliding it into the gaping shackle, and then snaps it shut. Mike pulls Will off him and seats him as far away from the thrashing man as his restrictions allow. After stomping out the torch, he carefully frees Will too, and practically pushes him out of the cell before locking it.
The man curses and yells from inside, and Will is in a daze watching him. He turns to face Mike, and in the darkness, he can barely make out the stupidest grin all over his face, intense features scrunched like he wants to laugh. Will feels like laughing too. But before he can say anything, the moment is suddenly shattered by the sounds of movement coming from up a flight of stairs next to them.
“Shit- hide,” Mike hisses, and they both disappear behind some open apple barrels.
For a moment, it’s just loud breathing and footsteps, and Will feels his heart painfully in his chest.
“Get ready to run,” Mike whispers, and Will looks at him like he’s crazy.
“You can’t be serious-” He whispers back, but is cut off by Mike’s gloved hand silencing him.
The room is illuminated by the warm flicker of torchlight as the people from upstairs get closer, and Will suddenly feels stupid for thinking this would work.
“What the hell’re you doing in there?” It sounds like a laugh, but the voice suddenly grows sharp, “Where are they? What the hell did you do?”
“The weasels got rid of the torch; no idea where they ran off to,” the man inside the cell growls, “Get me out of here!”
He’s promptly ignored, “They can’t have gone far. This room’s a dead end.”
Shit. Will looks at Mike, pleading.
Mike doesn’t look worried. If anything, he looks excited - like he’s enjoying this. He grabs one of the loose apples from the barrel and smirks at Will. Before Will can even process it, he chucks it at the opposite side of the room, knocking over a rusting shield Will thinks could’ve predated Hawke’s Crest. Predictably, the shield falls to the ground, and the noise is unbearable in the silence. The room turns to face it. There’s a beat. Then another. Will’s mind is trying to catch up, but then Mike goes and does something stupid, but undeniably cool - in Will’s eyes, at least.
With a grand leap, Mike clears the barrels like it’s nothing and makes it to the base of the stairs. He throws a glance back at Will before sprinting up the steps, the small group of guards following quickly behind.
It falls quiet again, the remaining guard in the cell silent with no one there to hear him. Will realises it’s his turn, and cautiously steps out from behind the barrels. The guard kicks up a ruckus, but Will feels safe in ignoring him.
He sneaks up the decorated stone stairs, steadying his heart by tracing his hand along the coarse walls. He hates how silent it is when he reaches the top, but finds it in himself to appreciate the increase in torches. Will looks around cautiously, finding himself in some sort of hideout. The walls are rough stone, and the hallways stretch on in all directions.
“Mike…?” He whispers loudly, creeping forward through a random corridor.
The silence answers in Mike’s place.
Will continues forward, taking random doors and turns, not entirely sure if it’s the exit he’s looking for or someone else.
He’s in the middle of opening a heavy oak door when he hears footsteps again. In a mad rush, he swings the door open to find a closet. A dead-end. Nowhere to run if he’s caught.
The footsteps gain momentum and volume, and Will realises there’s no other choice. He squeezes himself in among the wooden buckets and the fabric that, despite smelling like faeces, Will suspects is a change of clothes.
He holds his breath as he sees the silhouette of two feet appear outside the door. They stop suddenly, and Will thinks his heart does too.
After a painful moment of suspense, the door swings open, and Will scrunches his eyes closed.
“What are you doing in here?” Mike almost laughs, but his attention quickly snaps back to a far-off noise, “Shit, move over.”
“What? There’s not enough room,” Will stutters, “Here, I’ll find somewhere else, you take this spot.”
Will begins to scramble out of his spot, but Mike shoves him back, “Not enough time.” And before he can protest, Mike’s squeezing into the closet and shutting out the light.
“God, Mike-”
“Shh,” He responds softly, and Will jolts upon realising Mike’s face is a lot closer to his than he thought. He can feel Mike’s legs and one of his arms pressed into his, and can almost hear both their hearts beating in frantic synchrony. It makes Will feel light-headed.
A moment passes, and Will keeps his gaze to the floor, anxious to adjust his position for a plethora of reasons.
“I think they didn’t come past this way - false alarm,” Mike says cheerfully, like he’s oblivious to the confusing range of emotions he just caused.
Mike opens the closet door, and they both stumble out, Will feeling a lot more disheveled than he should.
“This way,” Mike whispers, and they continue to run.
—
“Mike, are you sure you know where you’re going?” Will finally asks, out of breath and tired.
“Well… no, not exactly,” he mumbles, but upon seeing Will’s expression, he quickly amends himself, “but I have a strategy!”
“Haven’t we already been to this room?”
“You could see it like that. Or, you could see it as getting ourselves familiar with the layout. And besides, we haven’t run into trouble yet, so what’s the rush?”
As if on cue, a loud noise from not too far off startles them both.
“Over there!” A voice calls, and Will hears Mike curse under his breath.
Will turns to run the opposite direction, but Mike grabs his wrist before he can get away.
“Mike, we need to run,” Will asserts, but Mike is already shaking his head.
“We’ve been down that corridor before.”
Will sighs, “Sure, but the only other option is running straight towards them. We’d be caught.”
Mike looks at him with a blank face, and so Will desperately repeats himself, “Mike. We'd be caught.”
Will frantically tries to loosen Mike's grip on his wrist, but Mike slips his fingers down to intertwine with Will’s own.
“There's a difference between bravery and stupidity,” Mike begins, “and there's a reason they call me ‘Mike the Brave’.”
Will furrows his brow, “Wait, who’s calling you-”
Mike charges down the corridor, dragging Will behind him. Will sees the guards getting closer, and scrunches his eyes closed.
He waits for a collision, but one never comes.