#i have dealt with entire lung collapses without seeking any medical attention

[uranium]

having a really awesome time because my lung is doing weird things again but i have this insane combination of a super high pain tolerance + severe hypochondria that makes me completely incapable of being able to determine if something is actually going wrong or not. things feel Kind of Bad. is this a feeling that would be sending most people to the floor? do i only care about the feeling because im constantly hypervigilant to every sensation i feel and its something most people would totally ignore? who knows

[shytalia]

A Prince & a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 10

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Chapter Ten

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

A warning for some violence in this one

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“Arthur?” Alfred called out over the wind, struggling to keep himself awake due to the injuries he had been dealt. But he couldn’t allow himself to sleep now, not when he was witnessing something like this!

He couldn’t believe his eyes, the magic coming from Arthur leached out into the air in an almost physical way. His very emotions were manipulating the weather around them dramatically. He had never seen anything like this before.

His calls were left unanswered as Arthur’s green glare was transfixed on the rival captain in front of him. By now, nearly the entire crowd had vanished, running from the wild winds and the threatening skies in favor of seeking shelter.

Looking to Mathias, he could see his cocky grin had been replaced by some sense of fear. Alfred would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little satisfied by that.

“Mathias.” The Brit growled. His words were surprisingly calm but the weight of them drug in the wind. The vile in them caused the spiky-haired blonde to flinch. “I’ve warned you before.” Arthur’s eyes almost glowed under the dark shadows of the clouds and his hand lifted to his side, gripping the sword that hung there with a silent threat.

Finally, Mathias moved, stepping backwards and away from Peter who still wheezed painfully on the ground. “What the fuck, you’re a monster.” But his words didn’t seem to affect Arthur in the slightest. In fact, as the Dane moved away, Arthur lifted his other hand and that familiar, green glow encompassed it, stopping Mathias in his tracks. Alfred recognized it as the same spell he had used on Tino and Berwald in the bar, making escape impossible.

The Brit sucked his teeth, making a disapproving noise. “I’ve warned you,” The captain repeated before he revealed his weapon from his side, a long sword that shined with murderous desire. “If you ever hurt my brother, I would kill you. Lukas be damned, I will have your head on display for all to see!”

Arthur didn’t even spare Alfred a glance as he stepped forward, his stride sure and focused as he moved straight towards Mathias.

“But killing you will be too easy, I want to have a bit of fun first.” The Brit grinned widely, an expression Alfred had yet to see on the man’s face before. It was different than all the taunting smirks he had thrown him before, this one was purely sadistic. It made Alfred cringe, fearing for himself even though it was never actually directed towards him. Maybe this was where all those horror stories came from.

“How should I do it? Hm? Since you have such a knack for these things, surely you have some ideas.” Arthur’s sword drug across the dirt, causing a painful screeching noise to echo around them. It was disturbingly slow as he walked towards the terrified captain. “I want it to be oh, so slow. All the more amusing for me.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair nonchalantly, as if he didn’t have a terror of the seas shivering in his boots before him. As if he weren’t going to murder a man in cold blood in the most brutal way he could think of.

“I could rip out your tongue first...yes, that sounds good. I am quite tired of hearing your loud voice.” The Brit smiled darkly, his finger tapping against his sword thoughtfully. “I’m certain the gods would not mind a bit of a blood sacrifice.” He mused, lifting his blade before he opened his mouth once more.

This time, however, it was a melancholy parody of a national song. It was one Alfred knew by heart, as many in their kingdom did. It was supposed to be a song of pride and inspiration, to rally them together as one, but hearing it now from Arthur it felt more like a hymn to the dead.

“Oh, sing of the goddess and her mercies, Hail, to the great kingdom Spades,”

Arthur finally reached Mathias, curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. His malicious smirk etching itself into the petrified captain’s memory.

“Refuse the wicked and their curses, Strong be our king and queen until...their...graves.”

Slowly, the shorter man brought the tip of his sword to pierce teasingly through the fabric of the Dane’s shirt, right above his stomach. Splitting it easily and a painful grunt was heard when the steel finally made its way to his flesh, gradually staining his ripped shirt with red.

Alfred could see Mathias wincing from the blade in his gut, but it didn’t seem like it was going deep enough to kill him. Just enough to hurt him without risking him bleeding out too quickly.

The Brit’s hand moved from his collar to his chin grasping it between his fingers roughly. He forcefully turned it, eyeing his face from every direction, his gaze ever reflecting into the rival captain’s terrified eyes. “Yes, this’ll do. Don’t you think?” His British accent breathed out calmly.

Leisurely, he pulled the sword out of the other man’s gullet, earning him a pained and relieved groan. His ease was short lived, however, as instead Arthur brought the blade to his still gripped face. He maneuvered his hand slightly, forcing Mathias to open his mouth a bit and unlock his jaw.

“Please, do struggle a bit more. The more you thrash around the more blood you’ll spill.” Arthur told his captive, knowing fully well that with the spell he had put upon him, Mathias’s movements were severely limited to almost nothing. He couldn’t even speak like this. Still, he liked to imagine the Dane writhing under his fingers and begging for mercy.

The bloody steel was lifted to the rival captain's face, pushing past the skin of his cheek, between his teeth, and swiftly into his mouth from the side. Alfred could hear a gurgle, no doubt from the blood spilling into Mathias’s mouth from his pierced cheek. He had to force himself to look away to avoid hurling up any food still sitting in his stomach at the sight. It didn’t stop the noises he heard from scarring his ears though. This was not the Arthur he knew. But maybe this was the captain everyone so justly feared.

Still, the Brit kept a steady grasp on the gasping man’s face as he plunged his blade further and further into his mouth until he was certain he was cutting every inch of Mathias’s tongue and scraping his teeth.

Alfred did his best to ignore the sounds of agony coming from Mathias, whether he hated the bastard or not, this was not something he could watch. He wanted to punch his lights out, not turn him into some kind of bloody play thing. Instead of watching, the prince managed to climb onto his hands and knees, slowly but surely moving himself forward.

Peter was still lying on the dirt and he wasn’t moving, but Alfred was certain he could still see his small chest heaving up and down with breath. Despite this, he wanted to get to the boy and be there for him. Why the hell he had been down here in town unsupervised he had no idea, and to jump in between his fight! It was ridiculously ill-thought out. He supposed he was the same, though, after all he was the future king and he chose to abandon his life of fortune in favor of tracking down one of the kingdom’s most wanted pirates.

After what was only a couple minutes but felt like hours to his scrapped palms and knees, he sat beside Peter and inspected him closer. His neck was bruising badly and he had several cuts across his body, but at least he looked relatively uninjured, all things considered. He could’ve ended up much, much worse. But regardless, the kid’s breathing was concerning. It was still heavy and thick, like he was forcing every particle of air into his lungs, even now that his throat was no longer being crushed under a boot. He needed medical attention soon.

As much as it hurt, Alfred slowly put his arms under Peter’s knees and his neck, doing his best to lift himself and the boy without falling over. If he could just make it back to the ship...he was certain there was at least one man on board who knew the art of medicine. Arthur seemed like the type of captain that would be that properly prepared.

He just had to force his legs to move and not collapse, which in his current state was much harder than he would have liked.

“Come on, Peter...you’re okay.” He whispered, encouraging the sleeping boy and himself to move. He was halfway on one knee and had the smaller blonde pulled carefully against his chest when a shadow engulfed them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur’s voice was dark and unamused, having lost his sadistic grin, it was replaced with a deep frown as he looked down at them. The bloody sword that had been Mathias’s torture was now pointed directly at him instead. “Put him down.”

Alfred balked up at his captain in disbelief. Would he really turn his blade on him? He was trying to help!

“Arthur, what the hell are you doing? Peter needs a doctor now.” The prince fought back, unmoving and refusing to put the younger boy down. “We have to get him back to your ship.”

“I said to put him down.” The Brit all but yelled at him, raising the sword above his head in a way that threatened to bring it down on top of Alfred if he didn’t comply.

“Arthur! If we wait any longer Peter could die! What are you doing?” Alfred begged with any hint of reason still within Arthur while he was in this state of blood lust. A glance behind the furious blonde and he could see Mathias still standing there, eyes wide and watery, only now blood flowed freely from him between his lips and from the wound in his cheek.

“You will listen to me!” Arthur gripped his sword tighter and swung it, bringing it down hard enough to crack the prince’s skull in half.

Alfred gasped, curling in on himself and instinctively gripping Peter closer, using his own body to shield him from the blow should Arthur miss and hit his brother by accident instead.

For a few, eternally long seconds, Alfred wondered if he made the right choice coming here. He had wanted happiness, not only for himself but for his kingdom and even for Arthur. He had wished for a marriage of love and trust, he never wanted a union where he felt forced to be with someone he despised. Many monarchs wedded their marked other, but still had countless affairs with others. They were trapped in an emotionless bond, fueled only by hatred, or tolerance at best.

Maybe he had been foolish, thinking he could convince Arthur to love him. Anyone he voiced this to would surely tell him so. But now, as he accepted his fate by his divinely betrothed’s hand, he couldn’t help but be at least a little grateful for what time he had been given with the grumpy captain. To learn, at least in some capacity, that he wasn’t as evil as everyone said. Even now, Alfred wouldn’t call him that. He had seen too much care, too much compassion, in his green eyes to ever say that. Even if those niceties were buried deep below a shell of anger and resentment for him, his family, and the mark they both bore together, Alfred knew Arthur wasn’t truly evil.

Somewhere in his thoughts he was certain he heard Peter make a pained noise, probably from being pulled against him so tightly. It was a gasp, almost like he was calling out Arthur’s name, but Alfred was certain he was hearing things. Peter had been knocked out cold only moments ago, there was no way he would wake up and realize what was happening so quickly.

He was quick to make his peace with the gods and silently begged them for a quick death. But, as he shielded Peter with his body, awaiting the pain that would surely pierce his body, he realized it had been too long. Where was it?

He slowly opened his eyes, which he had shut to block out the incoming sight of his demise. He carefully spared a hesitant glance upward, his blue eyes locking with a deep, remorseful green as Arthur stared back at him. His arm was still gripping the sword, merely inches away from splitting his brains into parts. But it was shaking now, as Arthur’s angry gaze had turned wide-eyed and sorrowful.

“Oh my gods,” he heard the Brit whisper. He watched as the older blonde dropped the sword to the side, the metal clattering loudly against the dirt as he did so. Then, Arthur was on his knees in front of them, coming down to their level and shaking so violently Alfred feared the man would crumble at the slightest touch.

Then, it started to rain.

It was light at first, barely noticeable, but soon after the drops poured down to soak them. The wetness unfazed the older Brit as he reached forward, pulling at Alfred’s arms to reveal his younger brother curled up and breathing heavily. But breathing nonetheless. He let out a shaky sigh and gripped the arms harder, almost making Alfred wince in pain. Not that Arthur was squeezing him that tightly, but his entire body was banged up and the added pressure sent shivers of pain through his nerves.

“Captain?”

Alfred called gently to the man in front of him, watching the strange way the Brit stared wide-eyed and, dare he say, scared at his brother still resting in his arms. It seemed like the entire world disappeared and the only thing Arthur could focus on was Peter.

Behind him, Alfred could see Mathias finally regaining his ability to move. His first reaction was to violently spit up all the blood pooling in his mouth, choking on it as if it had been suffocating him this entire time. And perhaps it had been. The other captain’s hands flew to his mouth and face, fingers dancing around in a panic as he stumbled off somewhere and into the distance.

Alfred barely cared he was getting away this time. His main focus now was Arthur, still unmoving and unresponsive no matter how many times he said his name.

Carefully, the prince shifted the boy in his arms so that Peter’s head was resting against his shoulder. He used his newly freed hand to reach out and gently touch his captain’s face, earning his first physical reaction when his green eyes darted back up to look in his. Alfred kept going, since Arthur wasn’t pulling away or trying to stab him, and gently cupped his palm against his cheek. His thumb caressed the Brit’s face slowly, just under one of his emerald eyes and brushed away some of the raindrops sliding down it. At least, Alfred would call them raindrops. He was certain a few of the wet trails down his face were from his own making, but he wasn't about to tell a pirate he was crying.

Now that he had his attention, he spoke up again. “Arthur...let’s get back to the ship. Peter needs a doctor.” He reminded, moving again in an attempt to stand up.

Now, Arthur was quick to react, grabbing his sword and holstering it by his side before helping lift Alfred off the ground. “You’re hurt. Let me carry him.” He urged, stepping closer and snaking his own arms around his younger brother to take him.

Alfred didn’t protest and the added weight off his body helped tremendously. He would still be slow to walk, but he was less worried about falling now. In the corner of his eye he noticed his forgotten dagger and grabbed it. Then, he followed after Arthur as quickly as he could, thankful that the skies were letting up slightly. In fact, it was starting to feel like where they stepped was spared the weather completely. At this revelation, his blue eyes transfixed on the back of Arthur’s head, mesmerized. Arthur really was powerful.