Part 2

JC floated on his back in the wide, clear lake and tried not to think. It was difficult. A hundred thoughts were fighting for his attention. He didn't want to deal with any of them, and dwelled for a while on the depressing realization that he couldn't summon a single thought he actually wanted to entertain.

If it hadn't been for the stubbornly persistent conviction that *something* would change, something would happed to rescue him from this situation, JC might have considered another kind of escape. Just relax, roll over and breathe...

But the idea *did* persist, despite its unlikelyness, and so JC stared up at the blue sky and made a somewhat feeble attempt to meditate. At least, he mused, somewhat aimlessly, he was finally putting the court philosopher's lessons to use. They seemed useless at the time, but then so had the etiquette, and the dancing, and the espionage...no, no that had always been useful.

JC sensed his thoughts turning in a dangerous direction and occupied himself with the swim to shore. He was just buttoning up his trousers, the sun warm on his shoulders, his mind actually clear, when pain exploded into life at the back of his head.

The pommel of a saddle was digging into his ribs. JC blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, before realizing that he was draped upside down over a horse. Nausea welled up in JC's gut and he swallowed. He tried to speak and found his mouth dry. After working his tongue around for a while he managed a weak croak. His captors must have heard him because a moment later his mount came to a halt. Someone poked him roughly. "You awake?" The voice was unfamiliar.

Whatever the reason, his guard untied him from the saddle (JC had never quite realized how uncomfortable the basic saddle was to be thrown across, and he found himself pitying the typical damsel in distress) and allowed him to mount properly. His abductors, for some reason, had neglected to blindfold him (JC was leaning towards inexperience, at this point) and he surprised himself by recognizing one of them.

Joey muttered something unintelligible and refused to repeat it. JC shrugged mentally and took stock of his situation. He'd been kidnapped, presumably for ransom, by the senior advisor of the neighboring kingdom. In addition to Advisor Fatone, there were...he glanced about...four guards. Men-at-arms, by all appearances, which meant this stunt had King Kirkpatrick's approval. They were all mounted. JC's feet had been tied to the girth of the saddle. His hands were bound behind his back, tightly enough that they were beginning to go numb. His hands had, in turn, been tied to his ankles. Perhaps Advisor Fatone was inexperienced at abduction, but he (or his men) certainly knew how to immobilize a man.

For the moment, no avenue of escape presented itself. JC would wait, and wonder. What had driven King Kirkpatrick to kidnap and ransom? Why him? What price would they demand for his freedom, and would his father pay it? What would they do if it was not paid?

Lance loitered in the north-northwest courtyard of the palace. Normally the Prince wouldn't be caught dead loitering, but any other duties he might have had had as the King's brother had been set aside in favor of his search for Love. (Lance had added the capital "L" himself because, although he understood the urgency of the situation, it did all seem a little...ridiculous that the fate of the kingdom should depend on his social life.) Chris didn't seem to realized that having absolutely nothing to do but conduct that search put enormous pressure on Lance. He felt responsible enough already; he didn't need every moment of every day to dwell on it.

Unfortunately, the choice was out of Lance's hands. Most of the time he tried to do well by The Quest (Lance's capitals again), meeting each of the suitors and spending an hour or three with them, depending on how much potential he though they had. But every now and then he escaped to the north-northwest courtyard. It was mostly empty most of the time because hardly anybody knew it was there. There wasn't a northwest courtyard, so why should there be a north-northwest one? Lance rather suspected the architect just liked the sound of it.

The north-northwest tower (every courtyard had to have at least one tower) was the palace's prison tower. As far as Lance knew it had never been occupied, but ever palace has to have a prison tower. Or so Lance had been told, when he was child.

When Chris had cut his duties and his studies short Lance had missed the long hours in the library, reading whatever his tutors had assigned and chatting with the librarian about many things, but mostly history. He could have gone back on his own time, but both Chris and the suitors knew to look for him in library, and he soon stopped trying to take refuge there. The library eventually took pity on him and allowed him to take the manuscripts the novice scribes created off to a hiding place of his own choosing. The books were blotched with ink and much sanded, but Lance was grateful to have them.

He was sitting on the steps across from the north-northwest tower, attempting to decipher a particularly ink smeared page when hoof beats echoed across the cobbles. Lance's head jerked up and he quickly scrambled back into the shadows, certain that one or another of the suitors had found him. Instead he watched as Joey and five other men rode right up to the prison tower. Four of the other men were men-at-arms - Lance recognized them. The fifth was...was he bound? Lance frowned and looked harder, wishing his eyes were just a little sharper. He was. One of the guards went to untie the captive from the saddle. Not only was he bound, but he seemed to be wearing little more than a pair of trousers. Lance watched closely, his curiosity piqued, as the men-at-arms literally hauled the man into the tower under Joey's watchful eye. Minutes later three of the guards returned. They would have had to leave one to watch the prisoner, Lance reasoned. Another would - and did - remain at the foot of the tower's winding steps.

Lance tagged along, book under one arm, while Joey and the two remaining guards went to report to the King. The guards ignored him, but Joey gave him a sharp glance before dismissing him from his mind. Everyone knew Lance had the run of the palace. Any meeting that interested him was open to him; there was nowhere he wasn't permitted to go. You never knew where Love could be lurking. Chris seemed surprised to see him when he strolled into the office, but didn't order him out.

"Seamlessly," Joey answered. "We found him at a small lake some distance from the palace. He was alone and had just finished swimming. One blow and he was ours. Sir Gerald," he nodded to one of the men-at-arms, "will ride out tomorrow morning with the ransom demand."

Lance's mouth dropped open. *Ransom demand*? Joey had kidnapped someone? And Chris has *approved* it? Incredulous, Lance turned to his brother and waited for some sort of explanation. None came. "Shouldn't the demand be delivered immediately? It will take Sir Gerald days to ride to the palace," was all the King said. Lance found himself leaning forward and listening hard, trying to decipher who had been taken.

"He'll take same time to think no matter how long we leave it," Chris said, frowning. "That's a lot of grain. He'll need time to think. His advisors won't let him pay it until they've at least calculated the impact on their own people, even for his son." Lance gasped softly. The captive was the Prince of Iiawah? He abruptly found himself the subject of his brother's penetrating gaze. "If you can't handle this, Lance, leave now. *We* are doing what has to be done to get this kingdom through another winter."

"I understand," Lance said submissively. "I guess there's no reason for me to stay, then." Bowing quickly, he backed out of the room. In the hallway he broke into a run back to the north-northwest tower. Chris had said he *would* instruct the guards, not that he *had*. Lance figured he had five minutes before Chris grew suspicious of his sudden departure and came after him. Reaching the courtyard, Lance slowed to a stroll and calmed his breathing. He nodded to the first guard, who looked uncertain but didn't stop him, and walked right up the spiral staircase. The second guard didn't even look suspicious, just asked him if he wanted to go in. Lance declined - he wasn't quite *that* curious.

Peering in the through the tiny barred window, Lance wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what he saw. He had to choke back a soft gasp. The man in the cell - the Prince - was gorgeous. Beautiful. He was built leanly. Scrawny, you might have said, if he weren't so well defined. His hair was a dark, rich brown, his eyes steel blue. He sat against the wall facing the door and through Lance knew he was being watched he still couldn't tear his gaze from the Prince's chiseled features. The Prince - and Lance realized at that moment that he didn't know if this was the elder son, Joshua, or the younger, Justin - opened his mouth, as if to speak.

"Command me?" Lance snorted, not caring that he'd interrupted the King twice in a row. "I'm your brother, not your slave. When have you ever given me a command?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he went on. "I have no responsibilities, no purpose. Only my duty to the prophecy, and that is out of my control."

His words weren't meant to placate Chris, nor did they. "If you're so eager for responsibility, perhaps you'd like to satisfy your curiosity about the prisoner. I'm giving you full responsibility for him. You'll bring him his meals, clean his room and empty his chamber pot. He'll be here for weeks, and by the time he's gone, you will have had your fill of *responsibility*." Chris' expression challenged Lance to object.

It was obvious that this was meant to be punishment for his insolence, but Lance didn't see it that way. He would see the Prince every day, perhaps even have a chance to speak with him. It was no indignity in his eyes to take care of the Prince's needs. He'd spent many hours with the maids and groomsmen in his search for Love. They had an unashamed pride in the service they provided, and had snickered with him once or twice over the lords and ladies who proved incapable of caring for themselves.

However, Lance did try to look chided as he accepted the duty. Chris couldn't seem to let go without one last jab. "One more thing, Lance. If you don't take care of the Prince, no one will." Lance didn't have to try to look stricken. He *wanted* to comment that that didn't seem like a very good way to care for what was, essentially, an investment, but he held his tongue. He didn't want to risk worsening the situation or losing his newly acquired job. So all he did was nod.

JC listened as his comfort was placed in the hands of the King's brother in a fit of pique. By all reports the man was a lazy, spoiled brat who took nothing seriously. After the conversation he'd just overheard, JC was beginning to wonder what idiot had made the evaluation. He only hoped that the Prince wouldn't consider emptying his chamber pot beneath his dignity. On the occasions JC had upset his personal maid she'd retaliated by 'forgetting' the duty. He'd had to do it himself and it was...not pleasant.

Footsteps sounded, retreating down the stairs. JC shifted uncomfortably and wondered if Lance would think to unite him or if he'd consider that too much freedom. A knock sounded and JC jumped a little. As the key rattled in the lock he had to wonder who would knock on a cell door. It answer came when Lance stepped into the cell, smiling sheepishly.

"I was going to get you dinner and a shirt," he explained, slipping the key into a pocket on the inside of his pants, "because Joey said you hadn't eaten today, when I remembered you were still tied." JC said nothing. He was too busy staring. The brief, limited glimpse he'd had of Lance through the barred window had not done the man justice. He was a wonder, a beautiful creature that made the cell seem less confining, less stark. His eyes were a clear, pure green, his skin pale, paler than JC had ever seen on a man. He loved it immediately.

Just as JC became aware that the silence had drawn out uncomfortably long, Lance spoke again. "I was warned you tried to escape twice on the way here. You won't try to knock me out and run if I untie you, will you?"

'Of course not', JC wanted to say, 'I won't hurt you. I couldn't.' He settled for, "No." Incredibly, Lance took him at his word and knelt to untie his feet first. His captors had left them bare, partly to keep him from running away and partly because no one had thought to grab the clothing he'd left by the side of the lake. Now, as Lance worked the knots free, JC found himself grateful for the loss of his boots. Every brush of Lance's fingers against the bare flesh of his feet went straight to his gut. JC savored the slow burn of growing desire. For a while he forgot that he was a prisoner, forgot that Lance was here as punishment. He concentrated only on the gentle touch on his feet. "Lean forward so I can do your hands," Lance whispered. JC didn't even wonder why Lance felt he needed to be quiet. It was right, it fit, and that was all that mattered. He leaned forward so that Lance could get at his bonds and sighed softly when he realized that his hands were numb, insensitive to the brush of Lance's fingers.

When the last loop of rope was pulled free JC sat back and began massaging his hands, bracing himself for the return of blood. Lance crouched in front of him, a strangely uncertain look on his face. When JC bit his lip against the burn in his fingers Lance winced sympathetically.

JC wanted to call out his name, but wasn't sure how Lance would react to the revelation that he'd eavesdropped on the conversation outside his cell. One the other hand, he didn't want to yell 'hey you' either. As a result, his request came out sounding horribly tentative. "Could you, uh, do you think you could also bring some sheets?" he nodded to the bare sleeping ledge that hung from the wall.


	Inner Reflection \| home back to A Tale of Two Princes Part 2 JC floated on his back in the wide, clear lake and tried not to think. It was difficult. A hundred thoughts were fighting for his attention. He didn't want to deal with any of them, and dwelled for a while on the depressing realization that he couldn't summon a single thought he actually wanted to entertain. If it hadn't been for the stubbornly persistent conviction that something would change, something would happed to rescue him from this situation, JC might have considered another kind of escape. Just relax, roll over and breathe... But the idea did persist, despite its unlikelyness, and so JC stared up at the blue sky and made a somewhat feeble attempt to meditate. At least, he mused, somewhat aimlessly, he was finally putting the court philosopher's lessons to use. They seemed useless at the time, but then so had the etiquette, and the dancing, and the espionage...no, no that had always been useful. JC sensed his thoughts turning in a dangerous direction and occupied himself with the swim to shore. He was just buttoning up his trousers, the sun warm on his shoulders, his mind actually clear, when pain exploded into life at the back of his head. *** The pommel of a saddle was digging into his ribs. JC blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, before realizing that he was draped upside down over a horse. Nausea welled up in JC's gut and he swallowed. He tried to speak and found his mouth dry. After working his tongue around for a while he managed a weak croak. His captors must have heard him because a moment later his mount came to a halt. Someone poked him roughly. "You awake?" The voice was unfamiliar. "Yeah," JC managed. "Can I sit up now?" There was a moment of silence. JC wondered idly what had startled them. Perhaps they were new at the abduction business. Perhaps he wasn't the typical captive. Whatever the reason, his guard untied him from the saddle (JC had never quite realized how uncomfortable the basic saddle was to be thrown across, and he found himself pitying the typical damsel in distress) and allowed him to mount properly. His abductors, for some reason, had neglected to blindfold him (JC was leaning towards inexperience, at this point) and he surprised himself by recognizing one of them. "Advisor Fatone?" he blurted, shocked. Joey winced. "What are you doing?" "Kidnapping you," Joey answered, his voice clipped. "Oh." It was a stupid question, now that JC thought about it. "Why?" "Stop asking questions." Joey shifted in his own saddle, most likely regretting the absence of a blindfold. "Or you'll do what?" Joey muttered something unintelligible and refused to repeat it. JC shrugged mentally and took stock of his situation. He'd been kidnapped, presumably for ransom, by the senior advisor of the neighboring kingdom. In addition to Advisor Fatone, there were...he glanced about...four guards. Men-at-arms, by all appearances, which meant this stunt had King Kirkpatrick's approval. They were all mounted. JC's feet had been tied to the girth of the saddle. His hands were bound behind his back, tightly enough that they were beginning to go numb. His hands had, in turn, been tied to his ankles. Perhaps Advisor Fatone was inexperienced at abduction, but he (or his men) certainly knew how to immobilize a man. For the moment, no avenue of escape presented itself. JC would wait, and wonder. What had driven King Kirkpatrick to kidnap and ransom? Why him? What price would they demand for his freedom, and would his father pay it? What would they do if it was not paid? Be careful what you ask for, JC told himself, you just might get it. *** Lance loitered in the north-northwest courtyard of the palace. Normally the Prince wouldn't be caught dead loitering, but any other duties he might have had had as the King's brother had been set aside in favor of his search for Love. (Lance had added the capital "L" himself because, although he understood the urgency of the situation, it did all seem a little...ridiculous that the fate of the kingdom should depend on his social life.) Chris didn't seem to realized that having absolutely nothing to do but conduct that search put enormous pressure on Lance. He felt responsible enough already; he didn't need every moment of every day to dwell on it. Unfortunately, the choice was out of Lance's hands. Most of the time he tried to do well by The Quest (Lance's capitals again), meeting each of the suitors and spending an hour or three with them, depending on how much potential he though they had. But every now and then he escaped to the north-northwest courtyard. It was mostly empty most of the time because hardly anybody knew it was there. There wasn't a northwest courtyard, so why should there be a north-northwest one? Lance rather suspected the architect just liked the sound of it. The north-northwest tower (every courtyard had to have at least one tower) was the palace's prison tower. As far as Lance knew it had never been occupied, but ever palace has to have a prison tower. Or so Lance had been told, when he was child. When Chris had cut his duties and his studies short Lance had missed the long hours in the library, reading whatever his tutors had assigned and chatting with the librarian about many things, but mostly history. He could have gone back on his own time, but both Chris and the suitors knew to look for him in library, and he soon stopped trying to take refuge there. The library eventually took pity on him and allowed him to take the manuscripts the novice scribes created off to a hiding place of his own choosing. The books were blotched with ink and much sanded, but Lance was grateful to have them. He was sitting on the steps across from the north-northwest tower, attempting to decipher a particularly ink smeared page when hoof beats echoed across the cobbles. Lance's head jerked up and he quickly scrambled back into the shadows, certain that one or another of the suitors had found him. Instead he watched as Joey and five other men rode right up to the prison tower. Four of the other men were men-at-arms - Lance recognized them. The fifth was...was he bound? Lance frowned and looked harder, wishing his eyes were just a little sharper. He was. One of the guards went to untie the captive from the saddle. Not only was he bound, but he seemed to be wearing little more than a pair of trousers. Lance watched closely, his curiosity piqued, as the men-at-arms literally hauled the man into the tower under Joey's watchful eye. Minutes later three of the guards returned. They would have had to leave one to watch the prisoner, Lance reasoned. Another would - and did - remain at the foot of the tower's winding steps. Lance tagged along, book under one arm, while Joey and the two remaining guards went to report to the King. The guards ignored him, but Joey gave him a sharp glance before dismissing him from his mind. Everyone knew Lance had the run of the palace. Any meeting that interested him was open to him; there was nowhere he wasn't permitted to go. You never knew where Love could be lurking. Chris seemed surprised to see him when he strolled into the office, but didn't order him out. "How did it go?" Chris asked, not bothering to elaborate for Lance's benefit. "Seamlessly," Joey answered. "We found him at a small lake some distance from the palace. He was alone and had just finished swimming. One blow and he was ours. Sir Gerald," he nodded to one of the men-at-arms, "will ride out tomorrow morning with the ransom demand." Lance's mouth dropped open. Ransom demand? Joey had kidnapped someone? And Chris has approved it? Incredulous, Lance turned to his brother and waited for some sort of explanation. None came. "Shouldn't the demand be delivered immediately? It will take Sir Gerald days to ride to the palace," was all the King said. Lance found himself leaning forward and listening hard, trying to decipher who had been taken. Joey shook his head. "The King needs a couple of days to figure out that he's not off on a pleasure ride. If he's already worried he'll be more likely to pay the ransom immediately." "He'll take same time to think no matter how long we leave it," Chris said, frowning. "That's a lot of grain. He'll need time to think. His advisors won't let him pay it until they've at least calculated the impact on their own people, even for his son." Lance gasped softly. The captive was the Prince of Iiawah? He abruptly found himself the subject of his brother's penetrating gaze. "If you can't handle this, Lance, leave now. We are doing what has to be done to get this kingdom through another winter." Lance flinched at the implied slight. "I can't control who I love," he said softly. "And I can handle this." "That may be, but you should know now that I am forbidding you from setting foot inside that tower. I will instruct the guards to that effect. I won't risk you around him." "I understand," Lance said submissively. "I guess there's no reason for me to stay, then." Bowing quickly, he backed out of the room. In the hallway he broke into a run back to the north-northwest tower. Chris had said he would instruct the guards, not that he had. Lance figured he had five minutes before Chris grew suspicious of his sudden departure and came after him. Reaching the courtyard, Lance slowed to a stroll and calmed his breathing. He nodded to the first guard, who looked uncertain but didn't stop him, and walked right up the spiral staircase. The second guard didn't even look suspicious, just asked him if he wanted to go in. Lance declined - he wasn't quite that curious. Peering in the through the tiny barred window, Lance wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what he saw. He had to choke back a soft gasp. The man in the cell - the Prince - was gorgeous. Beautiful. He was built leanly. Scrawny, you might have said, if he weren't so well defined. His hair was a dark, rich brown, his eyes steel blue. He sat against the wall facing the door and through Lance knew he was being watched he still couldn't tear his gaze from the Prince's chiseled features. The Prince - and Lance realized at that moment that he didn't know if this was the elder son, Joshua, or the younger, Justin - opened his mouth, as if to speak. "Lance!" At Chris' angered cry Lance spun from the small window and any reaction the Prince might have had was lost. "Lance, I specifically told you -" "I'm permitted to go anywhere I please, and when you forbid one spot I'm not supposed to be curious?" Lance asked incredulously, and laughed. "I'm your King," Chris' expression was thunderous, "and when I command you -" "Command me?" Lance snorted, not caring that he'd interrupted the King twice in a row. "I'm your brother, not your slave. When have you ever given me a command?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he went on. "I have no responsibilities, no purpose. Only my duty to the prophecy, and that is out of my control." His words weren't meant to placate Chris, nor did they. "If you're so eager for responsibility, perhaps you'd like to satisfy your curiosity about the prisoner. I'm giving you full responsibility for him. You'll bring him his meals, clean his room and empty his chamber pot. He'll be here for weeks, and by the time he's gone, you will have had your fill of responsibility." Chris' expression challenged Lance to object. It was obvious that this was meant to be punishment for his insolence, but Lance didn't see it that way. He would see the Prince every day, perhaps even have a chance to speak with him. It was no indignity in his eyes to take care of the Prince's needs. He'd spent many hours with the maids and groomsmen in his search for Love. They had an unashamed pride in the service they provided, and had snickered with him once or twice over the lords and ladies who proved incapable of caring for themselves. However, Lance did try to look chided as he accepted the duty. Chris couldn't seem to let go without one last jab. "One more thing, Lance. If you don't take care of the Prince, no one will." Lance didn't have to try to look stricken. He wanted to comment that that didn't seem like a very good way to care for what was, essentially, an investment, but he held his tongue. He didn't want to risk worsening the situation or losing his newly acquired job. So all he did was nod. *** JC listened as his comfort was placed in the hands of the King's brother in a fit of pique. By all reports the man was a lazy, spoiled brat who took nothing seriously. After the conversation he'd just overheard, JC was beginning to wonder what idiot had made the evaluation. He only hoped that the Prince wouldn't consider emptying his chamber pot beneath his dignity. On the occasions JC had upset his personal maid she'd retaliated by 'forgetting' the duty. He'd had to do it himself and it was...not pleasant. Footsteps sounded, retreating down the stairs. JC shifted uncomfortably and wondered if Lance would think to unite him or if he'd consider that too much freedom. A knock sounded and JC jumped a little. As the key rattled in the lock he had to wonder who would knock on a cell door. It answer came when Lance stepped into the cell, smiling sheepishly. "I was going to get you dinner and a shirt," he explained, slipping the key into a pocket on the inside of his pants, "because Joey said you hadn't eaten today, when I remembered you were still tied." JC said nothing. He was too busy staring. The brief, limited glimpse he'd had of Lance through the barred window had not done the man justice. He was a wonder, a beautiful creature that made the cell seem less confining, less stark. His eyes were a clear, pure green, his skin pale, paler than JC had ever seen on a man. He loved it immediately. Just as JC became aware that the silence had drawn out uncomfortably long, Lance spoke again. "I was warned you tried to escape twice on the way here. You won't try to knock me out and run if I untie you, will you?" 'Of course not', JC wanted to say, 'I won't hurt you. I couldn't.' He settled for, "No." Incredibly, Lance took him at his word and knelt to untie his feet first. His captors had left them bare, partly to keep him from running away and partly because no one had thought to grab the clothing he'd left by the side of the lake. Now, as Lance worked the knots free, JC found himself grateful for the loss of his boots. Every brush of Lance's fingers against the bare flesh of his feet went straight to his gut. JC savored the slow burn of growing desire. For a while he forgot that he was a prisoner, forgot that Lance was here as punishment. He concentrated only on the gentle touch on his feet. "Lean forward so I can do your hands," Lance whispered. JC didn't even wonder why Lance felt he needed to be quiet. It was right, it fit, and that was all that mattered. He leaned forward so that Lance could get at his bonds and sighed softly when he realized that his hands were numb, insensitive to the brush of Lance's fingers. When the last loop of rope was pulled free JC sat back and began massaging his hands, bracing himself for the return of blood. Lance crouched in front of him, a strangely uncertain look on his face. When JC bit his lip against the burn in his fingers Lance winced sympathetically. "I'll, uh, just got for your dinner now," Lance said after a moment, and stood. JC wanted to call out his name, but wasn't sure how Lance would react to the revelation that he'd eavesdropped on the conversation outside his cell. One the other hand, he didn't want to yell 'hey you' either. As a result, his request came out sounding horribly tentative. "Could you, uh, do you think you could also bring some sheets?" he nodded to the bare sleeping ledge that hung from the wall. Lance flushed, as if embarrassed at his lapse. "Of course." Then he was gone from the cell. JC couldn't suppress a smile. Somehow, in Lance's care, JC didn't think he'd mind being kidnapped quite so much.