Fawkes had genuinely hoped that getting some food in him system would help to calm his nerves.

But the more he ate, the more it seemed to fall into the pit of his stomach, the breads and ale disappearing into a pool of nerves.

He hated to admit it, but he was scared. Not that he could particularly put his finger on what it was that scared him.

Perhaps it was the startling realization that the path he was beginning down was not one of his own choosing. That, of course, wouldn’t have sat right with anyone, least of all Fawkes. He had always been the master of his own fate, swearing his fealty to no man but himself, not that he had needed to, but to him the principle withstood.

No one, under any circumstance, had ever really been able to tell him what to do.

Now, he had found himself ward of the peacekeepers, and soon he’d be among their ranks. The part of him that craved danger and adventure didn’t mind that entirely, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of strangling a demon with his bare hands, just to try it. The uniforms weren’t too bad either, it seemed the undershirts varied, and Emrys and Jo wore similar enough trousers and boots that it could vary but no one would notice, but the thick, long, black coat that hung from the both of their shoulders was almost incentive enough. Dark red fabric underneath it, the material much looser on Jo’s than it was on Emrys.

Not that the latter was a bad thing.

But his permanent death wish and appreciation for the uniforms aside, Fawkes wondered if he possessed the ability within himself to follow orders.

He noticed that the man seated begrudgingly next to him had been eating sparingly and avoiding ale as though it were the plague.

A barkeep slid a tankard of ale across the table and Emrys watched as it made it’s way to him, seemingly contemplating taking it before passing it further down the table.

“What?” Fawkes nudged his side playfully, “Can’t handle your liquor?”

Emrys scowled, his eyes narrowed at Fawkes, “We’re not obligated to make polite dinner conversation.”

Fawkes couldn’t help the laugh that burst through his chest. In all honesty, he really should not have found the unadulterated hostility so amusing, but it was so jarring he couldn’t help himself. His entire life, everyone had bent over backwards to kiss his ass. (Other than prison guards, but Fawkes couldn’t necessarily fault anyone that he’d provoked into hating him. In their case, as well as a few others, he deserved it.) But Emrys hadn’t had any particular reason to hate Fawkes.

At least, none that the prince was aware of. The man had healed him easily enough, so clearly he was some sort of mage. And as a general rule, all mages hated the Augustine. So Fawkes’ failed attempt at assassination certainly couldn’t have spurred the animosity. Unless Emrys was angry that Fawkes had failed, though the political turmoil his success would have created wouldn’t have been the best repercussion, so he didn’t see that being the case either.

The source of the seemingly random anger was, much like Emrys himself, an enigma.

An incredibly refreshing mystery, Fawkes thought.

“There’s quite a few things we’re not obligated to do,” Fawkes grinned, “The joy comes from doing them anyways.”

“Well, I derive no joy from this conversation so either point is a bit lost, don’t you think?” Emrys said, his frown seemingly permanent at this point.

Jo cackled from her seat across the table from the two of them, her ale sloshing around, a bit splashing onto the table as she did, “Don’t mind him, boyo.” Her eyes practically sparkled as she spoke, “He’s just bad with people.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Fawkes said lightly, fully enjoying the scoff his remark elicited.

The trio finished their meal, thanking the inn-keep profusely as they did, and made their way into the hall.

“So, since you’ve had a bit too much to drink I assume you’re staying with the prisoner and I’ll go inspect the old house?” Emrys said, his eyes casting the briefest of glances over to Fawkes.

“Nonsense.” Jo huffed, “You know I’m impervious to the effects of any sort of alcohol.”

It seemed as though it were the beginning of an argument the two of them had had many a time over, and Emrys resigned himself to defeat before the battle had even been waged, “Fine. I take it you wish to go then?”

“I was thinking we could all go.” She said simply.

Emrys frowned, “I...I don’t think that’s the best idea, Jo.”

“Why not?” Fawkes spoke up, the idea of tagging along far too tantalizing to not weigh in on, “I can handle myself, you know.”

“Yes, your current predicament speaks volumes for that argument.” Emrys said flatly.

Fawkes allowed himself an indignant huff, “You know, just because I’m your prisoner doesn’t make me any less the heir to the throne. Eventually, I’ll be back in Lowhen, but then it’ll be as high king. You’d be smart to learn to properly address me now while I still possess patience.”

Fawkes kicked himself internally, knowing that his argument was as stupid as it was full of entitlement. He wasn’t even frustrated with the attitude Emrys had, but he wanted to go and would not be told otherwise. He had also meant for that to sound much less serious than he had.

He supposed, in that moment, the answer to his question about his ability to follow orders was getting an answer.

“Yes, of course, how could I have been so foolish?” Emrys asked dramatically, turning to Jo, “What I meant to say was that I don’t think it wise for his royal prickness  to tag along while we fight a literal demon.”

“I beg your pardon?” Fawkes folded his arms, “I can handle myself just fine, I didn’t think that bore repeating.”

“If you want to die before we even get to Elderwood I suppose I’m in no place to stop you,  sire.”

“I’d wager I could handle myself a lot better than you.”

“Right, yes. I forgot you were the seasoned expert in all things Peacekeeper.” Emrys spat, “Nevermind anyone who’s trained for their entire life. No, you’re special, is that right?”

Fawkes hadn’t realized the distance shortening between them, because now, finally, he was genuinely annoyed, “I wouldn’t say that, but I would say at least I’ve never lost to something.”

“What makes you think I have?”

Fawkes shrugged for effect, “I don’t know, could be the weird scars, could be the fact you just seem like someone unjustly angry at the world because you can’t win anything and no one likes you. I don’t consider myself an expert.”

“I have half a mind to punch you.” Emrys sneered.

The little voice inside his head that told him when to stop was screaming, but as usual, Fawkes ignored it, “Go on then. Hit me, unless you’re too much of a coward-”

Fawkes did get hit, but not by Emrys. A hand smacked the back of his head before a deft hand grabbed onto his earlobe, pulling him down.

The same was done to Emrys, both of them being pulled down to Joanna’s eye-level.

“Will the both of you shut up?” Jo frowned, dark eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “I don’t know who pissed in your ales but both of you stop acting like children!”

She released their earlobes, causing both of them to take a step back.

“Gods alive,” Jo said with a sharp exhale, “I’m getting too old for this shit.” She turned to Emrys with a look sharp enough to kill, “We’re all going. He needs to see what he’s getting into eventually, and I think jumping in is just the thing to inspire some...forethought.”

Emrys opened his mouth to speak, but Jo continued, cutting him off as she turned to Fawkes, “And you- I know he provoked you, but you’d be smart to work on getting that attitude in check. I don’t care who you are, you’re my prisoner. If I tell you to jump, all that you best respond with is “how high?”, is that understood?”

For someone several heads shorter than he was, Fawkes found her remarkably intimidating. He swallowed, nodding silently.

“Good.” Jo huffed with a bit of satisfaction, “Now apologize to Emrys.”

“But-”

Jo’s glare cut him off.

Fawkes deflated, the defeat clear, “Fine. Sorry.”

“The raw emotion of your sentiment overwhelms me, your highness.” Emrys deadpanned, which warranted another smack on his head from Jo.

“Emrys.” She said sternly.

“Fine. It’s...alright.” Emrys said, the red in his cheeks clearly visible, “I suppose I apologize for provoking you.”

He supposes, Fawkes thought in amusement, “It’s ...alright. I can’t say I blame you for hating me.”

Emrys raised an eyebrow suspiciously, “You can’t?”

Fawkes gestured at himself, “Look at me, I’m as obnoxious as I am beautiful. Sticking to hating me must help with all of the other conflicting emotions.”

“Joanna,” Emrys pleaded, “Please. Just once. Just let me punch him one time.”

Jo giggled, the tension from earlier now entirely dissipated, at least to Fawkes, “I’ll let you have one, so you may want to save it for a better time.”

A smile smile broke his usual grumpy expression, “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I’d argue any time is a good time.”

“I’m still right here.” Fawkes pouted.

Jo led them out onto the streets, Fawkes sticking close to her side and Emrys trailing behind them.

Fawkes told himself he was not scared of a demon.

After all, he’d seen one before, he knew what he was getting into.

Besides, the great Alistair Fawkes Lowhen, third of his name, high prince and heir to the throne feared nothing.

Save maybe for his title and stupid name.

Those were, perhaps, the two things in this life that Fawkes would always fear. They suffocated him, unshakable chains that would follow him into death. Knowing his luck, they’d probably follow him into the next life as well.

Everything he ever did or ever became would inevitably come back to those two things. For Fawkes, it made everything seem pointless. His entire life had always been dictated by the circumstances of his birth, and what worth could a life hold if one did not shape it themselves?

Fawkes bit the inside of his cheek, no, now was not the time to think about this. Granted, if he had his way with his own mind, it would never be the time to think about this, but now certainly wasn’t it.

Not out of fear, of course, Fawkes stuck close to Jo as they made their way into the large, abandoned house.

“So why does it only appear at a certain time?” He asked, shivering against the chill that ran down his spine.

Jo’s focus was on the house, taking in every little detail that she could, “Usually, that means it's a weaker little beastie. That’s not always a guarantee though, so don’t let your guard down.”

“Why would a weaker…” Fawkes debated copying the woman’s words but found his humor in them perhaps inappropriately timed, “Uh, demon, need to wait?”

“The veil is thinnest in the witching hour.” Jo answered with a tone that implied Fawkes should know that already, “Makes it easier to manifest and such.”

Jo ducked into a hallway, lost to her train of thought.

Emrys stood next to Fawkes, leaning in so that only he could hear him, “I thought you would have known that, being an expert and all.”

Fawkes, for once, flustered, “I...I never claimed to be anything of the sort.”

“Right.” Emrys said with a little humming noise, “Just knowledgeable enough that you could handle yourself, then?”

For the life of him, Fawkes could not understand this man’s intentions. One moment, the vitriol and animosity seemed genuine. Then suddenly it seemed almost teasing in nature.

“One doesn’t need to be knowledgeable in order to punch some creature in the face.” Fawkes retorted, hoping that perhaps the playful distraction would keep his mind away from the fact he was a bit more skittish about the demon thing than he was admitting to himself.

For the smallest of moments, Fawkes could have sworn he saw the other man smile.

He didn’t get a chance to remark on it, however. Jo sprinted from the hallway in a panic.

“Get down!” She yelled before a wall smashed in behind her.

“What did you do?” Emrys asked, eyes widened in fear as she barrelled into his chest, the action knocking both he and Fawkes to the ground as she grabbed onto the prince’s shirt, pulling him down with them as they fell. A piece of ceiling just barely missing them as they fell.

Jo grinned, an unexpected response, “He’s here, and I might’ve pissed him off a bit.”