Work Text:
All that glimmers, is in fact, not gold.
Because gold was much better kept in a pouch or traded for, rather than plastered on some wall.
Donovan pulled the coin purse closer to his chest as he slipped past a few stalls, slowly flowing with the crowds of the market. His hood was up, but not fully concealing his face. If anyone was covering their face and weren't in a huge set of armor, that would set off suspicions.
And that was the last thing he wanted.
The shouts of the poor smuck was still audible, a few villagers turning to look towards the source of the noise, but nothing too hard to ignore. Hell, least he could do was donate an apple to himself. Slipping past a few more villagers, sneaking one more coin purse into his cloak before settling down on a barrel. He was just taking a bite of the red fruit when-
“HEY!”
Donovan turned to look at the entrance of the alleyway, pausing to stare as he continued to eat, mostly unbothered. A young man, no older than him, was blocking the exit. Hands on either side of the building walls, brow covered in sweat. Did he try to run after him through the crowd?
What a fool.
“Can I help you? I’m just trying to enjoy an apple here.” Donovan rolled his eyes, lowering his arm and letting it hang. “If you want directions-”
“Return my mother’s coin purse at once, you rat!”
He scoffed. “Your mother’s purse? What, are you just expecting any ol guy in a hood stole it?”
The man suddenly pointed right at him, grinning. “I NEVER SAID IT WAS STOLEN!”
“Why else would you demand someone to return it? I never stole a woman’s coin purse.” A bold faced lie, but anyone in their right mind would be able to call him out on his nonsense. After all, women usually held more coin…
“Well, I… I just knew you stole it! So hand it back, or else! I’ll call the guards over!”
Donovan hummed, swinging his leg for a moment before taking a bite of the apple again.
“Nope.”
The barrel he was sitting on got kicked to the ground, making the man squawk in alarm. Donovan was already scaling the building, hands digging into the grooves of brick and wooden frames as he lifted himself up higher and higher up. The man kept yelling, jumping up and down like a little child throwing a tantrum. He even had to fling himself over a windowsill as a rock was lobbed towards him.
The young thief eventually made it to the roof, watching as the other man waved over to a few guards, jabbing his finger towards the dingy alleyway only to be waved off. It was almost pitiful, in a way, watching as the same woman he spied before (now with one less coin purse to her name) wandered over to the boy. A gentle hand went to pat his head, unheard words exchanged between the two of them.
Donovan turned to leave. He had other matters to attend to.
.
.
.
Gold was seen only sparsely along the valley.
Apart from that blasted castle plated in the blindingly shiny material, it was meant to stay in coin pouches. Specter knew that well enough. It scratched far too easily, covering the usual grey and muted colors of Pridemoor Keep into something so… gaudy.
“Oh look… it’s the loyal lapdog. Here to do your master’s bidding?”
And the one who made the entire place shine with a horrible light was sitting right there. The throne creaked as he leaned forwards, the sun shining through the windows. “Chasing your little ratty tail around the valley must be so tiring. In face, you look like death himself, haha!” The cape, which was wrapped around his armored frame, was tossed to the side, metal clinking together as he stood up, opening his arms as if he was some grand display.
Specter hissed, the grip on his scythe tightening. “... as The Enchantress suspected, you keep acting like a child not wanting to be put to bed. I've simply been tasked to put you back on track. Now, will you cooperate, or do I need to teach you a lesson in proper manners?”
The golden boy laughed. "Oh, out of anyone here in the valley or the order, I am by far the least behind in manners, wraith. I was raised well by my... mother... you see..." His eyes from under the coverings lower, squinting harder at the pile of rags before him.
“My word… I knew I heard that horrible voice from somewhere before,” King Knight lowered his arms, crossing his scepter over his chest. “That lowly thief, from those years ago. How did someone like you end up serving her ?"
As Specter's grip started to make the wood of his scythe creak, King snickered. "What, did you have to ask for more handouts? Groveling at her feet would be a suitable look on you, draped in all those tattered robes and all."
"Silence, canary."
"If you really were a smart man, you would leave me alone to do my ruling on my own. Or do you want to ask me for more coin-" The words were cut off by the sound of metal hitting metal, dragging across it. A boyish shriek echoed from within the helmet, gold now scarred with the grey underneath. Specter kept his distance, the throwing scythe soon returning to his hand. The cloak, soft and red with the obnoxious white fur trim was tossed back into the chair.
"I WILL DEFEND MY KINGDOM TO MY LAST LIVING BREATH, NOW FALL YOU BA-"
A swift swing of the red scythe took the man out like a child being put swiftly to bed. The parting message didn't even need to be said, the words told in the silence. Although, it was a bit comedic that no one ran in to assist him. He was just as before...
Just a childish man playing house.
.
.
.
Whoever made gold chalices a thing was stupid beyond belief.
The grand hall of the tower was, ironically, filled with life this late evening. The table was filled edge to edge with plates and cups, food practically overflowing each ceramic and silver tray. Giant roast chickens decorated with lemon slices, pots of warm soup with a hearty aroma, baked fish, potatoes...
And Specter couldn't stomach any of it. Certain curses come with being undead.
He was sat close to the middle of the table, nursing yet another cup of wine. Or was it ale? By this point, who even cared? Everyone else seemed to be drowning themselves in the alcohol and fine foods of the festivities, apart from golden boy. Who knew, the one who bragged about manners could actually hold his drink. Or avoid it all together, leaving his chalice untouched.
"King Knight, there's no need to share your mopey expression with old bones by your side!" Treasure Knight lifted his own drink higher up into the air. "If I knew you would waste such a fine beverage, I would have asked to have your share!"
The other man laughed nervously, moving to nudge it to the side. "Well... I do need to keep a good example for any of my subjects! I must stay strong in my prosperous position, lest I lose it all to some rogue knight."
"Feh, you expect me to believe some younglings hogwash?" The drink was placed down a bit harshly, some of the booze sloshing over the edge and onto the wooden table below. "A good drink needs to be savored. If YOU wont enjoy it, I will-"
King leaned back, a small note of surprise bubbling up from his throat as the chalice in front of him was picked up, and downed in one go. But not by the seaman. Across the table, Treasure whistled. "I wasn't aware you were still a thief, Specter."
"Old habits die hard, old man. It would be wasted on you, anyways..."
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" The heavy gauntlet shook as he slammed it into the table. Most of the other knights ignored the outburst, only one or two turning to stare, a snide mutter from the Frenchman going " Don't go flooding the room again... " accidently redirecting the furry immediately afterwards.
Pulling his attention away from the quickly devolving verbal toss around, King watched as Specter stood up from his seat, grabbing one of the uncorked wine bottles before floating away, wobbling in either direction. The knight knew he could float around, adding to his ghostly nature... but he seemed. Off. More than his usual brooding self.
He stood up, pausing to push his chair back towards the table before making his way into the halls. Torches lit the grimy dark walls in a soft orange light, a color seen rarely in the tower apart from the flames in the few scattered fireplaces. Oranges, yellows... reds....
A red cloak fluttered down a corner, King's head turning to follow. Footsteps echo down the stone passageway only pausing as he felt a sudden chill. A breeze brushed passed his shoulders, making the man shiver. He was aware of the few open areas of the tower from his small explorations and snooping around.... but this was one he didn't know about. And as soon as he stepped out and smelled the evening air...
"...must you have followed me, you crowned halfwit?"
Specter was leaning against one of the tower's pillars, the bottle already opened and half drained. His face was turned away, unseen eyes locked to gaze across the valley.
His helmet was discarded to the side.
King scoffed, turning away. "Says the ghoul who's currently drinking his soul away. I say, you still haven't learned any manners since we've last met."
The drunk laughed, his head thrown back, letting the sound echo into the open air. It lingered as he took a breath, and another swig of the sweet smelling nectar. "Don't have one, so I can drink all I want. So go run off to your mother.. or something...."
"You... You... YOU UNRULY GNAT!" King stomped closer to Specter, reaching down to yank the bottle out of his hand. And ignoring the drunken yell from below him, he lobbed the bottle off the platform. Wine trailed out of it as the glass fell deeper down, down, down into the darkness.
"What did you do that for?! I was enjoying myself!" Specter groaned, his feeble attempts at clawing at his cloak failing miserably, resulting in him to fall back to his former position. "... your point has been made, so leave already. Or do you wish to humiliate me further?"
The cloak getting tossed gently over his legs was the answer to that. Specter let out a muffled sputter, turning to hide his face further into the shadows as King took a seat next to him. "Well, I like to say my points are made by simply basking in my presence, but no. I won't."
"Failing at that already."
"Oh silence your whimpering, for a man with your status I wouldn't be caught like this anywhere. But I do have to ask... why did you take my drink?"
Specter huffed, reaching in to fiddle with something in his cloak. "... you're just a kid. If you don't want to drink, don't take the damn drink. Even I can think better than you after a few bottles."
"First of all, I'm not a child! I am simply just a few years younger than you, and SECOND, you keep up that act of not knowing who I am. I still remember you from back then."
"Feh. What of it?"
"You simply need somebody to talk to." Hands clad in golden gauntlets lift to touch the edge of his own helm. "And as it seems that you have already removed your own, I-"
"YOU CODDLED, SPOILED GOLDEN MANCHILD!"
King was suddenly flat on his back, staring back up to the face. The face of a man close to tears. Eyes bubbling over with purple magic, messy black hair almost looking like someone had it sliced by an angry cat, and a cut lip trembling. "YOU. KNOW NOTHING OF TALK. I do not NEED your comfort, your pitiful words of fake concern. No one follows a man to the edge blindly."
The cloak laid abandoned to the side, older metal scratching against the brighter color. "I chose to scavenge, because I could. Because I had to. I chose to fall, because I know what I did. You had everything . You never fell further than tripping on the stone and grass below you."
"I have done much more than that! I... I brought myself up from my simple upbringing. Gained power, my own reputation-"
"Your reputation is horrid."
"WELL SO IS YOURS! Do you think I liked leaving my mother behind? Leaving somebody I loved behind so dearly?" King struggled, pushing back against the wraiths grip " I don't even wish to work under her . But you... you..... "
Specter's grip faltered. King's struggle ceased as he watched his expression warp. Anger, disgust, realization... and... sadness. He shoved King back to the ground, letting his body float upwards. Specter’s head turned one last time towards the valley, letting the wind fill the silence.
"... don't you dare tell a soul."
King coughed, sitting back up. "... I... thought you didn't have one..." He let out a weak chuckle, shrugging his shoulders as Specter turned to look back... and then shooke his head. Smiling.
A tiny one, minuscule. But a smile.
"Heh... yeah. I don't have one."
.
.
.
"...How are you doing tonight, mother?"
King Kn.... Lucas was standing in front of a carved stone jetting out of the dirt, one of many around him. A fresh bundle of flowers was set gingerly on the slab before it, tied together with a yellow ribbon. His hand, now older and with a few more scars, was clasped with another's.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet! Uh, just.. don't get mad-"
"Oh for crying out loud... ma'am, he would like to introduce me. We have been in.. a partnership."
The ghost of the woman leaning against the grave lifted her hand to her mouth, covering a silent gasp before gliding forwards. Her smile only grew as she circled around the pair, hushed whispers coming out alongside the wind. King bristled, turning to glare at the other man. "Donovan, must you always be so grim? I'm trying to give you a good first impression!"
"Yes, a first impression to someone who already knows of my presence in the Lich Yard. Anyone buried here does."
The man opened his mouth to argue, but quieted down as the ghostly woman leaned in. "... I know that look. Mother... l- listen, please. I know he may seem... ghastly-" that word made Donovan scoff. "But he isn't always this bad!"
The woman's expression hardens. King starts to sweat.
"H- hey! Most of the time he's okay! He treats me well, and I do my part in the relationship-"
"Stop. You're embarrassing yourself." Donovan pressed his face into his free hand. "You don't need to justify anything. She's happy"
"HOW COULD SHE BE- Oh forget it, I'm fighting you."
"Right now?" Donovan raised a covered eyebrow. "In front of your mother? I thought you were trying to make a good 'first' impression."
"TO HELL WITH THAT!" King marched off to a more open clearing of the yard, a few ghosts emerging from behind the stones to watch. Donovan sighed, shaking his head, before turning to the mother. A silent question, his scythe moving as a gesture. The woman smiled, nodding. A silent answer, words of the spirit only reaching his ears.
And off he floated, landing on the opposite side of the clearing. It was... strange to be fighting him here, with such an audience.
But who even cared.
All that glimmers, is in fact, not gold.
Because gold was much better kept close to you. For it is best to allow yourself to cherish you having it in the first place.