He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to the castle again. He had, perhaps, originally meant to find his friend Tristan again, but if he had that was no longer his intention. Once a thief, always a thief. He’d entered in a less conventional way; sneaking through the woods and around the stables to avoid guards. It had worked so far, but sooner or later someone would notice him. It was hard not to. His giant frame was hard to miss and the fact that he was filthy and stinking from his route wasn’t exactly helping him blend in with a bunch of noble people. People like them, well, weren’t really known to get down and dirty in the woods. Alistair rubbed his hair, dusting out the fine layer of dirt that had settled into the black. His left hand deftly plucked various plants and twigs out the mess, trying to look somewhat presentable before exiting the small room he was hiding in. A couple brushes of his clothes (they didn’t have much affect) and the addition of some sort of coat that had been laying on a trunk and the boy turned towards the open window, arms spread in either a “come at me bro” or “ta-da” position.
”Well?” He asked, raising a brow. ”Respectable?”
“You’re no Prince Charming or nobleman, but you’ll pass. Least ‘till someone actually bothers to look at you.” The magpie on the sill said, blinking up at Alistair. He’d only recently taken to speaking, and only when no one else was around. As far as Alistair was concerned, that was great news (the bird loved to ramble). He jerked his head, signaling Anor to hop on. The bird did so with great enthusiasm (why fly when someone can transport you?), and Alistair pushed open the door, looking both ways for guards. None appeared, so he ducked under the arch and into the broad hallway, striding confidently and purposefully. People tended not to be suspicious if you looked like you knew what you were doing, in his experience, and noblemen and women were no exception. He passed by a number of them, none of which bothered to give him a second glance. Imbeciles, the lot of them. This made stealing so easy, especially because most of the people he passed probably couldn’t do anything to him anyway. They relied on the guards to protect them. This whole “survival of the fittest” thing didn’t really apply to them. That kind of pissed Alistair off. These people lived in the lap of luxury with everything taken care of and people to defend them in times of danger. He and the others had to fend for themselves in a place where they were barely getting by and were surrounded by horrid creatures day and night. You got lazy, you started slacking, and you died. They were survivors, all of them. They’d survived that Hell and others, all while these men and women relaxed and watched the servants work. He found it hard to pity these people and would find stealing no problem. Take a precious gem? No trouble! They’ll buy another. He could not feel bad for taking from these kinds of people with their fancy clothes and easy lives. It’d be good for them to learn how to lose something whatever that may be. They were handed everything on a sliver platter without so much as a thank you and it was up to Alistair to teach them to be grateful for what they had.
The doors didn’t have an kind of labels on them, so the young man chose one at random. It was locked, but that was easily solved. ‘Keep watch.’ He told the bird, digging a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of useless junk, picking through it hurriedly. Mostly coins and lint, but near the end of his search he found what he was looking for: a pin. He fit it into the lock, moving it around and listening for clicks. “Come one, come on, come on.” he muttered through gritted teeth, rattling the door handle. With a final click, the portal swung open, revealing the room and all its riches to the thief. He breathed a sigh of relief, slinking in quickly. ‘You stay. Tell me if someone comes.’ he thought to the bird who attempted to follow him. Anor narrowed his eyes, but perched on a small marble statue resting on a table next to the door. Alistair carefully closed it, wincing as it creaked. Then, he turned around to revel in the riches he had come across.
Had the Scot been a dancer, he surely would’ve danced for joy. For once, it seemed, his luck was good. The room he’d chosen housed a number of fancy, expensive items. Gold, silver, gems, you name it. Had he wanted to sell the items, he’d have made a fortune. But Alistair didn’t steal for money; he stole for fun and when you stole for fun you could take whatever you wanted, no matter how bad the condition. A grin cracked on the boy’s face. Oh, this would be great.
He was halfway through a second chest, his pockets bulging with valuables, when someone cleared their throat behind him. He swore inwardly, cursing his useless familiar, and froze. ”Put your hands up and turn around slowly." the guard commanded. Alistair smiled. ”I don’t think you want me to do that." He could hear the guards shuffle slightly, unsure of what he had up his sleeve. The first one who spoke did so again, angrily this time, "I said hands up and turn around." Alistair raised his good arm above his head and his right as high as he could, the smile never leaving his face. ”If you insist." He whipped around, startling the men who had yet to remove their weapons or prepare for anything. With this advantage, he kicked the first the stomach, knocking him down and taking others with him. The giant shouldered past the others, unbalancing a couple and bolted out of the room, the guards yelling following him down the hall. “Stop, Thief!”, “You’re under arrest!”, “Get back here you bastard!” and several more colorful shouts rang in his ears and echoed down the hall. Maids screamed as he ran past. The guards, who had finally gotten up and began to chase him, shouted at anyone who would listen to “Stop that man!” Alistair’s smile broadened. The only way they’d catch him was to cut him off on all sides. He might not be able to beat the guards in a fight, but running was his domain. They couldn’t catch him, no matter how hard they tried. No one could.
He didn’t stop, not even after the guards were long gone. He wasn’t safe, not until the castle was far away. He was still in a flat out run, flying past the men and women in the halls and leaping over any obstacle that came his way. The problem now, was that he had taken so many twists and turns, that he was utterly lost. This was what had ultimately led to his downfall. The guards knew every inch of the castle and having spread out, they could catch him. Alistair moved so fast that he missed it. Going slower, maybe he would’ve seen it, maybe he could’ve avoided it. But because he didn’t, he missed the movement of a foot being stuck out, right in front of him. He tripped and went sprawling, sliding and rolling on the stone floor with every part of himself before slamming into the wall at the end. The man he’d kicked stepped out from behind the wall and towards him, pleased with himself for stopping Alistair. A somewhat cruel smile light up his features as “payback.” Alistair groaned and sat up, wiping his nose and looking at the blood from hitting it against the floor. Everything hurt, his shoulder throbbed, and his nose was bleeding. He didn’t say anything, just glared at the guards who had now surrounded him. Two drew their swords and held them to his neck. The one who tripped him -- their leader, he assumed -- knelt beside him and dangled cuffs right in front of his face. ”Lets pay the King a visit and see how he takes your crimes, why don’t we?” Alistair just gave him a death glare, not bothering to resist arrest. He’d probably just get in more trouble.
The men kept their swords on him, poking his back to urge him forward occasionally. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t give them the pleasure of complaints. Their leader marched proudly to the throne room, attracting quite a bit of attention from the residents. Alistair rolled his eyes. Didn’t he do this for a living? Normally, he would’ve made a snide comment or something, but in his current position, that was a bad idea. The man pushed open ornate doors to a wide room with the King and his son. Alistair averted his gaze from Tristan’s, keeping his eyes on the floor. ”Sire, we caught this one, he shoved Alistair forward, disdain lacing his words. ”Stealing.”
|
|
