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high-tidethunder · 3 years

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so long lives this, and this gives life to thee

inspired by this post!

Act I: SCENE I: Holly. The main stage at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. Enter QUỲNH, wearing a long red velvet gown, her hair draped over her shoulders and braided with gold and strings of pearls. She is backlit by string lights on the stage that surround her like a halo.

QUỲNH:

This is a story of two men,

A thief and a knight,

Whose lives are inexorably entwined,

Wherever, and whenever they meet.

This is the story of a years-long fight,

The lost hope of one,

Amidst the search for the other.

This is the story of the power of a young girl,

And her empathy.

This is the story of a family,

And the ties that bind it, which will never break.

This is a story of a love, everlasting.

They might just need a push to get there.

~~~

Joe finishes belting his sword to his back and pushes his way out of the canvas costuming tent and onto the stage, where a crowd of families has already gathered. He smiles at them, waves, sits down at the table on the stage’s corner and pulls up the copy of yesterday’s newspaper that sits on it, studiously focusing on the photograph of Governor Whitmer that graces the front page.

Andy misses their cue by five minutes. Joe has to cough four times, stomp twice, and slam down the wooden tankard he’s been pretending to drink from before they tumble out of the costume tent, adjusting their silk doublet and the circlet twisted into their hair. He is going to kill Quỳnh.

“Yusuf! It has happened again!” they call, and he’s not entirely sure the frantic thread of their voice is an act. At least they remember their lines. “That scoundrel can’t keep getting away with this,” they growl, pacing the stage, pointedly ignoring the audience. They stop in front of his chair, folding their arms across their chest. “Another carriage has been raided, in the eastern wood. He made off with the whole load of silks and what gold the driver had.”

“And what do you wish from me? Years, this has been going on. He is like a shadow, melting away into the night, I cannot find him. I am lost,” Joe retorts, and stares forlornly into the empty mug in front of him. “That blackguard Nicolò di Genova is a thorn in my side that I cannot dig out.”

Andy straightens, then, and finally turns out to look at the audience. They notice the young girl in the first row and crouch down to look at her, smiling kindly when she ducks her head shyly. “Hello there, sweetheart,” they start, voice warm. “My name is Andromache, what’s yours?”

The girl looks up at her parents for a moment and waits for her mother to nod encouragingly before looking at Andy again. “I’m Aisha,” she says, barely loud enough for Joe to hear.

“Hello Aisha, I’m the queen of this realm, and I think that you,” they look up now, “all of you, might be able to help out my knight here. What do you think?”

Aisha’s eyes widen and she stares up at Andy. “Maybe,” she says, still quiet.

Not one to pressure audience participation, Andy stands and steps back, turning to look at Joe before addressing the crowd again. “I bet, if Sir Yusuf here shows you a picture of the man we are looking for, you would be able to tell us if you’ve seen him,” they say, giving Joe a sidelong glance.

He takes the charcoal sketch of Nicky he’d done the week before the festival started out of the pages of the newspaper and stands, walking to the edge of the stage. “This man,” he starts, jumping down in an area in front of the stage clear of any people and gesturing with the sketch, “is called Nicolò, and for many years he has evaded our capture while ambushing our trade routes.” Joe begins to walk up and down the length of the stage, holding the picture out all the while. “He has stolen many goods and deprived many tradesmen their hard-earned wages. We cannot let this stand, and I don’t believe any in our kingdom would think we should.” He stops, “There is a reward on his head, and should any of you be brave enough to join our scouting party, you will be well compensated.” They would get a $20 credit at a select few stalls. One per family. “Will anyone here join our cause?”

Aisha steps forward, a small step, accompanied by an encouraging smile from her mother. “I will,” she says, and the rest of the crowd breaks into a cheer of assent.

Joe grins and kneels down in front of her. “I think,” he starts, looking her in the eye, “that you would make a fantastic second-in-command,” he says, folding away the sketch of Nicky and tucking it between his chestplate and his shirt.

Right then, the stablehands bring out his and Andy’s horses and he stands, mounts the horse, and looks down at Aisha. “Would you like to ride with me, m’lady?” he asks, waiting as she looks to her parents for their agreement before nodding vigorously.

Her father lifts her into Joe’s waiting hands and he settles her in front of him on the horse before signaling to Andy that he’s ready to go when they are. They nod and lead their horse to the front of the crowd to address them, explaining that they and Joe would be leading the group through the fairgrounds in the search. They wait for everyone to situate themselves between the horses, then head out towards the costuming stalls. Joe waits for everyone to clear out before bringing up the rear, making sure to keep pace with Aisha’s parents.

~~~

About halfway through the “search”, Aisha asks to see the sketch again and Joe switches the reins to one hand, pulling the paper out and holding it in front of her. He notices now that he’d gotten Nicky’s nose wrong and he tells Aisha so with a fake-somber shake of his head. In truth, it is a little disappointing. Nicky had willingly sat for an hour for Joe to get the sketch done instead of just handing him a headshot like anyone else would have done. He’d wanted to get it right.

She pats his hand consolingly, stares at the picture for a moment, then asks, “What if he’s hungry?”

Joe is a little taken aback, but he can see her parents smiling next to them and would never try to discourage a child’s empathy, so he responds, “Well, then we would feed him. But, if he takes others’ wares, they’ll have nothing to sell, then they might go hungry.”

“Why couldn’t you feed them, too?”

“We could. We would. But it is difficult managing a kingdom, Aisha, we can’t know everyone who’s hungry all the time. We can only do our best to stop those who are taking advantage of other people, so that they have no reason to go hungry.”

“But when we find him, if he is hungry, you’ll feed him?”

Joe can’t help the smile that’s spreading across his face. “We will, sweetheart. Queen Andromache wants no one in this kingdom to suffer.”

~~~

When Andy finally leads them to the blacksmith’s stall, a little boy in the crowd is the first to spot Nicky where he’s half-hidden behind Booker, the smith, and the new girl, Nile, who are deep in a conversation about metalworking.

Joe hands Aisha back to her parents, then dismounts and draws his sword, handing the reins off to one of the stablehands and approaching the entrance to the shop. “Nicolò di Genova!” he calls, and Booker and Nile step out of the way as Nicky looks up from where he’d been pretending to browse the scabbards on one wall.

“And who are you?” Nicky spits out, shifting on his feet into a fighting stance.

“I,” Joe starts, and wastes no amount of grandeur as he looks out over the crowd amassed before them and continues his speech, “am Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Mohammed al-Kaysani,” here he pauses and looks at Nile, standing next to him with genuine delight on her face, and winks at her, “called al-Tayyib,” he says, swiftly turning and bowing to her, taking her hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to it. “And you,” he says, standing abruptly and swinging back around to confront Nicky, pointing his sword at him accusatorily, “Nicolò di Genova, are a thief.”

“And by whose authority do you make this claim?” Nicky asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I am but a traveling merchant, here with the sunrise and gone with its set,” he says with a saccharine smile. A taunt.

“Peddler of stolen wares,” Joe bites back, advancing as Nicky steps backward, eyes widening in apprehension in an expression that is almost comically exaggerated to anyone who knows him.

Joe remembers the countless lunch breaks that had been spent rehearsing after Nicky had come to him after their first week of shows together and asked for help making his performance more believable.

He can’t help but be a little proud of himself for the result.

“You have not answered me,” Nicky says, buying time as he makes his way further into the smithy and towards the rack of swords on the far wall. “By whose authority are you making this claim?”

“I am making this arrest under the authority of the Nomad Queen.”

At this, Nicky turns to look at Andy, sitting horseback behind the crowd, drawing their attention to them. They straighten their back, their delicate gold circlet glinting in the sun, and stare down their nose at Nicky.

Nicky takes this moment of distraction to lunge at the rack of swords, grab his blunted prop one they’d planted there that morning, and deftly pull it free. “It is not an arrest you will make without a fight,” he snarls, once again settling into a fighting stance.

“I did not imagine it would be,” Joe counters, coiling his own muscles like a spring.

It’s Nicky who attacks first this time, lunging at Joe as he swings his blade at him in a sweeping downward arc. Joe quickly checks that Nile and Booker have cleared the crowd to a safe distance away before allowing himself to fall back, his own sword raised over his head to protect himself from the blow. He forces Nicky’s sword to the side, inadvertently pushing the two of them chest to chest, and makes to draw the dagger at his hip before his arm is twisted back and Nicky ducks away from him. He growls and advances again, Nicky blocks his first blow but stumbles over a divot in the ground at the second one and falls, dropping his sword to fling out his hand and break his fall. Joe’s hand darts out to grab the fallen blade and he throws it in the direction of the smithy before standing over Nicky, settling the point of his sword under his chin.

“Do you yield?” he asks, panting slightly.

He’s suddenly acutely aware of the way Nicky’s Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

For a moment, Nicky’s eyes darken into an emotion that isn’t there quite long enough for Joe to recognize it, before hardening into steel once more. “Never,” he spits, then reaches up and, in one swift motion, twists Joe’s sword out of his hand and rolls to his feet. And then, Joe finds himself with his own blade to his neck, staring down it to that same dark look in Nicky’s eyes.

He’s about to say something when Booker calls to Joe and hefts Nicky’s sword his way and they’re in the thick of the stage fight again until Nicky yields.

~~~

“Why did that little girl remind you to feed me?” Nicky asks when they’re back in the costuming tent, and Joe huffs a laugh.

“Aisha,” he responds, “She was very worried that the scoundrel we were looking for might have turned to crime because he was hungry.”

Nicky smiles at this, one of those barely-there smiles of his that Joe first read as a reluctance to tolerate his presence but now sees a kind of beauty in. “Good for her,” he says as he makes his way through the tent to his cubby, undoing the clasps of his leather jerkin as he goes.

Joe goes to his own cubby and sheds his heavy leather armor before tucking it away. He grabs his phone and wallet and is about to leave to grab them lunch when he hears Nicky let out a curse and call for him, and turns to see him tugging helplessly at the last clasp on his jerkin. “Need help with that?”

“Please? I think it caught on the undershirt and I don’t want to tear it if I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Joe says, walking over.

He takes the stubborn clasp in his hands and Nicky lets his own hands fall to rest on the wooden chest behind him as Joe messes with the fabric of his shirt, trying to figure out where it’s caught.

“Sorry,” he says, still holding the fabric taut as he kneels to put his phone and wallet on the dirt floor at Nicky’s feet to free up his hand, “I think I see where it’s caught, but-” he looks up from the ground and cuts himself off when he realizes just exactly what position he’s gotten himself in.

Nicky looks down at the same moment Joe looks up at him and barely gets out a ‘what?’ before his eyes widen ever so slightly and he clamps his mouth shut, the tips of his ears turning pink. Joe clears his throat and Nicky’s jaw tightens and he tips his head back, staring steadfastly at the ceiling as Joe goes back to twisting the fabric of his shirt out of the clasp of his jerkin.

“All good!” Joe says when he finishes, forcing cheer into his voice and pulling down the shirt. He very nearly pats it smooth before he catches himself.

“Thanks,” Nicky says, almost clipped, and Joe hazards a look up at him as he blindly reaches out for his phone and wallet.

“Well, I’m not going to ask what you two were doing in here, but I will remind you that this is a tent and does not lock, and I am going to ask if either of you know where my wife is because I believe she owes me $50 now,” Andy says from behind them, and Joe whips around to look so fast that his neck hurts. They wave, phone in hand, then duck out of the tent.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he tries to call after them, raising himself up on one knee towards the tent entrance in some half-assed, desperate attempt to stop his reputation from being ruined.

A hand lands on his shoulder, then, and he feels Nicky’s hair brush at the side of his neck, a sensation that probably shouldn’t send a shiver through him but does anyways. “I think,” he says, voice low in Joe’s ear, “I would very much like it if it was.”

Joe stands so quickly he slams his head into Nicky’s chin, and the other man lets out what Joe assumes is a truly impressive string of curses in Italian, although his semester abroad in Rome didn’t quite teach him whatever it was Nicky had just said about a pig.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, fuck, Nicky, are you okay?” he gets out in one breath, turning to see Nicky with a hand pressed to his mouth and a wild look in his eyes.

“That,” he says pointedly, tightly, muffled by his fingers, “was not the outcome I was hoping for,” he finishes, taking his hand away from his mouth and revealing his lips, smeared with blood.

Joe’s heart plummets and he jerks forward, grabbing for the box of tissues he knows is on top of the cubbies and tearing one out. He crumples it in one hand and holds it to Nicky’s bleeding lip before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” he says again, not quite sure if he should keep holding the tissue to the cut.

Nicky makes the decision for him, bringing his own hand to take hold of the bloodied tissue and shaking his head. “I should be the one apologizing,” he says, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have said that, it was unprofessional and,” he stops, frustration flooding his features, as though the words he wants to say are evading him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he finally says and looks up at Joe. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Joe says, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal-”

Nicky cuts him off at this, “I’ll just take this as a ‘no’ and leave you alone,” he says, and the tone in his voice twists Joe’s gut.

“Wait, Nicky, no. Don’t,” he protests, reaching out for Nicky’s wrist. “Take it as a ‘I don’t have any dinner plans tonight, and I did make a promise to feed you’?” he offers, hoping he sounds as sincere as he is.

The tension melts from Nicky’s face, the worried lines at the corners of his pursed lips turning up in a smile. “You’re a terrible cook,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Joe laughs, and it feels like letting go. “I am,” he agrees. He’s perfected three dishes that aren’t sandwiches or cold cereal, and even with those, they’re half-burned half the time. “But I’m really good at picking good restaurants because of it,” he says, and Nicky snorts.

“I like the sound of that,” he says, and warmth blooms in Joe’s chest.

“6 sound good?” he asks, a time that should give them both an hour or so after their shift ends to get cleaned up. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds great,” Nicky says, just as Joe hears his cue line for his next performance coming from the stage.

“Who knows where the night might go, huh?” he says, looking Nicky up and down and winking before turning and running for the stage.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #tog fic #userlyde #as i did with the fight gym au...i will more than likely write more of this on a whim #it's about...the found family...#the freedom from restrictions of Research because these are things im Intimately Familiar with #my fic

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