Chapter Text
They stand in formation, Valerian sweating through his armor. The sun beams down, unrelenting. He can't make out much through the buzzing in his head, but understands the basic instructions. Apprehend the pirates. Sounds simple enough, but he has experience by the docks, crowded and hostile. Hopefully they'll be kinder to a knighted official.
He squints against the glare of the sun, trying to stay attentive. After they're dismissed, he practically jogs to a fountain, pulling off his helmet and splashing the cool water over his head. He can almost feel it all evaporating at contact, short, loose curls clinging to his forehead. His dull green eyes close for a moment, tired from the day of standing guard. Silent and bored.
He can barely turn to see what's going on as he knocks his helmet to the ground, clattering loudly. The sound is interrupted by the rushing of water, his head quickly pushed under. He's able to deftly kick the perpetrator, a snickering knight.
Valerian coughs, sputtering water as he pushes the other into a wall. “What the fuck,” he struggles to keep his respectfully low tone, voice cracking.
He cackles, barely phased. Valerian is much smaller in stature, but manages to be strong enough to hold his own. Still, he doesn't compare to the figure looming over him. “What’s wrong?”
He pulls his helmet back on, ignoring his taunts. He's able to melt into the growing crowd, stepping around the carts and horses. That is the advantage of being smaller, being unnoticed has its benefits. He makes it to the docks, weaving through an alley and climbing over someone's fence. Being able to explore the sprawling city with the support of the king, it's everything he wanted and more.
Valerian examines each boat carefully, nodding in greeting at the deckhands. It smells dreadfully of fish, reeking of new death. He tries to avert his gaze from those begging, purposely ignoring the unauthorized selling of goods. These vendors respected him, and he wouldn't dissolve that respect for a few more coins.
It takes about half an hour to get to the other side of the dock, and through the haze of the summer sun, none of the boats seem remotely suspicious. He takes a moment to rest against a wall, trying to look for anything resembling a pirate. It's difficult, considering everyone here looks all so similar through their variety, all rags and hats and ruffles. He tries to catch his breath, struggling despite the break. Thankfully, the sun is setting.
A flash of red, he sees a figure dash into one of the shops behind him, followed by shouts and approaching fisherman. Drawing his sword, Valerian makes his way into the shop, avoiding the broken floorboards and exposed nails.
He's barely able to spot them, slamming a door shut. It seems to be an inn, and his armor is enough to grant him access. He slams his shoulder into the door, pushing it open with a splintering force. There's no one, not even a window to escape.
He's read about scenarios like this, a pursuit, the protagonist hiding. Not under the bed, nor in a cabinet. He nudges the rug, a rock caught in the door of this secret passage, leaving it ajar. Of course, a basement.
“Hey! Show yourself! This is the king's guard, and I have more coming,” he lies. With no response, he opens the door fully, sheathing his sword to hold a dagger. He hesitantly descends the ladder, not turning to leave his back exposed. As soon as he touches the floor, the trap door slams shut. Of course, as he should have expected. A trap.
Immediately swallowed by the dark, he reaches for his matches, interrupted by quieting hands. His helmet is discarded, dagger easily swatted away. He tries to protest, but his lips are quickly pressed against some glass. A bottle, a sweet call to drink. He tries to refuse, but the hand around his throat coaxes him to swallow.
It's dangerous, but enticing. A soft, feminine voice cuts through the ringing in his ears, “Scum. I have every right to slit your throat right here.”
“Please-” he manages to get out, helplessly pawing at the hand around his neck.
She laughs, squeezing a bit tighter. “You're pathetic. Can't imagine how someone like you can even be fit to serve.” She releases him, and he finds his legs giving out, falling against the wall and slumping to the floor.
The sleeping potion burns through his veins, reducing everything to a fuzzy warmth. He giggles, head slamming against the floor. It hurts, but he can't get himself to care. Valerian’s eyes shut, despite the effort he tries to give to keep them open.