ASSASSIN 2~ 𝓗𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭

╬)Departure(╬

Quackity POV:

"I'm leaving."

His mother paused what she was carefully doing, turning to face the doorway where he stood.

"I see." She said simply. She seemed to have come to a similar conclusion about the nature of this mission and its danger, though she had made no attempt to stop him. He was king now, and there was no room for personal reservations where duty lay.

She beckoned him closer and he stepped into the room, letting himself be drawn into her arms. For a moment, she held him at arm's length, pursing her lips as she looked him up and down. Quackity thought she might have been about to chide him on his crinkled shirt or something, but then she sighed and smiled at him pensively. "You're all grown up now, aren't you." She said, her hand squeezing his shoulder tenderly, her voice ringing with a distant sadness. "Right under my nose you've grown into a fine young man."

Quackity softened, his posture relaxing slightly. "You made sure of that, mother." He reassured, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

When he finally pulled away however, his mind was already far from here.
"But now I need to go, and lead my people, and end this fight."

The former Queen nodded slowly. "I know." She said reluctantly, and let him go.

There was one last person Quackity had to say goodbye to before he left, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

The boy was at a large window in the main corridor, where it overlooked the courtyard and grounds and he could watch the horses be saddled up for departure. He turned as Quackity approached, looking sullen.

"Why can't I go?" Tubbo whined before Quackity could even open his mouth to say anything. The king chuckled and sighed, crossing his arms.

"You have to stay here and keep an eye on my castle." He said, crouching down to Tubbo's level. "Can you do that for me?"

Tubbo pouted, gazing back out the window at the distant figures of Niki, Ranboo and Puffy huddled together. "But it'll be so lonely here."

Quackity followed his gaze and watched the small party as they prepared for the journey ahead. Tubbo looked at him again, his face worried and far too stoic for a 6 year old.
"Are you going to come back?" He asked quietly.

"Of course I am."

"Promise?"

Quackity hesitated, then stood and ruffled the kid's hair affectionately. "I'm coming back, Tubbs." He repeated instead. Tubbo didn't seem satisfied, but as Quackity walked away, he simply sat at his window and watched silently.

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The forest was dark when they set off, and it stayed that way for most of the day. Treetops cut off the sky, and even in rare gaps, the clouds had cut off the sun.

Quackity found himself looking over his shoulder more often than not, travelling with his horse at the back of the group.

Occasionally they would stop and rest, but he was too restless to pause for long. While the others sat, Quackity would step away into the treeline on the side of the path.

The forest was empty no matter how many times he scanned the horizon, but it didn't shake the feeling he had of being watched every step of the way.

When the king returned to the rest of his group, he noticed some of them peer at him curiously, or exchange glances between themselves, which he ignored. He was probably not helping the idea that he was a paranoid, solemn man slowly losing his grip on reality.

Not many knew exactly what happened five months ago, and even the castle rumours might never have the full story. But the few of his friends that had pieced it together could only look at him with the same apprehension and slight worry as everybody else -just with an understanding sympathy in their eyes as they did.

As they continued walking and the day wore on, the forest began to thin and the path grew wider until the trees completely disappeared and they came out onto a road.

Not far ahead, Quackity could see dusk bathing the sea in blue and gold, and the lights of the harbour town, Forbury.

As they rode into town, people stopped on their way and watched solemnly. It had been many times that they'd watched similar processions go by since the start of the war. There was never any telling who of them would return.

The Nevadas was waiting for them at the docks, a dozen or so dock workers already setting it up for sail. His men began loading supplies into the deck and Quackity wound in between them, boarding the ship and relishing quickly the feeling of being on this deck again. As dire as the circumstances were, he couldn't deny that he loved being on this ship, and out at sea.

It made him feel as though the world was his oyster, blue water in every direction and nowhere to go but forward. It was thrilling, really, the work that was needed from every man on board to keep it sailing, the air wet and the salt sharp in the breeze.

Quackity saw Puffy take her place at the helm, standing tall and proud in her captain's uniform and hat. He wondered, seeing how right that it looked, if she'd had a past in it before coming to work in the castle. He hadn't ever asked.

He didn't speak to anyone that night, retiring to his quarters early and silently. They all watched him go with equal silence but he could feel eyes on him as he left into his cabin.

He lay in his bed anxiously, thinking about the most recent dream he had had, and what awaited him if he fell asleep. His mind was too busy with everything to shut off anyway, and eventually he just gave up and sat up, sighing deeply.

Quackity lit a candle and set it on the small table in his cabin. As his did, something else on the tabletop glinted in the dark. It was his crown.

He stared at it as his eyes began to adjust to the dark, his hands gripping the bed at his sides.

This crown, this throne, this title he had. It was something people killed for, betrayed for, died for.

This crown was stained with blood, as well as he was, yet going back decades and centuries.

And what did it mean? What was it really worth? Not the violence, surely. Not the bloodshed.

And now Quackity was king, This was his crown and his burden to bear. Haunted too, by the weight of its macabre past.

But he wasn't any better than any of those before him, was he? People had died for this. For him.

The assassin had been after Quackity's blood, simply over his birthright. But he was still alive, and Wilbur was not.

It was supposed to be him.