Title: A Quarter South (1/3)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: AU; there’s something strange about the prince’s new bodyguards.
A/N: Written in response to this prompt from fuckyeahmcspirk: Bodyguard Trope: in which Prince McCoy naturally has two bodyguards named Jim and Spock.

The king introduced two strangers to his heir-apparent thus: “These men can protect you. This one is strong—” A bejeweled hand indicated the tallest first. “—and the other, cunning.”

Just looking at them, the prince had his doubts. They seemed a mismatched pair: one straight-backed, the other almost insolently slouched; one with raven’s hair and eyes and black clothes of fine quality to match, the other unkempt in every sense with shorn locks which might have been burnished gold if they weren’t dirt-streaked and a weapon’s belt half-buckled and boots which had seen mud too recently.

Leonard said nothing of his opinion, however; he had long since learned that to gainsay his stepfather in public had its consequences. After inclining his head in deference, he averted his eyes so as not to stare openly at the men.

“They come from afar but have proven their skill in battle. Henceforth they shall be your bodyguards!”

Leonard’s sense of foreboding lent the decree an ominous echo in his head. Why should he need personal guards now? Was the regular troop inept? Was there a new danger of which he did not know? In the prince’s opinion, disease was more of an enemy in this small kingdom than a greedy neighbor.

He shook away his morbid musings to find the king staring at him with clear expectation. The prince cleared his throat and executed the proper bow of one high-ranking court member to another. Then he murmured his thanks for the gift and left the drafty hall at a pace which was swift-footed but not quite running.

Unfortunately, two new shadows trailed after him.

Cunning sat in the corner by the door, picking at the grime under his fingernails with a short blade. Leonard was both fascinated and disgusted by this.

“I don’t think my stepfather is paying you to groom yourself,” he pointed out, rustling the pages of parchment in his hand.

The guardsman hummed for a moment, then answered. “Better to have a knife in my hand if you’re attacked, sire.”

“…Attacked?” Leonard made a broad gesture at the room, empty save for the other bodyguard who was so quiet he might as well not have been present at all. “By whom?”

The man shrugged and shifted on his stool, then stretched out a leg in front of him.

How he managed to look twice as bored as he had previously, Leonard did not know.

Sighing and muttering things about absurdity and kings, the prince returned his attention to his work. He had finished the drawing of an herb he had lately discovered growing near the castle walls. Below the drawing he began to make notations of its medicinal properties as well as the danger it posed if ingested improperly.

Time passed without his being aware of it as it always did while he worked. The light of early afternoon had given way to a deep dusk. When Leonard could no longer see well enough to write, he lit a candle and rolled the papers together, tucking them under his arm. The solitary window of the chamber overlooked the busy complex of rooftops, arches, turrets and parapet walls which made up the castle. By day they were dusty grey and unappealing; now, however, the picture they made was beautiful.

At last Leonard turned away from the view. In the dim lighting, one guard stood like a sentinel by the door, his face no more animated than it had been at their initial introduction. It also seemed, Leonard determined, that the man’s gaze had not ventured from the wall opposite him since he took up his post.

This unnerved the prince as much as it comforted him, for while he did not foresee the need to employ someone in the dual role of protector and entertainer, he preferred company with a little spirit.

The other bodyguard had fallen asleep during the long hours of dull activity, head hanging low so that his chin almost touched his chest plate. He was snoring, and the small knife had at some point fallen from nerveless fingers to the floor.

Leonard took great pleasure in kicking the man’s boot.

The fool woke up with a snort and nearly toppled off his stool.

“You do your job well,” the prince remarked, then left the room at a speed which would require the man to scramble in order to catch up to him.

It was not uncommon for the prince to be woken in the middle of the night for an emergency. Of course, where in the past a young, frantic page would have burst into his sleeping chamber, this time his awakener met a rather different fate just outside the prince’s door.

Startled to awareness by high-pitched squeals of pain, Leonard donned a robe and hurried to investigate.

“What’s going on?” he shouted as he threw open his door.

“Sire!” a familiar but muffled voice begged. “Sire, spare me!”

Leonard stared in horror at the scene in the dark hallway: Geoffrey (for that voice could belong to none other than his apprentice) was suspended in the air upside down. The tall guard held the young man aloft by his leg one-handed while the other guard, sitting on his haunches, prodded at Geoffrey’s cloak-covered head with the sharp end of his knife.

“What in blazes are you doing!” cried the prince. “Stop that!”

One of his bodyguards glanced his way. “He was trying to get into your room.”

“Oh, for the sake of all that’s holy, he’s not a rat! Drop him right now!“

The other man took Leonard’s meaning too literally. Geoffrey landed on his hand.

Leonard shouldered the men aside with “Move, you goatish clod brains! Geoffrey? Geoffrey, are you all right?”

The prince’s apprentice groaned once he was rolled over onto his back.

After a quick examination of the young man’s head and neck, Leonard helped Geoffrey sit up and asked him again how he felt.

“Nay, sire,” Geoffrey said, not looking him in the eyes. “I am fine. Twas my mistake to—”

Leonard interrupted him, his agitation having returned anew. “Never you mind, Geoffrey. These fools will not harm you again.” He asserted this in such a tone that only the deaf would have missed the threat.

Geoffrey suddenly snapped to attention. “Sire, the babe—it comes!”

“Then we must be quick,” Leonard declared, coming to his feet.

And off they went, the prince and his apprentice. Leonard did not spare a thought for the men once again following at his back.

The bodyguards made themselves known when Leonard tried to enter a room in a deserted area of the castle without them.

“You will want to remain in the antechamber,” Leonard warned them.

“That’s not what we’re paid to do.”

One guard pushed ahead of Leonard and seemed on the verge of making some insufferable speech when a wail cut across the room.

The man’s hand automatically went to his belt and the dagger there.

Leonard huffed. “There will be no violence in this chamber. Only women are here.”

“The least suspicious can be the most deadly,” the guard argued back in a low tone.

“Not this night,” said the prince just as a woman shrouded by curtains around the bed gave a low moan of pain.

One of the lady’s maids swept past them with a bowl of steaming water and placed it on the table nearest the bed. Leonard went towards it, his stubborn bodyguard dogging his heels.

“Go away,” he ordered.

“I cannot, sire. Where you are, I am duty-bound to follow—even if you feel you must remain… here.” There came a pause. Then, in a curious tone, he asked, “Is it yours?”

Leonard stripped off his outer robe and rolled up the long sleeves of his night shirt. “No,” he replied, and began cleaning his arms with the scolding water.

The guard looked from him to the bowl of water to the figure on the bed and back again before a light finally dawned in his eyes.

“You… you’re…” He was aghast from his revelation.

“Going to assist this woman in giving birth? Why yes I am,” Leonard confirmed readily. “Since you’re so damned adamant about staying next to me, you’ll be helping too.”

The man paled.

When the woman’s moaning turned into a breathless scream, he paled further and scuttled backwards until he nearly fell into an open wardrobe.

Leonard hmphed and looked to the other bodyguard, who had not left the doorway as his partner so foolishly had done.

“What of you?” he demanded. “Are you as pigeon-liver’d as your arms-brother?”

“Hey!” the protest could be heard from among a pile of lady’s undergarments.

The tall guard bowed slightly but did not answer the question. Instead he removed himself to the antechamber. The door did remain partially open in his wake, Leonard noticed.

The prince left the other guard to figure out an escape on his own and turned to the task at hand.

The baby was born healthy.

“You have odd interests,” Leonard was told the following day.

“And you are wont to express your opinion even though none was asked of you,” the prince retorted. As he finished with the intricate lacing of his knee-high boots, he cast a glance in the mirror to inspect the blue-eyed man leaning against the far wall. “Also, I do not recall inviting you into my chambers, guardsman.”

The man grinned at him. “I have a name.”

“Is it Needs A Wash?”

“Only if you’re offering to bathe me.”

Leonard choked on a laugh. So, this one was a flirt. After stamping his foot to make certain the boot was settled and did not pinch, the prince stood up. “You must think yourself cunning indeed. I am going to breakfast now. I suppose you are my escort.”

The guard pushed off the wall to take the lead but, to Leonard’s surprise, he halted by the doorway. “Jim,” he said. “That’s my name.”

“Hello, Jim. You can just call me Prince.”

“Ah, so you’re a traditionalist.”

“I am a prince, Jim.” Leonard brushed past him. “But if by chance we are not in the presence of the rest of the court—especially my stepfather, you understand—you could call me Leonard and I might, might,” he stressed, “respond.”

“Good to know!” the man called after him.

It took a moment of walking in silence for Leonard to realize the other guard had not offered a friendly monosyllable, let alone a name, during his conversation with Jim.

Could he trust that one? he had to wonder. And could he trust someone as open as Jim?

Because Leonard was a practical man, it would not shock him in the least if one or both of his bodyguards had a secondary motive for following him each day. He knew his stepfather was a paranoid and somewhat secretive man.

Leonard decided then out of the old habit of being ornery to give these two men something worth reporting to the king.

“Does he ride?” the prince inquired later in the afternoon, tipping his head to indicate the tall, thin figure in black standing at the fence to the stable-yard.

“Better than me,” Jim replied cheerfully as he tugged at random at the reins of his mare.

That was likely true, Leonard surmised, eyeing the seat of his bodyguard on the horse. “How is it you are excellent in battle if you cannot stay on a horse?”

“It isn’t my fault horses don’t like me. Spock!” the guard cried, twisting around in the saddle, “Would you decide already? The prince grows impatient!”

Leonard flushed.

The man in black lifted a hand—and a horse moved away from the herd as if beckoned.

Jim, who may have claimed not to be the friend of any equine, made a noise of appreciation at the stallion trotting towards his partner.

Leonard drew in an apprehensive breath. “We call that one Demon. Jim, I don’t think it’s a good idea for—” He bit off his comment when Spock suddenly leapt the fence and seated himself upon the stallion’s back without assistance or any tack.

“Great,” Jim said and urged his mare forward. “We’re ready. Where to, sire?”

Leonard turned his horse toward the lower town. “A place,” he spoke, albeit somewhat grimly, “where there is drink.”

Despite having been absent for several years, the prince recognized the tavern when he walked in: the painted plaster above the mantelpiece depicted the remnants of a battalion returning home from war, a banner with his kingdom’s crest curled long and thin over their heads. In the main room, there was the familiar crush of dark clothes, the overwhelming smell of horse and leather. Some of the occupants were laughing; others deep in debate over politics or warfare strategy which seemed to have little meaning outside a tavern these days.

Leonard sank into a chair at an empty table and removed his gloves. The tavern owner immediately came to greet him, dragging a busty young woman in his wake. She kept her eyes downcast.

There had been a time, he remembered vaguely, when he had spent his evenings floating between ale-houses, not much caring where he was or where he went, sometimes accompanied by young nobles, sons of dissipated courtiers and cousins of confusing degree. His youth misspent, his stepfather always reminded him. Leonard’s listless ways could have been the end of him.

Could have been.

Leonard was not that same careless person now. He made certain of it.

At that thought, he almost saw her face. This young girl looked much like her, even as hidden as her expression was, and the prince had to focus his gaze elsewhere for fear someone would mistake the memory in his eyes for desire.

“Wine, Your Majesty?” the owner inquired.

“The house brew,” he corrected. Then, with a quick look towards the door, “And some for my men as well.”

Expectantly Jim’s face brightened upon hearing of this magnanimous gesture. The other man—Spock, if Leonard had heard the name aright—gave no indication if drinking suited him or not.

Leonard called Jim forward to the table, suddenly curious. “Is he mute?”

Jim blinked. “Who?”

“That one. Your partner. He never speaks. I’m asking if he is physically incapable of it.”

For some reason, the man smirked. “No, Prince, he is not mute.”

Leonard sat back. “So he does not wish to speak me, then.”

Jim only said, “He will soon,” before his attention was drawn to the girl approaching the table with three tankards of ale.

And, as Leonard predicted, feeling amused, the man put his skill at flirting foolishly to good use. Eventually the girl had her fill of it and threatened to dump the man’s drink over his head, thereby causing Leonard to laugh and order a second round.

Finally tuning Jim out and working on his third cup, Leonard’s gaze took in everyone near their table, talking at once, passionately and obliviously. Inevitably he found himself watching the silent man by the door, a wraith-like shadow with whom he felt he was becoming quite familiar.

What would be the first thing Spock said to him when he did decide to speak?

The prince sipped at his drink, pondering the possibilities for some time.

“I am not drunk,” the man insisted loudly. “I have been drunk before—miserably drunk—so I would know.”

The arm looped across his back supported him across the tavern threshold to the street beyond. The man bearing his weight offered no comment on the matter of a royal prince in an inebriated state. Occasionally however he did grunt when Leonard stepped on his toes.

After some time, Leonard called a halt to their awkward procession (really, Jim was listing more than he was… and how had the idiot gotten so far ahead?) with an imperious lift of his hand. He squinted down the remainder of the alleyway, wondering when they had left the street. “Now where’s he goin’?”

Receiving no response, Leonard elbowed his companion until he could break free of his hold and staggered forward. “Ho there! Jim!” he called. The alleyway tilted a little but quickly it righted itself. Leonard blinked.

This was the nebulous edge between day and night, the prince concluded. One should be careful where one goes. Yet, despite this sage advice to himself, he still felt adventurous enough to continue onward and retrieve his wayward guard serenading a street post.

“Jim!” he called a second time, slurring the name a bit. “Guardsman!”

Up ahead, Jim stopped singing and turned around with a grin. “All clear!” he shouted back to them.

Frowning, Leonard started forward again. Was the man expecting he could fight off ruffians in his condition if they happened to be accosted? Truly, the confidence of this fellow knew no bounds!

“Where are the horses?” he wanted to know, drunken mind jumping randomly between thoughts. Then he added with a snort, “I imagine he will attempt to sit backwards on his! You should not have let him indulge in drink, Spock. You should have—”

Pain came unexpectedly, as did the blow from behind which sent him face-first to the ground. Leonard floundered there in the mud for a moment, initially not comprehending what had happened.

His hand found the sore spot at the back of his head. In the periphery of his vision, he saw a set of boots coming towards him quickly.

To his surprise, he heard: “You didn’t hit him hard enough.”

Leonard managed a weak, shocked protest.

As the voice indicated, it was Jim whose shadow fell across him when the man bent over to meet the prince’s wide eyes.

“Sorry about this,” Jim said, pulling out his blade, “but we have our orders.”

Leonard knew he was going to die and had a moment to regret many, many things.

Then Jim hit him with the hilt of his dagger, and the prince ceased to think completely.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• A Quarter South (7/7) – from July 5, 2014
• A Quarter South (6/7) – from July 4, 2014
• A Quarter South (5/7) – from July 4, 2014
• A Quarter South (4/5) – from June 23, 2014
• A Quarter South (3/5) – from June 17, 2014