It was here that he needed to decide what to do next. He could ride up to the gates of Dalton in full view and triumphant ceremony, but that would be phenomenally stupid of him. Or he could sneak into the woods and try to find another way in.

He hopped off the horse and paused, considering. Finally, he turned her up the path to Dalton and smacked her flank, sending her cantering up the path. It might throw someone off, it might not, but it seemed better to try than to just leave her there and alert anyone that he was nearby.

He turned to the west, away from the sun that was just beginning to rise behind the trees, and started to run.

Kurt was no outdoorsmen--he knew the basics, but given the choice between flitting through the woods and staying indoors to pass his time, he knew his choice. He knew very well he could get lost and ruin everything, so he stayed close to the path until it inclined steeply, leaving the rest of the forest below. He stayed low, following the edge of the hill upon which Dalton sat, at which point he was faced with the option to either climb or continue circling until he reached the other side.

If he climbed, he’d eventually reach the walls, and he stood a chance of finding a weakness or an opening or a way to climb over. If he circled, he might very well find nothing at all.

And then he heard voices.

He couldn’t make out words, but the murmur of a human voice was clear. He whipped his head around, searching for the source as the rest of his body froze in fear. Wherever the voice was coming from was not in sight--but he was standing right out in the open, and someone could stumble upon him before he had the chance to see them.

He turned around, quickly searching for a place to hide. There--about thirty yards away, through a thick group of trees. A heavy, bright yellow bush, similar to smaller ones dotting the landscape, big enough for Kurt to hide in. Without a second thought, he took off, sprinting as fast as he could until he reached it. He slowed, clambering for a minute, and quicker than he had dared hope, he was crouched beneath a hanging of branches thick with yellow flowers.

He still heard the voices, but they weren’t yelling or frantic--he hadn’t been seen. However, he was wearing primarily black, and if they came by and looked too closely, he’d be discovered.

He stayed as still as possible, hardly blinking as the voices grew closer and closer, until a pair of soldiers wearing the uniform of Sebastian’s regiment came into view from his left. They weren’t facing toward him--in fact, they were walking away from him, toward the path to the castle. Every muscle in his body tensed, every inch of him begging to flee, but he remained, his breathing far too loud. They had to hear it, it was thunderous, any moment they’d turn around and see him and then he’d have to run or be killed--

They disappeared through the trees without turning around, chatting among themselves the entire way.

Kurt emerged carefully from the brush, eyes trained on the trees they’d disappeared behind, and quickly backed away, finally turning tail and running along the edge of the hill that the soldiers must have been patrolling.

That had been far too close. He’d run right at them when he’d run to his hiding spot. He couldn’t afford to do it again, but he couldn’t figure out what else to do but keep going.

He decided to turn back--he knew the hills behind him were not as steep, and if the guards had a regular path to patrol, he’d be running away from anyone approaching. It was a shame he’d wasted so much time, but it was the best option he had--

“Are you trying to get killed?”

Kurt’s heart skipped several beats and launched up into his throat before quickly sinking into the cold, trembling pit of terror that had formed in his gut. He whirled around to face the voice, clumsily whipping out his dagger from his belt.

“Whoa, put that away,” Santana said, holding up her hands placatingly and looking Kurt up and down judgmentally. “Are you seriously running around in these woods armed with a godsdamned hair pin against Sebastian’s cronies?”

Kurt looked down at his dagger and caught his breath for a moment before straightening up, slipping the dagger back into its place on his hip and lifting his chin defiantly.

“What else would you have me do?” he asked, and then looked around, cutting off any answer. “Where did you come from, anyway?”

“Up there,” Santana said unhelpfully, nodding her head toward the cliffs. Kurt surveyed them carefully before turning to her with a carefully cocked eyebrow.

“You walked through solid rock?” he asked sneeringly. “I’ll be honest, I suspected you capable of witchcraft, but that’s truly impressive.”

“And you’ve deprived your village of an idiot,” Santana snapped back. “And considering all I’ve heard of Lima, you must have worked hard for that title. Though I’m sure your natural talents helped you along.”

“Enough,” Kurt spat. “I can’t just stand here wasting time. Either tell me how the hell I can get into the castle or--”

“--or you’ll tickle me with your little pig sticker?”

“Santana!”

“Fine,” she said. “Though I don’t know what you’re going to do once you’re in the castle...”

“I don’t know either,” Kurt admitted, “but I have to do my best to find Blaine and get him out of there.”

“And take him where?” Santana asked incredulously.

“Westerville,” Kurt answered bluntly. “Lord Nicholas has probably gotten my messages by now, and he’s raising his regiments to fight off Sebastian. I just have to get Blaine out before Sebastian realizes and kills him out of desperation.”

Santana studied him for a tense moment before nodding.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll show you in.”

She leant down and pulled up her skirts, and Kurt watched as she twisted and tucked them in what was sure to be a complicated manner, leaving her with a makeshift pair of breeches, her legs bare below her thighs. She turned and led him to a jagged section of cliff.

“Come on,” she said, hiking herself up and turning to offer Kurt a hand. “We’ve got a little climb.”

She hauled Kurt up the first ledge with surprising strength, but as soon as he was up she turned and started climbing up the cliff like she’d been born to it, quickly ascending while Kurt scrambled to keep up below her.

“Here,” she said. Kurt followed her gaze to a cracked stone pipe, just big enough to fit a person if they crouched down. “It’s an old drainpipe, used to empty out from the cesspits, but it hasn’t been used for that in a long time. Normally it’s a dead end, because it starts below the distillery and the vats are usually full of something, but thankfully there’s been no need to do any distilling, lately. Not enough of us to distill for.”

She turned and looked at Kurt frankly.

“I can lead you up and into the castle--and you’ll be right by the dungeons, which is where Blaine was when I left. But when we get there, I’m going to need something from you.”

“What?”

“I’ll let you know when we get there,” Santana said, and without another word she crouched down and slipped into the drainpipe.

The trip was pitch black and Kurt had to keep a hand along the wall of the pipe and go slowly, always careful not to slam into the back of Santana. As it was, they bumped into each other a few times, and stumbled, and had to pause to gather themselves more than once. And the entire time, the grainy dampness of the stone lay beneath Kurt’s fingers, keeping him grounded when it felt very much like he was lost in a world of echoing darkness.

Finally, Santana paused, and after a long moment of cursing and the sound of scraping, light entered the pipe, along with a strong, sharp smell. Kurt eyes watered, both from the smell and the sudden brightness.

“If you climb up here, you’ll actually be inside one of the vats that used to ferment the wine,” Santana explained in a whisper. “I’m going to climb up, and I want you to count to one hundred, and then you can follow.”

“Is that what I’m doing for you?” Kurt asked.

“No,” she said. “What you’re going to do for me is take care of Brittany if I don’t pull this off.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Quicker than he could realize what she meant, Santana was up and out of the pipe. Kurt followed, sticking his head out of the hole, and he was just in time to see her climbing up the ladder built into the edge of the vat. She swung over, and Kurt bit his lip to keep from calling out.

There were sounds. Santana yelling in a foreign language, the shouting of soldiers, the whisper of a sword pulled from a scabbard. Finally, there was a heavy thud, followed by clearer voices.

“Let’s bring her up--”

And then silence. Kurt had only reached seventy-four.

He counted another ten seconds, and then climbed out, leaving the drain he’d climbed in through open, just in case.

The lowest level of the castle was lit by torches, and Kurt jumped at every flicker of shadow as he looked around and got his bearings. He had never been down here, and had no idea where the dungeons were located, but he only had one way out and he had to take it.

Thankfully, he encountered nobody as he slipped through the shadows--Santana must have caused enough of a ruckus, or been heavy enough of a dead weight (oh, gods) to require whoever was down here to “bring her up.”

Until he found the dungeon.

There was a foyer, of sorts—a large, square room that had a few tables and benches around, presumably for guards. The door Kurt peeked around was in the corner of the room, and there were two others leading out—one along the wall perpendicular to his door, and another in the far corner of the room. There was a single guard, stationed straight ahead of him, back to that door, facing the whole of the room. He was standing at attention, eyes perfectly forward. He was carrying a spear, a sword at his hip, and he was wearing leather and chainmail armor, fully kitted up.

There was no way he could best the guard in open combat, or convince him to let him pass. He’d have to kill him before he had the chance to defend himself.

Shaking, he pulled his dagger and crept as quietly as he could along the edge of the room. It was very dark, and Kurt was grateful he’d worn black--the guard would have seen him in his peripherals otherwise. As it was, he was surprised that his skin hadn’t given him away.

He drew closer, and he took a deep, quiet breath. He decided to aim for the throat--it was a big enough area that he would probably not miss, as well as being fatal to slice open and with the added effect of silencing his victim.

His victim. He was going to commit murder.

It’s for Blaine.

“Hunter, get up here!”

The guard whipped his head around to the door opposite from where Kurt crouched. He stalked to the door and called out, “I’ve got the prisoner--”

“He’s locked in! Get up here, godsdamnit!”

And suddenly Kurt was alone.

For a long moment, he stood in the shadows, dagger still raised, sweating and shaking and on the verge of tears. But then he realized that Blaine was in the next room, and he ran into the dungeon.

“Blaine!”

Blaine was in the center cell, just across from the entrance. He was huddled up on the floor, head hung, arms around his knees. But as soon as Kurt said his name, he turned his head, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

“Kurt?”

“Blaine,” Kurt sobbed, rushing forward and falling to his knees in front of the cell. His hands grabbed the bars, pulling himself closer, as close to Blaine as he could. “I’m here, I came for you--”

“Kurt, you have to go!” Blaine whispered frantically. “The guard--he could be back any minute--”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Kurt said.

Blaine knelt up next to him, bringing his hands up to circle around Kurt’s.

“I...Kurt, please,” he begged, and Kurt prepared to fend off another order to flee, but Blaine surprised him. “Please just...tell me that you still love me. I wrote to you, all those letters, and--”

Kurt reached into the cell and stroked Blaine’s cheek.

“They intercepted our letters,” Kurt said. “I...I didn’t think you were writing to me either. I think Sebastian wanted us in the dark, doubting. But it’s not going to work. I’m going to get you out of here, and we’re going to meet up with Lord Nicholas in Westerville, unless he’s already on his way. He should have gotten my messages by now--”

And then Blaine was pressing his face to the bars, his hand snaking out through the bars and threading into Kurt’s hair, pulling him in for a desperate kiss.

Blaine’s lips were dry and cracked, but Kurt didn’t care. He leaned into it, embracing Blaine as best he could through the bars and opening his mouth, deepening the kiss as much as he could with a barrier between them.

“I love you,” Blaine whimpered. “I thought I’d rot in here never knowing if I’d see you again, and--gods, Kurt, never leave me again, please--”

“Never,” Kurt promised. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m never saying goodbye to you.”

They kissed again--quick, fierce--before Kurt pulled back, aching for every inch between them.

“We need to get out of here,” he gasped, pulling his dagger out and testing the tip. “Just...let me try to pick the lock--”

“Why don’t you just use the key.”

Kurt spun around.