Fic: The King and His Fool Ch. 2/5
Title: The King and His Fool
Chapter 2: Returns a King
Word Count: 724
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, simply this plot. Oh, and a copy of the 300 soundtrack that inspired four of these chapters. THIS - IS - GOTHAAAAAAM!!!
Rating: PG
Warnings: dastardly plots of violence and conquest. *wrings hands together evilly*
Chapter Summary: The king has sat on his throne for far too long. The fool has plans to tip the balance.
A/N: Inspired by the song from the 300 soundtrack of the same title, "Returns a King."
The king listens in the palace hall. Something is wrong. More so than usual. The servants seem more tense than is the norm, whispering constantly amongst themselves behind turned backs and closed doors. But the king hears the whispers. He always does. And he knows what they mean.
He knew it would have been only a matter of time. The silence had been too good to last.
Rising to his feet, he wearily marches down the grand entrance, towards the door. The most trusted of his servants sees him leave, and knows why. Eventually, word leaks out: the king has left, once again vanished with no prior notice. Yet they all know the reason.
The reason is the jester’s equally mysterious absence.
And so the palace sits perched in limbo with bated breath, to await their monarch’s return.
Finally, after weeks of hushed peace masking silent deterioration, a sour chord of a trumpet fanfare is heard. The palace bursts into bustle. A frenzied, whispered chorus of “The king has returned!” sweeps through the court, as the guards take their positions to greet their king and his returning captive. The people kneel in their rehearsed assembly in a humble welcome.
When the doors burst open, the guards drop to their knees in horror. For a king and a captive have indeed returned.
Just not in the order they had anticipated.
The mad jester waltzes through the grand entrance, twirling his harlequin-headed scepter in one hand and dragging the chained king behind him with the other. His army of ghoulish clowns scatters like ants behind him, slashing and pulverizing the petrified subjects along the way.
The balance of power has shifted again.
The usurped ruler is chained to the wall behind the throne, his body splayed in the shape of a cross. The jester king watches in a gleeful reverence, taking care that his slaves do not harm his beloved trophy. Upon his orders, the crown of thorns on the wall is placed upon the martyr’s head, held high on his brow by the two horns that still spring from his ears. The horns hold up his thorny halo, as his black cloak is fanned out about him, appearing as the dark wings of an angel fallen into hell. The demonic savior. The Satanic messiah.
The royal fool takes his newly-stolen black throne at the head of the hall, and out of sheer terror and panic, the subjects bow down to their new ruler. He orders half to be executed, unless they choose ten young men among them to act as sacrifices, to please the gods above and bestow good fortune upon the new ruler. Instantly, they scramble, turning the sacred hall to chaos.
The conqueror hides a sly grin, while the crucified king shakes his head in defeat. For no one realizes but them: there are no sacrifices to be made that would end this.
For they are the only gods in this kingdom.
Late that night, when the waning gibbous moon shines bright on the bloodied hall, the only two remaining disrupt their silent vigil.
“You’ll never break them.”
The jester smiles. “All in good time, my liege.”
“You can kill all you like, but you can’t undo them completely. Not while I remain here.”
“Oh?” the fool chuckles, “and why is that?”
“Because they still fall under my protection,” grunts the reply from behind him. “Just as you held the power to destroy them when you stood behind me, so do I hold the power to keep them safe as I hang behind you.”
The jester’s eyes never move as he stares out into the open night. “This is my time now,” he intones. “You’ve had your fun hiding me from them. It’s time I hid you away while I took center stage in their hearts and minds.”
The hall falls silent again with the cold finality of his words. The monarch has spoken.
“Besides,” he adds, “maybe I like you better behind me. This way…” he trails off, staring at the moon.
The martyr finally breaks the stillness. “This way what?”
“…this way…you can always be watching over me.”
The quiet settles in for the rest of the night, as the jester is only met with his fellow king’s grave, acquiescent silence. For he knows the jester, as always, speaks the truth.
Chapter 2: Returns a King
Word Count: 724
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, simply this plot. Oh, and a copy of the 300 soundtrack that inspired four of these chapters. THIS - IS - GOTHAAAAAAM!!!
Rating: PG
Warnings: dastardly plots of violence and conquest. *wrings hands together evilly*
Chapter Summary: The king has sat on his throne for far too long. The fool has plans to tip the balance.
A/N: Inspired by the song from the 300 soundtrack of the same title, "Returns a King."
The king listens in the palace hall. Something is wrong. More so than usual. The servants seem more tense than is the norm, whispering constantly amongst themselves behind turned backs and closed doors. But the king hears the whispers. He always does. And he knows what they mean.
He knew it would have been only a matter of time. The silence had been too good to last.
Rising to his feet, he wearily marches down the grand entrance, towards the door. The most trusted of his servants sees him leave, and knows why. Eventually, word leaks out: the king has left, once again vanished with no prior notice. Yet they all know the reason.
The reason is the jester’s equally mysterious absence.
And so the palace sits perched in limbo with bated breath, to await their monarch’s return.
Finally, after weeks of hushed peace masking silent deterioration, a sour chord of a trumpet fanfare is heard. The palace bursts into bustle. A frenzied, whispered chorus of “The king has returned!” sweeps through the court, as the guards take their positions to greet their king and his returning captive. The people kneel in their rehearsed assembly in a humble welcome.
When the doors burst open, the guards drop to their knees in horror. For a king and a captive have indeed returned.
Just not in the order they had anticipated.
The mad jester waltzes through the grand entrance, twirling his harlequin-headed scepter in one hand and dragging the chained king behind him with the other. His army of ghoulish clowns scatters like ants behind him, slashing and pulverizing the petrified subjects along the way.
The balance of power has shifted again.
The usurped ruler is chained to the wall behind the throne, his body splayed in the shape of a cross. The jester king watches in a gleeful reverence, taking care that his slaves do not harm his beloved trophy. Upon his orders, the crown of thorns on the wall is placed upon the martyr’s head, held high on his brow by the two horns that still spring from his ears. The horns hold up his thorny halo, as his black cloak is fanned out about him, appearing as the dark wings of an angel fallen into hell. The demonic savior. The Satanic messiah.
The royal fool takes his newly-stolen black throne at the head of the hall, and out of sheer terror and panic, the subjects bow down to their new ruler. He orders half to be executed, unless they choose ten young men among them to act as sacrifices, to please the gods above and bestow good fortune upon the new ruler. Instantly, they scramble, turning the sacred hall to chaos.
The conqueror hides a sly grin, while the crucified king shakes his head in defeat. For no one realizes but them: there are no sacrifices to be made that would end this.
For they are the only gods in this kingdom.
Late that night, when the waning gibbous moon shines bright on the bloodied hall, the only two remaining disrupt their silent vigil.
“You’ll never break them.”
The jester smiles. “All in good time, my liege.”
“You can kill all you like, but you can’t undo them completely. Not while I remain here.”
“Oh?” the fool chuckles, “and why is that?”
“Because they still fall under my protection,” grunts the reply from behind him. “Just as you held the power to destroy them when you stood behind me, so do I hold the power to keep them safe as I hang behind you.”
The jester’s eyes never move as he stares out into the open night. “This is my time now,” he intones. “You’ve had your fun hiding me from them. It’s time I hid you away while I took center stage in their hearts and minds.”
The hall falls silent again with the cold finality of his words. The monarch has spoken.
“Besides,” he adds, “maybe I like you better behind me. This way…” he trails off, staring at the moon.
The martyr finally breaks the stillness. “This way what?”
“…this way…you can always be watching over me.”
The quiet settles in for the rest of the night, as the jester is only met with his fellow king’s grave, acquiescent silence. For he knows the jester, as always, speaks the truth.