Fic: The King and His Fool Ch. 4/5
Title: The King and His Fool
Chapter 4: What Must a King Do?
Word Count: 820
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, just this weird medieval world I've written them into.
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: implied sex/bondage (finally!)
Chapter Summary: It all started in the king's battle tent. The jester's tongue can send anyone over the edge, but neither could prepare for falling off this edge together.
A/N: This chapter is titled from the song "What Must a King Do?" from the 300 soundtrack, but is actually inspired from listening to "Xerxes' Tent." Trust me, if you've heard it or seen the movie, you may get where I'm coming from. xP Oh, and "the captain of the guard" = Gordon, because I couldn't not include the commish in this, too. <3 you, Jimbo!!!
It had all begun in the king’s battle tent.
It had been the latest campaign against the enemies of the kingdom, and he was of course obligated to travel with his army. Even if asked to stay in the palace to handle matters of diplomacy, he knew he would have come anyway. No matter how much the head of housekeeping insist he stay, he would fight nonetheless. Because he was needed. Because he had to.
The captain of the guard had just gone over their latest strategy with him for the next morning’s final victory, and then left him alone for the night.
With the prisoner.
Normally prisoners were kept in a separate tent under the constant watch of the elite order of sentinels, but not this one. It wasn’t that the army officers wished their king ill will, far from it. It was just that no one else could be trusted around this particular prisoner. Experience had painfully taught them that even the slightest bend of his phrases could snap their tempers and drive them to dangerous extremes. So the king was left alone with the jester to watch him, maintaining his brooding manner of silence as he always did.
The problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure if even he could trust himself around the fool anymore.
He couldn’t bear to face the jester; not in the memories of the countless lives lost to that cackling face. And so he stood with his back to the fool in dominating silence, while the smiling prisoner sat chained to a post in the middle of the tent, grinning up at his captor’s back.
When he began to speak with that vile tongue of his, the king merely stood there, letting the words roll over his conscience and away from his battered mind. There was no need to listen to the babblings of the prisoner; it would cause more harm than good. And so he continued to passively ignore the fool’s banter.
That is, until some of the banter began to fester in his head.
He spoke of many things, each word a knife that twisted deeper into the king’s heart. The innocents gone; the soldiers slaughtered; the loved ones lost. Even how the king himself was lost, doomed to the tide of war that he could never slow, only bear the brunt of for his people. The king let an irritated sigh escape his nostrils, but he refused to respond to the jester’s taunts.
Until his body began unexpectedly responding for him.
His jaw clenched as the jester hit on topics closer to home, targeting those the king knew and trusted personally. He chose his words well, worming their way into the king’s ears with toxic accuracy. He especially took care to lace his speech with certain turns of phrases that whispered of…other things, stabbing at the honor of the king’s advisors while perking up the king’s ears to the devious innuendos…
Then the arrow hit the king’s heartstrings. The final, deadly weapon was chosen with care, saved for the jester’s use at just the right moment. He spoke of the dead queen. The queen who was murdered early in the war, by the hands of the jester himself. He even remarked how the king had “never even shown her a good time.” “Well,” the fool giggled out, “at least I had a good time watching you cry over her!”
At that, the king slowly rounded on the laughing captive. Livid vengeance burned in his eyes as he crashed into the jester’s lips, clawing the shocked body forcefully with raging hands.
He had had a good time killing his queen?
Well, he was about to show the fool what his idea of a good time was.
The jester closed his eyes in submissive joy as he was stripped, still chained to the tent post. The king was furious to the point of murder, yet restrained that impulse to commit a crime far worse. He vilely defiled the jester’s body, listening to his yelps with a perverse satisfaction that just made him even more infuriated with the whole situation. This just drove him to more and more immoral extremes, until they both fell under the raw power of it all, and gasped for air together, becoming one.
When it was over, they met each other’s eyes, both intimidated by what they saw in each others’ gaze that was reflected perfectly in their own. They instantly recoiled from each other, and spent the rest of the night in solitude, consumed with the implications of their thoughts and actions.
The next day, the battle was narrowly won and the king’s army returned home, victorious but in shambles. The jester was taken to the dungeons, yet easily found his way back to the king’s court. Their secret gradually became a guilty pleasure, then a sacred ritual, bringing to life the bond they have always shared.
Chapter 4: What Must a King Do?
Word Count: 820
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, just this weird medieval world I've written them into.
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: implied sex/bondage (finally!)
Chapter Summary: It all started in the king's battle tent. The jester's tongue can send anyone over the edge, but neither could prepare for falling off this edge together.
A/N: This chapter is titled from the song "What Must a King Do?" from the 300 soundtrack, but is actually inspired from listening to "Xerxes' Tent." Trust me, if you've heard it or seen the movie, you may get where I'm coming from. xP Oh, and "the captain of the guard" = Gordon, because I couldn't not include the commish in this, too. <3 you, Jimbo!!!
It had all begun in the king’s battle tent.
It had been the latest campaign against the enemies of the kingdom, and he was of course obligated to travel with his army. Even if asked to stay in the palace to handle matters of diplomacy, he knew he would have come anyway. No matter how much the head of housekeeping insist he stay, he would fight nonetheless. Because he was needed. Because he had to.
The captain of the guard had just gone over their latest strategy with him for the next morning’s final victory, and then left him alone for the night.
With the prisoner.
Normally prisoners were kept in a separate tent under the constant watch of the elite order of sentinels, but not this one. It wasn’t that the army officers wished their king ill will, far from it. It was just that no one else could be trusted around this particular prisoner. Experience had painfully taught them that even the slightest bend of his phrases could snap their tempers and drive them to dangerous extremes. So the king was left alone with the jester to watch him, maintaining his brooding manner of silence as he always did.
The problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure if even he could trust himself around the fool anymore.
He couldn’t bear to face the jester; not in the memories of the countless lives lost to that cackling face. And so he stood with his back to the fool in dominating silence, while the smiling prisoner sat chained to a post in the middle of the tent, grinning up at his captor’s back.
When he began to speak with that vile tongue of his, the king merely stood there, letting the words roll over his conscience and away from his battered mind. There was no need to listen to the babblings of the prisoner; it would cause more harm than good. And so he continued to passively ignore the fool’s banter.
That is, until some of the banter began to fester in his head.
He spoke of many things, each word a knife that twisted deeper into the king’s heart. The innocents gone; the soldiers slaughtered; the loved ones lost. Even how the king himself was lost, doomed to the tide of war that he could never slow, only bear the brunt of for his people. The king let an irritated sigh escape his nostrils, but he refused to respond to the jester’s taunts.
Until his body began unexpectedly responding for him.
His jaw clenched as the jester hit on topics closer to home, targeting those the king knew and trusted personally. He chose his words well, worming their way into the king’s ears with toxic accuracy. He especially took care to lace his speech with certain turns of phrases that whispered of…other things, stabbing at the honor of the king’s advisors while perking up the king’s ears to the devious innuendos…
Then the arrow hit the king’s heartstrings. The final, deadly weapon was chosen with care, saved for the jester’s use at just the right moment. He spoke of the dead queen. The queen who was murdered early in the war, by the hands of the jester himself. He even remarked how the king had “never even shown her a good time.” “Well,” the fool giggled out, “at least I had a good time watching you cry over her!”
At that, the king slowly rounded on the laughing captive. Livid vengeance burned in his eyes as he crashed into the jester’s lips, clawing the shocked body forcefully with raging hands.
He had had a good time killing his queen?
Well, he was about to show the fool what his idea of a good time was.
The jester closed his eyes in submissive joy as he was stripped, still chained to the tent post. The king was furious to the point of murder, yet restrained that impulse to commit a crime far worse. He vilely defiled the jester’s body, listening to his yelps with a perverse satisfaction that just made him even more infuriated with the whole situation. This just drove him to more and more immoral extremes, until they both fell under the raw power of it all, and gasped for air together, becoming one.
When it was over, they met each other’s eyes, both intimidated by what they saw in each others’ gaze that was reflected perfectly in their own. They instantly recoiled from each other, and spent the rest of the night in solitude, consumed with the implications of their thoughts and actions.
The next day, the battle was narrowly won and the king’s army returned home, victorious but in shambles. The jester was taken to the dungeons, yet easily found his way back to the king’s court. Their secret gradually became a guilty pleasure, then a sacred ritual, bringing to life the bond they have always shared.