FIC: The Lonely King, 1/1
Title: The Lonely King
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Rachel/Finn
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A dark fairy tale in which there's a happy princess, a brave prince, a huntsman who doesn't belong and a lonely king. (Snow White inspired).
Warnings: none.
Word Count: 2070
The Lonely King
Once upon a time there was a lonely king. He sat in his borrowed throne, pale skin and blue eyes, staring ahead through the dancing crowd at the court and the palace he had never asked for. Next to him, King Leroy, who had had great joy in announcing that he would give him the honor of becoming his second husband, smiled. And the lonely king, the lonely king only wished someone had asked for his own wishes.
But as it was, he was king consort now, and as such, he observed the dance.
The princess had just turned eighteen years old, and so the palace had been filled with nobles from this land and from others. She danced and twirled and laughed, her warm beauty shining among the crowd. And the people loved her beauty, the lonely king knew, for it was comforting and open, while they seemed to fear his, for it was cold and distant.
He watched her dance, the tall and dumb prince that was her favorite whispering promises in her ear. For a moment, the lonely king wished that the prince would turn his eyes on him, would admire the sight that King Leroy had bought for himself, the trophy that the lonely king had been turned into. But it was not to be.
On the sidelines of the dance, the huntsman watched. He smiled at the princess' antics, for they were old friends and he enjoyed her laughter. And yet, somewhere inside him, he hated this room, for he wasn't high enough in the world to share himself with the nobles, and yet the servants treated him as such. So his eyes wandered, sad and tired, and found themselves enchanted by a kindred pair. A pair that was blue and bottomless, and should never made to be so sad.
*
The day came when King Leroy died. It was a bright day, as if the Heaven's had decided to celebrate his welcoming, rather than mourn it. It was the people who mourned, and with them the beautiful princess.
Once the rituals were finished, and the black lifted from the palace, though, the lonely king took his rightful place, not as consort, but as ruler. The people admired his beauty, but they feared it, too, and so they whispered among themselves how they wished for the princess' hand to be the one they yielded under.
The lonely king understood, for she was a smiling bundle of joy, a small girl born to sing and happy to give into the pleasures of life without a second thought. But the kingdom was his, and his it should remain.
Winter came and the fields and forests turned white with snow, too cold to bare, the coldest even the oldest of people had ever known. They blamed it on the lonely king's eyes, on his fair skin, on his unreadable lips, and claimed their love for the warmth of the princess. And so the king grew cruel and harsh, and it was said that his skin was nothing but marble and his eyes sapphires stolen from Hell, and doomed to make the world die in the cold.
*
"Perhaps if you sang with me, if they saw joy in you," the princess said one day.
Her intentions were pure but misguided, filled with childish naiveté, for the world hadn't been made to love the lonely king, and no amount of songs would change that.
Rebellion started across the border, the neighboring kingdoms wondering about the legends surrounding the lonely king. The claims to give the princess her rightful place came to his ears, constant and tiring, always full with the hope of her warmth restoring the kingdom. Resolved to not be tormented by such talk and fight, he called the huntsman to his rooms.
"You shall take the princess for a walk on the woods," he instructed. "You will make sure night falls upon you, and then you will kill her."
He heard the huntsman's gasp, loud in the quiet room.
"Your Majesty, I-I-" he said nothing more, wilting under the lonely king's cold stare.
The king looked and looked for a long time, for the huntsman was dark and warm, just like the princess, and he couldn't help but lust for something he could never be.
"Are you not my huntsman? Don't you belong to me?"
The air seemed to leave the huntsman's body, loud and fast, when he whispered, "Yes."
"Then you will kill her," the king dictated finally. "And you will bring me her heart."
*
Just as he was told, the huntsman took the princess for a walk, a ritual they had shared on many an occasion, for they had grown up together and had found love in their differences. She talked and talked as they fought their way through the snow, gushing about the promises her prince made in his constant letters. And the huntsman knew why she was loved, for her song and her beauty were a ray of light in the darkness. Yet, there was a childish arrogance in her, and he could do nothing but wish people would see whatever good was left in the lonely king's heart.
Night fell upon them, and when rain soaked them to their bones, the princess blamed his insistence on such a long walk.
"We shall go back now," she said. "And I shall blame you for my ruined dress."
But he didn't give her the chance to begin her way back, grasping her wrists and holding her in place. She didn't struggle, confused by such actions from her closest friend in the world.
"The king wants you dead," he said, watching her dark eyes open wide. "You must run, run to your prince and seek protection."
"But you, you must come with me!" she exclaimed, her hands shaking, grasping his clothes and pulling.
"No, I will go back, and I will buy you time."
*
The huntsman brought a bloody bag to the lonely king, heavy with a stag's heart, but the king was not to be fooled so easily, and he brought a quick hand to the huntsman's neck.
"Do you take me for a fool?" he whispered. "Do you mean to turn your back on me like the rest of the kingdom and expect me not to notice?"
The huntsman swallowed, the king's hand a surprising pressure against his throat. His fingers were long and soft, a grounding presence against his still wet skin.
"No, Your Majesty," he answered. "But you asked the impossible from me."
"You said you were mine. You said-"
"And I am, I am nothing but yours."
The lonely king let him go, taking his hand away as if burnt. And the huntsman looked at him, his gaze trained on what the people called the bottomless pit that were the king's eyes. But he didn't find such a thing in the king's cloudy eyes. All he found was pain and despair, burning so deeply that the huntsman could do nothing but weep.
Weep he did, and when he closed the distance that separated him from the lonely king, he kissed his pale lips, and his fair skin, and surrendered to him. The king's kisses were long and deep, as were the touches he eventually bestowed upon the huntsman's body, both of them laying together on a bed that felt too big for their bodies, that suddenly couldn't bear to stay apart.
And in their madness, the huntsman thought that no one knew this king, for there was nothing but warmth in his touch.
*
The lonely king ordered his guard to find the princess under the pretence that she must have gotten lost in the forest. The huntsman said nothing, hoping that she had taken his advice and ran to a safe haven.
For three days and three nights the huntsman didn't leave the king's rooms, his hands and body worshiping skin that was starving for a reverent touch. And under the lonely king's body, the huntsman found a home.
The dawn of the third day came, and the king, all of his skin on display, looked upon the woods through his balcony.
"Do you miss it?" he asked, and the huntsman, equally naked, walked towards him and placed his hands on the king's shoulders, and then slid them down to his hips.
The king shivered, and he was wrapped in strong arms in no time at all.
"I do," the huntsman answered. "There's secret places only I know, places where I never even took the princess. Places I could show you."
"So you can rip my heart out without anyone knowing?"
"I will only take your heart, Your Majesty, if you give it to me."
*
Sunset came on the third day, and the guards walked into the palace, a bloody princess between their arms. Her hair was a wild mess, and her nose bled, painting her lips red.
"Leave us," the king ordered.
So the princess kneeled, the lonely king smiled, and the huntsman watched. The princess' cries were quiet but felt loud in the room. They were constant and unstoppable, and only subsided when the king presented her with an apple. She took the offering, and before she took a bite, the king stopped her, pale hand a stark contrast against the princess' skin and the red apple.
"Careful, princess, it is a poisoned apple."
The princess gasped, and dropped the fruit.
"You will eat it, unless you find a way to calm the crowds of rebels and make sure they know who their king is. And while you do, I will put this apple in a glass case in your room, just so you remember the shadow of death that follows you."
There was silence then.
And after the silence, there was noise.
*
The prince's army stormed the castle when the night was fully dark outside. Covered by the black sky, they killed and maimed and fought their way to the king's chambers, where they found a princess, a king, a huntsman and an apple.
The princess had managed to send word to her prince, after all, and he was the first to walk into the rooms, tall and brave and handsome, warm and sweet in his beauty, just like the princess. The lonely king was quick as lighting, though, wrapping his arm around the princess' waist and pressing a dagger to her neck.
"I will kill her," he said, and the huntsman knew the truth behind his words, for he had learnt to spy the burning anger in the king's eyes.
So the huntsman decided it was his time to be the hero, and pushing the king from behind, managed to free the princess. There was betrayal in the king's eyes then, and fear in the huntsman's, for the prince was charging forward, sword held high.
"No!" screamed the princess, stopping her prince when his sword had merely graced the neck of a kneeling king.
There was a single drop of blood, red and bright against the white column of the lonely king's neck, mirroring the tear that had escaped the huntsman's eyes.
"Leave him," the princess declared. "Leave him here in his lonely palace, and let those who are loyal to him stay. We will build our own palace, and rule over the kingdom as we see fit. This building and its empty halls will be punishment enough."
And so, little by little, every person alive left the palace. Guards and servants and nobles emptied the rooms and halls, until there was no one there but the lonely king and the huntsman. Outside, the sun shone anew, and the huntsman spied a new kind of warmth coming from the woods. But he ignored it, the warm kingdom that hadn't known how to love this lonely king, and kneeled behind him, pressing his arms around the king's.
"You are free to go," the king said, his eyes on the floor, his shoulders hunched.
"But I belong to you," the huntsman said.
The lonely king turned in his arms, touched his hair, his forehead, his cheek. "Then you can have my heart," he said.
And so they kissed, finding their own kind of warmth.
The prince and the princess lived happily ever after, the huntsman found a place where he belonged, and the lonely king... well, he wasn't lonely anymore.
The End.
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Rachel/Finn
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A dark fairy tale in which there's a happy princess, a brave prince, a huntsman who doesn't belong and a lonely king. (Snow White inspired).
Warnings: none.
Word Count: 2070
The Lonely King
Once upon a time there was a lonely king. He sat in his borrowed throne, pale skin and blue eyes, staring ahead through the dancing crowd at the court and the palace he had never asked for. Next to him, King Leroy, who had had great joy in announcing that he would give him the honor of becoming his second husband, smiled. And the lonely king, the lonely king only wished someone had asked for his own wishes.
But as it was, he was king consort now, and as such, he observed the dance.
The princess had just turned eighteen years old, and so the palace had been filled with nobles from this land and from others. She danced and twirled and laughed, her warm beauty shining among the crowd. And the people loved her beauty, the lonely king knew, for it was comforting and open, while they seemed to fear his, for it was cold and distant.
He watched her dance, the tall and dumb prince that was her favorite whispering promises in her ear. For a moment, the lonely king wished that the prince would turn his eyes on him, would admire the sight that King Leroy had bought for himself, the trophy that the lonely king had been turned into. But it was not to be.
On the sidelines of the dance, the huntsman watched. He smiled at the princess' antics, for they were old friends and he enjoyed her laughter. And yet, somewhere inside him, he hated this room, for he wasn't high enough in the world to share himself with the nobles, and yet the servants treated him as such. So his eyes wandered, sad and tired, and found themselves enchanted by a kindred pair. A pair that was blue and bottomless, and should never made to be so sad.
*
The day came when King Leroy died. It was a bright day, as if the Heaven's had decided to celebrate his welcoming, rather than mourn it. It was the people who mourned, and with them the beautiful princess.
Once the rituals were finished, and the black lifted from the palace, though, the lonely king took his rightful place, not as consort, but as ruler. The people admired his beauty, but they feared it, too, and so they whispered among themselves how they wished for the princess' hand to be the one they yielded under.
The lonely king understood, for she was a smiling bundle of joy, a small girl born to sing and happy to give into the pleasures of life without a second thought. But the kingdom was his, and his it should remain.
Winter came and the fields and forests turned white with snow, too cold to bare, the coldest even the oldest of people had ever known. They blamed it on the lonely king's eyes, on his fair skin, on his unreadable lips, and claimed their love for the warmth of the princess. And so the king grew cruel and harsh, and it was said that his skin was nothing but marble and his eyes sapphires stolen from Hell, and doomed to make the world die in the cold.
*
"Perhaps if you sang with me, if they saw joy in you," the princess said one day.
Her intentions were pure but misguided, filled with childish naiveté, for the world hadn't been made to love the lonely king, and no amount of songs would change that.
Rebellion started across the border, the neighboring kingdoms wondering about the legends surrounding the lonely king. The claims to give the princess her rightful place came to his ears, constant and tiring, always full with the hope of her warmth restoring the kingdom. Resolved to not be tormented by such talk and fight, he called the huntsman to his rooms.
"You shall take the princess for a walk on the woods," he instructed. "You will make sure night falls upon you, and then you will kill her."
He heard the huntsman's gasp, loud in the quiet room.
"Your Majesty, I-I-" he said nothing more, wilting under the lonely king's cold stare.
The king looked and looked for a long time, for the huntsman was dark and warm, just like the princess, and he couldn't help but lust for something he could never be.
"Are you not my huntsman? Don't you belong to me?"
The air seemed to leave the huntsman's body, loud and fast, when he whispered, "Yes."
"Then you will kill her," the king dictated finally. "And you will bring me her heart."
*
Just as he was told, the huntsman took the princess for a walk, a ritual they had shared on many an occasion, for they had grown up together and had found love in their differences. She talked and talked as they fought their way through the snow, gushing about the promises her prince made in his constant letters. And the huntsman knew why she was loved, for her song and her beauty were a ray of light in the darkness. Yet, there was a childish arrogance in her, and he could do nothing but wish people would see whatever good was left in the lonely king's heart.
Night fell upon them, and when rain soaked them to their bones, the princess blamed his insistence on such a long walk.
"We shall go back now," she said. "And I shall blame you for my ruined dress."
But he didn't give her the chance to begin her way back, grasping her wrists and holding her in place. She didn't struggle, confused by such actions from her closest friend in the world.
"The king wants you dead," he said, watching her dark eyes open wide. "You must run, run to your prince and seek protection."
"But you, you must come with me!" she exclaimed, her hands shaking, grasping his clothes and pulling.
"No, I will go back, and I will buy you time."
*
The huntsman brought a bloody bag to the lonely king, heavy with a stag's heart, but the king was not to be fooled so easily, and he brought a quick hand to the huntsman's neck.
"Do you take me for a fool?" he whispered. "Do you mean to turn your back on me like the rest of the kingdom and expect me not to notice?"
The huntsman swallowed, the king's hand a surprising pressure against his throat. His fingers were long and soft, a grounding presence against his still wet skin.
"No, Your Majesty," he answered. "But you asked the impossible from me."
"You said you were mine. You said-"
"And I am, I am nothing but yours."
The lonely king let him go, taking his hand away as if burnt. And the huntsman looked at him, his gaze trained on what the people called the bottomless pit that were the king's eyes. But he didn't find such a thing in the king's cloudy eyes. All he found was pain and despair, burning so deeply that the huntsman could do nothing but weep.
Weep he did, and when he closed the distance that separated him from the lonely king, he kissed his pale lips, and his fair skin, and surrendered to him. The king's kisses were long and deep, as were the touches he eventually bestowed upon the huntsman's body, both of them laying together on a bed that felt too big for their bodies, that suddenly couldn't bear to stay apart.
And in their madness, the huntsman thought that no one knew this king, for there was nothing but warmth in his touch.
*
The lonely king ordered his guard to find the princess under the pretence that she must have gotten lost in the forest. The huntsman said nothing, hoping that she had taken his advice and ran to a safe haven.
For three days and three nights the huntsman didn't leave the king's rooms, his hands and body worshiping skin that was starving for a reverent touch. And under the lonely king's body, the huntsman found a home.
The dawn of the third day came, and the king, all of his skin on display, looked upon the woods through his balcony.
"Do you miss it?" he asked, and the huntsman, equally naked, walked towards him and placed his hands on the king's shoulders, and then slid them down to his hips.
The king shivered, and he was wrapped in strong arms in no time at all.
"I do," the huntsman answered. "There's secret places only I know, places where I never even took the princess. Places I could show you."
"So you can rip my heart out without anyone knowing?"
"I will only take your heart, Your Majesty, if you give it to me."
*
Sunset came on the third day, and the guards walked into the palace, a bloody princess between their arms. Her hair was a wild mess, and her nose bled, painting her lips red.
"Leave us," the king ordered.
So the princess kneeled, the lonely king smiled, and the huntsman watched. The princess' cries were quiet but felt loud in the room. They were constant and unstoppable, and only subsided when the king presented her with an apple. She took the offering, and before she took a bite, the king stopped her, pale hand a stark contrast against the princess' skin and the red apple.
"Careful, princess, it is a poisoned apple."
The princess gasped, and dropped the fruit.
"You will eat it, unless you find a way to calm the crowds of rebels and make sure they know who their king is. And while you do, I will put this apple in a glass case in your room, just so you remember the shadow of death that follows you."
There was silence then.
And after the silence, there was noise.
*
The prince's army stormed the castle when the night was fully dark outside. Covered by the black sky, they killed and maimed and fought their way to the king's chambers, where they found a princess, a king, a huntsman and an apple.
The princess had managed to send word to her prince, after all, and he was the first to walk into the rooms, tall and brave and handsome, warm and sweet in his beauty, just like the princess. The lonely king was quick as lighting, though, wrapping his arm around the princess' waist and pressing a dagger to her neck.
"I will kill her," he said, and the huntsman knew the truth behind his words, for he had learnt to spy the burning anger in the king's eyes.
So the huntsman decided it was his time to be the hero, and pushing the king from behind, managed to free the princess. There was betrayal in the king's eyes then, and fear in the huntsman's, for the prince was charging forward, sword held high.
"No!" screamed the princess, stopping her prince when his sword had merely graced the neck of a kneeling king.
There was a single drop of blood, red and bright against the white column of the lonely king's neck, mirroring the tear that had escaped the huntsman's eyes.
"Leave him," the princess declared. "Leave him here in his lonely palace, and let those who are loyal to him stay. We will build our own palace, and rule over the kingdom as we see fit. This building and its empty halls will be punishment enough."
And so, little by little, every person alive left the palace. Guards and servants and nobles emptied the rooms and halls, until there was no one there but the lonely king and the huntsman. Outside, the sun shone anew, and the huntsman spied a new kind of warmth coming from the woods. But he ignored it, the warm kingdom that hadn't known how to love this lonely king, and kneeled behind him, pressing his arms around the king's.
"You are free to go," the king said, his eyes on the floor, his shoulders hunched.
"But I belong to you," the huntsman said.
The lonely king turned in his arms, touched his hair, his forehead, his cheek. "Then you can have my heart," he said.
And so they kissed, finding their own kind of warmth.
The prince and the princess lived happily ever after, the huntsman found a place where he belonged, and the lonely king... well, he wasn't lonely anymore.
The End.