[Grimm Fic]: By Means of a Secret Charm - PG - 1/1
A/N: I wrote this for bellacatbee during five acts, but hate her and bballgirl3022 a bit for being such evil enablers. :P Why did they have to get me addicted to Grimm, Nick/Monroe and Barry/Roddy? I especially like the latter pairing because there's not as much of it. That always endears me to things. XD
Title: By Means of a Secret Charm
Disclaimer: I,
ladyknightanka, do not own Grimm. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission. The title was initially 'Barry's Tale', but I decided to quote The Pied Piper of Hamelin, instead.
Warnings: PG for one instance of the word 'damn', slight angst due to class differences, and fluff that will rot your teeth from your skull like no Wesen's business. Spoilers for 1.02 and 1.05.
Other Notes: ~1400w. Established Barry/Roddy with very vague mentions of Monroe/Nick. Medieval AU.
Summary: No matter what his parents say, no matter the differences between them, Prince Barry can't help his feelings for the Rabes' Reinigen stable boy.
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By Means of a Secret Charm
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Barry sits on a raised dais in the banquet hall. At his side are the Colbert brothers, who guffaw too loud as they flick food at one another, evidently delighted by their place of honor, but Barry can't help fidgeting in his seat.
It's strange to sit above his father and mother - above even Renard, High King of the Wesen, who had traversed many leagues from his own kingdom to knight and recruit the young Jägerbars of Rabe. From his makeshift throne, Barry can see everyone present: earnest, proud villagers, peasant or otherwise. Everyone had been invited.
His father taps against a glass to gain the hall's attention, then stands and clears his throat. “It's strange to be here today,” Frank says, normally somber mouth shaped into a grin, his free hand in his wife's, King Renard's gaze heavy on them both. “I remember the mischief my son used to get into - and with the Colberts by his side. It's strange that they're men worthy of your court now, my liege Renard, but also a point of pride for all here.”
Renard's eyes flash to meet Barry's. The high king is a bit smaller than him, but shadows coil beneath his dark orbs and placid smile. Barry breaks his stare to blink at the tabletop and Renard finally speaks. “Your son and subjects are great warriors, all. It's my honor to have them serve me, Frank. Trust in that.” Frank bows his head; Barry mimes him and notes that everyone else is, as well, some going so far as to kneel completely. Renard waves a hand at them. “Come now, this is unnecessary. Are we not both kings, Frank?”
“Of course, my liege,” Frank says, lips pursed to rein in a rebuttal. Barry understands why. Frank is a petty king and much respected in his small land, yes, but at most, is naught but a warlord. It's Renard whom all with Wesen blood submit to.
Although Barry knows he should follow his father's lead and remain demure, he can't stop himself from saying, “I've, er, eaten already. Can we start the ceremony now?”
Both of his parents shoot him admonitory frowns, but Renard merely chuckles. “I remember my own excitement, the day my sire let me join the ranks of his warriors. Just wait till your first quest.”
“Yes, sir,” Barry agrees at once. His eyes jerk back to his lap of their own accord. He swallows dryly, then waits for Renard to call him and the Colberts down to the circular clearing in the heart of the hall. The rest of the ceremony passes quickly. There isn't much for Barry to do, save kneel and be dubbed a knight. He'd already proven himself in a jousting tourney half a fortnight ago, so he has time aplenty to glance around yet again, to search for the face he most wants to see, but it's not there. Roddy isn't there.
“I dub thee, young Jägerbar, Sir Barry of Rabe,” Renard says, the tip of his blade bared flat on the broad swell of Barry's shoulder, but it feels as though he's stabbed Barry through the heart, instead. His ribcage reverberates a dull ache. At first chance, Barry retreats from the banquet hall and stomps through the otherwise empty village.
Roddy isn't home. His guardian and the resident clockmaker, Monroe, is with another man who looks vaguely familiar, attired as a knight would be in King Renard's royal colors. They both nod at Barry and Monroe says, “Nice to see you again. Roddy's, uh, you might find him in the stables. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Monroe,” Barry says, with a curt nod of his own. He whips back in the direction he came and runs all the way to the stables. He hears Roddy before he sees him, from just outside the stable doors - Roddy's sweet, lilting hums and the melodious plucks of his lyre strings.
Barry's shoulders droop. He shouldn't be here, if Roddy doesn't want him to be, if Roddy couldn't even spare an hour to watch him become a knight. Roddy falls silent inside, but before Barry can get too far away, calls after him. “You can...you could come in, you know?”
Barry swallows to wet his parched throat, but does as Roddy bids, while the toe of his boot drags across the floor. “Uh, hi,” he says. “It's...I haven't seen you in a while.”
Roddy looks the same. His sable curls shine beneath the faint torch-light within the stables. Although his hair is matted, Barry knows it to be soft, knows Roddy's pale skin to be the same, and easy to flush with the chastest of kisses, besides. Even in a torn brown tunic, even with his forehead scrunched in anger, he's beautiful. Roddy turns away to put his lyre down atop a clean pile of hay, beside other stacks meant for the Rabes' steeds.
“You ever stop to think I didn't want to see you?” he asks, the muscles in his back tense.
Barry stares at him a moment, but doesn't allow Roddy's vitriol to give him pause. He lopes forward till he's behind the younger man, till he's near enough to cradle large palms over the bony jut of Roddy's hips. Roddy doesn't relax at first, but Barry's thumbs shift to stroke what slivers of skin they can find beneath his shirt till Roddy leans back into him with a sigh.
“Your...” His voice trembles like it never does, like water in a storm, and Barry's grip tightens. His Roddy never speaks with anything but confidence. “Your mother saw us. S-she told me to stay away.”
Barry sucks in a sharp breath. When he lets it out, he notes how it washes over the tiny locks along the nape of Roddy's neck, till the tremors in Roddy's words move to envelop the rest of his body. “That's why you weren't there.” It's not a question.
Roddy spins in the cage of his arms and glowers up at him. “The queen loves you. Both your parents do and you're lucky for that. They're right not to want a peasant stable-boy making a shamble out of your life,” he says through gritted teeth.
Barry scowls and grumbles, “They're wrong for manipulating me like that. I'm not a kid. I know who to love, dammit.”
Roddy's skin drains a tint more pale. “L-love?” he mimes, and Barry takes the opportunity to catch him by the lips, drawing him deeper.
“So, what were you doing, anyway?” Barry inquires, upon disentangling himself. “You were going to hide with your rats and horses till I came to carry you away?”
“Shut up,” Roddy replies, cheeks prettily pink now. He slaps Barry's arm, but Barry hardly feels it, his wide grin more painful than any of Roddy's attempts to roughhouse have ever been. It wanes slightly when Roddy doesn't requite with a cant of his own mouth.
“What's wrong?” Barry asks, fingers wound around Roddy's slender biceps now. “They can't make me fall out of love, Roddy. I won't leave you.”
“But they're right.” Roddy's eyes grow glassy. “I-I'm a servant, nothing more. You're supposed to go to the high king's court, find some spoiled princess, and live happily ever after. That's not what you'll get with me.”
Barry breathes deep through flared nostrils, but his tone is level when he says, “You're right.” Roddy's neck cranes up so they can lock gazes. “You're right that I'm leaving my parents, leaving here, for Renard's court, but not without you. We are going to live happily ever after. Together.” He doesn't break eye-contact no matter how intense the conflict on Roddy's face becomes and, when Roddy throws himself into Barry's arms, Barry is ready to hug him tight, to never let go again. Or, that's his intention, anyway. He jokingly adds, “Guess this means you'll have to be my princess,” and Roddy extricates their limbs to slap him again.
Bright laughter bubbles in Barry's chest. For the first time since Roddy started avoiding him, he's happy. He knows they both will be, ever after.
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The End
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A/N: Hope it was okay for my first stab at these two. I'm hooked, though. Decided to post this now so it wouldn't be sitting in the cues, since I'm working on more Barry/Roddy for the beautiful _bluebells's birthday as we speak. And then there's the monster fic (no pun intended) I predict to be at least 10k. *headdesk*
Title: By Means of a Secret Charm
Disclaimer: I,
ladyknightanka, do not own Grimm. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission. The title was initially 'Barry's Tale', but I decided to quote The Pied Piper of Hamelin, instead.
Warnings: PG for one instance of the word 'damn', slight angst due to class differences, and fluff that will rot your teeth from your skull like no Wesen's business. Spoilers for 1.02 and 1.05.
Other Notes: ~1400w. Established Barry/Roddy with very vague mentions of Monroe/Nick. Medieval AU.
Summary: No matter what his parents say, no matter the differences between them, Prince Barry can't help his feelings for the Rabes' Reinigen stable boy.
-
By Means of a Secret Charm
-
Barry sits on a raised dais in the banquet hall. At his side are the Colbert brothers, who guffaw too loud as they flick food at one another, evidently delighted by their place of honor, but Barry can't help fidgeting in his seat.
It's strange to sit above his father and mother - above even Renard, High King of the Wesen, who had traversed many leagues from his own kingdom to knight and recruit the young Jägerbars of Rabe. From his makeshift throne, Barry can see everyone present: earnest, proud villagers, peasant or otherwise. Everyone had been invited.
His father taps against a glass to gain the hall's attention, then stands and clears his throat. “It's strange to be here today,” Frank says, normally somber mouth shaped into a grin, his free hand in his wife's, King Renard's gaze heavy on them both. “I remember the mischief my son used to get into - and with the Colberts by his side. It's strange that they're men worthy of your court now, my liege Renard, but also a point of pride for all here.”
Renard's eyes flash to meet Barry's. The high king is a bit smaller than him, but shadows coil beneath his dark orbs and placid smile. Barry breaks his stare to blink at the tabletop and Renard finally speaks. “Your son and subjects are great warriors, all. It's my honor to have them serve me, Frank. Trust in that.” Frank bows his head; Barry mimes him and notes that everyone else is, as well, some going so far as to kneel completely. Renard waves a hand at them. “Come now, this is unnecessary. Are we not both kings, Frank?”
“Of course, my liege,” Frank says, lips pursed to rein in a rebuttal. Barry understands why. Frank is a petty king and much respected in his small land, yes, but at most, is naught but a warlord. It's Renard whom all with Wesen blood submit to.
Although Barry knows he should follow his father's lead and remain demure, he can't stop himself from saying, “I've, er, eaten already. Can we start the ceremony now?”
Both of his parents shoot him admonitory frowns, but Renard merely chuckles. “I remember my own excitement, the day my sire let me join the ranks of his warriors. Just wait till your first quest.”
“Yes, sir,” Barry agrees at once. His eyes jerk back to his lap of their own accord. He swallows dryly, then waits for Renard to call him and the Colberts down to the circular clearing in the heart of the hall. The rest of the ceremony passes quickly. There isn't much for Barry to do, save kneel and be dubbed a knight. He'd already proven himself in a jousting tourney half a fortnight ago, so he has time aplenty to glance around yet again, to search for the face he most wants to see, but it's not there. Roddy isn't there.
“I dub thee, young Jägerbar, Sir Barry of Rabe,” Renard says, the tip of his blade bared flat on the broad swell of Barry's shoulder, but it feels as though he's stabbed Barry through the heart, instead. His ribcage reverberates a dull ache. At first chance, Barry retreats from the banquet hall and stomps through the otherwise empty village.
Roddy isn't home. His guardian and the resident clockmaker, Monroe, is with another man who looks vaguely familiar, attired as a knight would be in King Renard's royal colors. They both nod at Barry and Monroe says, “Nice to see you again. Roddy's, uh, you might find him in the stables. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Monroe,” Barry says, with a curt nod of his own. He whips back in the direction he came and runs all the way to the stables. He hears Roddy before he sees him, from just outside the stable doors - Roddy's sweet, lilting hums and the melodious plucks of his lyre strings.
Barry's shoulders droop. He shouldn't be here, if Roddy doesn't want him to be, if Roddy couldn't even spare an hour to watch him become a knight. Roddy falls silent inside, but before Barry can get too far away, calls after him. “You can...you could come in, you know?”
Barry swallows to wet his parched throat, but does as Roddy bids, while the toe of his boot drags across the floor. “Uh, hi,” he says. “It's...I haven't seen you in a while.”
Roddy looks the same. His sable curls shine beneath the faint torch-light within the stables. Although his hair is matted, Barry knows it to be soft, knows Roddy's pale skin to be the same, and easy to flush with the chastest of kisses, besides. Even in a torn brown tunic, even with his forehead scrunched in anger, he's beautiful. Roddy turns away to put his lyre down atop a clean pile of hay, beside other stacks meant for the Rabes' steeds.
“You ever stop to think I didn't want to see you?” he asks, the muscles in his back tense.
Barry stares at him a moment, but doesn't allow Roddy's vitriol to give him pause. He lopes forward till he's behind the younger man, till he's near enough to cradle large palms over the bony jut of Roddy's hips. Roddy doesn't relax at first, but Barry's thumbs shift to stroke what slivers of skin they can find beneath his shirt till Roddy leans back into him with a sigh.
“Your...” His voice trembles like it never does, like water in a storm, and Barry's grip tightens. His Roddy never speaks with anything but confidence. “Your mother saw us. S-she told me to stay away.”
Barry sucks in a sharp breath. When he lets it out, he notes how it washes over the tiny locks along the nape of Roddy's neck, till the tremors in Roddy's words move to envelop the rest of his body. “That's why you weren't there.” It's not a question.
Roddy spins in the cage of his arms and glowers up at him. “The queen loves you. Both your parents do and you're lucky for that. They're right not to want a peasant stable-boy making a shamble out of your life,” he says through gritted teeth.
Barry scowls and grumbles, “They're wrong for manipulating me like that. I'm not a kid. I know who to love, dammit.”
Roddy's skin drains a tint more pale. “L-love?” he mimes, and Barry takes the opportunity to catch him by the lips, drawing him deeper.
“So, what were you doing, anyway?” Barry inquires, upon disentangling himself. “You were going to hide with your rats and horses till I came to carry you away?”
“Shut up,” Roddy replies, cheeks prettily pink now. He slaps Barry's arm, but Barry hardly feels it, his wide grin more painful than any of Roddy's attempts to roughhouse have ever been. It wanes slightly when Roddy doesn't requite with a cant of his own mouth.
“What's wrong?” Barry asks, fingers wound around Roddy's slender biceps now. “They can't make me fall out of love, Roddy. I won't leave you.”
“But they're right.” Roddy's eyes grow glassy. “I-I'm a servant, nothing more. You're supposed to go to the high king's court, find some spoiled princess, and live happily ever after. That's not what you'll get with me.”
Barry breathes deep through flared nostrils, but his tone is level when he says, “You're right.” Roddy's neck cranes up so they can lock gazes. “You're right that I'm leaving my parents, leaving here, for Renard's court, but not without you. We are going to live happily ever after. Together.” He doesn't break eye-contact no matter how intense the conflict on Roddy's face becomes and, when Roddy throws himself into Barry's arms, Barry is ready to hug him tight, to never let go again. Or, that's his intention, anyway. He jokingly adds, “Guess this means you'll have to be my princess,” and Roddy extricates their limbs to slap him again.
Bright laughter bubbles in Barry's chest. For the first time since Roddy started avoiding him, he's happy. He knows they both will be, ever after.
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The End
-
A/N: Hope it was okay for my first stab at these two. I'm hooked, though. Decided to post this now so it wouldn't be sitting in the cues, since I'm working on more Barry/Roddy for the beautiful _bluebells's birthday as we speak. And then there's the monster fic (no pun intended) I predict to be at least 10k. *headdesk*