Snow White Slashed-Part 3
Part 3
~~~Aber Schneewittchen ist tausendmal schöner als Ihr.~~~
Wylie struggled to breathe as he left the queen’s official rooms. His mind reeled, thinking about the order he’d just been given. He couldn’t believe it.
Kill Finnian? He couldn’t. Somehow, he had to help his little friend out. But the queen had asked for proof.
Running a hand through his already messy hair, he let his feet take him where they would. Without realizing it, he ended up in the garden where Finnian had been looking into the rain.
He dropped himself onto the bench there and rested his head in his hands, distraught. Perhaps he could kill a deer or something and take its heart to the queen. What would happen to Finnian then? And what would happen to him? Killing the crown prince, even at the order of the queen, was treason.
“Wylie?” The teen looked up at the cause of his distress. Something was different in the way Finnian looked. He was blushing hotly, standing awkwardly, and staring at Wylie raptly.
“Hey Finnian,” despite Wylie’s inner turmoil, he smiled at the prince. “Is the party all finished?”
Finnian nodded. Then he hesitated before walking up to Wylie.
“What’s wrong?” Wylie wanted to know why Finnian was acting so different from usual. Surely he didn’t know what the queen had just ordered.
“I want to tell you something,” Finnian was as direct as ever, something Wylie loved about him. “It’s important. And a secret. Can we go somewhere where no one will hear?”
Wylie’s breath caught fearfully. This was the perfect opportunity to take Finnian into the forest. Figuring that he would have to take Finnian into the forest either way, he nodded.
“Let’s go into the forest. No one will follow us there. Besides, haven’t you wanted to see where I work?” Wylie knew his voice was falsely bright. He also knew that, while Finnian would notice, he wouldn’t say anything.
Finnian nodded and the pair left the garden and headed toward the line of trees. As they passed the Grand Duke’s home, Finnian reached out and grabbed Wylie’s hand. Wylie looked down and smiled, squeezing lightly, puzzled when Finnian’s face went red.
They walked through the forest in silence for several minutes until they arrived at a small clearing off the forest path. Then both tried to speak at the same time.
“Wylie--”
“Prince Finnian--”
Finnian forced himself to laugh, but Wylie just looked panicked.
“Prince Finnian, I have to tell you quickly. I’m really sorry about this, but you must do what I say. Your stepmother called me into her official chambers and she,” he paused, cursing under his breath where Finnian couldn’t hear him. “I had to tell her I would, you understand, but I’m not actually going to do it. But you can’t ever come out of hiding, or she’ll tell someone else to do it. Do you understand?”
“Do what, Wylie,” Finnian’s laughter stopped with the mention of the queen.
“She wanted me to kill you,” Wylie whispered, hands shaking, “And bring back your heart. But I won’t! I’ll kill something else and bring her its heart. You have to hide, though. If you wait for me, I’ll come back to get you. We can run away together.”
“Okay, Wylie,” brown eyes met his calmly, displaying complete trust.
“And if I don’t come back,” Wylie hesitated. He wanted to come back, but he knew that he might be caught. The queen might even kill him to hide her evil deed. “If I don’t come back by sunset, I want you to run as far and as fast as you can. Go that direction,” he pointed down the path, “and you’ll come to some mountains. They form the boundary of your father’s lands, and beyond them, the queen has no power. You’re a sweet boy, someone will take you in. Try to find a nice family, if you can.”
“You make it sound like you’re not coming back,” Finnian’s voice was accusatory.
“I want to. More than anything, I want to come back. But I may not be able to. Please believe me; I won’t leave you if I don’t have to. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you. If we’re separated, I won’t stop searching for you.”
“I believe you, Wylie,” the smile wobbled, but it was still beautiful. Wylie nodded and headed off to find something he could butcher for the queen. When Finnian spoke again, they were so far apart he almost didn’t hear him. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” Wylie barely heard him.
Following the fresh tracks of a hart, Wylie wondered what he was going to do after he found something to deliver to the queen. He supposed he could leave his uncle and come back for the prince. Hopefully his uncle wouldn’t be too angry with him. Hopefully Finnian wouldn’t get hurt in the woods alone.
He was so lost in his musings that he didn’t hear the rustling to his left. Too late, he realized that it was a wild boar, angry at something. Then it charged him.
“No!” he yelled, throwing himself out of the way and barely missing being speared by an already blood-covered tusk. This boar had recently killed something, but apparently its bloodlust still wasn’t satisfied. Wylie pulled out his hunting knife.
It turned on him again, even angrier. This time, Wylie positioned himself and, as the boar neared, threw himself over the tusks, turning his body, so that he landed on top of the boar. It wasn’t the wisest of plans, especially since the animal was easily three or four times his weight, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Thanks to Wylie’s momentum and the awkward angle of approach, the beast crashed to the ground, rolling on top of Wylie. Wylie yelled every swear-word he knew and tried to stab the boar in its weak spots.
It managed to throw him off, and nearly crushed him beneath its great weight. Trying to remember everything his uncle taught him, Wylie rolled and dodged, faked and feinted, until, finally, he was able to shove his blade into the monster’s eye. Once that was accomplished, the boar still wasn’t through fighting. Now, however, Wylie knew it was only a matter of time.
He ran to a tree, leaped for the lowest branch, and thanked whatever deities might be looking out for him for the lucky grab. The boar screamed in fury, and proceeded to try to knock down the tree. Wylie continued to swear as the tree shook under the onslaught of the monster.
Suddenly, as though it finally realized there was a blade lodged in its brain, the boar shuddered and stopped moving. Wylie, not wanting to risk his life again just yet, stayed in the tree for several more minutes, until he was sure the thing was really dead. Then, once he was satisfied, he hopped down.
He realized that he had the heart he needed.
Retrieving his knife from the boar’s eye socket, he began cutting into the creature as quickly as he could, not caring for anything except getting to the heart. Normally, he would be carefully preserving the hide and the edible meat, but today he took no such precautions. It still took him longer than he’d hoped, but he finally claimed his trophy.
After placing it in the oil-skin bag he wore on his hip, he ran to the stream he knew was nearby to wash some of the blood off. Not only did he not wish to be questioned by the guards in the palace, but he also didn’t want to arouse the queen’s suspicions--little boys didn’t have this much blood, after all.
Once that was done, he slowed his pace and headed back to deliver his prize to the queen. He still had time to get there and return to where he’d left Finnian before dark. There was no need to rush and make the queen suspicious.
The queen saw him immediately upon his return. It seemed she’d been watching for him.
“Well?” she demanded impatiently, “Where is it? You have it, don’t you?”
“Yes, your highness,” he knelt and held out the bag with the boar’s heart. He managed to repress the urge to gag at the glee she showed as she opened the bag and looked at the bloody mess inside.
“Very well done, little hunter,” she breathed, touching the heart with her fingertips and then bringing the blood back to touch her mouth, licking her fingers clean. “You will be rewarded well for this.” Wylie didn’t like the tone of her voice. It made him want to shiver and run far away. Thankfully, he was about to do the second, as soon as she released him.
“Ingrid!” The king’s voice echoed into the queen’s personal office, where she and Wylie were currently situated. “My Ingrid!”
“What is it, my King?” Her voice changed from terrifying to coddling in a moment, making Wylie marvel at her powers of deception.
“He’s dead, Ingrid. He’s dead!” The king was distraught. Wylie’s heart thundered in his ears as he considered the implications of that statement. The king had been in the forest that day, he could have seen Finnian. Was Finnian dead?
“Who is dead, dearest?” the queen walked over to him, running her fingers soothingly along his shoulders and through his hair.
“My huntsman,” he said, voice softened with grief, “My favorite huntsman. He saved my life. There was a great boar, it tried to kill me, and he saved my life. Now he is dead.”
“What?” Wylie forgot that commoners shouldn’t speak to royalty unless spoken to. Not Finnian, but his uncle?
“Who are you?” the king demanded, “And why are you in my wife’s office?”
“He’s an aspiring huntsman, husband,” the queen calmed him. “I needed a favor from him today.”
“Forgive me, Majesty,” Wylie choked out, “But you said your favorite hunstman was dead? You mean Garret the huntsman?”
“Yes, my boy. You knew him?” The king’s voice lost its anger.
“He’s my uncle,” then Wylie corrected himself, “I mean, he was my uncle. He took me in, cared for me when my own folks couldn’t.” He told himself firmly that he was far too old to cry and blinked quickly in an effort to follow his own command.
“I am so sorry, lad,” Wylie jumped at a hand being placed on his shoulder. The king’s face showed sympathy and regret. “He was a great man.”
Wylie could only nod.
“Majesties,” another voice joined the three inhabitants of the room, just before Finnian’s nurse entered. “Your Majesties, Prince Finnian is missing. We’ve searched for him everywhere--the gardens, every room in the palace, the stables. Everywhere! He is nowhere to be found. What should we do?”
The king and queen wore identical expressions of shock and fear. Once more, Wylie was impressed by the wicked woman’s acting abilities. As for him, he simply tried to look as though he was surprised. Hopefully they wouldn’t think anything of his unnatural reactions and chalk them up to his uncle’s death.
“Send out the search teams! We must look in the forest. Search everywhere again. No one sleeps until he is found!” The king’s orders came swiftly, and were carried out just as fast. Unfortunately for them, Wylie had taken Finnian to a secluded place that few people knew about.
“Majesties, I would also like to search for the prince,” he ventured, hoping to find him and run quickly before another huntsman discovered them.
“No,” the king denied, “You have lost so much today because of me; I do not want you to put yourself into danger for my sake.”
“But your majesty,” Wylie began.
“Do not question my orders!” Wylie had never heard the king be so stern.
“Yes, majesty,” he acquiesced, distraught. How was he to get to Finnian now?
Night fell and Wylie tried to hide his desperation. The king mistook his disquiet for grief and insisted that Wylie rest.
The next day, during which the prince was still not found, the king helped Wylie plan Garret’s funeral. The day after that soldiers searched all the villages in the area for Finnian and the king and Wylie held a service in memorial of the dead huntsman. The day after that the king began to lose hope in finding Finnian again, and declared his intention to adopt Wylie as his own son.
“Your majesty, I couldn’t possibly accept,” Wylie protested, hoping that today the king would leave him alone so he could search for Finnian.
“No, Wylie, I insist. You have lost a father, and I have lost a son. Both losses faults of mine, and I wish to do something right. If I had been at Finnian’s birthday party, then he would not have run away, I would not have been in danger, and your uncle would not have died. There is nothing I can do to change these things, but I absolutely insist on caring for you in the place of your uncle.” The king was immovable. Wylie had nothing to say to this, and the very next day he was officially taken into the king’s household.
By the time things settled down enough for Wylie to get away, two weeks had already passed. The consensus was that Finnian had probably become some wolf’s snack, and the queen revealed that she was pregnant.
Wylie only had a day and a half free, so he rode a horse, a finer one than he’d ever been allowed to touch before, and tried to track Finnian’s journey. He was confident that Finnian had followed his orders and gone towards the Seven Hills, but he could find no trace of the boy anywhere. Not even his uncle had been able to follow a trail two weeks cold. Thoughts of his uncle darkened his mood considerably, and the only consolation he could find was that at least there was no sign of the kind of struggle that would have occurred if Finnian had been attacked by a wolf or a boar.
He decided to spend the night in the forest, unsure of how often he’d have the opportunity in the future. The cold, hard ground was more familiar to him than the soft beds in the palace, and he slept more soundly than he had since he’d led Finnian into the forest to die.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” The king wanted Wylie to be happy.
“No,” he sighed, shrugging in an effort to seem less gloomy. “But I’ll keep looking.”
“If you’re searching for the boar that killed your uncle, some hutsmen came to me yesterday and said they’d found it. It was dead and mostly eaten by scavengers. They didn’t know what killed it, but whatever it was only wanted it dead.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Wylie managed, shocked to discover that the boar he’d killed had probably been the same that killed his uncle. He felt a little better after that, but not much.
“Lord Wylie,” a maid curtsied and Wylie grimaced at the formality.
“Yes?”
“The queen has commanded that you see both the barber and the tailor today. You are to get a haircut and a new wardrobe.” The maid curtsied again, smiling at him bashfully. Three weeks before she would never have given him a second glance. He suppressed a sneer at the fickleness of women.
“Of course,” he said instead, “Tell her majesty I’ll be sure to do that.”
He would be adopted as the king’s son in three months, after the proper period of mourning had been observed for Finnian. They would change his name, give him a title, and attempt to educate him. Instead of Wylie the simple hunstman, they were going to make him into Brendan the wise prince.
He wouldn’t inherit anything unless there were no living biological heirs, but he was more than happy with that. Wylie didn’t fancy being a prince anyway. Princes were pretty and well-mannered and perfect--they were like Finnian. Wylie was none of those things. He wanted to run away and find Finnian and live forever with him.
~~~Spiegelein, Spiegelein an der Wand~~~
Finnian was afraid. The sun had just set and Wylie wasn’t back yet. He’d promised to come back if he could, and Finnian was sure something terrible had happened.
Following Wylie’s orders, he began hiking up the small trail that led towards the mountains. He wasn’t used to walking very far, so he tired quickly. Wylie had warned about many Bad Things that creeped in the forest, especially at night, so Finnian stopped after a couple of hours, climbed in a tree that looked sturdy enough, and dozed.
The next day he was still tired, but decided that if he wanted Wylie to find him, he needed to go where he was told. The first few days were the hardest, getting used to walking and sleeping in trees, but he learned quickly. Finding food was a bit more difficult. He learned that berries could be a bad idea when he spent half of his second day dry-heaving. Some of the plants smelled like things he’d eaten before, and he discovered that most of those were edible. In the palace, he’d been pleasantly soft-edged, but the extra weight fell off quickly in the forest.
Halfway through the week, he finally made it to a village. He hid so that he wouldn’t be discovered, but couldn’t stop himself from sneaking into a cart that was filled with dried meat, potatoes, nuts, and bread. While the owners of the cart, a couple of rough-looking men, left to drink in a bar, he concealed himself underneath the blanket covering most of the cart. From there, he ate until his stomach hurt, and then fell asleep.
A rough bump woke him, and Finnian tried very hard not to cry out. He was disoriented--he wasn’t in the forest anymore. Staying very still, he realized that he was still in the cart. Apparently, the owners hadn’t seen him and had left with him still there. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to stay as still as possible until he could escape. He only hoped that the cart was heading towards the mountains.
While he rode, he listened to the conversations of his two travel companions. One of them, the more vocal one, was named Donner. He cursed every third word, and as a result, Finnian felt as though he was expanding his vocabulary. Donner seemed to lose his temper at every pothole and sharp turn in the road.
Fortunately, the man with him, whom Donner called Herz, had a calm and kind disposition. He spoke so softly that Finnian could barely hear him. The things he did manage to hear were always sympathetic and kind. Herz never swore and seemed happy enough listening to Donner complain.
Finnian liked them both and was tempted to reveal himself, but he was afraid that if he did so, they might do something terrible to him. His nurse often told stories about wild men who inhabited the mountains. She said that they cursed and swore and had terrible dispositions. She also said that they did unspeakable things to little boys, but she would never tell him any more than that.
That evening when they stopped the wagon, Finnian poked his head out from under the tarp and tried to gauge how far he had to travel now. He smiled when he noticed that he was much closer to the mountains Wylie had told him to cross. Hopefully, Donner and Herz would keep going that way and Finnian could just hide until they got there.
A noise off to the side made him look over. He gasped aloud when he saw something knew he wasn’t supposed to be seeing--Donner, recognizable from the red beard Herz had mentioned several times, was lying on top of Herz, big hand tangled in pressing him into the ground. Neither man had a shirt on. Herz’s eyes were closed as Donner seemed to be trying to eat the slightly smaller man’s neck and then his mouth.
At Finnian’s sound, both men’s eyes snapped to the cart where Finnian still sat.
“The fuck do ya think yer doin’, ya little bastard?” Donner yelled and jumped up. Before he could make it to the cart, Finnian jumped down and ran off the path into a copse of trees. He knew that people tended to get angry when they were caught with other people and missing clothes. Not that he’d ever seen two men in that situation, but they looked like they were doing the same things his nurse and the stable-master did after Finnian’s bedtime.
He ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and then ran even farther. When he stopped, he couldn’t hear or see Donner anymore. Still breathing heavily, he climbed into a tree, hugged the trunk, and went to sleep.
The next morning, Finnian was delighted to discover that he’d spent the night in a fruit tree. He recognized the fruit as one he didn’t particularly like. It’s wasn’t a peach, it was that other one. Ap-Apricot. That was it. At the moment, he didn’t care how much he disliked it, he wasn’t going to turn down safe food just because of the taste. He held up the bottom of his shirt to form a make-shift sack and filled it with the orange fruit. Then he headed back in the direction of the road so he could make it to the mountains.
Before the orchard was out of sight, an angry looking man began shouting about someone stealing his fruit. Finnian ran as fast as he could without dropping the precious food. He didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to take it, but now that he had it, he sure wasn’t letting it go. His time of hardship was enough to soften his previously rock-hard morals. Besides, he told himself, if he knew it was the prince taking it, the man wouldn’t mind at all. Comforted with that logic, Finnian continued on his way.
The next day, when the apricots were all gone, he chanced upon some traveling players.
“What is this?” A tall skinny man stood, limbs akimbo, standing nearly on top of Finnian and staring down at him. Finnian’s eyes widened, and his mouth refused to say anything.
“You’re scaring him, Bill,” an older man laughed. “Come here, young one. We mean you no harm.” Finnian approached cautiously. “What brings you to this hard road all alone? Running away, eh?”
After a moment to think about it, Finnian nodded. He hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“Where are you headed?” A third man, this one aged somewhere between the other two, stepped from the wagon, pale brown hair messy from sleep. Finnian pointed towards the mountains.
“Eh?” Bill looked pleased. “Us too! Would you like a ride, little one? We don’t bite.” Finnian still wasn’t sure. They wore the bright clothes and had all the trappings of players, which his nurse had often called very bad names. She didn’t say they were dangerous, like she had of mountain men, but she still didn’t like them.
“We’ve got food, child. And a safe place to sleep. You make an old man nervous, traveling all that way alone. Won’t you join us?” The oldest of the troupe held out a weathered hand. Hesitantly, wanting very badly to have food and a place to sleep that wasn’t a tree, Finnian took it. The old man smiled and ruffled Finnian’s black hair. “That’s a good lad,” he said, reminding Finnian of his father. Except this man looked at him when he said it. Finnian offered a small smile in return.
He spent the next several days traveling with the troupe. The old man’s name was Chris, and he’d been a player forever. He could tell stories for hours about different royalty they’d entertained and all of the castles and palaces they’d been in. He even used to play for Finnian’s father before he married the current queen.
“She doesn’t like players,” he told Finnian conspiratorially. “I think it’s because it means people are looking at someone other than her.” Finnian giggled at him. He never talked around the players, terrified they’d discover who he was and send him back. They never pressed the matter and just accepted Finnian’s quiet companionship.
The middle aged man’s name was Ben. He was the one who knew what was going on, and he reminded Finnian of his nurse. Finnian did whatever Ben told him and always blushed when Ben praised him for it. He was happy to be doing something for other people, instead of the other way around.
Bill was the genius of the group. He was young and ambitious and could write a play at the drop of a hat. In the evenings, between dinner and bedtime, Bill would entertain Finnian by telling him the same stories that Finnian had learned from his nurse, but Bill made them so much more interesting. He talked about the characters as though they were old friends, and he made Finnian believe that he was right there with the Great King who built the country or watching the Evil Baron conquer the West.
They stopped in a town at the foot of the mountains to play in the local tavern. Finnian was very quiet and still as they showed the story of the crazy prince who took his birthright back from the usurpers. He wondered if he would be like that prince one day and die tragically at the hands of a friend. It was unlikely; Wiley was his only friend, and he’d never kill Finnian.
During the play, Finnian caught sight of a notice on the wall. It was a drawing of him, taken from the portrait he’d sat for half a year before. Underneath, it said something about ‘Searching for Lost Prince,’ ‘Ran Away from Home,’ and ‘Reward If Found.’ Finnian realized he didn’t look at all like he did in the palace, and certainly not like he did for the sitting, but his heart chilled at the thought of getting caught. They would send him back to his stepmother.
Before he realized what he was doing, Finnian’s feet carried him out of the town and into the mountains. Anything was better than going back to her. He didn’t care if he died or even if he never saw Wylie again. He resolved, with all of his seven-year old might, to never be under his stepmother’s thumb again.
The mountains were more difficult to navigate than the forest had been. Still, Finnian kept on, hoping that Wylie was still okay and that he’d come find Finnian one day, just like he promised. After all, Wylie said that men in his family didn’t tell lies.
Finnian lost track of time in the mountains. He would go as far as he could, until either hunger, exhaustion, or both overtook him. Then he’d find something to eat. Thankfully, the players had shown him some safe food that could be found. After that, he’d crawl into a tree to sleep, or, when trees that he could sleep in were hard to find, he would hide himself within a bush or behind a rock. When he woke up, he’d start all over again.
One afternoon, when he was tired and hungry and feeling particularly like he wanted to cry, Finnian spotted a cabin nestled on the side of one of the mountains. Even though he was afraid of being discovered, his hunger and weariness won over his caution, and he approached the house. Before entering, he did make sure that no one was home, and when the door opened without any real effort, he figured that he could go in just to see if there was anything he could eat.
Inside, things were tidy but not as clean as the palace was. Still, Finnian could tell that the inhabitants cared about not letting the place get too dirty. The first room was obviously the main room, with a large fireplace and a dining table with seven large chairs around it. The table was set with a plate and cup at each chair. Finnian didn’t want to make his stealing obvious, so he took a bite of bread from each plate. The ale in the cups tasted strong, but Finnian was too thirsty to care.
When he had his fill, which took a pitifully short amount of time, he wandered into the next room. Four beds stood side by side against the far wall, the first three much larger than the last. Finnian couldn’t remember the last time he laid on a bed, so he told himself he’d just lie down for a minute before leaving. He went to the farthest bed, the small one, and lay on top of the clean, faded quilt. In the moment it took him to close his eyes, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of royal banquets, warm beds, and Wylie.
~~~Wer ist die Schönste im ganzen Land?~~~
Keil hated hearing that he was too young. Fourteen is plenty old enough to do a lot of things! Stupid Brenner wouldn’t let him, though.
“Hey! Clutz! Watch what you’re doin’!” Brenner warned before pulling Keil towards him, keeping him from the path of some cascading rocks.
“Sorry, Brenner,” he said contritely, shifting his pickaxe to the opposite shoulder.
“Idiot,” Brenner scolded, grabbing Keil by his broad but bony shoulders and shaking. Keil twisted himself out of the large man’s grasp. His light brown eyes narrowed at Brenner.
“I’m not an idiot, jackass,” he shook his head, shoulder-length tawny hair whipping about dangerously. Then he yelped as Brenner grabbed him by that same hair. Ice blue eyes threatened terrible things from under auburn brows.
“Bren, cut it out,” Link demanded, emerging from the mine. He stretched his muscled arms above him, head of brown-black hair thrown back. Keil sighed in relief and admiration. “Leave the poor kid alone.”
“This brat’s tryin’ to get himself killed,” Brenner insisted. “And then he called me a jackass for saving his skinny little ass.”
“Do you need me to do anything else in the mine Link?” Keil was in love with him. The only problem was that Link was with Brenner, but Keil was convinced he could win him away. All he needed to do was get a little older, bigger, and stronger.
“Nah, it’s getting late anyway. The others are all finished and will be bringing out the last of the ore from today in a just a bit.” Link smiled at Keil. He knew about the boy’s infatuation; it made him happy to be admired, but he didn’t want Keil to get his hopes up.
Klinge was the next to emerge from the mine. Except for Keil, his was the slimmest build of the men he lived with. Even his face was narrow, with narrow green eyes to match. He shook some of the dirt out of his impossibly pale hair before reaching back to take the sacks of ore from those still below.
After Klinge lifted out four full sacks, he stepped away to allow Adlar to exit the mine. Keil was jealous of Adlar’s strong broad shoulders, firm chest, and trim waist. If he wasn’t so in love with Link, Keil might’ve gone for Adlar.
“Trouble again, Keil?” Adlar laughed when Keil just grumbled.
“He can’t help it, Adlar,” Herz said as he emerged. Donner came right behind him.
“He needs to help it,” Donner glared at the teenager who, to Brenner’s amusement, tried to hide from the largest redhead behind the redhead who had just been shaking him.
“As fun as tormenting Keil is, why don’t we head for home? I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m beat.” Klinge heaved a long sigh in demonstration. Keil gave him a small smile of thanks. Klinge was always making the other guys stop teasing him without making it obvious, like Herz did. Herz meant well, Keil supposed, but the others, especially stupid Brenner, teased Keil for going to ‘Mommy Herz’ all the time.
On the way home, Keil was constantly reminded that he was alone. He loved the other men like family, except, of course, for Link, who he loved only as a fourteen year old boy can love someone. Still, when they walked home, and the others would happily mention something or do something to remind everyone that they were in love with each other, Keil felt left out. Donner had Herz, Adlar had Klinge, and Brenner, for reasons Keil didn’t hope to understand, had Link. There was no one left for him.
“Troubles little brother?” Klinge slung his arm around Keil. They were cousins, not brothers, but that didn’t make a difference to them. Keil just shrugged.
“It’s just, well, everyone’s so damned happy and in love and I’m,” he paused, before deciding that he might as well finish saying what he was saying. “I’m not. Well, I’m not happy, but I am in love.”
“You’re still a kid. No matter how much you think you love Link, that will prevent him from acting on it. Just be happy with your youth and enjoy it while you got it. Worry about love a little later.” Klinge ruffled Keil’s hair and walked the rest of the way to the cabin next to him.
When they arrived at the cabin, all of them were hungry and impatient to reheat the stew that sat next to the fireplace. As Keil went to start the fire and place the pot over it, the other men got quiet.
“What’s wrong?” Keil turned, looking at them quizzically.
“Someone’s been here,” Donner told him, inspecting the plates on the table. “We need to check the bedroom, see if he’s still here.” The others nodded in agreement. They would not take lightly to a thief in their home. Fire started and stew warming, Keil joined them.
“Someone’s in Keil’s bed,” Adlar observed, sneaking to the farthest bed, candle in one hand and pickaxe in the other. Instead of crushing the head of the intruder, however, Adlar lowered his axe, his face a picture of surprise.
“Who is it? Why aren’t you killing him?” Keil whispered loudly.
“It’s a kid. He looks like an honest-to-blazes angel or something, though. Creepy,” Adlar stepped aside to let the others see.
The small boy lay curled on his side, hand serving as an extra pillow. His long dark eyelashes brushed the porcelain cheek. Wavy black hair lay across his forehead and the pillow. His lips formed a red bow under the perfect button nose.
“Would you look at that,” Klinge remarked.
“Brat may have a cute face, but he’s gettin’ dirt and mud all over my bed,” Keil complained.
“Shut the hell up, Keil,” Brenner snapped. “Poor kid looks abandoned and half starved. ‘Course he’s gonna get your bed dirty.”
“I think I’ve seen him before,” Donner thought about it for a second, before barking out a laugh. “Oh! That’s right. I think he’s the little bastard who stowed away in the cart when we were coming back from that damn village. Remember, Herz?”
Herz laughed, face turning pink. “Oh, yes. Poor boy. He interrupted us at an unfortunate time. I’ve never seen someone run away so quickly!”
“Poor guy,” Keil sympathized. “A cock-blocked Donner is a force to be reckoned with.”
The boy stirred in his sleep, prompting the other six to give Keil dirty looks, telling him with their glares that he nearly woke the kid up. Keil just stuck his tongue out at them.
“So where are we gonna make Keil sleep tonight?” Brenner looked happy with the idea of putting him somewhere uncomfortable and drafty. He nearly choked when Donner answered him.
“I was thinkin’ he could sleep with you and Link tonight. ‘Course that means no fuckin’ for you this evening, but your bed’s got more room.” His eyes dared Brenner to point out that Donner and Herz’s bed was the biggest. Brenner wisely stayed quiet.
Keil was torn between ecstasy at spending the evening with Link and terror at spending it with Brenner. He hoped he could sleep on the edge of the bed next to Link and away from Brenner, but he didn’t think Brenner would let him.
“Well, this will be interesting,” Link commented optimistically. He just laughed when Brenner and Keil glared at him.
“I’m sleeping between the two of you. I don’t trust you not to grope him in his sleep, you damn horny teenager.” Brenner frowned at Keil, who tried very hard to look offended at that comment.
After dinner, Keil hoped that Brenner forgot about the arrangement. He hadn’t. So Keil ended up sleeping on Brenner’s left, while Link slept on the big man’s right. Keil tried not to pout and vowed to make that brat sleeping in his bed pay for this. It was bad enough to hear the men he lived with going at it, even though they usually tried to be quiet. It was a thousand times worse having to sleep in the same bed the man he loved made love in.
He drifted off to sleep thinking of Link and Brenner and how much he wanted what they had. His dreams were surprisingly calm, full of peace and that strange and wonderful feeling of being loved.
In the morning, Keil came to himself slowly. The first thing he noticed was how comfortably warm he was. Then as he snuggled into his breathing pillow further, he wondered at how good it smelled. Finally, memories of the evening before crashed through him, making him fling himself from Brenner’s chest onto the floor. Adler, who had breakfast duty this week, chuckled as he helped Keil up.
“You sure you’re just in love with Link, kid?” Adler said softly, so as not to wake the rest of the sleepers. Keil ran his hands through his hair in distress.
“Yes,” he hissed back, ignoring the way he wanted to crawl back in bed and go to sleep. He was just tired and cold, he told himself. That was the only reason. He glared at Adler as he chuckled again, before following the brown-haired man out of the bedroom.
As the seven men ate breakfast, they heard some noise coming from the bedroom. After everyone silently nominated him as the best possible person to deal with a small child, Herz went into the bedroom. He wasn’t exactly a small man, none of them were, but he was the gentlest of them.
They heard a small panicky voice coming from the bedroom, followed by Herz’s calm and steady one. Then they watched as Herz led the boy into the dining room to meet them. His eyes were cautious, but they lingered on the plates of warm eggs and toast.
No one moved until Keil, feeling bad for the unkind thoughts he’d had now that the poor bedraggled kid was in front of him, walked over to the boy, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the table. He sat the hungry boy down in his place and shoved his fork into a pale hand.
“Eat,” he ordered, before going to a cabinet and pulling out an extra plate and filling it with food for himself. The child, seeing that there was more than enough and not wanting to be contrary with so many large men around him, obediently started shoveling the food into his mouth. Herz smiled at Keil, who shrugged from the stool by the fire.
Everyone stopped moving when the boy gasped. They looked up to see him staring at Donner with terrified eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Herz soothed, reaching over and patting his hand. “We know you didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid didn’t look convinced, but he slowly resumed eating, eyes on Donner.
Once breakfast was finished, instead of heading to the mine like usual, they watched Donner for a cue to start questioning the kid. They didn’t mind having him around, but they weren’t going to take in just anyone. Donner, especially, was known for being particular about who lived with them.
“So what’s your name, brat?” Donner asked, actually trying not to be intimidating. The boy stared. “Well? Can’t you talk?” He nodded slowly, looking around for support and finding it only from Keil in the form of sympathy.
“Finnian,” he said softly, staring at his empty plate.
“Like the prince?” Keil asked. The seven men all raised their eyebrows at the violent jerk that prompted from the boy. “Wait, you’re not the prince, right? He’s up in his palace, sittin’ on gold bars, with twenty servants ready to wipe his ass at any given moment.”
“Language!” Herz scolded, glaring disapprovingly when Keil just rolled his eyes.
“She tried to kill me,” Finnian whispered. His knuckles paled even further on the fork. “But I ran away. Wylie told me to cross the mountains so she couldn’t hurt me anymore. He said he’d find me, but he hasn’t. Somehow he couldn’t. But I know if I do what he told me to, he will one day.”
The men exchanged glances with one another.
“So you’re the prince?” Adlar kept his voice soft. He had been in the royal court of the neighboring country before he left and came to the mountains. The boy didn’t look like a prince on the surface, but Adlar noticed the quality of the clothes he wore and the precision of his words. Finnian nodded hesitantly.
~~~~~~~~~~
And that's all I have so far. Lame, I know. However, I am posting a side story about Klinge and Adler in the community sundaysnuggles
It's a little fluffy piece about how they met, with a few spoilers about where I'm taking part of the story next. I love the 'dwarfs.'
~~~Aber Schneewittchen ist tausendmal schöner als Ihr.~~~
Wylie struggled to breathe as he left the queen’s official rooms. His mind reeled, thinking about the order he’d just been given. He couldn’t believe it.
Kill Finnian? He couldn’t. Somehow, he had to help his little friend out. But the queen had asked for proof.
Running a hand through his already messy hair, he let his feet take him where they would. Without realizing it, he ended up in the garden where Finnian had been looking into the rain.
He dropped himself onto the bench there and rested his head in his hands, distraught. Perhaps he could kill a deer or something and take its heart to the queen. What would happen to Finnian then? And what would happen to him? Killing the crown prince, even at the order of the queen, was treason.
“Wylie?” The teen looked up at the cause of his distress. Something was different in the way Finnian looked. He was blushing hotly, standing awkwardly, and staring at Wylie raptly.
“Hey Finnian,” despite Wylie’s inner turmoil, he smiled at the prince. “Is the party all finished?”
Finnian nodded. Then he hesitated before walking up to Wylie.
“What’s wrong?” Wylie wanted to know why Finnian was acting so different from usual. Surely he didn’t know what the queen had just ordered.
“I want to tell you something,” Finnian was as direct as ever, something Wylie loved about him. “It’s important. And a secret. Can we go somewhere where no one will hear?”
Wylie’s breath caught fearfully. This was the perfect opportunity to take Finnian into the forest. Figuring that he would have to take Finnian into the forest either way, he nodded.
“Let’s go into the forest. No one will follow us there. Besides, haven’t you wanted to see where I work?” Wylie knew his voice was falsely bright. He also knew that, while Finnian would notice, he wouldn’t say anything.
Finnian nodded and the pair left the garden and headed toward the line of trees. As they passed the Grand Duke’s home, Finnian reached out and grabbed Wylie’s hand. Wylie looked down and smiled, squeezing lightly, puzzled when Finnian’s face went red.
They walked through the forest in silence for several minutes until they arrived at a small clearing off the forest path. Then both tried to speak at the same time.
“Wylie--”
“Prince Finnian--”
Finnian forced himself to laugh, but Wylie just looked panicked.
“Prince Finnian, I have to tell you quickly. I’m really sorry about this, but you must do what I say. Your stepmother called me into her official chambers and she,” he paused, cursing under his breath where Finnian couldn’t hear him. “I had to tell her I would, you understand, but I’m not actually going to do it. But you can’t ever come out of hiding, or she’ll tell someone else to do it. Do you understand?”
“Do what, Wylie,” Finnian’s laughter stopped with the mention of the queen.
“She wanted me to kill you,” Wylie whispered, hands shaking, “And bring back your heart. But I won’t! I’ll kill something else and bring her its heart. You have to hide, though. If you wait for me, I’ll come back to get you. We can run away together.”
“Okay, Wylie,” brown eyes met his calmly, displaying complete trust.
“And if I don’t come back,” Wylie hesitated. He wanted to come back, but he knew that he might be caught. The queen might even kill him to hide her evil deed. “If I don’t come back by sunset, I want you to run as far and as fast as you can. Go that direction,” he pointed down the path, “and you’ll come to some mountains. They form the boundary of your father’s lands, and beyond them, the queen has no power. You’re a sweet boy, someone will take you in. Try to find a nice family, if you can.”
“You make it sound like you’re not coming back,” Finnian’s voice was accusatory.
“I want to. More than anything, I want to come back. But I may not be able to. Please believe me; I won’t leave you if I don’t have to. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you. If we’re separated, I won’t stop searching for you.”
“I believe you, Wylie,” the smile wobbled, but it was still beautiful. Wylie nodded and headed off to find something he could butcher for the queen. When Finnian spoke again, they were so far apart he almost didn’t hear him. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” Wylie barely heard him.
Following the fresh tracks of a hart, Wylie wondered what he was going to do after he found something to deliver to the queen. He supposed he could leave his uncle and come back for the prince. Hopefully his uncle wouldn’t be too angry with him. Hopefully Finnian wouldn’t get hurt in the woods alone.
He was so lost in his musings that he didn’t hear the rustling to his left. Too late, he realized that it was a wild boar, angry at something. Then it charged him.
“No!” he yelled, throwing himself out of the way and barely missing being speared by an already blood-covered tusk. This boar had recently killed something, but apparently its bloodlust still wasn’t satisfied. Wylie pulled out his hunting knife.
It turned on him again, even angrier. This time, Wylie positioned himself and, as the boar neared, threw himself over the tusks, turning his body, so that he landed on top of the boar. It wasn’t the wisest of plans, especially since the animal was easily three or four times his weight, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Thanks to Wylie’s momentum and the awkward angle of approach, the beast crashed to the ground, rolling on top of Wylie. Wylie yelled every swear-word he knew and tried to stab the boar in its weak spots.
It managed to throw him off, and nearly crushed him beneath its great weight. Trying to remember everything his uncle taught him, Wylie rolled and dodged, faked and feinted, until, finally, he was able to shove his blade into the monster’s eye. Once that was accomplished, the boar still wasn’t through fighting. Now, however, Wylie knew it was only a matter of time.
He ran to a tree, leaped for the lowest branch, and thanked whatever deities might be looking out for him for the lucky grab. The boar screamed in fury, and proceeded to try to knock down the tree. Wylie continued to swear as the tree shook under the onslaught of the monster.
Suddenly, as though it finally realized there was a blade lodged in its brain, the boar shuddered and stopped moving. Wylie, not wanting to risk his life again just yet, stayed in the tree for several more minutes, until he was sure the thing was really dead. Then, once he was satisfied, he hopped down.
He realized that he had the heart he needed.
Retrieving his knife from the boar’s eye socket, he began cutting into the creature as quickly as he could, not caring for anything except getting to the heart. Normally, he would be carefully preserving the hide and the edible meat, but today he took no such precautions. It still took him longer than he’d hoped, but he finally claimed his trophy.
After placing it in the oil-skin bag he wore on his hip, he ran to the stream he knew was nearby to wash some of the blood off. Not only did he not wish to be questioned by the guards in the palace, but he also didn’t want to arouse the queen’s suspicions--little boys didn’t have this much blood, after all.
Once that was done, he slowed his pace and headed back to deliver his prize to the queen. He still had time to get there and return to where he’d left Finnian before dark. There was no need to rush and make the queen suspicious.
The queen saw him immediately upon his return. It seemed she’d been watching for him.
“Well?” she demanded impatiently, “Where is it? You have it, don’t you?”
“Yes, your highness,” he knelt and held out the bag with the boar’s heart. He managed to repress the urge to gag at the glee she showed as she opened the bag and looked at the bloody mess inside.
“Very well done, little hunter,” she breathed, touching the heart with her fingertips and then bringing the blood back to touch her mouth, licking her fingers clean. “You will be rewarded well for this.” Wylie didn’t like the tone of her voice. It made him want to shiver and run far away. Thankfully, he was about to do the second, as soon as she released him.
“Ingrid!” The king’s voice echoed into the queen’s personal office, where she and Wylie were currently situated. “My Ingrid!”
“What is it, my King?” Her voice changed from terrifying to coddling in a moment, making Wylie marvel at her powers of deception.
“He’s dead, Ingrid. He’s dead!” The king was distraught. Wylie’s heart thundered in his ears as he considered the implications of that statement. The king had been in the forest that day, he could have seen Finnian. Was Finnian dead?
“Who is dead, dearest?” the queen walked over to him, running her fingers soothingly along his shoulders and through his hair.
“My huntsman,” he said, voice softened with grief, “My favorite huntsman. He saved my life. There was a great boar, it tried to kill me, and he saved my life. Now he is dead.”
“What?” Wylie forgot that commoners shouldn’t speak to royalty unless spoken to. Not Finnian, but his uncle?
“Who are you?” the king demanded, “And why are you in my wife’s office?”
“He’s an aspiring huntsman, husband,” the queen calmed him. “I needed a favor from him today.”
“Forgive me, Majesty,” Wylie choked out, “But you said your favorite hunstman was dead? You mean Garret the huntsman?”
“Yes, my boy. You knew him?” The king’s voice lost its anger.
“He’s my uncle,” then Wylie corrected himself, “I mean, he was my uncle. He took me in, cared for me when my own folks couldn’t.” He told himself firmly that he was far too old to cry and blinked quickly in an effort to follow his own command.
“I am so sorry, lad,” Wylie jumped at a hand being placed on his shoulder. The king’s face showed sympathy and regret. “He was a great man.”
Wylie could only nod.
“Majesties,” another voice joined the three inhabitants of the room, just before Finnian’s nurse entered. “Your Majesties, Prince Finnian is missing. We’ve searched for him everywhere--the gardens, every room in the palace, the stables. Everywhere! He is nowhere to be found. What should we do?”
The king and queen wore identical expressions of shock and fear. Once more, Wylie was impressed by the wicked woman’s acting abilities. As for him, he simply tried to look as though he was surprised. Hopefully they wouldn’t think anything of his unnatural reactions and chalk them up to his uncle’s death.
“Send out the search teams! We must look in the forest. Search everywhere again. No one sleeps until he is found!” The king’s orders came swiftly, and were carried out just as fast. Unfortunately for them, Wylie had taken Finnian to a secluded place that few people knew about.
“Majesties, I would also like to search for the prince,” he ventured, hoping to find him and run quickly before another huntsman discovered them.
“No,” the king denied, “You have lost so much today because of me; I do not want you to put yourself into danger for my sake.”
“But your majesty,” Wylie began.
“Do not question my orders!” Wylie had never heard the king be so stern.
“Yes, majesty,” he acquiesced, distraught. How was he to get to Finnian now?
Night fell and Wylie tried to hide his desperation. The king mistook his disquiet for grief and insisted that Wylie rest.
The next day, during which the prince was still not found, the king helped Wylie plan Garret’s funeral. The day after that soldiers searched all the villages in the area for Finnian and the king and Wylie held a service in memorial of the dead huntsman. The day after that the king began to lose hope in finding Finnian again, and declared his intention to adopt Wylie as his own son.
“Your majesty, I couldn’t possibly accept,” Wylie protested, hoping that today the king would leave him alone so he could search for Finnian.
“No, Wylie, I insist. You have lost a father, and I have lost a son. Both losses faults of mine, and I wish to do something right. If I had been at Finnian’s birthday party, then he would not have run away, I would not have been in danger, and your uncle would not have died. There is nothing I can do to change these things, but I absolutely insist on caring for you in the place of your uncle.” The king was immovable. Wylie had nothing to say to this, and the very next day he was officially taken into the king’s household.
By the time things settled down enough for Wylie to get away, two weeks had already passed. The consensus was that Finnian had probably become some wolf’s snack, and the queen revealed that she was pregnant.
Wylie only had a day and a half free, so he rode a horse, a finer one than he’d ever been allowed to touch before, and tried to track Finnian’s journey. He was confident that Finnian had followed his orders and gone towards the Seven Hills, but he could find no trace of the boy anywhere. Not even his uncle had been able to follow a trail two weeks cold. Thoughts of his uncle darkened his mood considerably, and the only consolation he could find was that at least there was no sign of the kind of struggle that would have occurred if Finnian had been attacked by a wolf or a boar.
He decided to spend the night in the forest, unsure of how often he’d have the opportunity in the future. The cold, hard ground was more familiar to him than the soft beds in the palace, and he slept more soundly than he had since he’d led Finnian into the forest to die.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” The king wanted Wylie to be happy.
“No,” he sighed, shrugging in an effort to seem less gloomy. “But I’ll keep looking.”
“If you’re searching for the boar that killed your uncle, some hutsmen came to me yesterday and said they’d found it. It was dead and mostly eaten by scavengers. They didn’t know what killed it, but whatever it was only wanted it dead.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Wylie managed, shocked to discover that the boar he’d killed had probably been the same that killed his uncle. He felt a little better after that, but not much.
“Lord Wylie,” a maid curtsied and Wylie grimaced at the formality.
“Yes?”
“The queen has commanded that you see both the barber and the tailor today. You are to get a haircut and a new wardrobe.” The maid curtsied again, smiling at him bashfully. Three weeks before she would never have given him a second glance. He suppressed a sneer at the fickleness of women.
“Of course,” he said instead, “Tell her majesty I’ll be sure to do that.”
He would be adopted as the king’s son in three months, after the proper period of mourning had been observed for Finnian. They would change his name, give him a title, and attempt to educate him. Instead of Wylie the simple hunstman, they were going to make him into Brendan the wise prince.
He wouldn’t inherit anything unless there were no living biological heirs, but he was more than happy with that. Wylie didn’t fancy being a prince anyway. Princes were pretty and well-mannered and perfect--they were like Finnian. Wylie was none of those things. He wanted to run away and find Finnian and live forever with him.
~~~Spiegelein, Spiegelein an der Wand~~~
Finnian was afraid. The sun had just set and Wylie wasn’t back yet. He’d promised to come back if he could, and Finnian was sure something terrible had happened.
Following Wylie’s orders, he began hiking up the small trail that led towards the mountains. He wasn’t used to walking very far, so he tired quickly. Wylie had warned about many Bad Things that creeped in the forest, especially at night, so Finnian stopped after a couple of hours, climbed in a tree that looked sturdy enough, and dozed.
The next day he was still tired, but decided that if he wanted Wylie to find him, he needed to go where he was told. The first few days were the hardest, getting used to walking and sleeping in trees, but he learned quickly. Finding food was a bit more difficult. He learned that berries could be a bad idea when he spent half of his second day dry-heaving. Some of the plants smelled like things he’d eaten before, and he discovered that most of those were edible. In the palace, he’d been pleasantly soft-edged, but the extra weight fell off quickly in the forest.
Halfway through the week, he finally made it to a village. He hid so that he wouldn’t be discovered, but couldn’t stop himself from sneaking into a cart that was filled with dried meat, potatoes, nuts, and bread. While the owners of the cart, a couple of rough-looking men, left to drink in a bar, he concealed himself underneath the blanket covering most of the cart. From there, he ate until his stomach hurt, and then fell asleep.
A rough bump woke him, and Finnian tried very hard not to cry out. He was disoriented--he wasn’t in the forest anymore. Staying very still, he realized that he was still in the cart. Apparently, the owners hadn’t seen him and had left with him still there. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to stay as still as possible until he could escape. He only hoped that the cart was heading towards the mountains.
While he rode, he listened to the conversations of his two travel companions. One of them, the more vocal one, was named Donner. He cursed every third word, and as a result, Finnian felt as though he was expanding his vocabulary. Donner seemed to lose his temper at every pothole and sharp turn in the road.
Fortunately, the man with him, whom Donner called Herz, had a calm and kind disposition. He spoke so softly that Finnian could barely hear him. The things he did manage to hear were always sympathetic and kind. Herz never swore and seemed happy enough listening to Donner complain.
Finnian liked them both and was tempted to reveal himself, but he was afraid that if he did so, they might do something terrible to him. His nurse often told stories about wild men who inhabited the mountains. She said that they cursed and swore and had terrible dispositions. She also said that they did unspeakable things to little boys, but she would never tell him any more than that.
That evening when they stopped the wagon, Finnian poked his head out from under the tarp and tried to gauge how far he had to travel now. He smiled when he noticed that he was much closer to the mountains Wylie had told him to cross. Hopefully, Donner and Herz would keep going that way and Finnian could just hide until they got there.
A noise off to the side made him look over. He gasped aloud when he saw something knew he wasn’t supposed to be seeing--Donner, recognizable from the red beard Herz had mentioned several times, was lying on top of Herz, big hand tangled in pressing him into the ground. Neither man had a shirt on. Herz’s eyes were closed as Donner seemed to be trying to eat the slightly smaller man’s neck and then his mouth.
At Finnian’s sound, both men’s eyes snapped to the cart where Finnian still sat.
“The fuck do ya think yer doin’, ya little bastard?” Donner yelled and jumped up. Before he could make it to the cart, Finnian jumped down and ran off the path into a copse of trees. He knew that people tended to get angry when they were caught with other people and missing clothes. Not that he’d ever seen two men in that situation, but they looked like they were doing the same things his nurse and the stable-master did after Finnian’s bedtime.
He ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and then ran even farther. When he stopped, he couldn’t hear or see Donner anymore. Still breathing heavily, he climbed into a tree, hugged the trunk, and went to sleep.
The next morning, Finnian was delighted to discover that he’d spent the night in a fruit tree. He recognized the fruit as one he didn’t particularly like. It’s wasn’t a peach, it was that other one. Ap-Apricot. That was it. At the moment, he didn’t care how much he disliked it, he wasn’t going to turn down safe food just because of the taste. He held up the bottom of his shirt to form a make-shift sack and filled it with the orange fruit. Then he headed back in the direction of the road so he could make it to the mountains.
Before the orchard was out of sight, an angry looking man began shouting about someone stealing his fruit. Finnian ran as fast as he could without dropping the precious food. He didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to take it, but now that he had it, he sure wasn’t letting it go. His time of hardship was enough to soften his previously rock-hard morals. Besides, he told himself, if he knew it was the prince taking it, the man wouldn’t mind at all. Comforted with that logic, Finnian continued on his way.
The next day, when the apricots were all gone, he chanced upon some traveling players.
“What is this?” A tall skinny man stood, limbs akimbo, standing nearly on top of Finnian and staring down at him. Finnian’s eyes widened, and his mouth refused to say anything.
“You’re scaring him, Bill,” an older man laughed. “Come here, young one. We mean you no harm.” Finnian approached cautiously. “What brings you to this hard road all alone? Running away, eh?”
After a moment to think about it, Finnian nodded. He hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“Where are you headed?” A third man, this one aged somewhere between the other two, stepped from the wagon, pale brown hair messy from sleep. Finnian pointed towards the mountains.
“Eh?” Bill looked pleased. “Us too! Would you like a ride, little one? We don’t bite.” Finnian still wasn’t sure. They wore the bright clothes and had all the trappings of players, which his nurse had often called very bad names. She didn’t say they were dangerous, like she had of mountain men, but she still didn’t like them.
“We’ve got food, child. And a safe place to sleep. You make an old man nervous, traveling all that way alone. Won’t you join us?” The oldest of the troupe held out a weathered hand. Hesitantly, wanting very badly to have food and a place to sleep that wasn’t a tree, Finnian took it. The old man smiled and ruffled Finnian’s black hair. “That’s a good lad,” he said, reminding Finnian of his father. Except this man looked at him when he said it. Finnian offered a small smile in return.
He spent the next several days traveling with the troupe. The old man’s name was Chris, and he’d been a player forever. He could tell stories for hours about different royalty they’d entertained and all of the castles and palaces they’d been in. He even used to play for Finnian’s father before he married the current queen.
“She doesn’t like players,” he told Finnian conspiratorially. “I think it’s because it means people are looking at someone other than her.” Finnian giggled at him. He never talked around the players, terrified they’d discover who he was and send him back. They never pressed the matter and just accepted Finnian’s quiet companionship.
The middle aged man’s name was Ben. He was the one who knew what was going on, and he reminded Finnian of his nurse. Finnian did whatever Ben told him and always blushed when Ben praised him for it. He was happy to be doing something for other people, instead of the other way around.
Bill was the genius of the group. He was young and ambitious and could write a play at the drop of a hat. In the evenings, between dinner and bedtime, Bill would entertain Finnian by telling him the same stories that Finnian had learned from his nurse, but Bill made them so much more interesting. He talked about the characters as though they were old friends, and he made Finnian believe that he was right there with the Great King who built the country or watching the Evil Baron conquer the West.
They stopped in a town at the foot of the mountains to play in the local tavern. Finnian was very quiet and still as they showed the story of the crazy prince who took his birthright back from the usurpers. He wondered if he would be like that prince one day and die tragically at the hands of a friend. It was unlikely; Wiley was his only friend, and he’d never kill Finnian.
During the play, Finnian caught sight of a notice on the wall. It was a drawing of him, taken from the portrait he’d sat for half a year before. Underneath, it said something about ‘Searching for Lost Prince,’ ‘Ran Away from Home,’ and ‘Reward If Found.’ Finnian realized he didn’t look at all like he did in the palace, and certainly not like he did for the sitting, but his heart chilled at the thought of getting caught. They would send him back to his stepmother.
Before he realized what he was doing, Finnian’s feet carried him out of the town and into the mountains. Anything was better than going back to her. He didn’t care if he died or even if he never saw Wylie again. He resolved, with all of his seven-year old might, to never be under his stepmother’s thumb again.
The mountains were more difficult to navigate than the forest had been. Still, Finnian kept on, hoping that Wylie was still okay and that he’d come find Finnian one day, just like he promised. After all, Wylie said that men in his family didn’t tell lies.
Finnian lost track of time in the mountains. He would go as far as he could, until either hunger, exhaustion, or both overtook him. Then he’d find something to eat. Thankfully, the players had shown him some safe food that could be found. After that, he’d crawl into a tree to sleep, or, when trees that he could sleep in were hard to find, he would hide himself within a bush or behind a rock. When he woke up, he’d start all over again.
One afternoon, when he was tired and hungry and feeling particularly like he wanted to cry, Finnian spotted a cabin nestled on the side of one of the mountains. Even though he was afraid of being discovered, his hunger and weariness won over his caution, and he approached the house. Before entering, he did make sure that no one was home, and when the door opened without any real effort, he figured that he could go in just to see if there was anything he could eat.
Inside, things were tidy but not as clean as the palace was. Still, Finnian could tell that the inhabitants cared about not letting the place get too dirty. The first room was obviously the main room, with a large fireplace and a dining table with seven large chairs around it. The table was set with a plate and cup at each chair. Finnian didn’t want to make his stealing obvious, so he took a bite of bread from each plate. The ale in the cups tasted strong, but Finnian was too thirsty to care.
When he had his fill, which took a pitifully short amount of time, he wandered into the next room. Four beds stood side by side against the far wall, the first three much larger than the last. Finnian couldn’t remember the last time he laid on a bed, so he told himself he’d just lie down for a minute before leaving. He went to the farthest bed, the small one, and lay on top of the clean, faded quilt. In the moment it took him to close his eyes, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of royal banquets, warm beds, and Wylie.
~~~Wer ist die Schönste im ganzen Land?~~~
Keil hated hearing that he was too young. Fourteen is plenty old enough to do a lot of things! Stupid Brenner wouldn’t let him, though.
“Hey! Clutz! Watch what you’re doin’!” Brenner warned before pulling Keil towards him, keeping him from the path of some cascading rocks.
“Sorry, Brenner,” he said contritely, shifting his pickaxe to the opposite shoulder.
“Idiot,” Brenner scolded, grabbing Keil by his broad but bony shoulders and shaking. Keil twisted himself out of the large man’s grasp. His light brown eyes narrowed at Brenner.
“I’m not an idiot, jackass,” he shook his head, shoulder-length tawny hair whipping about dangerously. Then he yelped as Brenner grabbed him by that same hair. Ice blue eyes threatened terrible things from under auburn brows.
“Bren, cut it out,” Link demanded, emerging from the mine. He stretched his muscled arms above him, head of brown-black hair thrown back. Keil sighed in relief and admiration. “Leave the poor kid alone.”
“This brat’s tryin’ to get himself killed,” Brenner insisted. “And then he called me a jackass for saving his skinny little ass.”
“Do you need me to do anything else in the mine Link?” Keil was in love with him. The only problem was that Link was with Brenner, but Keil was convinced he could win him away. All he needed to do was get a little older, bigger, and stronger.
“Nah, it’s getting late anyway. The others are all finished and will be bringing out the last of the ore from today in a just a bit.” Link smiled at Keil. He knew about the boy’s infatuation; it made him happy to be admired, but he didn’t want Keil to get his hopes up.
Klinge was the next to emerge from the mine. Except for Keil, his was the slimmest build of the men he lived with. Even his face was narrow, with narrow green eyes to match. He shook some of the dirt out of his impossibly pale hair before reaching back to take the sacks of ore from those still below.
After Klinge lifted out four full sacks, he stepped away to allow Adlar to exit the mine. Keil was jealous of Adlar’s strong broad shoulders, firm chest, and trim waist. If he wasn’t so in love with Link, Keil might’ve gone for Adlar.
“Trouble again, Keil?” Adlar laughed when Keil just grumbled.
“He can’t help it, Adlar,” Herz said as he emerged. Donner came right behind him.
“He needs to help it,” Donner glared at the teenager who, to Brenner’s amusement, tried to hide from the largest redhead behind the redhead who had just been shaking him.
“As fun as tormenting Keil is, why don’t we head for home? I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m beat.” Klinge heaved a long sigh in demonstration. Keil gave him a small smile of thanks. Klinge was always making the other guys stop teasing him without making it obvious, like Herz did. Herz meant well, Keil supposed, but the others, especially stupid Brenner, teased Keil for going to ‘Mommy Herz’ all the time.
On the way home, Keil was constantly reminded that he was alone. He loved the other men like family, except, of course, for Link, who he loved only as a fourteen year old boy can love someone. Still, when they walked home, and the others would happily mention something or do something to remind everyone that they were in love with each other, Keil felt left out. Donner had Herz, Adlar had Klinge, and Brenner, for reasons Keil didn’t hope to understand, had Link. There was no one left for him.
“Troubles little brother?” Klinge slung his arm around Keil. They were cousins, not brothers, but that didn’t make a difference to them. Keil just shrugged.
“It’s just, well, everyone’s so damned happy and in love and I’m,” he paused, before deciding that he might as well finish saying what he was saying. “I’m not. Well, I’m not happy, but I am in love.”
“You’re still a kid. No matter how much you think you love Link, that will prevent him from acting on it. Just be happy with your youth and enjoy it while you got it. Worry about love a little later.” Klinge ruffled Keil’s hair and walked the rest of the way to the cabin next to him.
When they arrived at the cabin, all of them were hungry and impatient to reheat the stew that sat next to the fireplace. As Keil went to start the fire and place the pot over it, the other men got quiet.
“What’s wrong?” Keil turned, looking at them quizzically.
“Someone’s been here,” Donner told him, inspecting the plates on the table. “We need to check the bedroom, see if he’s still here.” The others nodded in agreement. They would not take lightly to a thief in their home. Fire started and stew warming, Keil joined them.
“Someone’s in Keil’s bed,” Adlar observed, sneaking to the farthest bed, candle in one hand and pickaxe in the other. Instead of crushing the head of the intruder, however, Adlar lowered his axe, his face a picture of surprise.
“Who is it? Why aren’t you killing him?” Keil whispered loudly.
“It’s a kid. He looks like an honest-to-blazes angel or something, though. Creepy,” Adlar stepped aside to let the others see.
The small boy lay curled on his side, hand serving as an extra pillow. His long dark eyelashes brushed the porcelain cheek. Wavy black hair lay across his forehead and the pillow. His lips formed a red bow under the perfect button nose.
“Would you look at that,” Klinge remarked.
“Brat may have a cute face, but he’s gettin’ dirt and mud all over my bed,” Keil complained.
“Shut the hell up, Keil,” Brenner snapped. “Poor kid looks abandoned and half starved. ‘Course he’s gonna get your bed dirty.”
“I think I’ve seen him before,” Donner thought about it for a second, before barking out a laugh. “Oh! That’s right. I think he’s the little bastard who stowed away in the cart when we were coming back from that damn village. Remember, Herz?”
Herz laughed, face turning pink. “Oh, yes. Poor boy. He interrupted us at an unfortunate time. I’ve never seen someone run away so quickly!”
“Poor guy,” Keil sympathized. “A cock-blocked Donner is a force to be reckoned with.”
The boy stirred in his sleep, prompting the other six to give Keil dirty looks, telling him with their glares that he nearly woke the kid up. Keil just stuck his tongue out at them.
“So where are we gonna make Keil sleep tonight?” Brenner looked happy with the idea of putting him somewhere uncomfortable and drafty. He nearly choked when Donner answered him.
“I was thinkin’ he could sleep with you and Link tonight. ‘Course that means no fuckin’ for you this evening, but your bed’s got more room.” His eyes dared Brenner to point out that Donner and Herz’s bed was the biggest. Brenner wisely stayed quiet.
Keil was torn between ecstasy at spending the evening with Link and terror at spending it with Brenner. He hoped he could sleep on the edge of the bed next to Link and away from Brenner, but he didn’t think Brenner would let him.
“Well, this will be interesting,” Link commented optimistically. He just laughed when Brenner and Keil glared at him.
“I’m sleeping between the two of you. I don’t trust you not to grope him in his sleep, you damn horny teenager.” Brenner frowned at Keil, who tried very hard to look offended at that comment.
After dinner, Keil hoped that Brenner forgot about the arrangement. He hadn’t. So Keil ended up sleeping on Brenner’s left, while Link slept on the big man’s right. Keil tried not to pout and vowed to make that brat sleeping in his bed pay for this. It was bad enough to hear the men he lived with going at it, even though they usually tried to be quiet. It was a thousand times worse having to sleep in the same bed the man he loved made love in.
He drifted off to sleep thinking of Link and Brenner and how much he wanted what they had. His dreams were surprisingly calm, full of peace and that strange and wonderful feeling of being loved.
In the morning, Keil came to himself slowly. The first thing he noticed was how comfortably warm he was. Then as he snuggled into his breathing pillow further, he wondered at how good it smelled. Finally, memories of the evening before crashed through him, making him fling himself from Brenner’s chest onto the floor. Adler, who had breakfast duty this week, chuckled as he helped Keil up.
“You sure you’re just in love with Link, kid?” Adler said softly, so as not to wake the rest of the sleepers. Keil ran his hands through his hair in distress.
“Yes,” he hissed back, ignoring the way he wanted to crawl back in bed and go to sleep. He was just tired and cold, he told himself. That was the only reason. He glared at Adler as he chuckled again, before following the brown-haired man out of the bedroom.
As the seven men ate breakfast, they heard some noise coming from the bedroom. After everyone silently nominated him as the best possible person to deal with a small child, Herz went into the bedroom. He wasn’t exactly a small man, none of them were, but he was the gentlest of them.
They heard a small panicky voice coming from the bedroom, followed by Herz’s calm and steady one. Then they watched as Herz led the boy into the dining room to meet them. His eyes were cautious, but they lingered on the plates of warm eggs and toast.
No one moved until Keil, feeling bad for the unkind thoughts he’d had now that the poor bedraggled kid was in front of him, walked over to the boy, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the table. He sat the hungry boy down in his place and shoved his fork into a pale hand.
“Eat,” he ordered, before going to a cabinet and pulling out an extra plate and filling it with food for himself. The child, seeing that there was more than enough and not wanting to be contrary with so many large men around him, obediently started shoveling the food into his mouth. Herz smiled at Keil, who shrugged from the stool by the fire.
Everyone stopped moving when the boy gasped. They looked up to see him staring at Donner with terrified eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Herz soothed, reaching over and patting his hand. “We know you didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid didn’t look convinced, but he slowly resumed eating, eyes on Donner.
Once breakfast was finished, instead of heading to the mine like usual, they watched Donner for a cue to start questioning the kid. They didn’t mind having him around, but they weren’t going to take in just anyone. Donner, especially, was known for being particular about who lived with them.
“So what’s your name, brat?” Donner asked, actually trying not to be intimidating. The boy stared. “Well? Can’t you talk?” He nodded slowly, looking around for support and finding it only from Keil in the form of sympathy.
“Finnian,” he said softly, staring at his empty plate.
“Like the prince?” Keil asked. The seven men all raised their eyebrows at the violent jerk that prompted from the boy. “Wait, you’re not the prince, right? He’s up in his palace, sittin’ on gold bars, with twenty servants ready to wipe his ass at any given moment.”
“Language!” Herz scolded, glaring disapprovingly when Keil just rolled his eyes.
“She tried to kill me,” Finnian whispered. His knuckles paled even further on the fork. “But I ran away. Wylie told me to cross the mountains so she couldn’t hurt me anymore. He said he’d find me, but he hasn’t. Somehow he couldn’t. But I know if I do what he told me to, he will one day.”
The men exchanged glances with one another.
“So you’re the prince?” Adlar kept his voice soft. He had been in the royal court of the neighboring country before he left and came to the mountains. The boy didn’t look like a prince on the surface, but Adlar noticed the quality of the clothes he wore and the precision of his words. Finnian nodded hesitantly.
~~~~~~~~~~
And that's all I have so far. Lame, I know. However, I am posting a side story about Klinge and Adler in the community sundaysnuggles
It's a little fluffy piece about how they met, with a few spoilers about where I'm taking part of the story next. I love the 'dwarfs.'