Cordillair (5/~10 Kurtbastian)
Some time ago I took this prompt on the GKM and thought to myself, "I can do this. I can make this world." I took it to try to deal with my feelings on Klaine breaking up, and I took it to stretch my writing wings. If Kurtbastian isn't your thing, let me assure you - Kurtbastian doesn't happen for many, many chapters. And this is DEFINITELY not canon. It's a completely different world, with OCs and only three canon characters in name - Sebastian Smythe and Kurt and Burton Hummelod (Hummel-ODD). Maybe take a chance on me and I'll take you on an adventure.
Part: One // Two // Three // Four
Kurt’s just finished mending the chicken coop when Alander returns from court, saddle shining and clothing pristine.
“What are you doing,” Alander laughs, “You’re filthy and...Kurt, what if someone sees you here? Are you trying to get yourself into trouble? Does Mother know you’re here?”
Kurt grins, dropping the hammer into the toolbox and hefting it up, loving the way his muscles argue slightly it its weight. He loves to work with his hands, to help Alandar and Solara at Montaine. The estate had been given to them as a gift ten years ago in somewhat disrepair and Kurt took great pride in the fact that he had been involved in making it as beautiful and well-kept as it was this day.
“It’s not my fault that you’re at court so much that there are things to be done, sir,” Kurt jokes, waiting for the kick to come. It does, Alander leading Miss Laney over to Kurt’s side and arching his boot out of the sturrup. Kurt shrieks and ducks, almost dropping the toolbox.
“Here, now,” he laughs, “You could kill a man that way! And of course mother knows I’m here. I spent the first twenty minutes having tea with her. What do you take me for, some kind of heathen? I just...mended the coop and mucked the stalls after.”
“Kurt!” Alander exclaims, dismounting his horse and sending it with Thomas, his hand. “Honestly what kind of prince are you that you hide out here doing chores when you should be at court as well?”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Court is so boring, Alander, and besides- you tell me everything I need to know. I would rather help you here, where I can see what I do, then sit there and wonder on my father’s return while the rest of you discuss what will and will not happen in our foreign lands.”
Alander laughs and leads them inside, beckoning for Alisha, his house hand.
“Bring our fair prince hot water for a bath, Alisha, he stinks.”
Kurt wrinkles his nose and removes his shoes, careful not to disturb the clean wood planks of the manor floor.
He helped lay them, you know.
***
Hours later, when Kurt should be astride Risky and on the way home, he’s not. He’s sitting by the fire in Montaine Manor, sipping port from a tall flute and laughing.
“It’s fine, Alander, honestly. No one recognized me. The crown prince isn’t expected at the market and it’s not like much of our kingdom has even seen me, anyway. Father has always kept me so secluded. It wasn’t a worry at all.”
Alander isn’t convinced, his mouth set in a line. “Yes, well, that’s all good for you, but you told someone you’re my hand and you want to bring them here to shoot arrows? Kurt, really. If it were any other master, it would still be foolish of you, but Amsterdam? You know he treats his hands horribly, Kurt. Why-”
“You didn’t see him, ‘lander. He was different than a normal hand - no offense, Alisha-”
“None taken sire,” Alisha says from the doorway she’s leaning on, book in hand.
“I mean, his vocabulary was good and his hands were so soft - softer than they should’ve been, you know? And he just...I don’t know, there was a sadness about him. Something I need to figure out...and archery seemed to perk him up, you know?”
“Oh really,” Alander says, his brown eyes mirthful, “Are you sure it wasn’t just your dick that perked up?”
“Alander Hamelton, I did not raise my child to speak in such a manner!” Both men turn to Solara, shamefaced and beguiling.
Solera is eyeing them sternly, hair greying at the temples and winding down in a delicate braid over her shoulder, honey-sweet satin hugging her tiny frame. Her hazel eyes are serious, though, and both men apologize until she stands, insisting it is time for her to retire.
“I think I’ve enough of you both for the evening, goodness.” She says, but she smiles as Alisha leads her upstairs.
“We love you, mother!” Kurt calls before turning to Alander and sticking out his tongue.
“It wasn’t about my dick, you boorish brute. You know I’m not doing that with anyone right now.”
Alander guffaws and repeats him. “Right now, oh how chivalrous of you.”
Kurt glares at him haughtily, the very definition of a prince-like face.
“It’s not my fault that Squire Murdoch would prefer his ass plowed than his field,” Kurt says, knowing the effect it will have.
“Oh my god, Kurt, LALALALA..” Alander shoves his fingers in his ears, not wanting to hear any more. Kurt smirks at him and stops talking, waiting for him to remove his fingers before continuing.
“Now you know what it’s like for me to hear about you and yours. Keep the vaginas to yourself and I’ll keep the dicks.” he says, and Alander nods his head as he stands to poke the fire.
“Get going before you’re robbed on your way home,” he replies, yawning and stretching a bit.
“Okay, okay,” Kurt says, rising and moving to the door to strap on his boots. “Until next time, good sir.”
Alander smiles, fond memories of their boyhood at the forefront of his mind, this very saying their farewell.
“Yes, good Sire, and you.”
***
Helena meets him at the gate when he returns, Risky just barely warmed and ready for her stable.
“Your father’s here, highness.” She says, not meeting his eye.
“What?” he whispers, “But...why didn't you send Ossir? He makes good time and I could’ve prepared or-”
“You know his highness Hummelod has other matters to attend,” Helena answers, and now Kurt can practically hear the laughter in her voice.
“Lena, you wanted me to get into trouble, didn’t you?” he demands, but he can’t help but smile. He loves her so.
“Perhaps,” she replies, grinning, “because maybe it’ll keep you here more. Goodness, Kurt, you know it’s not good for you to be out of the castle so much. You need to be safe, okay?”
He dismounts and kisses her head, his cloak flapping forward and enveloping them both.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he says, and stalks away, boots clicking on the stonework of the courtyard.
“I love you, too, Sire!” she yells after him, ignoring the looks the guards send her way.
***
“You know I don’t mind you going to see Solera and Alander, Kurt, that’s not what this is about,” King Hummelod is saying as he stands next to Kurt’s bed.
He had come after Ossir had met Kurt in the courtyard, helped him to his room and laid out his bedclothes next to Kurt’s steaming bath. Now, sitting in his bed like a child, Kurt feels like he has lost the upper hand here.
“Then why does it matter, dad? Why can’t I just stay there as much as I want, you know?”
Burt eyes his son, how tall and lithe he has grown and how mature he looks, even in his pajamas on the soft silk of his duvet. He’s an adult now and thus should be acting as one.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to help them, Kurt, of course I do. With everything that Solara did for Elizabeth-” they both smile sadly at the memory of Kurt’s mother, her long brown hair shining in the sun, Solera at her side and Kurt and Alander running circles around them. “I will forever be in her debt. But Kurt, it’s time. Time for you to stay closer to court, to learn the things that our intelligence are learning. To find a husband and a surrogate and settle down.”
Kurt groans, knowing full well the surrogate would be stapled on.
“Dad, honestly, I-”
“I know, Kurt, I know. But consider yourself lucky - two kings is allowed but there must be an heir. You know this.”
“I know, dad. I know. I-” he licks his lips, thinking of how he could find a mate in the men of Cordillair, all of whom would die to become king one day, the exhausting task of finding one who might marry for love as his father and mother had. “I know my duty. I shall begin to look.”
“I know it’s not preferable, Kurt, but it’s time. I love you buddy.”
With that his father strides from the room, plenty of business of his own to attend to.
I love you, too, Kurt thinks, and then settles in to sleep.
***
Sebastian and Juniper had returned on time, the sun just setting in the west, and the rest of the house was bustling with dinner plans, the mast having just arrived home.
Juniper waves goodbye to Sebastian after he promises to rub the mule down. As she goes he doesn’t watch her skip to the manor. He doesn’t.
He’s almost done, the mule watered and his coat shining, when Lord Amsterdam comes into the pen he’s kneeling in, checking the beast’s hooves.
Sebastian is aware of his...master, but says nothing, choosing instead to continue his inspection. The mule has been well cared for, but could use a reshoeing and so he says so.
When he looks up, the Lord is much closer, watching him work.
“You are good with horses and mules?”
Sebastian realizes he has revealed a part of himself kept secret even from his father; his love of horses had run deep, and so he had found himself learning all he could of them. Their care, their illnesses. He never mucked a stall in his life but he could tell you just about anything else you needed to know.
He wants to snark and bite back, tell his “master” off, but the archery-
“Yes, it is one of my considerable traits,” he says instead, hoping to win the man over with his charm.
Amsterdam looks at him, then back to the manor, barely visible through the open stable door.
“I’m thinking you’re probably good at other things, too,” he says, eyes betraying him.
Sebastian wants to recoil; he hadn’t foreseen this and didn’t think that the Lord...that this would be a part of their arrangement. But he’s finding he’s wrong about so many things lately that it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter because if it does then he’ll break and-
“Stay on your knees, boy.”
Sebastian obeys, gritting his teeth and waiting for the inevitable. When he’s there, pushing his dick in Sebastian’s face he has to suppress his gag. He wants that afternoon. He lifts his eyes to his master.
“Yes, sir.”
Part: One // Two // Three // Four
Kurt’s just finished mending the chicken coop when Alander returns from court, saddle shining and clothing pristine.
“What are you doing,” Alander laughs, “You’re filthy and...Kurt, what if someone sees you here? Are you trying to get yourself into trouble? Does Mother know you’re here?”
Kurt grins, dropping the hammer into the toolbox and hefting it up, loving the way his muscles argue slightly it its weight. He loves to work with his hands, to help Alandar and Solara at Montaine. The estate had been given to them as a gift ten years ago in somewhat disrepair and Kurt took great pride in the fact that he had been involved in making it as beautiful and well-kept as it was this day.
“It’s not my fault that you’re at court so much that there are things to be done, sir,” Kurt jokes, waiting for the kick to come. It does, Alander leading Miss Laney over to Kurt’s side and arching his boot out of the sturrup. Kurt shrieks and ducks, almost dropping the toolbox.
“Here, now,” he laughs, “You could kill a man that way! And of course mother knows I’m here. I spent the first twenty minutes having tea with her. What do you take me for, some kind of heathen? I just...mended the coop and mucked the stalls after.”
“Kurt!” Alander exclaims, dismounting his horse and sending it with Thomas, his hand. “Honestly what kind of prince are you that you hide out here doing chores when you should be at court as well?”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Court is so boring, Alander, and besides- you tell me everything I need to know. I would rather help you here, where I can see what I do, then sit there and wonder on my father’s return while the rest of you discuss what will and will not happen in our foreign lands.”
Alander laughs and leads them inside, beckoning for Alisha, his house hand.
“Bring our fair prince hot water for a bath, Alisha, he stinks.”
Kurt wrinkles his nose and removes his shoes, careful not to disturb the clean wood planks of the manor floor.
He helped lay them, you know.
***
Hours later, when Kurt should be astride Risky and on the way home, he’s not. He’s sitting by the fire in Montaine Manor, sipping port from a tall flute and laughing.
“It’s fine, Alander, honestly. No one recognized me. The crown prince isn’t expected at the market and it’s not like much of our kingdom has even seen me, anyway. Father has always kept me so secluded. It wasn’t a worry at all.”
Alander isn’t convinced, his mouth set in a line. “Yes, well, that’s all good for you, but you told someone you’re my hand and you want to bring them here to shoot arrows? Kurt, really. If it were any other master, it would still be foolish of you, but Amsterdam? You know he treats his hands horribly, Kurt. Why-”
“You didn’t see him, ‘lander. He was different than a normal hand - no offense, Alisha-”
“None taken sire,” Alisha says from the doorway she’s leaning on, book in hand.
“I mean, his vocabulary was good and his hands were so soft - softer than they should’ve been, you know? And he just...I don’t know, there was a sadness about him. Something I need to figure out...and archery seemed to perk him up, you know?”
“Oh really,” Alander says, his brown eyes mirthful, “Are you sure it wasn’t just your dick that perked up?”
“Alander Hamelton, I did not raise my child to speak in such a manner!” Both men turn to Solara, shamefaced and beguiling.
Solera is eyeing them sternly, hair greying at the temples and winding down in a delicate braid over her shoulder, honey-sweet satin hugging her tiny frame. Her hazel eyes are serious, though, and both men apologize until she stands, insisting it is time for her to retire.
“I think I’ve enough of you both for the evening, goodness.” She says, but she smiles as Alisha leads her upstairs.
“We love you, mother!” Kurt calls before turning to Alander and sticking out his tongue.
“It wasn’t about my dick, you boorish brute. You know I’m not doing that with anyone right now.”
Alander guffaws and repeats him. “Right now, oh how chivalrous of you.”
Kurt glares at him haughtily, the very definition of a prince-like face.
“It’s not my fault that Squire Murdoch would prefer his ass plowed than his field,” Kurt says, knowing the effect it will have.
“Oh my god, Kurt, LALALALA..” Alander shoves his fingers in his ears, not wanting to hear any more. Kurt smirks at him and stops talking, waiting for him to remove his fingers before continuing.
“Now you know what it’s like for me to hear about you and yours. Keep the vaginas to yourself and I’ll keep the dicks.” he says, and Alander nods his head as he stands to poke the fire.
“Get going before you’re robbed on your way home,” he replies, yawning and stretching a bit.
“Okay, okay,” Kurt says, rising and moving to the door to strap on his boots. “Until next time, good sir.”
Alander smiles, fond memories of their boyhood at the forefront of his mind, this very saying their farewell.
“Yes, good Sire, and you.”
***
Helena meets him at the gate when he returns, Risky just barely warmed and ready for her stable.
“Your father’s here, highness.” She says, not meeting his eye.
“What?” he whispers, “But...why didn't you send Ossir? He makes good time and I could’ve prepared or-”
“You know his highness Hummelod has other matters to attend,” Helena answers, and now Kurt can practically hear the laughter in her voice.
“Lena, you wanted me to get into trouble, didn’t you?” he demands, but he can’t help but smile. He loves her so.
“Perhaps,” she replies, grinning, “because maybe it’ll keep you here more. Goodness, Kurt, you know it’s not good for you to be out of the castle so much. You need to be safe, okay?”
He dismounts and kisses her head, his cloak flapping forward and enveloping them both.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he says, and stalks away, boots clicking on the stonework of the courtyard.
“I love you, too, Sire!” she yells after him, ignoring the looks the guards send her way.
***
“You know I don’t mind you going to see Solera and Alander, Kurt, that’s not what this is about,” King Hummelod is saying as he stands next to Kurt’s bed.
He had come after Ossir had met Kurt in the courtyard, helped him to his room and laid out his bedclothes next to Kurt’s steaming bath. Now, sitting in his bed like a child, Kurt feels like he has lost the upper hand here.
“Then why does it matter, dad? Why can’t I just stay there as much as I want, you know?”
Burt eyes his son, how tall and lithe he has grown and how mature he looks, even in his pajamas on the soft silk of his duvet. He’s an adult now and thus should be acting as one.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to help them, Kurt, of course I do. With everything that Solara did for Elizabeth-” they both smile sadly at the memory of Kurt’s mother, her long brown hair shining in the sun, Solera at her side and Kurt and Alander running circles around them. “I will forever be in her debt. But Kurt, it’s time. Time for you to stay closer to court, to learn the things that our intelligence are learning. To find a husband and a surrogate and settle down.”
Kurt groans, knowing full well the surrogate would be stapled on.
“Dad, honestly, I-”
“I know, Kurt, I know. But consider yourself lucky - two kings is allowed but there must be an heir. You know this.”
“I know, dad. I know. I-” he licks his lips, thinking of how he could find a mate in the men of Cordillair, all of whom would die to become king one day, the exhausting task of finding one who might marry for love as his father and mother had. “I know my duty. I shall begin to look.”
“I know it’s not preferable, Kurt, but it’s time. I love you buddy.”
With that his father strides from the room, plenty of business of his own to attend to.
I love you, too, Kurt thinks, and then settles in to sleep.
***
Sebastian and Juniper had returned on time, the sun just setting in the west, and the rest of the house was bustling with dinner plans, the mast having just arrived home.
Juniper waves goodbye to Sebastian after he promises to rub the mule down. As she goes he doesn’t watch her skip to the manor. He doesn’t.
He’s almost done, the mule watered and his coat shining, when Lord Amsterdam comes into the pen he’s kneeling in, checking the beast’s hooves.
Sebastian is aware of his...master, but says nothing, choosing instead to continue his inspection. The mule has been well cared for, but could use a reshoeing and so he says so.
When he looks up, the Lord is much closer, watching him work.
“You are good with horses and mules?”
Sebastian realizes he has revealed a part of himself kept secret even from his father; his love of horses had run deep, and so he had found himself learning all he could of them. Their care, their illnesses. He never mucked a stall in his life but he could tell you just about anything else you needed to know.
He wants to snark and bite back, tell his “master” off, but the archery-
“Yes, it is one of my considerable traits,” he says instead, hoping to win the man over with his charm.
Amsterdam looks at him, then back to the manor, barely visible through the open stable door.
“I’m thinking you’re probably good at other things, too,” he says, eyes betraying him.
Sebastian wants to recoil; he hadn’t foreseen this and didn’t think that the Lord...that this would be a part of their arrangement. But he’s finding he’s wrong about so many things lately that it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter because if it does then he’ll break and-
“Stay on your knees, boy.”
Sebastian obeys, gritting his teeth and waiting for the inevitable. When he’s there, pushing his dick in Sebastian’s face he has to suppress his gag. He wants that afternoon. He lifts his eyes to his master.
“Yes, sir.”