fairytale snippet
Mar. 11th, 2009 07:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThis will be part of a different serial (of fairytales, obviously) and I've only just started it (right alongside Bound, this will be interesting, aha). Nikery made me do it. The first three pages, and I am afraid that is all you will get here.
"You just want to see me naked."
"Nah. That's just a perk, Calder. Come on, you know we can't get it ourselves," said the nearest of the dwarves, one Samuel by name, and the most talkative one amongst them. Which was saying quite a bit, as they never shut up.
Calder heaved a sigh, but began to strip, setting his clothes and belongings in tidy heaps well away from the side of the lake. Last of all, he pulled off the necklace he wore almost constantly, never liking to have the jeweled pendant far from reach. But he would not risk losing it in the deep, murky lake. "I would really like to know, one of these days, why a bunch of dwarves who cannot swim choose to live on one side of the kingdom's largest, deepest lake, and work on the other side of it. You could at least get some decent rope to tie up the damned boat."
"Now, now, boyo," said another dwarf—Mick, more often called 'Professor'. "We need that boat back today, and the water is not getting any warmer. No sense in dawdling."
"Dwarves!" Calder retorted, and threw up his hands as he strode onto the creaky old dock that he just knew was going to give way under him one of these days. Hopefully he would not be naked on that occasion.
Normally, the dwarves' rowboat was tied up to the dock—but for the third time this summer already, the rope holding it had failed to actually hold. At present, the boat was damn near to the very center of the lake.
Ignoring the whistles and calls and lecherous remarks made for the sole purpose of embarrassing and irritating him, Calder dove neatly into the cool lake water. There were, he supposed, worse ways to spend an hour or so than on an impromptu swim—even if he must be harassed about it by the very bastards asking him to do it.
Surfacing, he shook his head to get hair and water out of his face, then searched around to get his bearings. The boat was straight ahead, and not so far off he would exhaust himself fetching it. Good.
Swimming briskly but not terribly quickly, it took him only minutes to reach the boat. Grabbing onto the side, he hauled himself up and over—bellowing back threats at the comments about his ass. Honestly, dwarves. Who needed enemies? He glared at them all the way back, unfazed by the exaggerated leering and snickering observations about how thoroughly tanned he was everywhere. "Shut up, you stupid sex-starved dwarves. Honestly, go find a willing pixie or three."
Reaching the dock, glaring murder, he swiftly tied the boat off—tripling the number of knots—and stepped out onto the dock again. Ignoring the continuing ribbing and leering, he strode back to his clothes. Someone tossed him a rough drying cloth—Davie, he thought—and he used it quickly, then bent to retrieve his clothes.
"See the goblins did you a new one," said one of the dwarves, slapping Calder's right thigh in friendly appreciation of the dragon wrapped around it, inked in the finest blue-black goblin ink. It was the latest of what now totaled six tattoos, all done by his goblin friends.
The other fives consisted of three tribal tattoos, a very high honor for a non-goblin. Two of those were on his wrist—the right marking him as being an honorable member of the local tribe, the one on his left wrist telling everyone he had permission to bear the one on his right. The last tribal tattoo was on his left thigh, and took up most of it, a complicated pattern of knots, whorls, sigils, and other such things that would tell anyone who saw it why a human had goblin marks.
Of the remaining tattoos, one was a winged dragon spread across his back, the other a rose low on his abdomen, with its thorny vines twined around his hips and waist.
"Yes," Calder replied in answer to the comment. "Goulet was bored and wanted to play, and decided I needed something new."
"Goblins," the dwarf—Rich—said with a snort. "The only thing more painful than being a goblin's enemy is being his friend."
Calder laughed, and swiftly finished dressing. Last of all, he dropped the delicate-looking but surprisingly strong silver chain of his pendant over his head, so that the quartet of jewels—sapphire, amber, emerald, and diamond—set into swirling silver thudded against his chest. He rubbed his thumb over the pendant, smiling faintly, feeling the same bittersweet ache, and perhaps a bit of longing, that he always felt. Words ten years old now still played through his mind as though they had only been spoken yesterday.
Happy Birthday, Cal. Wear it and you will always be in good health.
"I'm surprised the pixies haven't kidnapped you, boyo," said Travis, the oldest of the of the seven dwarves that, along with the goblins he called brothers, were Calder's best friends. "You're the sort of young, handsome, no doubt virile thing they like to kidnap."
Calder rolled his eyes again. "Stop talking about me that way, you old pervert. I've got nothing to offer them. Pixies aren't my thing at all."
"More for us," said Bertie, the youngest, with a leer. "We do like the pixies, yes."
"Go dunk your head in the lake and cool off," Calder said, laughing despite himself. "Do you troublemakers need anything else, or am I…" he trailed off as the sound of the royal trumpets filled the forest. The dwarves, clustered in a loose half circle around him, fell silent as well.
"What…I guess the King has returned home early, but an entire week?" Calder shook his head. "Something does not feel right about this, my friends. I had best go."
Mick nodded. "You'd best, I don't like it either. The silver trumpets should not yet be sounding."
"Keep that boat tied up!" Calder called over his shoulder, waving in reply to the dwarves' farewells.
He ran as fast as he could without exhausting himself, weaving and wending his way through the dense trees and scrub of the royal forest to which he was bound, moving with an ease only ten years as its Huntsman could allow.
Why was the King home so early? Royalty never returned early for good reason, only bad. But surely if the King was dead or wounded, they would have learned of it before now—and the silver trumpets would not sound the return of the King if he were dead.
He spilled out of the forest and kept going, across the royal lawn, straight to the back of the castle. His steps slapped against the old stones of the kitchen yard, and then he was finally inside, struck hard by the stifling heat of the kitchens.
Kitchens which should not be so busy, when everything had been so still and quiet when he had left earlier that morning. The King had not been home more then twenty minutes, surely. He would not normally cause such a fuss—so what was going on? Guests? He would have sent at least a full day's warning.
At the primary bank of ovens, the head cook was knocking around her assistants and scullery maids, scowling and cursing, shaking her head and rolling her eyes—and every word spoken in her native tongue. Something was definitely wrong, to put her in such a state. He did not waste time attempting to talk to her, knowing he would not understand a single thing she said.
Instead, he moved on through the kitchen and through the hallways, eventually reaching the large hall just off the grand entrance. Servants and knights and nobles scurried about everywhere, every word a furtive, anxious whisper. Fear and curiosity filled their faces in equal measure, and Calder wondered what in the names of hell he had missed.
Moving through the chaos, he jogged to the stairs and up them—and had just reached the top when a voice called his name. "Cal!"
He turned sharply, just in time to catch up the slender Princess who threw herself into his arms. "Highness! What are you doing here? Should you not be greeting your father?"
"I tried," she said, pulling away and looking up at him. Her white skin was flushed red with anger and humiliation, pale blue eyes blazing, and her blood-red lips were twisted into a scowl that never boded well for anyone. "He will not see me. He arrived with some woman and they went immediately to the royal chambers, ignoring everyone and the woman's guards are standing watch at the doors and refuse to admit anyone. Even I am forbade entrance—when has papa ever not wanted to see me? I did like that woman at all, Cal, she…she did not look right. Neither did papa. Why would he not want to see me?"
Calder shook his head. "I do not know, Snow White, but I will find out. For now, humor me and return to your room. Do not leave it until I come and speak with you, all right? I will go and see your father."
She made a face, but nodded, embracing him quickly once more before stepping back, running fingers through her tousled pitch-black hair. "Yes, Cal. Thank you." She wrinkled her nose. "Be careful of that woman. I think she is a witch."
Stifling a laugh, because he did not want her to think he was being mocking, Cal cupped her face in an old gesture of comfort and said, "Get, Snow White. I will tend your father."
"Stop calling me that," she said, wrinkling her nose again. "Honestly, I am twenty—too old for silly nicknames."
Chuckling, he pushed her gently in the direction of her room, reminded her to stay there, then strode off in the opposite direction to go see the King.
The Huntsman
"You just want to see me naked."
"Nah. That's just a perk, Calder. Come on, you know we can't get it ourselves," said the nearest of the dwarves, one Samuel by name, and the most talkative one amongst them. Which was saying quite a bit, as they never shut up.
Calder heaved a sigh, but began to strip, setting his clothes and belongings in tidy heaps well away from the side of the lake. Last of all, he pulled off the necklace he wore almost constantly, never liking to have the jeweled pendant far from reach. But he would not risk losing it in the deep, murky lake. "I would really like to know, one of these days, why a bunch of dwarves who cannot swim choose to live on one side of the kingdom's largest, deepest lake, and work on the other side of it. You could at least get some decent rope to tie up the damned boat."
"Now, now, boyo," said another dwarf—Mick, more often called 'Professor'. "We need that boat back today, and the water is not getting any warmer. No sense in dawdling."
"Dwarves!" Calder retorted, and threw up his hands as he strode onto the creaky old dock that he just knew was going to give way under him one of these days. Hopefully he would not be naked on that occasion.
Normally, the dwarves' rowboat was tied up to the dock—but for the third time this summer already, the rope holding it had failed to actually hold. At present, the boat was damn near to the very center of the lake.
Ignoring the whistles and calls and lecherous remarks made for the sole purpose of embarrassing and irritating him, Calder dove neatly into the cool lake water. There were, he supposed, worse ways to spend an hour or so than on an impromptu swim—even if he must be harassed about it by the very bastards asking him to do it.
Surfacing, he shook his head to get hair and water out of his face, then searched around to get his bearings. The boat was straight ahead, and not so far off he would exhaust himself fetching it. Good.
Swimming briskly but not terribly quickly, it took him only minutes to reach the boat. Grabbing onto the side, he hauled himself up and over—bellowing back threats at the comments about his ass. Honestly, dwarves. Who needed enemies? He glared at them all the way back, unfazed by the exaggerated leering and snickering observations about how thoroughly tanned he was everywhere. "Shut up, you stupid sex-starved dwarves. Honestly, go find a willing pixie or three."
Reaching the dock, glaring murder, he swiftly tied the boat off—tripling the number of knots—and stepped out onto the dock again. Ignoring the continuing ribbing and leering, he strode back to his clothes. Someone tossed him a rough drying cloth—Davie, he thought—and he used it quickly, then bent to retrieve his clothes.
"See the goblins did you a new one," said one of the dwarves, slapping Calder's right thigh in friendly appreciation of the dragon wrapped around it, inked in the finest blue-black goblin ink. It was the latest of what now totaled six tattoos, all done by his goblin friends.
The other fives consisted of three tribal tattoos, a very high honor for a non-goblin. Two of those were on his wrist—the right marking him as being an honorable member of the local tribe, the one on his left wrist telling everyone he had permission to bear the one on his right. The last tribal tattoo was on his left thigh, and took up most of it, a complicated pattern of knots, whorls, sigils, and other such things that would tell anyone who saw it why a human had goblin marks.
Of the remaining tattoos, one was a winged dragon spread across his back, the other a rose low on his abdomen, with its thorny vines twined around his hips and waist.
"Yes," Calder replied in answer to the comment. "Goulet was bored and wanted to play, and decided I needed something new."
"Goblins," the dwarf—Rich—said with a snort. "The only thing more painful than being a goblin's enemy is being his friend."
Calder laughed, and swiftly finished dressing. Last of all, he dropped the delicate-looking but surprisingly strong silver chain of his pendant over his head, so that the quartet of jewels—sapphire, amber, emerald, and diamond—set into swirling silver thudded against his chest. He rubbed his thumb over the pendant, smiling faintly, feeling the same bittersweet ache, and perhaps a bit of longing, that he always felt. Words ten years old now still played through his mind as though they had only been spoken yesterday.
Happy Birthday, Cal. Wear it and you will always be in good health.
"I'm surprised the pixies haven't kidnapped you, boyo," said Travis, the oldest of the of the seven dwarves that, along with the goblins he called brothers, were Calder's best friends. "You're the sort of young, handsome, no doubt virile thing they like to kidnap."
Calder rolled his eyes again. "Stop talking about me that way, you old pervert. I've got nothing to offer them. Pixies aren't my thing at all."
"More for us," said Bertie, the youngest, with a leer. "We do like the pixies, yes."
"Go dunk your head in the lake and cool off," Calder said, laughing despite himself. "Do you troublemakers need anything else, or am I…" he trailed off as the sound of the royal trumpets filled the forest. The dwarves, clustered in a loose half circle around him, fell silent as well.
"What…I guess the King has returned home early, but an entire week?" Calder shook his head. "Something does not feel right about this, my friends. I had best go."
Mick nodded. "You'd best, I don't like it either. The silver trumpets should not yet be sounding."
"Keep that boat tied up!" Calder called over his shoulder, waving in reply to the dwarves' farewells.
He ran as fast as he could without exhausting himself, weaving and wending his way through the dense trees and scrub of the royal forest to which he was bound, moving with an ease only ten years as its Huntsman could allow.
Why was the King home so early? Royalty never returned early for good reason, only bad. But surely if the King was dead or wounded, they would have learned of it before now—and the silver trumpets would not sound the return of the King if he were dead.
He spilled out of the forest and kept going, across the royal lawn, straight to the back of the castle. His steps slapped against the old stones of the kitchen yard, and then he was finally inside, struck hard by the stifling heat of the kitchens.
Kitchens which should not be so busy, when everything had been so still and quiet when he had left earlier that morning. The King had not been home more then twenty minutes, surely. He would not normally cause such a fuss—so what was going on? Guests? He would have sent at least a full day's warning.
At the primary bank of ovens, the head cook was knocking around her assistants and scullery maids, scowling and cursing, shaking her head and rolling her eyes—and every word spoken in her native tongue. Something was definitely wrong, to put her in such a state. He did not waste time attempting to talk to her, knowing he would not understand a single thing she said.
Instead, he moved on through the kitchen and through the hallways, eventually reaching the large hall just off the grand entrance. Servants and knights and nobles scurried about everywhere, every word a furtive, anxious whisper. Fear and curiosity filled their faces in equal measure, and Calder wondered what in the names of hell he had missed.
Moving through the chaos, he jogged to the stairs and up them—and had just reached the top when a voice called his name. "Cal!"
He turned sharply, just in time to catch up the slender Princess who threw herself into his arms. "Highness! What are you doing here? Should you not be greeting your father?"
"I tried," she said, pulling away and looking up at him. Her white skin was flushed red with anger and humiliation, pale blue eyes blazing, and her blood-red lips were twisted into a scowl that never boded well for anyone. "He will not see me. He arrived with some woman and they went immediately to the royal chambers, ignoring everyone and the woman's guards are standing watch at the doors and refuse to admit anyone. Even I am forbade entrance—when has papa ever not wanted to see me? I did like that woman at all, Cal, she…she did not look right. Neither did papa. Why would he not want to see me?"
Calder shook his head. "I do not know, Snow White, but I will find out. For now, humor me and return to your room. Do not leave it until I come and speak with you, all right? I will go and see your father."
She made a face, but nodded, embracing him quickly once more before stepping back, running fingers through her tousled pitch-black hair. "Yes, Cal. Thank you." She wrinkled her nose. "Be careful of that woman. I think she is a witch."
Stifling a laugh, because he did not want her to think he was being mocking, Cal cupped her face in an old gesture of comfort and said, "Get, Snow White. I will tend your father."
"Stop calling me that," she said, wrinkling her nose again. "Honestly, I am twenty—too old for silly nicknames."
Chuckling, he pushed her gently in the direction of her room, reminded her to stay there, then strode off in the opposite direction to go see the King.
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Date: 2009-03-11 11:20 am (UTC)that is all you will get here
It it going to be going on Lulu, then?
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Date: 2009-03-11 11:23 am (UTC)I'm intrigued by where it's going (and I've read your stuff for ages, so I'm not Disney-blinded, I promise). *laughs*
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Date: 2009-03-11 11:27 am (UTC)omfg so cute! ^__^
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Date: 2009-03-11 11:42 am (UTC)WHISTLE WHILE YOU YORK
Date: 2009-03-11 12:59 pm (UTC)"Goblins," the dwarf—Rich—said with a snort. "The only thing more painful than being a goblin's enemy is being his friend."
THIS IS ABOUT ME, ISN'T IT. D:
Oh, Meggie, how I love your stories. You are responsible for nearly single-handedly depleting my slash fund. Do carry on with that.
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Date: 2009-03-11 01:31 pm (UTC)The one thing you might want to change is "I did like that woman at all."
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Date: 2009-03-11 02:01 pm (UTC)*grins*
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Date: 2009-03-11 02:13 pm (UTC)Aww. I wanna read more~.
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Date: 2009-03-11 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 09:33 pm (UTC)<333
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Date: 2009-03-11 10:07 pm (UTC)*laugh* I was surprised you did not ask last night. Must make self finish ch...whatever I'm on, then I shall write more Huntsman ^__^
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Date: 2009-03-11 10:22 pm (UTC)Also, called it with the dwarves. I need not to know you so well, so that the surprise will last longer. ^_^
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Date: 2009-03-11 10:24 pm (UTC)Aha, the title is totally working. I couldn't think of anything else atm.
Heh, you really do. I think my masterpiece will be the story that surprises you.
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Date: 2009-03-13 01:01 am (UTC)