![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrMuch love to my betas, for correcting the mistakes I'm too lazy to go back and check before throwing it them.
My first attempt at a mostly original fairytale, rather than simply tweaking established ones. Loosely based on the idea of the "quest" fairytales, or inspired anyway, since there really isn't much questing going on ^^; Hope you all enjoy, I had fun writing it.
Once upon a time there was a king and queen.
The king was not the best in the land, but he was far from the worst. He was rather more kind than his wife thought was wise, but he was fond of saying that she was his practical half and so together they ruled quite well.
Over the years the royal couple bore three children. Their eldest son showed every promise of being not just a good king, but a great one. He had his mother's golden hair and sharp blue eyes, but his kind smile came from his father. He was skilled with sword and bow, and at eighteen he left on a quest to win the hand of a raven-haired beauty, a princess from a far away kingdom trapped by a horrid witch. And the prince defeated the witch and freed the princess and took her home as his wife.
Their second child was a daughter, also with her mother's golden hair but her father's pale green eyes. Though she was severe like her mother, she had a laugh like bells and loved to dance and sing, and charmed a handsome knight who had been passing through in his search for glory. And when she came of age, they married and the royal family welcomed another into their home.
The youngest child was not like the others. He had neither his brother’s grandeur nor his sister’s beauty. He did not favor swords or dancing, or even joining in the myriad festival and parties and dinners. He was quiet and given to studying, locking himself for hours in his small room or the library, reading book after book. Often a servant or family member found him asleep with his face in the pages, a candle burned down to the very last. And though his family tried to coax him out of his strange behavior, it was to no avail. All the castle and kingdom considered the last son strange, for not only did he act unlike the others, he also looked different. His nut brown hair did not come from either of his parents, and his yellow-brown eyes were equally strange. And so the youngest child hid himself away from his family and court and over time they let him be, content with the King and Queen and their other two beautiful, wonderful children.
Until one day, while reading in the garden, the boy happened to look up at the sound of voices beyond the window and glimpsed a young soldier, smiling and laughing and the most beautiful person the prince had ever seen.
The next day the prince ventured cautiously from his library and into the garden, reading on a stone bench and waiting for the handsome soldier to once more happen by. And the soldier did indeed appear, and the young prince watched him shyly, but the soldier and his friends passed the prince by with nothing more than a polite nod and an absent “Good afternoon, Highness.”. Over the next several days this scene was repeated, for the prince was too shy to speak and knew of no other way to capture the attention of the fine young soldier, whom he’d learned was the Captain’s favorite and one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom.
Day after day the soldier passed the prince by and eventually the prince gave up, knowing there was nothing about him to attract the notice of the bright, handsome soldier. And so he once more retreated to his library and sat at the table by the window. But his books sat forgotten before him as he watched the soldier go by and dreamed up a thousand encounters that would never occur.
Until one day his dreaming was halted by news of a dire nature. The Ogre of the Black Mountain, quiet now for many years, had injured a soldier who’d hunted down the beast that lurked like a shadow on the mountain, and soon the handsome soldier vanished from the prince’s window in search of the glory that would come with at last defeating the evil Ogre.
Three days later word spread of the return of the handsome soldier, and how he was dying of a strange illness inflicted upon him by the Ogre. And the young prince went to see him, fear and worry spurring the usually quiet prince to demand to see him.
And though he felt sick with dread looking at the handsome soldier so very sick and pale, he felt a spark of happiness when the soldier smiled and greeted him and asked why he had come.
‘Because you are sick,’ the young prince said. And he finished examining the soldier, and realized he knew what caused it, and that the only cure was up on the Black Mountain where the Ogre lived.
His words were ignored, by the healer and his family. For what would a silly boy who spent all his days locked away in his rooms know? And they told him to go back to his rooms, and not trouble himself with a soldier, and once again ceased to notice he existed as they struggled to cure the strange illness.
And the young prince frowned, and grew angry, and determined that he would fetch the cure to save his handsome soldier.
Taking only the barest essentials and a couple of books, the young prince bundled himself in his favorite dark green cloak and snuck out whilst the rest of the kingdom dined and fretted, and began his journey up the Black Mountain…
“Stupid brambles,” Zayn muttered as he pulled number one million and twelve from his hair. Or was it thirteen? The things hurt. His guide had said to avoid them if possible, they hadn’t said avoid them because they hurt more than practice sessions with Gail and Stefan.
That and they were everywhere. “Vast quantities of Scarlet Berry bushes populate the Black Mountain,” Zayn quoted irritably. “Take care to avoid them, as their brambles can prove quite troublesome. Understatement of the year.” He continued his slow trek up the mountain, thankful that his guidebook had been more helpful in regards to what to bring than it had been in what to avoid.
From a pouch at his side he withdrew a small, black, leather bound volume. Pausing briefly, he jotted down a few notes of his own, muttering beneath his breath about brambles.
Shutting the book the prince pushed on until he reached a small clearing noted in the guide he’d brought along. He collapsed by the pond with a relieved sigh, immensely grateful that his brother and brother-in-law, or one of the guard, was not along to make fun of him and his soft feet.
At least he’d worn his favorite pair of boots rather than a newer pair. And his older clothes. His mother would have a fit if he shredded one of the numerous outfits she’d had made for him in the hopes of drawing him out to show them off at some party or another.
Zayn drank deeply from his water skin, then put it away and once more pulled out his guidebook. The thing was old, worn from neglect and several years of dust. The lettering was faded in some places, so too the few pictures. But the image of the flower he sought – called the Mountain Lady for its petals, pale violet and reminiscent of a lady’s gown – was mostly intact. The lettering below it, once beautiful cursive in a deep, rich ink, was mostly gone. But the following page provided all the information Zayn needed. And though he had the words memorized, he read them over again.
Doing so calmed him, because he was glaringly aware that somewhere on the mountain was the Ogre that had injured his brother (though Gail had asked for it, being that rash), his brother-in-law (Zayn didn’t really feel sorry for him either, the stupid braggart) and Torian.
Just thinking about him made Zayn feel flustered – and more determined than ever to help. Zayn smiled faintly, book forgotten, as he remembered the one small smile Torian had given him, when he’d gone to the soldier’s room. And maybe it had only been because Torian was sick and desperate for any sort of relief, but it was still the first and only time the soldier had smiled at him.
Stowing his book, Zayn stood feeling refreshed, almost bursting with energy. He strode onward and upward, picking his way carefully through the awful brambles and a couple of poisonous vines he recognized from his guidebook, until he came at last to a small meadow.
It was rich, with dark green and pale violet, and smelled ever so faintly sweet. Zayn grinned, an expression none in the palace had ever witnessed. Wandering into the meadow, he began to carefully gather a large quantity of the flowers, making sure to pick only those with plenty of large, healthy leaves – for it was the leaves which held the antidote, though the petals could be made into an ointment or added to the tea if the patient was especially sick. Folding them carefully into paper and stowing them in his bag, Zayn turned and began to make his way rapidly back down the mountain. The hour was growing late, and there was a silence falling that he did not like.
Zayn reached home not too long after nightfall. He ignored the looks of those he passed by, not hearing when his mother’s favorite footman called his name. Through the maze of the palace he made his way to the medical ward.
There his nervousness finally got the upper hand. He’d been ignoring it sense he’d left the mountain, determined to see his self-appointed mission through to the end. But inside he could hear Torian speaking, and the tinkling laugh of the serving girl who’d been by his bed when Zayn had examined him.
He tried and failed to ignore the pain in his chest, the torments of his mind as he was forced to wonder who the girl was. And if he’d had even less of a chance with Torian than he’d realized.
The faint talking erupted into a painful-sounding coughing fit, and Zayn’s worry overrode his other concerns. He all but burst into the room, flushing at the startled looks of Torian and the serving girl. All Zayn’s carefully rehearsed speeches and instructions fled, as he stared at Torian.
Who was so handsome it hurt, red-brown hair hanging in sweat-damp curls – his fever had gotten worse then – and blue-green eyes so bright even with the pain clouding them. Illness had washed the sun from his complexion, but Zayn thought he’d be entranced no matter what Torian looked like.
He wished it wasn’t so, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think he could fight such a thing. All he could do was what he could do. And right now what he could was heal Torian. His Torian, he thought wistfully, then shoved the idle thought aside.
“Would you please go fetch hot water?” he asked the serving girl, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Tell the cooks I would like enough to make tea.”
Confused but obedient, the girl exchanged a puzzled glance with Torian and then darted off. Ignoring the soldier but fully aware of him, Torian set his bag on a small table and pulled the paper-wrapped flowers from it.
Though the petals were crushed, the leaves had survived the journey just fine and gingerly Zayn began to rip them from the stems, setting aside four and carefully bundling the rest together to use later. Just as the silence began to weigh heavily, the serving girl reappeared with an earthen mug and kettle full of near-boiling water. “Here you are, Highness.”
Zayn nodded and took them from her, placing the leaves in the cup and pouring water over them. He handed the mug to the girl. “What…might I ask your name?”
The girl looked startled, then smiled. “Penny, Highness. I’m Tori’s sister.”
Sister? Zayn hoped his abject relief and joy at hearing that didn’t show on his face.
Not that he really stood a chance at anything, but at least he didn’t have to face losing to the pretty, winsome girl. “Make sure he drinks all of this. In three hours fix him another cup – do not use more than four leaves. See that he drinks another cup before each meal tomorrow and the day after at. Then one cup every morning until this time next week.
Penny nodded slowly, and Zayn didn’t realize until it was there how absent of hope her face had been. It made him feel warm, despite the coldness that was ever present when he was near the soldier who would never really see him. “He must drink all of it. If he shows no improvement, or takes a turn for the worse, have me fetched immediately.”
“Yes, Highness.” Penny smiled at him, and Zayn noticed for the first time that her eyes were an exact copy of Torian’s. It looked as if she was about to leap at him, but at the last she recovered herself and grasped his hand, kissing the knuckles. “Thank you, Highness.”
Turning beet red, Zayn pulled his hand away and stumbled toward the door. “Let’s see if it works first.” He closed the door behind him and all but ran for his room. Barely had he changed and fallen into bed before he was fast asleep.
Zayn woke feeling incredibly sore, and groaned as he forced himself out of bed. He scrubbed his hair from his face, cursing in surprise as his finger snagged on something painfully familiar. “Stupid brambles!”
Still muttering to himself, Zayn wandered into his bathing room. Several minutes later he stood indecisively in his dressing room, debating wearing what he wanted versus what would shut his mother up versus daydreaming about what Torian might like.
He settled on what he liked, long used to his mother’s frowns and doubting that Torian would notice if he walked around naked. Pulling on his second-favorite boots, Zayn finally made his way toward his family’s private dining hall. He hung back in the doorway, wincing as he saw that all of his family was in attendance for breakfast that morning.
A rarity. Normally at this hour Gail and Stefan were still in the practice halls, and Melanie, his sister-in-law, was usually still abed. At best, he normally saw his sister and parents – and really, even his father was usually attending to matters elsewhere.
Perhaps he should just go to the kitchen for breakfast. There was nothing more depressing than being in a room with the entirety of his family. Zayn knew he wasn’t ugly or even plain. He was relatively handsome…but handsome was close enough to ugly in a room full of people never described as anything less than gorgeous. He didn’t leave girls giggling and sighing and fanning themselves when he walked by, nor did he have a few hundred – thousand? – love letters to his name. Generally he was content to just go unnoticed. Better that, surely, than being noticed for his lack of beauty.
But he hesitated too long and a look and motion from his mother had him reluctantly entering the room. And he realized he’d missed a person – the royal healer was breakfasting with them. Zayn felt suddenly like one of his sister’s cats when they got too near his brother-in-law’s dogs, with fur raised and claws out. He was still mad the doctor had told him to ‘shuffle back to his rooms’ and ‘trust him’ to take care of Torian. Only long years of habitually staying quiet and still kept him from throwing something at the stuffy old medical expert.
Barely had he sat down and started on his breakfast than he was barraged with the reason they were all in attendance.
“A serving chit has been spreading word you saved her brother from that strange illness the Ogre caused,” Gail said into the silence that had fallen. “Did you really?”
“Yes,” Zayn said slowly, reluctantly. He cursed himself for neglecting to tell the girl to keep his part secret.
“What did you do?”
Zayn shrugged and said nothing, biting into a piece of sausage.
His father frowned and gave his youngest son a warning look. “Zayn, you must tell us.”
“Why?” Zayn replied moodily, not bothering to look up. Now he could see where this was going – and he bet the stupid healer would open his mouth next.
Master Vin, the royal healer, cleared his throat and spoke in the careful, patient tone that made Zayn want to do uncharacteristically violent things to him. “Zayn, I know you think you’re helping, though I can’t imagine why you’ve taken this up as your cause, but you’re not a healer. By helping him you may have simply done him more harm.”
“Nonsense,” Zayn said, slowly laying his fork down. He looked at Vin, too angry to notice how taken aback his family was at the un-Zayn fierceness of his expression. “The antidote takes a few days to work, because it cleans the system slowly, but it does work.”
“How would you know?” The healer still spoke in patronizing tones, immune or oblivious to the expression that had rendered the royal family silent. “I suppose you read it in a book?”
“Yes,” Zayn said flatly. “A very good, if old, book.”
The healer sniffed. “You can’t trust everything you read.”
“I know,” Zayn replied. “That’s why I checked five others.”
“All the same,” Vin said in feeble reply. “You are not a healer; you shouldn’t be practicing such things on your own. Better to listen to the advice the experts give you. If that soldier dies, it will be your fault.”
Zayn felt something inside him snap. “If I’d listened to you,” he said furiously as he shot to his feet. “He’d be dead. The Ogre’s poison takes six days to kill its victim. It’s made from crushing the nuts of Blue bark. A book told me that. It’s only cure is a tea made from the leaves of the Mountain Lady flowers. It takes anywhere from one to three days to really start working. By the time I returned from the mountain top, Master Healer, five days had passed. Your expertise would have killed him.” Without another word, Zayn stormed from the room.
He muttered angrily to himself, not caring where his feet carried him, completely oblivious to the startled, wary glances that servants and nobles cast the normally quiet, blank-faced prince.
“Prince Zayn!” a happy, lilting voice broke into his angry haze and Zayn looked up, startled to see Penny running toward him. This time the girl’s ingrained decorum didn’t get the better of her, and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek shyly before stepping back and beaming. “Thank you thank you thank you! Highness.”
Zayn just knew his face was as red as the berries he normally had at breakfast. “Is-is…I assume your brother is showing improvement?”
“Yes!” Penny clasped her hands. “He was able to sit up and eat all of his food, and he’s got some of his color back.” She darted forward to hug him again. “Prince, we can’t thank you enough.” Her eyes grew misty. “We were resigned to his dying. We’re humbled by your kindness. Whatever we can do to repay it, you’ve only to say.”
Zayn shook his head and stepped back slightly. “It-it’s nothing. I just…I just wanted him to get better.” He looked away, face turning redder than ever, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad he’s getting better.” Sensing he’d perhaps said too much, Zayn didn’t risk looking at Penny but turned and beat a retreat to his room.
Safely inside, he locked the door and retreated to his bed, grabbing one of the books always stacked beside it, and drowned himself in words, blocking out the world and the pounding of his heart.
Hunger eventually forced him out of his bed some hours later, when the sun was well on its way to setting.
He must have horrified his family greatly for them to have left him in peace the entire day. Though, if he knew his mother, there would be some form of punishment for yelling at the healer. Punishment would most likely take the form of a ball. Zayn shuddered, but double checked that he had suitable formal clothing to hand.
Venturing from his room and down the hallway, at the last minute Zayn veered away from the main hallways and out into the gardens. If his mother wanted to punish him, he thought defiantly, she would have to find him first.
Wandering aimlessly among the myriad flowers and profusion of marble fountains and benches, Zayn felt some of his lingering tension ease.
Until familiar voices broke into his calm and made him tense all over gain. His feet ignored his order to stop and carried him around the bend to where Torian sat on a small bench with his sister leaning over him. And Zayn almost smiled, for he knew that stance far too well – the scowl, the hands on hips. Usually it was followed by his being dragged off to be made to do something that was “for his own good.”
“Prince Zayn!” Torian said with a smile, and no small amount of relief. He bowed his head. “I owe you my thanks, Highness. And my life.”
Zayn shook his head, cheeks pinking. “It was my pleasure to assist,” he said quietly. “…Should you be out of bed?”
“I told you so!” Penny said, thumping her brother on the head. “Now get.”
Torian grimaced. “Be quiet, Pen. I’m fine.”
“No you’re not fine, and it’s time for another cup of tea.”
He grimaced again. “I know it’s a cure, but it tastes awful. Aren’t I well enough now?”
“No,” Zayn said. “You have to drink it for as long as I said last night.”
Torian looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “Yes, Highness. When will I be completely well? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Zayn blinked, startled that his opinion was being sought. “Um…I wouldn’t resume your duties until the beginning of the week, when you’ve finished drinking the tea. It’s a slow poison – slow to work, slow to leave.”
The soldier looked crestfallen. “But then I’ll never get my sword back!”
“Serves you right leaving it on the mountain!” his sister thumped him again.
“Ow! I’m sick you know. If I were well, I would have retrieved my sword.” Torian glowered at his sister.
Zayn fought a laugh, hoping that if he stayed quiet they’d forget about him, and he could just watch for a little while. Torian had always been captivating – Zayn had strained to overhear every word he exchanged with his friends the few days he’d attempted to talk to him in the garden not so long ago. Clever, funny and a laugh as addictive as his smiles. But Torian with his sister only made Zayn love him more…and hurt more, because he felt his hopes more impossible than ever. Suddenly not so happy anymore, Zayn turned on his heel and vanished. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed Torian hadn’t noticed his departure.
A day later found Zayn muttering yet more curses to himself – he was becoming remarkably proficient at them.
Of course, even the most naïve and innocent of the maidens in the holy temple would make liberal use of profanity when confronted with the godforsaken Scarlet Berry brambles. At least this time he could retrieve the herbs to make an ointment for the scratches already accumulating on his arms, even through the fabric of his shirt.
Though, if he were honest, only a few of the curses were for the brambles. The rest were entirely for him and his foolish notions.
A few questions and a bit of prodding, and instead of going back to his books, here he was trekking back up the damn mountain after a sword.
People really did turn stupid when they fell in love. One would think the ‘unrequited’ part would make him slightly more intelligent.
Zayn noted bitterly that it only made him worse.
Sighing to himself he continued up the mountain, moving with more ease than he had the last time, though he knew he’d still be sore come morning.
He paused once more by the small pond and thumbed open a book. Not his trusted guidebook, though he carried that as well. This particular volume was even more illegible than the guidebook, so sorely neglected that Zayn wondered what exactly the librarians did with their time. But he’d better not ask - his parents were still put out over the way he’d yelled at Vin.
Too bad for them.
This book was the closest he could get to a guide on Ogres. Best he could tell, everyone who tried to tangle with one – and they didn’t even try to do it in groups – was the greatest sort of fool.
Though Torian would be forgiven his foolishness, just because.
But honestly, what were any of them thinking? The smartest thing to do was avoid ogres at all costs. Their skin was thick enough that sword and arrow couldn’t significantly pierce it and blunt objects had all the impact of a feather pillow.
Magic, he surmised from the barely-there writing, was a possibility. But the country hadn’t practiced magic for nearly a century. So best just to wait until the thing died or wandered off.
Not that anyone would listen to him if he said that, but it made him feel better about his own inabilities to fight monsters.
Not feeling terribly confident, because if he came across the ogre he doubted it would leave him alone if Zayn asked, he nevertheless stowed his water and stood up, pressing on toward the meadow of Mountain Ladies. He paused there briefly to collect some more flowers, on the off chance something went wrong, then continued through it, on toward where the greenery began to end and the black rock and barren soil began.
He reminded himself of the smile that would be waiting for him when he showed up in Torian’s room with his sword – an heirloom, according to various sources. Zayn smiled to himself, the happy thought doing exactly what it was intended – distracting him.
At least until he tripped, and then realized he’d tripped over a large white bone. He looked away, not wanting to place the origin of the bone. He pressed on, until the dry dirt ended completely in rock.
And here he could see the leftovers of a handful of battles – in fact he was pretty sure the one leather gauntlet had belonged to Gail. Zayn almost snickered, picturing his brother’s expression were Zayn to return the lost gauntlet.
Remaining on the ledge overlooking the litany of noble defeats, Zayn perused every weapon in his view. He was nearly resigned to searching for it the hard way when his eyes caught a reflection of sunlight on bright green – and there it was, all but the jeweled pommel in the shade of a scraggly tree he was impressed to see was living in the desolate area.
Taking a deep breath, Zayn ventured down the stone slope and into the rocky field below, sticking as close as he could to the shadows of boulders and the surrounding incline. At last he reached the sword, and after locating the sheath nearby, wrapped it hastily in the old cloak he’d brought along – no way was he competent enough to carry the sword properly; he’d probably hurt himself. Fastening it to his back, he all but ran back across the field, slipping a couple of times as he climbed back up the slope. He ignored the scratches on his hands, running flat out across the meadow and as far down the mountain as he could, panting heavily, chest burning, but more anxious to get off the mountain than in breathing properly.
The walk home had never seemed so long. Zayn made sure his hood was pulled over his head and shaded his face completely. Not that anyone really cared if he was out, but he wasn’t going to start being excessively stupid now. Moderately stupid was quite enough.
It was nightfall by the time he finally reached home, and Zayn felt as though his legs were going to fall off. But his steps didn’t slow as he headed for the room where Torian remained until he was fully recovered. He knocked softly, frowning when he did not hear any voices.
Hesitating, Zayn almost turned and left. But he didn’t want to wait until morning, when the palace was busy and full of people, to return the sword. Nervously he opened the door and peeked inside.
And wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see that Torian was fast asleep. Penny was nowhere about; no doubt she had chores that needed attending now that her brother was not at death’s door.
Zayn crept into the room, soft leather boots soundless on the stone floor. He hoped his heart was only that loud to his ears. With great care he unwrapped the sword and laid it on the bed beside Torian.
His hand hesitated, lingered, so very close to Torian’s face, so handsome while he slept that it was wrenching to look at him. And Zayn couldn’t resist dusting his fingertips across his cheek, brushing his lips just the slightest bit. Then his own boldness – not to mention how inappropriate, to touch a near stranger with such familiarity – struck him and Zayn turned and fled. His old cloak he left forgotten on the floor, nor did he see the eyes that flew open as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Safe in his own chambers, Zayn strode to the bathing room to dress his stinging hands. The right was not so bad – a few minor scrapes that an ointment and some rest would cure easily enough.
But the small gash on the palm of his left hand was a bit deeper and would require bandaging.
And avoiding his family for a bit, if he wanted to avoid the questions with which they’d undoubtedly smother him. That and they’d make him see the master healer, and Zayn would sooner attempt to invite the Ogre to tea.
Carefully, painfully, he washed the cut out and smothered it in a bitter-smelling ointment that would, despite the vile scent, heal it much faster and keep it from getting diseased. Bandaging it, Zayn washed himself down and then tumbled into bed, falling immediately to sleep.
“G’way,” Zayn mumbled.
“Get up.”
“Go away.”
“Get up this instant,” Sophie snapped.
Zayn sighed and cracked his eyes open. “What?”
“You need to learn manners.”
“This from the woman who strolled into my room without knocking and proceeded to wake me up for no good reason?”
Sophie’s brows vanished into her hairline. “Mother is on the warpath because you skipped out on the ball last night.”
Zayn yawned and reluctantly sat up. “I had something more important to do. And I always skip balls.”
“This one was different and you know it. Does your disappearance have to do with that hand?” his sister looked pointedly at his bandaged left hand.
“Maybe,” Zayn said, hastily getting up and busying himself with washing and dressing. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Zayn…”
He grimaced in the dressing room, knowing he was in for some form of the ‘We just want to help you’ lecture. No doubt he was behaving more oddly than was normal for him.
“You’ve been acting oddly of late, Zayn.”
Zayn rolled his eyes and did up the laces of his black undershirt, throwing on the first tunic that came to hand – a red one – before pulling his boots on over his leggings and combing fingers through his hair. He wandered out as the lecture he was ignoring wrapped up. “Anyway, you know we love you and are only concerned for you.”
“I know, Sophie,” Zayn replied dutifully, glad to finally have come to the reason their mother sent Sophie to deal with him.
“That’s why mom and dad would like you to remain in the castle and not leave unless they give you express permission.”
Zayn blinked. “What?”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Weren’t you listening to a word I said?”
“Not really, no.” Zayn snapped. “Just refresh me – was this the ‘you need to talk to your family more’ tirade or the ‘you won’t meet that special someone hiding away all the time’ lecture?”
Any other man would have been running for the nearest exit, had they been the target of Sophie’s signature glare. Zayn didn’t bat an eye – she’d refined the expression in attempts to get him to dance.
“It’s the ‘you’ve been different lately, and not in a good way, and we don’t want you leaving the palace anymore to sneak off to do whatever it is that cut your hand’ lecture, and if you don’t behave I’ll tell mother it would be best to confine you to your room.”
Zayn bit back a reply, knowing when to gracefully concede defeat. “Fine. Whatever makes my family happy.”
Sophie sighed, looking far too tired for the bright, sunny morning. “Zayn, whether you believe it or not, all we want is for you to be happy. And—“
“You won’t find happiness by hiding away all the time and never talking to anyone,” Zayn finished bitterly for her. “I know. I got it.”
Frowning, his sister started to speak but settled instead on merely shaking her head. “Do what you want, just see that you don’t leave the palace. Ever since you fetched that stupid herb, you’ve been different. And not in a good way.” She sighed again. “We do love you, Zayn. I wish you wouldn’t fight us all the time.”
Zayn nodded, remaining stubbornly silent.
”Hurry up, mom and dad want to see you in the minor hall.”
”Fine.”
Zayn walked with his sister to the minor hall, where smaller matters were dealt with, as opposed to the issues resolved in the grand hall. He remained stonily silent as he stood before his parents.
“Where were you last night, Zayn?” his mother asked with a concerned frown.
“Running an errand,” Zayn said, polite but brief. “It took longer than I anticipated.” Actually it had taken only an hour more than he’d predicted, and that only because he’d done more running that he’d planned on. His legs ached something fierce; he longed to just curl back up in bed and ignore the world.
“We invited several guests especially for you last night,” his mother continued, tone shifting from concerned to stern. “Imagine how awkward it was that you were not there, when I specifically asked that you attend.”
Zayn ducked his head, contrite. “I apologize, mother. I had not planned to go out, but the matter was not one I felt comfortable putting off.”
“Yes, what is this task to which you keep referring?” Gail asked with a puzzled frown. “What do you think you are about? Your arms and hands are covered in scratches – whatever were you doing, little brother?”
“Those are from fetching the herbs on the mountain,” Zayn explained. “I hadn’t realized the brambles would cut so deep.”
Stefan nodded. “You should always wear leathers on the mountain. We would have told you that, if you’d but asked us for help.”
“Maybe I didn’t want your help,” Zayn said before he could stop himself. Stefan looked taken aback, but Zayn found he didn’t care. “I have my reasons for doing what I do, and no one is going to stop me. You’re always complaining that I’m never enough like all of you – now that I am all you do is criticize me.”
The King frowned. “We’re not criticizing you, Zayn. We’re worried about you. It isn’t like you at all to go trekking up a dangerous mountain – what if the Ogre had chanced upon you? And you’ve been rude and snappish, even to your mother.”
“You still haven’t apologized to Master Vin,” his mother interjected.
“Nor do I ever intend to!” Zayn snapped. “I’ll yell at him again if he tries to talk to me like that a third time.”
“He was only concerned for a patient…” Melanie said gently.
Zayn saw red. “His concern would have killed Torian!” He threw up his hands and turned away. “Forget it. I’m done trying to make you see reason.”
“You are the one who needs to see reason,” his father said in a tone of voice he seldom used. “Get back here and talk to us.”
“No.” Zayn paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder at his family. “It’s funny though. Gail acts strange and vanishes for months, and everyone thinks that’s fine. Sophie gets snappish and fretful and stops eating and that’s fine. I decide to brave the mountains and suddenly I’m confined to the palace.” He stormed out, leaving his family in a confused silence.
Until, one by one, comprehension flooded their faces, and they called themselves every kind of fool.
But by the time they thought to go after him, Zayn was gone.
Bizarrely, Zayn realized he was headed back toward the Black Mountain. Or perhaps not so bizarre, when he thought about it.
Getting there was ever so much easier on horse. He preferred walking, but fear that he would be stopped and dragged back to the castle had overridden his preference for keeping feet firmly on the earth. However, taking the horse up the mountain was nothing less than foolish, so he left her tied up in a grassy field at the base.
Zayn pulled his cloak up more securely around his shoulders and began to trek. There was plenty of daylight and would be for hours yet. So long as he didn’t go past the Mountain Lady meadow he should be plenty safe.
He barely noticed the brambles, absently pulling out the ones that snagged in his hair, as he made for the pond he’d oddly begun to think of as his.
Perhaps because he’d felt useful, and wanted, if only in his own head. The leaves had helped, and he assumed Torian was happy to have his sword returned.
Zayn sighed as he reached the small pond, dropping down next to it and propping his arms and head on his knees. He wondered idly how long he had until his brother and brother-in-law came to fetch him home. He made a face at the pond, not looking forward to the conversation he’d be forced to have upon his return. What had he been thinking anyway, telling his family why he’d been acting ‘strange.’ Now they’d never leave him alone.
Worse they’d feel sorry for him, and pity him, when they realized he was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.
What did it take to attract a man’s notice, anyway? Zayn tugged morosely at the grass at his feet. Maybe being able to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. He could climb up the Black Mountain three times but he couldn’t talk about the weather.
He wouldn’t be interested in him either.
The sound of a branch snapping beneath a tread broke into his thoughts, washing Zayn in cold fear. He leapt to his feet and turned around, heart in his throat.
And almost fell down. “Torian?” He turned red. “I mean – Lieutenant?”
Torian grinned. “I think I like Torian better, Highness.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I saw you leave the castle, and you looked upset.” Torian stepped closer, fully into the clearing and just a few steps from the prince. Zayn couldn’t take his eyes away, though he was trying very hard not to stare. But Torian in casual clothes and sick abed was completely different than Torian in his black leathers and a practical sword belt. He wore sword and dagger with such ease, and it was easy to see how the soldier could be the Captain’s favorite.
Zayn struggled for something to say. “You should still be in bed.”
“I’m fine, Highness.” Torian grinned again. “Which reminds me…” Taking another step forward, the soldier abruptly dropped to one knee, bare hands splayed on the ground for balance; his riding gloves had been tucked into his belt. He looked at Zayn, then bowed his head. “Thank you, Highness, for saving my life.” He smiled slowly, “Getting poisoned served me right, really. For what it’s worth, my idiotic life is yours.”
“You—“ Zayn snapped his mouth shut, frustrated that he still couldn’t say what he wanted. But he didn’t want Torian’s fealty. He stomped forward and held out a hand, and helped the soldier to his feet. “Don’t kneel,” he finally managed. “You don’t have to—do any of that.” He pulled his hand away – and realized Torian wasn’t letting go.
Torian ran his thumb across the knuckles of Zayn’s hand, and Zayn could feel a world of difference between his own mostly smooth hand and Torian’s rough calluses. “I remember you in the garden, Prince. You reminded me of Penny, back when she used to wait just outside the kitchens every day, hoping that stupid cook would notice her. My friends and I used to make guesses as to the person for whom you were waiting. But there were never any rumors – not a single drop of gossip anywhere about who had captured the young prince’s attention. Even when you stopped appearing in the garden, and we assumed the bans would be posted shortly, we never heard a word.” He continued to stroke the prince’s hand, staring at it as though immensely fascinated. “Then you appeared out of nowhere to help me,” he dared a look up, smiling ruefully. “Though as I said, I certainly deserved the poisoning.”
Zayn shook his head, but didn’t speak.
“But even then I didn’t figure anything out – though Penny teased me a bit for it.”
Zayn winced – girls always figured that sort of thing.
Torian hesitated, and Zayn was struck by the sudden realization that the soldier was nervous. That made him feel a bit better. The soldier’s grip on his hand tightened a bit, and he looked up into Zayn’s eyes. “Then you brought my sword back.”
Zayn went pale and then bright red, and tried to pull free of Torian’s hold. “I—I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t mean—“
“Prince!” Torian cut in, grabbing both the prince’s hands and forcing him to stand still. He held the bandaged hand gently, thumb soothing carefully over the wound. The right hand he held to his lips and let it linger there a moment too long. “I would be honored, Highness, if you would permit me to earn your favor.”
Zayn found it suddenly very hard to breathe beneath the look in those bright, blue-green eyes. And for once his voice wasn’t his mortal enemy. “You already have my favor, Lieutenant.”
“Then call me Torian,” the soldier said with an impish smile. He dropped Zayn’s hands and stepped close, filling the space around Zayn, grasping his shoulders when he attempted to step back. “And allow me to claim my favor.” That was all the warning Zayn got before Torian was kissing him, and it took him a moment to realize that’s what he was doing.
And he wished the world would hold still, or maybe not, because if it stopped then maybe Torian wouldn’t be kissing him anymore, and he wanted it to last forever.
But a moment later Torian broke away, looking beyond the pond with a frown. “We’d better go, Highness.”
“Zayn,” the prince corrected absently. He frowned, displeased the kisses had stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Torian grabbed his hand and began to lead them from the clearing. “Unless I’m mistaken, we’re about to have rather an unpleasant visitor, and I find myself quite reluctant to do the Ogre harm ever again.”
Zayn was confused. It must have shown on his face, for Torian laughed and winked. “If not for the Ogre, I would never have realized that the pretty prince sitting on a bench was waiting for me.” He paused just long enough to give Zayn another kiss, then they continued on their way back down the mountain and toward home.
My first attempt at a mostly original fairytale, rather than simply tweaking established ones. Loosely based on the idea of the "quest" fairytales, or inspired anyway, since there really isn't much questing going on ^^; Hope you all enjoy, I had fun writing it.
The Ogre of the Black Mountain
Once upon a time there was a king and queen.
The king was not the best in the land, but he was far from the worst. He was rather more kind than his wife thought was wise, but he was fond of saying that she was his practical half and so together they ruled quite well.
Over the years the royal couple bore three children. Their eldest son showed every promise of being not just a good king, but a great one. He had his mother's golden hair and sharp blue eyes, but his kind smile came from his father. He was skilled with sword and bow, and at eighteen he left on a quest to win the hand of a raven-haired beauty, a princess from a far away kingdom trapped by a horrid witch. And the prince defeated the witch and freed the princess and took her home as his wife.
Their second child was a daughter, also with her mother's golden hair but her father's pale green eyes. Though she was severe like her mother, she had a laugh like bells and loved to dance and sing, and charmed a handsome knight who had been passing through in his search for glory. And when she came of age, they married and the royal family welcomed another into their home.
The youngest child was not like the others. He had neither his brother’s grandeur nor his sister’s beauty. He did not favor swords or dancing, or even joining in the myriad festival and parties and dinners. He was quiet and given to studying, locking himself for hours in his small room or the library, reading book after book. Often a servant or family member found him asleep with his face in the pages, a candle burned down to the very last. And though his family tried to coax him out of his strange behavior, it was to no avail. All the castle and kingdom considered the last son strange, for not only did he act unlike the others, he also looked different. His nut brown hair did not come from either of his parents, and his yellow-brown eyes were equally strange. And so the youngest child hid himself away from his family and court and over time they let him be, content with the King and Queen and their other two beautiful, wonderful children.
Until one day, while reading in the garden, the boy happened to look up at the sound of voices beyond the window and glimpsed a young soldier, smiling and laughing and the most beautiful person the prince had ever seen.
The next day the prince ventured cautiously from his library and into the garden, reading on a stone bench and waiting for the handsome soldier to once more happen by. And the soldier did indeed appear, and the young prince watched him shyly, but the soldier and his friends passed the prince by with nothing more than a polite nod and an absent “Good afternoon, Highness.”. Over the next several days this scene was repeated, for the prince was too shy to speak and knew of no other way to capture the attention of the fine young soldier, whom he’d learned was the Captain’s favorite and one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom.
Day after day the soldier passed the prince by and eventually the prince gave up, knowing there was nothing about him to attract the notice of the bright, handsome soldier. And so he once more retreated to his library and sat at the table by the window. But his books sat forgotten before him as he watched the soldier go by and dreamed up a thousand encounters that would never occur.
Until one day his dreaming was halted by news of a dire nature. The Ogre of the Black Mountain, quiet now for many years, had injured a soldier who’d hunted down the beast that lurked like a shadow on the mountain, and soon the handsome soldier vanished from the prince’s window in search of the glory that would come with at last defeating the evil Ogre.
Three days later word spread of the return of the handsome soldier, and how he was dying of a strange illness inflicted upon him by the Ogre. And the young prince went to see him, fear and worry spurring the usually quiet prince to demand to see him.
And though he felt sick with dread looking at the handsome soldier so very sick and pale, he felt a spark of happiness when the soldier smiled and greeted him and asked why he had come.
‘Because you are sick,’ the young prince said. And he finished examining the soldier, and realized he knew what caused it, and that the only cure was up on the Black Mountain where the Ogre lived.
His words were ignored, by the healer and his family. For what would a silly boy who spent all his days locked away in his rooms know? And they told him to go back to his rooms, and not trouble himself with a soldier, and once again ceased to notice he existed as they struggled to cure the strange illness.
And the young prince frowned, and grew angry, and determined that he would fetch the cure to save his handsome soldier.
Taking only the barest essentials and a couple of books, the young prince bundled himself in his favorite dark green cloak and snuck out whilst the rest of the kingdom dined and fretted, and began his journey up the Black Mountain…
“Stupid brambles,” Zayn muttered as he pulled number one million and twelve from his hair. Or was it thirteen? The things hurt. His guide had said to avoid them if possible, they hadn’t said avoid them because they hurt more than practice sessions with Gail and Stefan.
That and they were everywhere. “Vast quantities of Scarlet Berry bushes populate the Black Mountain,” Zayn quoted irritably. “Take care to avoid them, as their brambles can prove quite troublesome. Understatement of the year.” He continued his slow trek up the mountain, thankful that his guidebook had been more helpful in regards to what to bring than it had been in what to avoid.
From a pouch at his side he withdrew a small, black, leather bound volume. Pausing briefly, he jotted down a few notes of his own, muttering beneath his breath about brambles.
Shutting the book the prince pushed on until he reached a small clearing noted in the guide he’d brought along. He collapsed by the pond with a relieved sigh, immensely grateful that his brother and brother-in-law, or one of the guard, was not along to make fun of him and his soft feet.
At least he’d worn his favorite pair of boots rather than a newer pair. And his older clothes. His mother would have a fit if he shredded one of the numerous outfits she’d had made for him in the hopes of drawing him out to show them off at some party or another.
Zayn drank deeply from his water skin, then put it away and once more pulled out his guidebook. The thing was old, worn from neglect and several years of dust. The lettering was faded in some places, so too the few pictures. But the image of the flower he sought – called the Mountain Lady for its petals, pale violet and reminiscent of a lady’s gown – was mostly intact. The lettering below it, once beautiful cursive in a deep, rich ink, was mostly gone. But the following page provided all the information Zayn needed. And though he had the words memorized, he read them over again.
Doing so calmed him, because he was glaringly aware that somewhere on the mountain was the Ogre that had injured his brother (though Gail had asked for it, being that rash), his brother-in-law (Zayn didn’t really feel sorry for him either, the stupid braggart) and Torian.
Just thinking about him made Zayn feel flustered – and more determined than ever to help. Zayn smiled faintly, book forgotten, as he remembered the one small smile Torian had given him, when he’d gone to the soldier’s room. And maybe it had only been because Torian was sick and desperate for any sort of relief, but it was still the first and only time the soldier had smiled at him.
Stowing his book, Zayn stood feeling refreshed, almost bursting with energy. He strode onward and upward, picking his way carefully through the awful brambles and a couple of poisonous vines he recognized from his guidebook, until he came at last to a small meadow.
It was rich, with dark green and pale violet, and smelled ever so faintly sweet. Zayn grinned, an expression none in the palace had ever witnessed. Wandering into the meadow, he began to carefully gather a large quantity of the flowers, making sure to pick only those with plenty of large, healthy leaves – for it was the leaves which held the antidote, though the petals could be made into an ointment or added to the tea if the patient was especially sick. Folding them carefully into paper and stowing them in his bag, Zayn turned and began to make his way rapidly back down the mountain. The hour was growing late, and there was a silence falling that he did not like.
Zayn reached home not too long after nightfall. He ignored the looks of those he passed by, not hearing when his mother’s favorite footman called his name. Through the maze of the palace he made his way to the medical ward.
There his nervousness finally got the upper hand. He’d been ignoring it sense he’d left the mountain, determined to see his self-appointed mission through to the end. But inside he could hear Torian speaking, and the tinkling laugh of the serving girl who’d been by his bed when Zayn had examined him.
He tried and failed to ignore the pain in his chest, the torments of his mind as he was forced to wonder who the girl was. And if he’d had even less of a chance with Torian than he’d realized.
The faint talking erupted into a painful-sounding coughing fit, and Zayn’s worry overrode his other concerns. He all but burst into the room, flushing at the startled looks of Torian and the serving girl. All Zayn’s carefully rehearsed speeches and instructions fled, as he stared at Torian.
Who was so handsome it hurt, red-brown hair hanging in sweat-damp curls – his fever had gotten worse then – and blue-green eyes so bright even with the pain clouding them. Illness had washed the sun from his complexion, but Zayn thought he’d be entranced no matter what Torian looked like.
He wished it wasn’t so, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think he could fight such a thing. All he could do was what he could do. And right now what he could was heal Torian. His Torian, he thought wistfully, then shoved the idle thought aside.
“Would you please go fetch hot water?” he asked the serving girl, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Tell the cooks I would like enough to make tea.”
Confused but obedient, the girl exchanged a puzzled glance with Torian and then darted off. Ignoring the soldier but fully aware of him, Torian set his bag on a small table and pulled the paper-wrapped flowers from it.
Though the petals were crushed, the leaves had survived the journey just fine and gingerly Zayn began to rip them from the stems, setting aside four and carefully bundling the rest together to use later. Just as the silence began to weigh heavily, the serving girl reappeared with an earthen mug and kettle full of near-boiling water. “Here you are, Highness.”
Zayn nodded and took them from her, placing the leaves in the cup and pouring water over them. He handed the mug to the girl. “What…might I ask your name?”
The girl looked startled, then smiled. “Penny, Highness. I’m Tori’s sister.”
Sister? Zayn hoped his abject relief and joy at hearing that didn’t show on his face.
Not that he really stood a chance at anything, but at least he didn’t have to face losing to the pretty, winsome girl. “Make sure he drinks all of this. In three hours fix him another cup – do not use more than four leaves. See that he drinks another cup before each meal tomorrow and the day after at. Then one cup every morning until this time next week.
Penny nodded slowly, and Zayn didn’t realize until it was there how absent of hope her face had been. It made him feel warm, despite the coldness that was ever present when he was near the soldier who would never really see him. “He must drink all of it. If he shows no improvement, or takes a turn for the worse, have me fetched immediately.”
“Yes, Highness.” Penny smiled at him, and Zayn noticed for the first time that her eyes were an exact copy of Torian’s. It looked as if she was about to leap at him, but at the last she recovered herself and grasped his hand, kissing the knuckles. “Thank you, Highness.”
Turning beet red, Zayn pulled his hand away and stumbled toward the door. “Let’s see if it works first.” He closed the door behind him and all but ran for his room. Barely had he changed and fallen into bed before he was fast asleep.
Zayn woke feeling incredibly sore, and groaned as he forced himself out of bed. He scrubbed his hair from his face, cursing in surprise as his finger snagged on something painfully familiar. “Stupid brambles!”
Still muttering to himself, Zayn wandered into his bathing room. Several minutes later he stood indecisively in his dressing room, debating wearing what he wanted versus what would shut his mother up versus daydreaming about what Torian might like.
He settled on what he liked, long used to his mother’s frowns and doubting that Torian would notice if he walked around naked. Pulling on his second-favorite boots, Zayn finally made his way toward his family’s private dining hall. He hung back in the doorway, wincing as he saw that all of his family was in attendance for breakfast that morning.
A rarity. Normally at this hour Gail and Stefan were still in the practice halls, and Melanie, his sister-in-law, was usually still abed. At best, he normally saw his sister and parents – and really, even his father was usually attending to matters elsewhere.
Perhaps he should just go to the kitchen for breakfast. There was nothing more depressing than being in a room with the entirety of his family. Zayn knew he wasn’t ugly or even plain. He was relatively handsome…but handsome was close enough to ugly in a room full of people never described as anything less than gorgeous. He didn’t leave girls giggling and sighing and fanning themselves when he walked by, nor did he have a few hundred – thousand? – love letters to his name. Generally he was content to just go unnoticed. Better that, surely, than being noticed for his lack of beauty.
But he hesitated too long and a look and motion from his mother had him reluctantly entering the room. And he realized he’d missed a person – the royal healer was breakfasting with them. Zayn felt suddenly like one of his sister’s cats when they got too near his brother-in-law’s dogs, with fur raised and claws out. He was still mad the doctor had told him to ‘shuffle back to his rooms’ and ‘trust him’ to take care of Torian. Only long years of habitually staying quiet and still kept him from throwing something at the stuffy old medical expert.
Barely had he sat down and started on his breakfast than he was barraged with the reason they were all in attendance.
“A serving chit has been spreading word you saved her brother from that strange illness the Ogre caused,” Gail said into the silence that had fallen. “Did you really?”
“Yes,” Zayn said slowly, reluctantly. He cursed himself for neglecting to tell the girl to keep his part secret.
“What did you do?”
Zayn shrugged and said nothing, biting into a piece of sausage.
His father frowned and gave his youngest son a warning look. “Zayn, you must tell us.”
“Why?” Zayn replied moodily, not bothering to look up. Now he could see where this was going – and he bet the stupid healer would open his mouth next.
Master Vin, the royal healer, cleared his throat and spoke in the careful, patient tone that made Zayn want to do uncharacteristically violent things to him. “Zayn, I know you think you’re helping, though I can’t imagine why you’ve taken this up as your cause, but you’re not a healer. By helping him you may have simply done him more harm.”
“Nonsense,” Zayn said, slowly laying his fork down. He looked at Vin, too angry to notice how taken aback his family was at the un-Zayn fierceness of his expression. “The antidote takes a few days to work, because it cleans the system slowly, but it does work.”
“How would you know?” The healer still spoke in patronizing tones, immune or oblivious to the expression that had rendered the royal family silent. “I suppose you read it in a book?”
“Yes,” Zayn said flatly. “A very good, if old, book.”
The healer sniffed. “You can’t trust everything you read.”
“I know,” Zayn replied. “That’s why I checked five others.”
“All the same,” Vin said in feeble reply. “You are not a healer; you shouldn’t be practicing such things on your own. Better to listen to the advice the experts give you. If that soldier dies, it will be your fault.”
Zayn felt something inside him snap. “If I’d listened to you,” he said furiously as he shot to his feet. “He’d be dead. The Ogre’s poison takes six days to kill its victim. It’s made from crushing the nuts of Blue bark. A book told me that. It’s only cure is a tea made from the leaves of the Mountain Lady flowers. It takes anywhere from one to three days to really start working. By the time I returned from the mountain top, Master Healer, five days had passed. Your expertise would have killed him.” Without another word, Zayn stormed from the room.
He muttered angrily to himself, not caring where his feet carried him, completely oblivious to the startled, wary glances that servants and nobles cast the normally quiet, blank-faced prince.
“Prince Zayn!” a happy, lilting voice broke into his angry haze and Zayn looked up, startled to see Penny running toward him. This time the girl’s ingrained decorum didn’t get the better of her, and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek shyly before stepping back and beaming. “Thank you thank you thank you! Highness.”
Zayn just knew his face was as red as the berries he normally had at breakfast. “Is-is…I assume your brother is showing improvement?”
“Yes!” Penny clasped her hands. “He was able to sit up and eat all of his food, and he’s got some of his color back.” She darted forward to hug him again. “Prince, we can’t thank you enough.” Her eyes grew misty. “We were resigned to his dying. We’re humbled by your kindness. Whatever we can do to repay it, you’ve only to say.”
Zayn shook his head and stepped back slightly. “It-it’s nothing. I just…I just wanted him to get better.” He looked away, face turning redder than ever, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad he’s getting better.” Sensing he’d perhaps said too much, Zayn didn’t risk looking at Penny but turned and beat a retreat to his room.
Safely inside, he locked the door and retreated to his bed, grabbing one of the books always stacked beside it, and drowned himself in words, blocking out the world and the pounding of his heart.
Hunger eventually forced him out of his bed some hours later, when the sun was well on its way to setting.
He must have horrified his family greatly for them to have left him in peace the entire day. Though, if he knew his mother, there would be some form of punishment for yelling at the healer. Punishment would most likely take the form of a ball. Zayn shuddered, but double checked that he had suitable formal clothing to hand.
Venturing from his room and down the hallway, at the last minute Zayn veered away from the main hallways and out into the gardens. If his mother wanted to punish him, he thought defiantly, she would have to find him first.
Wandering aimlessly among the myriad flowers and profusion of marble fountains and benches, Zayn felt some of his lingering tension ease.
Until familiar voices broke into his calm and made him tense all over gain. His feet ignored his order to stop and carried him around the bend to where Torian sat on a small bench with his sister leaning over him. And Zayn almost smiled, for he knew that stance far too well – the scowl, the hands on hips. Usually it was followed by his being dragged off to be made to do something that was “for his own good.”
“Prince Zayn!” Torian said with a smile, and no small amount of relief. He bowed his head. “I owe you my thanks, Highness. And my life.”
Zayn shook his head, cheeks pinking. “It was my pleasure to assist,” he said quietly. “…Should you be out of bed?”
“I told you so!” Penny said, thumping her brother on the head. “Now get.”
Torian grimaced. “Be quiet, Pen. I’m fine.”
“No you’re not fine, and it’s time for another cup of tea.”
He grimaced again. “I know it’s a cure, but it tastes awful. Aren’t I well enough now?”
“No,” Zayn said. “You have to drink it for as long as I said last night.”
Torian looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “Yes, Highness. When will I be completely well? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Zayn blinked, startled that his opinion was being sought. “Um…I wouldn’t resume your duties until the beginning of the week, when you’ve finished drinking the tea. It’s a slow poison – slow to work, slow to leave.”
The soldier looked crestfallen. “But then I’ll never get my sword back!”
“Serves you right leaving it on the mountain!” his sister thumped him again.
“Ow! I’m sick you know. If I were well, I would have retrieved my sword.” Torian glowered at his sister.
Zayn fought a laugh, hoping that if he stayed quiet they’d forget about him, and he could just watch for a little while. Torian had always been captivating – Zayn had strained to overhear every word he exchanged with his friends the few days he’d attempted to talk to him in the garden not so long ago. Clever, funny and a laugh as addictive as his smiles. But Torian with his sister only made Zayn love him more…and hurt more, because he felt his hopes more impossible than ever. Suddenly not so happy anymore, Zayn turned on his heel and vanished. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed Torian hadn’t noticed his departure.
A day later found Zayn muttering yet more curses to himself – he was becoming remarkably proficient at them.
Of course, even the most naïve and innocent of the maidens in the holy temple would make liberal use of profanity when confronted with the godforsaken Scarlet Berry brambles. At least this time he could retrieve the herbs to make an ointment for the scratches already accumulating on his arms, even through the fabric of his shirt.
Though, if he were honest, only a few of the curses were for the brambles. The rest were entirely for him and his foolish notions.
A few questions and a bit of prodding, and instead of going back to his books, here he was trekking back up the damn mountain after a sword.
People really did turn stupid when they fell in love. One would think the ‘unrequited’ part would make him slightly more intelligent.
Zayn noted bitterly that it only made him worse.
Sighing to himself he continued up the mountain, moving with more ease than he had the last time, though he knew he’d still be sore come morning.
He paused once more by the small pond and thumbed open a book. Not his trusted guidebook, though he carried that as well. This particular volume was even more illegible than the guidebook, so sorely neglected that Zayn wondered what exactly the librarians did with their time. But he’d better not ask - his parents were still put out over the way he’d yelled at Vin.
Too bad for them.
This book was the closest he could get to a guide on Ogres. Best he could tell, everyone who tried to tangle with one – and they didn’t even try to do it in groups – was the greatest sort of fool.
Though Torian would be forgiven his foolishness, just because.
But honestly, what were any of them thinking? The smartest thing to do was avoid ogres at all costs. Their skin was thick enough that sword and arrow couldn’t significantly pierce it and blunt objects had all the impact of a feather pillow.
Magic, he surmised from the barely-there writing, was a possibility. But the country hadn’t practiced magic for nearly a century. So best just to wait until the thing died or wandered off.
Not that anyone would listen to him if he said that, but it made him feel better about his own inabilities to fight monsters.
Not feeling terribly confident, because if he came across the ogre he doubted it would leave him alone if Zayn asked, he nevertheless stowed his water and stood up, pressing on toward the meadow of Mountain Ladies. He paused there briefly to collect some more flowers, on the off chance something went wrong, then continued through it, on toward where the greenery began to end and the black rock and barren soil began.
He reminded himself of the smile that would be waiting for him when he showed up in Torian’s room with his sword – an heirloom, according to various sources. Zayn smiled to himself, the happy thought doing exactly what it was intended – distracting him.
At least until he tripped, and then realized he’d tripped over a large white bone. He looked away, not wanting to place the origin of the bone. He pressed on, until the dry dirt ended completely in rock.
And here he could see the leftovers of a handful of battles – in fact he was pretty sure the one leather gauntlet had belonged to Gail. Zayn almost snickered, picturing his brother’s expression were Zayn to return the lost gauntlet.
Remaining on the ledge overlooking the litany of noble defeats, Zayn perused every weapon in his view. He was nearly resigned to searching for it the hard way when his eyes caught a reflection of sunlight on bright green – and there it was, all but the jeweled pommel in the shade of a scraggly tree he was impressed to see was living in the desolate area.
Taking a deep breath, Zayn ventured down the stone slope and into the rocky field below, sticking as close as he could to the shadows of boulders and the surrounding incline. At last he reached the sword, and after locating the sheath nearby, wrapped it hastily in the old cloak he’d brought along – no way was he competent enough to carry the sword properly; he’d probably hurt himself. Fastening it to his back, he all but ran back across the field, slipping a couple of times as he climbed back up the slope. He ignored the scratches on his hands, running flat out across the meadow and as far down the mountain as he could, panting heavily, chest burning, but more anxious to get off the mountain than in breathing properly.
The walk home had never seemed so long. Zayn made sure his hood was pulled over his head and shaded his face completely. Not that anyone really cared if he was out, but he wasn’t going to start being excessively stupid now. Moderately stupid was quite enough.
It was nightfall by the time he finally reached home, and Zayn felt as though his legs were going to fall off. But his steps didn’t slow as he headed for the room where Torian remained until he was fully recovered. He knocked softly, frowning when he did not hear any voices.
Hesitating, Zayn almost turned and left. But he didn’t want to wait until morning, when the palace was busy and full of people, to return the sword. Nervously he opened the door and peeked inside.
And wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see that Torian was fast asleep. Penny was nowhere about; no doubt she had chores that needed attending now that her brother was not at death’s door.
Zayn crept into the room, soft leather boots soundless on the stone floor. He hoped his heart was only that loud to his ears. With great care he unwrapped the sword and laid it on the bed beside Torian.
His hand hesitated, lingered, so very close to Torian’s face, so handsome while he slept that it was wrenching to look at him. And Zayn couldn’t resist dusting his fingertips across his cheek, brushing his lips just the slightest bit. Then his own boldness – not to mention how inappropriate, to touch a near stranger with such familiarity – struck him and Zayn turned and fled. His old cloak he left forgotten on the floor, nor did he see the eyes that flew open as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Safe in his own chambers, Zayn strode to the bathing room to dress his stinging hands. The right was not so bad – a few minor scrapes that an ointment and some rest would cure easily enough.
But the small gash on the palm of his left hand was a bit deeper and would require bandaging.
And avoiding his family for a bit, if he wanted to avoid the questions with which they’d undoubtedly smother him. That and they’d make him see the master healer, and Zayn would sooner attempt to invite the Ogre to tea.
Carefully, painfully, he washed the cut out and smothered it in a bitter-smelling ointment that would, despite the vile scent, heal it much faster and keep it from getting diseased. Bandaging it, Zayn washed himself down and then tumbled into bed, falling immediately to sleep.
“G’way,” Zayn mumbled.
“Get up.”
“Go away.”
“Get up this instant,” Sophie snapped.
Zayn sighed and cracked his eyes open. “What?”
“You need to learn manners.”
“This from the woman who strolled into my room without knocking and proceeded to wake me up for no good reason?”
Sophie’s brows vanished into her hairline. “Mother is on the warpath because you skipped out on the ball last night.”
Zayn yawned and reluctantly sat up. “I had something more important to do. And I always skip balls.”
“This one was different and you know it. Does your disappearance have to do with that hand?” his sister looked pointedly at his bandaged left hand.
“Maybe,” Zayn said, hastily getting up and busying himself with washing and dressing. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Zayn…”
He grimaced in the dressing room, knowing he was in for some form of the ‘We just want to help you’ lecture. No doubt he was behaving more oddly than was normal for him.
“You’ve been acting oddly of late, Zayn.”
Zayn rolled his eyes and did up the laces of his black undershirt, throwing on the first tunic that came to hand – a red one – before pulling his boots on over his leggings and combing fingers through his hair. He wandered out as the lecture he was ignoring wrapped up. “Anyway, you know we love you and are only concerned for you.”
“I know, Sophie,” Zayn replied dutifully, glad to finally have come to the reason their mother sent Sophie to deal with him.
“That’s why mom and dad would like you to remain in the castle and not leave unless they give you express permission.”
Zayn blinked. “What?”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Weren’t you listening to a word I said?”
“Not really, no.” Zayn snapped. “Just refresh me – was this the ‘you need to talk to your family more’ tirade or the ‘you won’t meet that special someone hiding away all the time’ lecture?”
Any other man would have been running for the nearest exit, had they been the target of Sophie’s signature glare. Zayn didn’t bat an eye – she’d refined the expression in attempts to get him to dance.
“It’s the ‘you’ve been different lately, and not in a good way, and we don’t want you leaving the palace anymore to sneak off to do whatever it is that cut your hand’ lecture, and if you don’t behave I’ll tell mother it would be best to confine you to your room.”
Zayn bit back a reply, knowing when to gracefully concede defeat. “Fine. Whatever makes my family happy.”
Sophie sighed, looking far too tired for the bright, sunny morning. “Zayn, whether you believe it or not, all we want is for you to be happy. And—“
“You won’t find happiness by hiding away all the time and never talking to anyone,” Zayn finished bitterly for her. “I know. I got it.”
Frowning, his sister started to speak but settled instead on merely shaking her head. “Do what you want, just see that you don’t leave the palace. Ever since you fetched that stupid herb, you’ve been different. And not in a good way.” She sighed again. “We do love you, Zayn. I wish you wouldn’t fight us all the time.”
Zayn nodded, remaining stubbornly silent.
”Hurry up, mom and dad want to see you in the minor hall.”
”Fine.”
Zayn walked with his sister to the minor hall, where smaller matters were dealt with, as opposed to the issues resolved in the grand hall. He remained stonily silent as he stood before his parents.
“Where were you last night, Zayn?” his mother asked with a concerned frown.
“Running an errand,” Zayn said, polite but brief. “It took longer than I anticipated.” Actually it had taken only an hour more than he’d predicted, and that only because he’d done more running that he’d planned on. His legs ached something fierce; he longed to just curl back up in bed and ignore the world.
“We invited several guests especially for you last night,” his mother continued, tone shifting from concerned to stern. “Imagine how awkward it was that you were not there, when I specifically asked that you attend.”
Zayn ducked his head, contrite. “I apologize, mother. I had not planned to go out, but the matter was not one I felt comfortable putting off.”
“Yes, what is this task to which you keep referring?” Gail asked with a puzzled frown. “What do you think you are about? Your arms and hands are covered in scratches – whatever were you doing, little brother?”
“Those are from fetching the herbs on the mountain,” Zayn explained. “I hadn’t realized the brambles would cut so deep.”
Stefan nodded. “You should always wear leathers on the mountain. We would have told you that, if you’d but asked us for help.”
“Maybe I didn’t want your help,” Zayn said before he could stop himself. Stefan looked taken aback, but Zayn found he didn’t care. “I have my reasons for doing what I do, and no one is going to stop me. You’re always complaining that I’m never enough like all of you – now that I am all you do is criticize me.”
The King frowned. “We’re not criticizing you, Zayn. We’re worried about you. It isn’t like you at all to go trekking up a dangerous mountain – what if the Ogre had chanced upon you? And you’ve been rude and snappish, even to your mother.”
“You still haven’t apologized to Master Vin,” his mother interjected.
“Nor do I ever intend to!” Zayn snapped. “I’ll yell at him again if he tries to talk to me like that a third time.”
“He was only concerned for a patient…” Melanie said gently.
Zayn saw red. “His concern would have killed Torian!” He threw up his hands and turned away. “Forget it. I’m done trying to make you see reason.”
“You are the one who needs to see reason,” his father said in a tone of voice he seldom used. “Get back here and talk to us.”
“No.” Zayn paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder at his family. “It’s funny though. Gail acts strange and vanishes for months, and everyone thinks that’s fine. Sophie gets snappish and fretful and stops eating and that’s fine. I decide to brave the mountains and suddenly I’m confined to the palace.” He stormed out, leaving his family in a confused silence.
Until, one by one, comprehension flooded their faces, and they called themselves every kind of fool.
But by the time they thought to go after him, Zayn was gone.
Bizarrely, Zayn realized he was headed back toward the Black Mountain. Or perhaps not so bizarre, when he thought about it.
Getting there was ever so much easier on horse. He preferred walking, but fear that he would be stopped and dragged back to the castle had overridden his preference for keeping feet firmly on the earth. However, taking the horse up the mountain was nothing less than foolish, so he left her tied up in a grassy field at the base.
Zayn pulled his cloak up more securely around his shoulders and began to trek. There was plenty of daylight and would be for hours yet. So long as he didn’t go past the Mountain Lady meadow he should be plenty safe.
He barely noticed the brambles, absently pulling out the ones that snagged in his hair, as he made for the pond he’d oddly begun to think of as his.
Perhaps because he’d felt useful, and wanted, if only in his own head. The leaves had helped, and he assumed Torian was happy to have his sword returned.
Zayn sighed as he reached the small pond, dropping down next to it and propping his arms and head on his knees. He wondered idly how long he had until his brother and brother-in-law came to fetch him home. He made a face at the pond, not looking forward to the conversation he’d be forced to have upon his return. What had he been thinking anyway, telling his family why he’d been acting ‘strange.’ Now they’d never leave him alone.
Worse they’d feel sorry for him, and pity him, when they realized he was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.
What did it take to attract a man’s notice, anyway? Zayn tugged morosely at the grass at his feet. Maybe being able to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. He could climb up the Black Mountain three times but he couldn’t talk about the weather.
He wouldn’t be interested in him either.
The sound of a branch snapping beneath a tread broke into his thoughts, washing Zayn in cold fear. He leapt to his feet and turned around, heart in his throat.
And almost fell down. “Torian?” He turned red. “I mean – Lieutenant?”
Torian grinned. “I think I like Torian better, Highness.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I saw you leave the castle, and you looked upset.” Torian stepped closer, fully into the clearing and just a few steps from the prince. Zayn couldn’t take his eyes away, though he was trying very hard not to stare. But Torian in casual clothes and sick abed was completely different than Torian in his black leathers and a practical sword belt. He wore sword and dagger with such ease, and it was easy to see how the soldier could be the Captain’s favorite.
Zayn struggled for something to say. “You should still be in bed.”
“I’m fine, Highness.” Torian grinned again. “Which reminds me…” Taking another step forward, the soldier abruptly dropped to one knee, bare hands splayed on the ground for balance; his riding gloves had been tucked into his belt. He looked at Zayn, then bowed his head. “Thank you, Highness, for saving my life.” He smiled slowly, “Getting poisoned served me right, really. For what it’s worth, my idiotic life is yours.”
“You—“ Zayn snapped his mouth shut, frustrated that he still couldn’t say what he wanted. But he didn’t want Torian’s fealty. He stomped forward and held out a hand, and helped the soldier to his feet. “Don’t kneel,” he finally managed. “You don’t have to—do any of that.” He pulled his hand away – and realized Torian wasn’t letting go.
Torian ran his thumb across the knuckles of Zayn’s hand, and Zayn could feel a world of difference between his own mostly smooth hand and Torian’s rough calluses. “I remember you in the garden, Prince. You reminded me of Penny, back when she used to wait just outside the kitchens every day, hoping that stupid cook would notice her. My friends and I used to make guesses as to the person for whom you were waiting. But there were never any rumors – not a single drop of gossip anywhere about who had captured the young prince’s attention. Even when you stopped appearing in the garden, and we assumed the bans would be posted shortly, we never heard a word.” He continued to stroke the prince’s hand, staring at it as though immensely fascinated. “Then you appeared out of nowhere to help me,” he dared a look up, smiling ruefully. “Though as I said, I certainly deserved the poisoning.”
Zayn shook his head, but didn’t speak.
“But even then I didn’t figure anything out – though Penny teased me a bit for it.”
Zayn winced – girls always figured that sort of thing.
Torian hesitated, and Zayn was struck by the sudden realization that the soldier was nervous. That made him feel a bit better. The soldier’s grip on his hand tightened a bit, and he looked up into Zayn’s eyes. “Then you brought my sword back.”
Zayn went pale and then bright red, and tried to pull free of Torian’s hold. “I—I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t mean—“
“Prince!” Torian cut in, grabbing both the prince’s hands and forcing him to stand still. He held the bandaged hand gently, thumb soothing carefully over the wound. The right hand he held to his lips and let it linger there a moment too long. “I would be honored, Highness, if you would permit me to earn your favor.”
Zayn found it suddenly very hard to breathe beneath the look in those bright, blue-green eyes. And for once his voice wasn’t his mortal enemy. “You already have my favor, Lieutenant.”
“Then call me Torian,” the soldier said with an impish smile. He dropped Zayn’s hands and stepped close, filling the space around Zayn, grasping his shoulders when he attempted to step back. “And allow me to claim my favor.” That was all the warning Zayn got before Torian was kissing him, and it took him a moment to realize that’s what he was doing.
And he wished the world would hold still, or maybe not, because if it stopped then maybe Torian wouldn’t be kissing him anymore, and he wanted it to last forever.
But a moment later Torian broke away, looking beyond the pond with a frown. “We’d better go, Highness.”
“Zayn,” the prince corrected absently. He frowned, displeased the kisses had stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Torian grabbed his hand and began to lead them from the clearing. “Unless I’m mistaken, we’re about to have rather an unpleasant visitor, and I find myself quite reluctant to do the Ogre harm ever again.”
Zayn was confused. It must have shown on his face, for Torian laughed and winked. “If not for the Ogre, I would never have realized that the pretty prince sitting on a bench was waiting for me.” He paused just long enough to give Zayn another kiss, then they continued on their way back down the mountain and toward home.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:11 am (UTC)You reminded me of Penny, back when she used to wait just outside the kitchens every day, hoping that stupid cook would notice her. My friends and I used to make guesses as to the person for whom you were waiting.
“I would be honored, Highness, if you would permit me to earn your favor.”
“If not for the Ogre, I would never have realized that the pretty prince sitting on a bench was waiting for me.”
As I said before, it's not your regular caliber fluff. It's just sweet. That's the only word, "cute" just doesn't match it. It's just sweet. It tops my list of favorite fairy tales by anyone ever. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:14 am (UTC)^__^ Thanks, Sammie.
*is still laughing about poor, cute Val*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:40 am (UTC)*hearts* That really does make my year. I'll beat Robin McKinley yet!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:16 am (UTC)Oh, wow, that's just....so lovely.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:41 am (UTC)^_^ Thank you very much.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:40 am (UTC)^_^ Thanks, Maile!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:40 am (UTC)^____^
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:39 am (UTC)You must be bored.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:43 am (UTC)I mean, I'd prefer numsnums or something, but I'll take what I can get ^^
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:49 am (UTC)I've never met a man so eager to die.
As for Thursday, we'll see. This week is looking to be a long one. But if not, perhaps something can be arranged for the weekend. Sarah and I are always up for another round of Charlie if you haven't seen that yet, and we could do a double feature or something.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:59 am (UTC)No, I haven't seen Charlie yet, and I won't be having any plans that would conflict with that 'cause I won't be seeing any friends who aren't on LJ for about another 2 weeks ;_; I'm basically all yours 'til then (though I'm trying secure Greg for the Megadeth concert on the 16th).
So yeah, let me know.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 03:43 pm (UTC)How about Sky High?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 03:54 pm (UTC)I would like to add that since it is at the levee that if it is convenient to carpool then I would like to suggest that.
If not, I will try to consult mapquest.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 04:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 05:07 pm (UTC)Sure :)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 06:09 pm (UTC)Alright then!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 12:17 pm (UTC)^_^ Thank you for reading. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 05:41 am (UTC)Awwwwwwwww.....
I love your story dear... though for some reason I kept hoping to see the Ogre and was wondering at the possibility of a threesome... *cough* Yes... I hang out too much with Ki-chan possibly...
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 09:26 am (UTC)Lol. Yes, I can see the influence of ki-chan. I'll have to add "threesome fairytale" to my list.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 09:21 am (UTC)Oddly enough...three of us.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 02:06 pm (UTC)And I have to admit I was wondering if that would be a possible twist there, with the Ogre. XD;;;;;;;
no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 06:21 am (UTC)i think it's the fact that it's in the title and all the references to it but no appearance that threw me... scratc head
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 07:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 12:18 pm (UTC)*loves* Thanks, babe ^_^ Remind me I need to catch up on your story when I get home tonight.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 01:46 pm (UTC)Ignoring the soldier but fully aware of him, Torian set his bag on a small table and pulled the paper-wrapped flowers from it.
Shouldn't that be Zayn?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 04:22 pm (UTC)I love how you're the first one to notice that, and it completely bypassed me, two betas, and all the other readers *dies laughing* Thank you, I'll fix that when I get the chance.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 05:34 pm (UTC)*fangirls madly*
Date: 2005-08-02 09:09 pm (UTC)I also loved his library moments (the guidebook! On his quest! XD Maybe I should have found that so amusing or cool, but I did. I mean, think of all the other poor saps who go questing and all they bother relying on is some advice from a total stranger that they meet along the way. Zayn did research! And I loved him for it. ^_^) and I loved the way he 'expressed' his love for Torian. *tackle glomps you* That just uberly rocked and made my day. *hearts*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 11:29 pm (UTC)er, but i LOVE your writing, from what i've read on Fictionpress and what i've read on your webpage. especially your re-worked fairy tales. though i have to admit, i like this one the best, of all the ones i've read (though the rapunzel remake is a close second).
zayn is so bumblingly cute - and smart, with his books. i love how he's so shy when it comes to torian, and gets to use his smarts to help the guard. and tells off the master healer. that was one of my favorite parts.
the books! the guidebook - when you first mentioned the brambles, etc, and how the guide had said that they were populus and to avoid 'em, yada, i thought it meant a person. i don't know if you meant that, or if i just interpreted it wrong?
i like the way you started it, all 'storyteller' like, and then moved into the actually 'story' part of it, if that makes any sense. it was neat, and really set the scene/worked out well.
and of course, the final, fluffy scene - ♥LOVE♥
“I would be honored, Highness, if you would permit me to earn your favor.” - my FAVORITE line. Oh, i'm such a fangirlly pile of goo right now, thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-03 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-03 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-03 03:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 01:06 am (UTC)