fairy tale fic

[simmysim.livejournal.com]

Title: The Heartless Prince
Rating: PG
Summary: Once upon a time, a desperate king sold his son's heart to a great evil.
Word Count: 3000
Author's Note: onewayfreak beta'd this, I publicly thank her for it. :DD This is an original fairy tale-esque story, instead of my Princess and the Pea prompt, which I am still working on I swear.



King Howard was cruel, and his people did suffer for it.

The king held no disdain for common people, he was not controlling or particularly power mad; he was just uncaring.

There were no orders for his lawmen to bully and suppress his subjects, but he was not bothered when it happened, and he turned a cold shoulder to his soldier's atrocities, and to the shepherds and their flocks in his distant mountains, picked off nightly by neighboring bandits, and to the crowded prisons, and to his prophets growing fat and soft as they leeched off his merchants and workers. Indeed, King Howard was happy to benefit from conquests ended quickly, and did not concern himself with improving much of anything beyond the reach of his grasp, as that is how it was before him, and how it would be after him.

King Howard's lands were not large, and his army wasn't particularly strong, but he chose his battles well, and his influence, and his power, slowly but surely grew.

Because that was what pleased him most, and because he was not a man to be bothered by an empty bed, it took until his hair was beginning to white with age for him to begin calling for suitable women to be shown to him.

A noblewoman from a neighboring kingdom was brought before him, and she was lovely, and he was pleased, and his lands grew, and he was pleased. Her name was Maria, and she was not as uncaring as much as sheltered; she did not know of life beyond court and castle, and was never given reason to look for herself, and so her life was her new king, and it was a peaceful and contented marriage.

Prince Anthony was born while King Howard was away attending court. Queen Maria sent word that their son was healthy and pink, a full head of dark hair and he had greeted the world with loud, strong cries. And King Howard was pleased.

It was on his way back that the worst happened.

The bandits King Howard had allowed to grow and prosper on the edges of his kingdom attacked, believing his carriage to be that of a nobleman's, for his guard was light, as he wanted to return as swiftly as possible to his grown family.

An arrow with particularly keen sight flew directly through his window, and landed straight into his heart.

Gentle reader, you and I shall never see anything as grand as what King Howard did then, as such men of importance are of particular interest to the powers that be, and it was not death that greeted our king, but an offer.

It was spoken not in words, and not heard by ear, but directly to his bleeding and pierced and dying heart. A brand new soul would be much preferred, whispered in tongues only the dead and dying can understand. If only we could trade.

King Howard, for all his faults, was not a fool, and not so black hearted. As great as his fear of this moment was, he could not see his new born son as a thing to bargain or trade, and he did not rise to the bait, steeling himself for death.

Perhaps just his heart, it tried again.

His vision faded, and his breathing labored, and he did not respond.

Perhaps it's just a claim for now, it continued. Perhaps you can renege later, once everything has settled, perhaps, and despite himself, Howard could feel his heart warming to these offers, you will have until your son's 18th year, to change your mind, and die in his sted. Perhaps until then you will both live happy and prosperous and perhaps at that moment, if you do not change your mind, he will be mine, his heart for your years, forever.

It was not an answer he could give with his mind, it was something that came from his heart, a willingness and a want. Because come 18 years, surely King Howard would have lived a long and flourishing life, he would have done all he sought after, he would be old and useless then, and gladly lay down his life in his son's place.

The offer and acceptance happened so quickly that by the time his knights, well trained each, opened the door to his carriage, King Howard's shirt and chest were whole, and they spoke the rest of the way of what a lucky thing it was, that the arrow had missed.

Years pass quickly, and all too soon the infant prince was a boy, and then a young man, healthy, wiser than his father, and kinder than his mother. He had a streak for the fanciful and could often be found outside of the knight's jousting arena, watching them train and banter in all things mannish and rude and not all appropriate for such noble blood. There was nothing Prince Anthony liked more than that, though, how each and every one seemed larger than life and brave enough to take on anything, and King Howard saw no reason to deny him. Most of his son's other interests were too soft, in his opinion, for a soon to be king.

Some kingdoms have common practices of teaching their royalty combat, but King Howard's was not one of them. It was only out of asking older, bored knights and soldiers that Prince Anthony learned to ride bareback a respectful distance, and how to handle a sword and shield, and they hoped wistfully for a king who was not too cowardly to lead them to battle, who would give them a noble cause and death.

Sixteen years passed since that fateful night, the year of his birth, when tragedy struck again, and this time with a lasting blow. Both King Howard and Queen Maria were slaughtered in a particularly brutal fashion, when visiting a far off kingdom, an uprising that left most of the noblemen quite soundly dead.

Prince Anthony took on the crown and fell into a deep and profound mourning, for he had loved his parents dearly, for all their faults.

But what did this make of the deal?

Young King Anthony had only lasted two years on the throne when, on the night of his 18th birthday, an awful, wretched hand reached up into his bedchamber, as was its right, and clamped down on his steadily beating heart. He woke from his sleep, gasped in pain, and then was dead.

As clever as King Anthony was, he had no reason to believe anything so horrid of his parents, and was indeed confused. There was no doubt where he was, if you ever find yourself in such a position you will know immediately as well, but how was beyond him.

The wretched, deformed trolls that surrounded the confused king were all too glad to inform him. No longer did they need to rely on secret tongues and only heart heard voices. They screeched and howled and moaned in such an awful ruckus, the noise alone almost brought our king to his knees.

They told him of his father, and of his deal. "You are ours," they crowed. "We own you. Your heart was given, bought and paid for!"

"No, you don't," King Anthony said. It was not a whine, it was not said in pitiful tones, but so matter of fact and sure, they were compelled to cease their noise to listen. "I did not agree."

"It does not matter!" they said, even louder because they were less sure of their words, but that meant very little as they did not care of fairness or justice.

"But can't I have a say in it?" King Anthony asked. "Can't I make an offer as well?"

And their eyes sparked with greed, for they did so love such noble blood, and if there was anything more they could gain from this family, they would gladly do so.

"We will listen," they said.

"I would like a chance to win my life back," he said, and then, so full of youthful overconfidence in his own ability, "I will fight, sword to sword, with any of your champions."

"There are no champions here!" they crowed. "And you are weak."

"Then I will fight a demon," he said. "Just give me a chance."

"And if you win?"

"Then I leave this place and all will be the same up above."

"And if you lose?"

"Then I will stay willingly."

They screeched with laughter then, a deafening sort that echoed all around, and sent his heart straight into his throat. "But we want you to struggle."

"I will stay however you want me," he said, and King Anthony's will was beginning to weaken. You shouldn't judge him too harshly, for while it was with fear and fear alone, even if the bravest, biggest man you could possibly imagine were in that position, he would surely feel that same crippling dread. Circumstances considered, the king preformed quite admirably.

The laughter, frightening as it was, was a lucky thing. It brought the attention of a young knight, called Steven, who had been there so long it felt like he'd never been anywhere happy or pleasant in his entire existence, and indeed, could not remember what series of unfortunate events had landed him there to begin with, and could only hope he had been trying to accomplish some good.

Steven would be pleased to know he had come from the world you and I know and live in, and had only been there a hundred or so years -- which is a light sentence for such a place, although that might be hard for you and I to imagine.

Steven had been on a quest to rid the world of a great evil, and succeeded, and was deeply mourned topside as long as he was remembered, and this knowledge would give him great comfort, if only he could remember.

The knight was not of noble blood, so he had nothing to offer but brute strength, creatures of the underworld having no interest or understanding in much beyond that. He had a great weight of other, noble qualities, valor and bravery and kindness and a keen sense of justice, but these things were nothing in a pit of such iniquity.

He was an amusement to the awful things, but not real value, and so when he stepped up to say, "I will fight in his place, for this is a king, and a king should have a knight." They were not threatened.

"You will lose," they told Steven.

"If I lose I will stay as long as you want me," Steven vowed.

"That is not enough," they screeched. "You will stay and you will be blind, and deaf and dumb, and your fingers and toes will be fed to the rodents until they are gone, and then your hands, and then your arms, and then your shoulders, and your ankles and your legs and then they will grow again from the stumps to start it all over, and this will happen again and again for as long as we will it."

Steven, having previously believed it couldn't get much worse was just aware of how wrong he'd been, but seeing the young king had given him a queer mix of excitement and warmth that he would've identified as happiness immediately if he hadn't come to be such a stranger to the feeling.

As it was, all he knew was that he liked to look at King Anthony, and hear him speak, the kindness of his soul and mind clear and bright in such pits of despair. He would like to make sure that King Anthony's voice never shook with fear again, and should also like to continue hearing and looking at his goodness, enough to take such a risk.

"I will still fight," Steven said, strong and sure. "And I will win, and I will pledge myself to King Anthony and go wherever he bids me, be it heaven or hell."

King Anthony was deeply moved by the sentiment, as he was well sobered of any grandiose thoughts of slaying a demon himself. Equally, however, he filled with intense sorrow, to think that such a knight was in this place to begin with, and that his fate was in such peril. "And if he should lose I will take the same fate."

The walls and ceilings themselves seemed to shake with pleasure at that, the little beings making such a rumpus, arms waving and feet stamping. It was near impossible to bind royalty to such a fate; and here was one willing to be lead straight into it.

They quickly agreed to Steven the Knight's terms, and when he was offered and sword or a shield, one or the other, and he took the latter, they squealed and squirmed again with joy. "What a fool!" they said. "For he plans to wear his opponent out, but such a thing is hopeless, he will be smashed to bits and the rats will be fed early tonight!"

King Anthony, quite clever in most things, sweated with worry at the decision, but he was to be bound and muted until the combat was complete, and their fate, now irreparably joined, decided.

A great demon, seventeen feet tall and a man but for the flaming red skull in place of a head, was drawn into the arena where they were to battle. Its eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, fixing on the knight with a chilling hunger. Steven was not afraid, for he had seen many horrors in his time here, and on earth above, and his plan was much more cunning than his captors and king had given him credit for.

The creature had all manner of weapons and defenses, a swinging, wickedly spiked mace in one hand and a sword in the other, chain mail covering its body. Steven, oddly, seemed brightened by the sight, and King Anthony could've wept, for he was sure the poor man had succumbed to madness, and them both to a fate far worse than death.

It would take longer than a hundred years, and in fact, longer than several hundred, to dull the senses of a well trained knight. Steven did dodge the first blow of the mace easily, and although the ground shook with its impact, he did swiftly wind around the swipe of the blade.

The red skulled demon had little patience; discarding each weapon as they failed to draw blood, pulling a battle axe from where it had been strapped to its back, chopping into the air and into ground, but not Steven. Then came and went a spear and a dagger, a flail and a club. The creature did not tire, but he did grow careless. Steven watched his swings grow wider, his stomps sloppier, until finally he saw the opening he'd been waiting for.

The shield, one crafted of fine metal and stolen from a keen warrior long ago, sailed through the air with cunning and precision, landing so fast and hard and deep in the demon's neck that it vanished from sight. The creature stumbled back in shock, its red jaw flapping.

Once it had fallen, Steven wasted no time. He grabbed the dagger, handling it as a sword, its size was so great, and impaled it directly into the demon's heart, for they did not know death as humans do, only defeat.

"Not fair!" the creatures and their world wailed, gnashing and clawing at their own faces, walls trembling until dust began to fall, their misery was so great. "Not fair!" but no matter how they combed, how they protested, there was no fault to be found.

King Anthony was released back to his bed, his heart his own once more, and of course, he bid Steven to follow.

And they did live together, and know each other, as it did not take long at all for Steven to realize that he did love his king. King Anthony returned this affection with even more fervor, as he could not think of a more noble or brave man to share his kingdom with.

Steven was able to gaze on his king as long as he could wish, in peace and happiness he'd long forgotten, and King Anthony ruling so just that all people in his kingdom would live happily ever after.