The Storyteller [3/3] The End
Jan. 1st, 2012 04:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: The Storyteller, Part Three: The End
Author:![[info]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/63dba15db604/1092261-166947/l-files.livejournal.net/userhead/98?v=1320914709)
blood_winged
Recipient:![[info]](https://blood-winged.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88.3)
arakni666
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters: Arthur, Alfred, Matthew.
Summary: Prompt: One Thousand and One Nights - Alfred is the bored, lovesick prince, and Arthur is the storyteller.
Notes: I am a terrible person who can't keep to my own deadlines :1
Days turned to weeks, then months began to go by, and Arthur kept the prince entertained each night with stories of adventure and romance, tragedy and mystery. While at first Alfred was reserved and a little withdraw, slowly he began to come out of his shell, and Arthur started to see what he must have been like before he was so cruelly betrayed. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Matthew, whom he continued to speak to almost every night. He never brought the man up to Alfred, not wanting to disturb the fragile friendship that seemed to be developing between them, but the violet-eyed blonde continued to give him advice, and even occasional ideas when Arthur began to panic about running out of stories to tell.
Although, inevitably, that day would come.
It had been almost three years since Arthur’s first arrival to the palace. Each night, he had been summoned to Prince Alfred’s throne room, and had finished the story he had been telling the night before, before he moved on to another. Even if it was only the first sentence, Alfred would always allow him to begin another before announcing that he would retire, something that Arthur did not fail to notice as the days went by. The young man always appeared pleased to see him, and more than once Arthur found him pacing in his eagerness as he entered the room, only for him to run over the moment that Arthur appeared and grab his hands, pulling him to the steps in front of the throne and urging him to sit.
It would only be a matter of time, however, before Arthur’s imagination would run dry, and after over two and a half years had passed, it was all but exhausted.
Arthur paced in his room, rubbing his temple to try and ward off the headache that had been brewing in the back of his skull for the past hour. He heard the soft noise of a throat being cleared – a familiar sound but he couldn’t bring himself to smile, turning with a near-desperate expression on his face.
“Matthew, what am I going to do?” he said immediately, and the taller blonde blinked, then frowned. “There’s nothing left in me, I can’t keep on doing this for the rest of my life.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he dropped his head into his hands and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “However long that is going to be.”
Sighing gently, Matthew crossed the room and sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, the touch so gentle that Arthur barely felt it. “You may find that my brother surprises you, eh?” he murmured. “He has allowed you to live for this long, and he is not so foolish to still be ignorant of the true meaning behind your storytelling.”
Arthur lifted his head a little, blinking the spots away from his eyes. “Are you telling me that he’s been letting me live, all this time…” He glanced over to where Matthew was, only to find that he was no longer there. A chill shot through him, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting as he looked to the door to find it closed. Swallowing, the man got to his feet and shook himself mentally, drawing in a deep breath and pulling the best clothes he had out of his dresser. If he was going to need to make an impassioned plea for his life to be spared he had better look good doing it.
Still, it had been a better life than he had been used to. He had few complaints, and even the prince – someone who he had always thought to be cold and uncaring – had been revealed to be a warm, enthusiastic young man who simply didn’t want to be hurt again. Arthur could only assume that he had been allowed to live for a reason other than Alfred enjoying his stories, and although he had a suspicion of just why that might be, the more sensible part of his mind didn’t want to believe it to be so. Someone as important as Prince Alfred would have no reason to take an interest in somebody like him, he thought, then smacked the side of his head.
“Think positive, idiot,” he snapped at himself, looking over his shoulder as a heavy knock on the door heralded the arrival of a guard to escort him to the throne room. Something in his chest felt heavy as he was led to the room which had become a source of pleasure for him, to the warm smile of a man that he hoped could have become something more than a friend. He had never set out with the aim of mending the young man’s heart, and indeed he may have been one of the worst people to attempt to do so, but he realised now that it may have been exactly what he had been doing for all these months. The thought made his heart catch in his throat and he cursed himself for having been so blind. It was all the more reason to be worried. If Alfred had feelings for him, surely he would only be all the more eager to be rid of him?
“Arthur!” Alfred smiled as brightly as ever as Arthur walked into the room, though the expression faded slightly when Arthur didn’t return it. “Is something wrong? Come and sit.” Taking Arthur gently by the arm the prince led him to their usual spot and urged him to sit down, assuming his usual eager posture, his expression curious as Arthur took his seat and clasped his hands together.
“I’m afraid I have no more stories to tell you,” he said, and Alfred’s expression fell. He frowned, and turned his head away, picking at his cuff for a moment.
“I see,” he murmured. “In that case…” Arthur waiting for it, the words he had spent the last few days dreading – that the young prince had no more use for him. What he did hear, however, surprised him so suddenly that he gave an audible gasp. “In that case, I will tell you a story.” The younger blonde was still frowning, though it seemed now to be one of concentration, and though he didn’t dare speak, Arthur leaned forwards slightly.
“Once,” Alfred began, and Arthur found himself smiling as he recognised a mimic of his own tone in the way that Alfred spoke. “There was a prince, and he was handsome and charming, but he didn’t trust anybody, because he’d been hurt when he was younger.” It was a clumsy narrative, but instantly Arthur knew who this handsome prince was. “The prince was alone for a long time, until he met someone who distracted him with stories, and he found that he enjoyed the stories so much that he didn’t want to get rid of the person who was telling them to him.” Alfred was beginning to blush, and although Arthur wanted to stop him there, he pressed his lips together and held his tongue. “As time went on the prince began to find that he liked having the storyteller around, and it wasn’t just for his stories, so when, one day, the storyteller finally had no more stories to tell, the prince took him by the hands…”
Alfred held his hands out, and Arthur, after a moment of hesitation, placed his own in them. The young man looked up at him, his eyes open and honest and so blue, and he smiled. “And he said, ‘I don’t care if you have no more stories, because I love you, and I want you to be with me forever.’”
For a moment, Arthur could do little but gape. He looked away, then back, and swallowed down a nervous sound. “And what did the storyteller say?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
He didn’t speak – he couldn’t. Anything he might have tried to say would have come out in a rush of garbled words flooded with relief and something else, something he hadn’t fully realised until the prince had confessed to him in so endearing a way. He did love this man, and perhaps it wasn’t the soul-consuming kind of love that everyone spoke of being the ideal, the kind that made your head spin and made nothing else matter, but it was certainly there, a tiny flame only being fanned higher by the faint, almost worried smile that flickered across Alfred’s face.
“He said… ‘I accept… and in time we will create new stories together.’” The final word had barely left him before he was being pulled into Alfred’s arms and held tightly, his own heart pounding so loudly that he swore the other man must have been able to hear it. He felt a bubbling chuckle leave him and brought his arms up around the young prince, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. “I wonder… if we might tell your brother… I think he’d like to know.”
Alfred shifted back, frowning, and looked as if to shake his head for a moment before he nodded and got to his feet, holding one hand out for Arthur to take. “You’re right,” he said. “It would be good to allow him some closure… After all, if he hadn’t done what he did I wouldn’t have been led to you.”
The man was so frank, Arthur found his cheeks heating again as he was led through the palace, to an area he had not yet seen. It was old, disused, cobwebs hanging from the corners of doorways and windows and the dust so thick on the surfaces that it gave everything a grey hue. At the very end of a long hallway, before a tall stained glass window, Alfred stopped. Before them was a low table, and upon it, a small black urn. The prince knelt, and bid Arthur to do the same, and it was with a puzzled gaze that he did as he was asked.
“You couldn’t have known,” Alfred murmured. “But it turned out that what you did was for the best after all.” He touched his hand gently to the lid of the urn, and a realisation swept over Arthur so suddenly that it left him feeling cold. “I want you to know that I forgive you… Matt.”
“I never thought I’d see the day that he’d let it go,” said a quiet voice behind the two of them. Arthur didn’t dare turn around, but he felt the touch on his shoulder – light, almost chilled. “You’ve done me a great service, Arthur… and him, too. I apologise for not being entirely honest with you, but you see, I needed your help, not your fear.”
Arthur nodded, and the faint touch left him. Beside him, Alfred smiled and sighed, and shook his head. “I think forgiving him will make it harder… I’m going to miss him.” It would be a while longer, Arthur thought, before Alfred would be able to forgive himself, but this was a good start. As they stood and left the disused wing of the palace, Arthur could have sworn he saw Matthew out of the corner of his eye, that gentle smile on his face as he waved, and then disappeared.
They left the door open as they walked away, hand in hand, and as their steps faded into the distance, the door swung to, and quietly closed with a soft click.
<| Part Two |
Author:
Recipient:
arakni666Rating/Warnings: G
Characters: Arthur, Alfred, Matthew.
Summary: Prompt: One Thousand and One Nights - Alfred is the bored, lovesick prince, and Arthur is the storyteller.
Notes: I am a terrible person who can't keep to my own deadlines :1
*****
Days turned to weeks, then months began to go by, and Arthur kept the prince entertained each night with stories of adventure and romance, tragedy and mystery. While at first Alfred was reserved and a little withdraw, slowly he began to come out of his shell, and Arthur started to see what he must have been like before he was so cruelly betrayed. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Matthew, whom he continued to speak to almost every night. He never brought the man up to Alfred, not wanting to disturb the fragile friendship that seemed to be developing between them, but the violet-eyed blonde continued to give him advice, and even occasional ideas when Arthur began to panic about running out of stories to tell.
Although, inevitably, that day would come.
It had been almost three years since Arthur’s first arrival to the palace. Each night, he had been summoned to Prince Alfred’s throne room, and had finished the story he had been telling the night before, before he moved on to another. Even if it was only the first sentence, Alfred would always allow him to begin another before announcing that he would retire, something that Arthur did not fail to notice as the days went by. The young man always appeared pleased to see him, and more than once Arthur found him pacing in his eagerness as he entered the room, only for him to run over the moment that Arthur appeared and grab his hands, pulling him to the steps in front of the throne and urging him to sit.
It would only be a matter of time, however, before Arthur’s imagination would run dry, and after over two and a half years had passed, it was all but exhausted.
Arthur paced in his room, rubbing his temple to try and ward off the headache that had been brewing in the back of his skull for the past hour. He heard the soft noise of a throat being cleared – a familiar sound but he couldn’t bring himself to smile, turning with a near-desperate expression on his face.
“Matthew, what am I going to do?” he said immediately, and the taller blonde blinked, then frowned. “There’s nothing left in me, I can’t keep on doing this for the rest of my life.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he dropped his head into his hands and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “However long that is going to be.”
Sighing gently, Matthew crossed the room and sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, the touch so gentle that Arthur barely felt it. “You may find that my brother surprises you, eh?” he murmured. “He has allowed you to live for this long, and he is not so foolish to still be ignorant of the true meaning behind your storytelling.”
Arthur lifted his head a little, blinking the spots away from his eyes. “Are you telling me that he’s been letting me live, all this time…” He glanced over to where Matthew was, only to find that he was no longer there. A chill shot through him, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting as he looked to the door to find it closed. Swallowing, the man got to his feet and shook himself mentally, drawing in a deep breath and pulling the best clothes he had out of his dresser. If he was going to need to make an impassioned plea for his life to be spared he had better look good doing it.
Still, it had been a better life than he had been used to. He had few complaints, and even the prince – someone who he had always thought to be cold and uncaring – had been revealed to be a warm, enthusiastic young man who simply didn’t want to be hurt again. Arthur could only assume that he had been allowed to live for a reason other than Alfred enjoying his stories, and although he had a suspicion of just why that might be, the more sensible part of his mind didn’t want to believe it to be so. Someone as important as Prince Alfred would have no reason to take an interest in somebody like him, he thought, then smacked the side of his head.
“Think positive, idiot,” he snapped at himself, looking over his shoulder as a heavy knock on the door heralded the arrival of a guard to escort him to the throne room. Something in his chest felt heavy as he was led to the room which had become a source of pleasure for him, to the warm smile of a man that he hoped could have become something more than a friend. He had never set out with the aim of mending the young man’s heart, and indeed he may have been one of the worst people to attempt to do so, but he realised now that it may have been exactly what he had been doing for all these months. The thought made his heart catch in his throat and he cursed himself for having been so blind. It was all the more reason to be worried. If Alfred had feelings for him, surely he would only be all the more eager to be rid of him?
“Arthur!” Alfred smiled as brightly as ever as Arthur walked into the room, though the expression faded slightly when Arthur didn’t return it. “Is something wrong? Come and sit.” Taking Arthur gently by the arm the prince led him to their usual spot and urged him to sit down, assuming his usual eager posture, his expression curious as Arthur took his seat and clasped his hands together.
“I’m afraid I have no more stories to tell you,” he said, and Alfred’s expression fell. He frowned, and turned his head away, picking at his cuff for a moment.
“I see,” he murmured. “In that case…” Arthur waiting for it, the words he had spent the last few days dreading – that the young prince had no more use for him. What he did hear, however, surprised him so suddenly that he gave an audible gasp. “In that case, I will tell you a story.” The younger blonde was still frowning, though it seemed now to be one of concentration, and though he didn’t dare speak, Arthur leaned forwards slightly.
“Once,” Alfred began, and Arthur found himself smiling as he recognised a mimic of his own tone in the way that Alfred spoke. “There was a prince, and he was handsome and charming, but he didn’t trust anybody, because he’d been hurt when he was younger.” It was a clumsy narrative, but instantly Arthur knew who this handsome prince was. “The prince was alone for a long time, until he met someone who distracted him with stories, and he found that he enjoyed the stories so much that he didn’t want to get rid of the person who was telling them to him.” Alfred was beginning to blush, and although Arthur wanted to stop him there, he pressed his lips together and held his tongue. “As time went on the prince began to find that he liked having the storyteller around, and it wasn’t just for his stories, so when, one day, the storyteller finally had no more stories to tell, the prince took him by the hands…”
Alfred held his hands out, and Arthur, after a moment of hesitation, placed his own in them. The young man looked up at him, his eyes open and honest and so blue, and he smiled. “And he said, ‘I don’t care if you have no more stories, because I love you, and I want you to be with me forever.’”
For a moment, Arthur could do little but gape. He looked away, then back, and swallowed down a nervous sound. “And what did the storyteller say?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
He didn’t speak – he couldn’t. Anything he might have tried to say would have come out in a rush of garbled words flooded with relief and something else, something he hadn’t fully realised until the prince had confessed to him in so endearing a way. He did love this man, and perhaps it wasn’t the soul-consuming kind of love that everyone spoke of being the ideal, the kind that made your head spin and made nothing else matter, but it was certainly there, a tiny flame only being fanned higher by the faint, almost worried smile that flickered across Alfred’s face.
“He said… ‘I accept… and in time we will create new stories together.’” The final word had barely left him before he was being pulled into Alfred’s arms and held tightly, his own heart pounding so loudly that he swore the other man must have been able to hear it. He felt a bubbling chuckle leave him and brought his arms up around the young prince, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. “I wonder… if we might tell your brother… I think he’d like to know.”
Alfred shifted back, frowning, and looked as if to shake his head for a moment before he nodded and got to his feet, holding one hand out for Arthur to take. “You’re right,” he said. “It would be good to allow him some closure… After all, if he hadn’t done what he did I wouldn’t have been led to you.”
The man was so frank, Arthur found his cheeks heating again as he was led through the palace, to an area he had not yet seen. It was old, disused, cobwebs hanging from the corners of doorways and windows and the dust so thick on the surfaces that it gave everything a grey hue. At the very end of a long hallway, before a tall stained glass window, Alfred stopped. Before them was a low table, and upon it, a small black urn. The prince knelt, and bid Arthur to do the same, and it was with a puzzled gaze that he did as he was asked.
“You couldn’t have known,” Alfred murmured. “But it turned out that what you did was for the best after all.” He touched his hand gently to the lid of the urn, and a realisation swept over Arthur so suddenly that it left him feeling cold. “I want you to know that I forgive you… Matt.”
“I never thought I’d see the day that he’d let it go,” said a quiet voice behind the two of them. Arthur didn’t dare turn around, but he felt the touch on his shoulder – light, almost chilled. “You’ve done me a great service, Arthur… and him, too. I apologise for not being entirely honest with you, but you see, I needed your help, not your fear.”
Arthur nodded, and the faint touch left him. Beside him, Alfred smiled and sighed, and shook his head. “I think forgiving him will make it harder… I’m going to miss him.” It would be a while longer, Arthur thought, before Alfred would be able to forgive himself, but this was a good start. As they stood and left the disused wing of the palace, Arthur could have sworn he saw Matthew out of the corner of his eye, that gentle smile on his face as he waved, and then disappeared.
They left the door open as they walked away, hand in hand, and as their steps faded into the distance, the door swung to, and quietly closed with a soft click.
<| Part Two |
