Death Comes Not Quickly
Jan. 26th, 2014 10:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Death Comes Not Quickly
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: PG-13/T
Pairing/Characters: Prince Charming/Cinderella
Rating/Category: PG-13/Het
Prompt: SmallFandomFest: Fairytales - Cinderella Cinderella/Prince Dancing shoes
Spoilers: None
Summary:
Notes/Warnings: Dark Future Fic, Character Death
He stood alone in the Great Hall. Dark thoughts whispered through his mind in stark opposition to the bright glitter that decorated the walls. He had this entire chamber fashioned to look like the gown his late wife had worn when they had first met. The sparkle almost hurt his eyes, but he was accustomed to it. Besides, it was easier to blame the sparkling colors than the tears in his eyes.
His footsteps echoed in the hall. No one was here. No one would be here until he left. His subjects, what few loyal ones remained, might stand outside in wait, but his guards would not allow them passage. Not until he was done this time, his tenth trip through the hall today.
Birds sang outside. The sky continued to glow a bright shade of blue with only a few wisps of clouds passing overhead. His hands became fists behind his back. He still wanted to kill every living thing that possessed the ability to display joy. How dare the world be happy when his wife lay cold and dead, gone from him forever!
His eyes gleamed like blue steel in the morning sunlight. His teeth were set, his formerly handsome face drawn tight with his barely concealed fury. He should outlaw happiness, he thought, and not for the first time since his Queen's passing or even for the day, but he couldn't. He wouldn't, because she would not have wanted it. She'd always done everything she could to make others happy, even at the cost of granting servitude to those who had never deserved it.
He had saved her from that fate, but he hadn't been able to rescue her from the next thing that had laid her down. She'd become sick what now felt like only a few years after they had married but had, in truth, been well over fifty. He'd searched the entire world for a cure, but none had been found. He had wanted to blame her family, but her stepmother had died long before. Her stepsisters did not possess enough intelligence between the both of them to be able to cast a spell, and all the Wizards and Sorceresses with whom he had consulted had told him the same thing: His beloved, cherished Cinderella was dying of a natural cause, and there was nothing they could do.
He had almost had the last Sorceress stoned to death for saying so. It had only been Cindy who had saved her, reaching out, grasping his hand, and whispering with a voice that could barely draw air. Her plea for the Witch's life to be spared had been one of the last three things she had said to him. She had also asked him to try to be happy without her, but surely, he thought yet again, she should have known that such was an impossibility. How could he be happy when his Queen, his better half, the second part of his soul, had been taken from him?
He stopped before the pedestal that held her glass slippers for all to see and lifted them in pale hands. His bones could now be seen through his flesh, but Charming didn't care. He was wasting away without his Cinderella, and he had no interest in trying to persevere. He only wanted to be with her again. The only thing that kept him from not taking his life or ordering his guards to put him out of his misery was that she had begged him not to follow her swiftly but to let Death come to him on its own course.
So he had stayed and he had tried to live without her, but he had withered more and more inside without her until he'd finally stopped trying to pretend. He'd turned a blind eye to his kingdom and devoted every moment of his life to overseeing this hall be built in his wife's honor until it was done. Now, he had nothing left to do but wait.
His dark head lifted as he heard shouts outside the palace's walls. Strong voices and the clinking of metal against metal followed until the original shouters ceased their noise. Another tear dropped down his face. It was probably another protestor. His parents had never had these problems, but then, his father had never been accused of keeping his mother prisoner.
Cinderella had never been a prisoner in his castle, in their home. His fingers traced the smooth glass of the slippers she'd worn until she could no longer leave their bed as he remembered the first time she had come into his life. She had been so beautiful. They had danced all night; he still wished they could have danced all eternity.
He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had fallen in love with her the very second their eyes had met. The poets were right. True love did happen at first glance; they had been living proof of that fact for a while.
But not, he sighed, for long enough. He again heard the skirmish happening outside his home, and his thoughts turned to his kingdom. It, like he, was wasting away, as well as it should. None of them had a right to live without their Queen, who had brought peace and love to every person in the village.
He had been angered, at first, when they'd turned against him after her death. He had never hurt Cindy, never ordered to do anything at all. He had always let her have her way. But yet, there were those who persisted in believing that, because she chose to do most of the chores around the palace herself, he must be a commanding husband, keeping her as a slave against her will.
He hadn't forced her. He hadn't harmed her. He'd even pleaded with her, for the first several years of their happy marriage, to leave the work to the peasants, but she had always refused. She claimed she liked working, as long as she could whistle and sing while she did so, and she had a truly gorgeous voice.
He could almost hear her singing now. Almost. He cocked his head in a fool's attempt to get a clearer sound of the dead and then realized what he was doing and berated himself. He'd never get to hear her voice again in this lifetime. He'd never get to hold his wife again until he died and woke beside her.
A splintering sound tore his misty gaze from the hall back down to the slippers he held. Fiery pain and shame ran through his heart when he realized he had caused the heel of the right slipper to begin to crack. Quickly, and completely heedless to the blood running over his palm, Charming placed his wife's shoes back where they belonged, on a high pedestal for all to behold and revere.
He seemed to hurt everything with which he came into contact. Cinderella was like her shoes: so beautiful and so fragile. He had treasured her, revered her, held her up like the glamorous jewel she'd been as best she had allowed, but in the end . . . His heart beat with fear. Could his subjects be right? Could he have done something, said something, to lead to her death, or perhaps it was something he hadn't done? Could all those chores have spurred on her sickness?
No! NO! he thought, his heart crying out in denial of his fears and persistence of the truth. He had loved Cinderella with all of his being, every inch of his heart and soul, greater than any man had ever loved any woman before. He would have done anything for her, absolutely anything. He would have sold his soul to keep her with him for just one day more. He'd loved her; he'd never hurt her!
He turned from the shrine built to his wife and ran. He ran pass his palace guards, pass the protesting villages, pass the people who, like he, still wept and grieved for his wife. He continued to run until he was safe in their room. Then he dropped to his knees beside their bed and her nightgown that still lay where she had last worn it and cried his heart out yet again.
He had never done anything to bring on his Queen's death, but now he had to wait for Death. He didn't know how long it would take. (A decade? A century more? Although it felt like he'd lived a millennia trapped without her, it had only been one year.) He knew two things for certain, however: Death for him could never come soon enough, and he would never, ever stop loving and revering his beloved, precious Cinderella.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: PG-13/T
Pairing/Characters: Prince Charming/Cinderella
Rating/Category: PG-13/Het
Prompt: SmallFandomFest: Fairytales - Cinderella Cinderella/Prince Dancing shoes
Spoilers: None
Summary:
Notes/Warnings: Dark Future Fic, Character Death
He stood alone in the Great Hall. Dark thoughts whispered through his mind in stark opposition to the bright glitter that decorated the walls. He had this entire chamber fashioned to look like the gown his late wife had worn when they had first met. The sparkle almost hurt his eyes, but he was accustomed to it. Besides, it was easier to blame the sparkling colors than the tears in his eyes.
His footsteps echoed in the hall. No one was here. No one would be here until he left. His subjects, what few loyal ones remained, might stand outside in wait, but his guards would not allow them passage. Not until he was done this time, his tenth trip through the hall today.
Birds sang outside. The sky continued to glow a bright shade of blue with only a few wisps of clouds passing overhead. His hands became fists behind his back. He still wanted to kill every living thing that possessed the ability to display joy. How dare the world be happy when his wife lay cold and dead, gone from him forever!
His eyes gleamed like blue steel in the morning sunlight. His teeth were set, his formerly handsome face drawn tight with his barely concealed fury. He should outlaw happiness, he thought, and not for the first time since his Queen's passing or even for the day, but he couldn't. He wouldn't, because she would not have wanted it. She'd always done everything she could to make others happy, even at the cost of granting servitude to those who had never deserved it.
He had saved her from that fate, but he hadn't been able to rescue her from the next thing that had laid her down. She'd become sick what now felt like only a few years after they had married but had, in truth, been well over fifty. He'd searched the entire world for a cure, but none had been found. He had wanted to blame her family, but her stepmother had died long before. Her stepsisters did not possess enough intelligence between the both of them to be able to cast a spell, and all the Wizards and Sorceresses with whom he had consulted had told him the same thing: His beloved, cherished Cinderella was dying of a natural cause, and there was nothing they could do.
He had almost had the last Sorceress stoned to death for saying so. It had only been Cindy who had saved her, reaching out, grasping his hand, and whispering with a voice that could barely draw air. Her plea for the Witch's life to be spared had been one of the last three things she had said to him. She had also asked him to try to be happy without her, but surely, he thought yet again, she should have known that such was an impossibility. How could he be happy when his Queen, his better half, the second part of his soul, had been taken from him?
He stopped before the pedestal that held her glass slippers for all to see and lifted them in pale hands. His bones could now be seen through his flesh, but Charming didn't care. He was wasting away without his Cinderella, and he had no interest in trying to persevere. He only wanted to be with her again. The only thing that kept him from not taking his life or ordering his guards to put him out of his misery was that she had begged him not to follow her swiftly but to let Death come to him on its own course.
So he had stayed and he had tried to live without her, but he had withered more and more inside without her until he'd finally stopped trying to pretend. He'd turned a blind eye to his kingdom and devoted every moment of his life to overseeing this hall be built in his wife's honor until it was done. Now, he had nothing left to do but wait.
His dark head lifted as he heard shouts outside the palace's walls. Strong voices and the clinking of metal against metal followed until the original shouters ceased their noise. Another tear dropped down his face. It was probably another protestor. His parents had never had these problems, but then, his father had never been accused of keeping his mother prisoner.
Cinderella had never been a prisoner in his castle, in their home. His fingers traced the smooth glass of the slippers she'd worn until she could no longer leave their bed as he remembered the first time she had come into his life. She had been so beautiful. They had danced all night; he still wished they could have danced all eternity.
He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had fallen in love with her the very second their eyes had met. The poets were right. True love did happen at first glance; they had been living proof of that fact for a while.
But not, he sighed, for long enough. He again heard the skirmish happening outside his home, and his thoughts turned to his kingdom. It, like he, was wasting away, as well as it should. None of them had a right to live without their Queen, who had brought peace and love to every person in the village.
He had been angered, at first, when they'd turned against him after her death. He had never hurt Cindy, never ordered to do anything at all. He had always let her have her way. But yet, there were those who persisted in believing that, because she chose to do most of the chores around the palace herself, he must be a commanding husband, keeping her as a slave against her will.
He hadn't forced her. He hadn't harmed her. He'd even pleaded with her, for the first several years of their happy marriage, to leave the work to the peasants, but she had always refused. She claimed she liked working, as long as she could whistle and sing while she did so, and she had a truly gorgeous voice.
He could almost hear her singing now. Almost. He cocked his head in a fool's attempt to get a clearer sound of the dead and then realized what he was doing and berated himself. He'd never get to hear her voice again in this lifetime. He'd never get to hold his wife again until he died and woke beside her.
A splintering sound tore his misty gaze from the hall back down to the slippers he held. Fiery pain and shame ran through his heart when he realized he had caused the heel of the right slipper to begin to crack. Quickly, and completely heedless to the blood running over his palm, Charming placed his wife's shoes back where they belonged, on a high pedestal for all to behold and revere.
He seemed to hurt everything with which he came into contact. Cinderella was like her shoes: so beautiful and so fragile. He had treasured her, revered her, held her up like the glamorous jewel she'd been as best she had allowed, but in the end . . . His heart beat with fear. Could his subjects be right? Could he have done something, said something, to lead to her death, or perhaps it was something he hadn't done? Could all those chores have spurred on her sickness?
No! NO! he thought, his heart crying out in denial of his fears and persistence of the truth. He had loved Cinderella with all of his being, every inch of his heart and soul, greater than any man had ever loved any woman before. He would have done anything for her, absolutely anything. He would have sold his soul to keep her with him for just one day more. He'd loved her; he'd never hurt her!
He turned from the shrine built to his wife and ran. He ran pass his palace guards, pass the protesting villages, pass the people who, like he, still wept and grieved for his wife. He continued to run until he was safe in their room. Then he dropped to his knees beside their bed and her nightgown that still lay where she had last worn it and cried his heart out yet again.
He had never done anything to bring on his Queen's death, but now he had to wait for Death. He didn't know how long it would take. (A decade? A century more? Although it felt like he'd lived a millennia trapped without her, it had only been one year.) He knew two things for certain, however: Death for him could never come soon enough, and he would never, ever stop loving and revering his beloved, precious Cinderella.
The End
