A/N: I do not own Gods and Monsters nor do I profit from writing this. This is purely for my own amusement

"Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." - Shakespeare (Horatio to Hamlet)

Goodnight Sweet Prince

The incision was made, but he did not flinch, did not make a sound at the slicing of the scalpel.

"Hold that bowl steady, boy." The doctor fussed as the servant did as he was told. He held the saucer steady as the blood flowed red from the cut and across deathly pale skin. He made sure to catch every drop least he stain the floors beneath them or the bedding in which his young master laid.

As soon as he came to sit beside his young master, those blue eyes turned to him. Sweat beaded across his brow, and his dark hair was pushed back from his forehead. He smiled. A weary smile as it was just a small curling of the lips, but there was a spark of life in those eyes that refused to die out.

The servant returned the smile.

"Just let him fill the bowl. Once it's filled you should place pressure on the incision." The doctor instructed the servant before turning his attention to the young master. "I shall inform Lord Langstrom of your condition. May God bless you, child."

"Thank you, doctor." The young master replied, although his voice was barely over a whisper.

The doctor took his leave.

The servant did not spare a glance at the sound of the door closing, for he knew he would have cursed the man had he looked at his retreating form. Could he not see how bleeding the young master wasn't improving his condition? Could he not see how pale he had gotten – how frail and weak he had grown after each treatment the doctor had made his poor master undergo?

"Thank you, Hernan." His master spoke, drawing him to look up at the smiling face.

"There is no need to thank me, my Lord. I am but your humble servant."

"You know you are much more than that." The master replied, "You are a friend."

Hernan smiled. "Yes, Kirk, I am your friend."

Kirk's smile grew at the confirmation before he slowly balled his hand into a fist to increase the blood flow.

"How much longer?"

"Not much." Hernan replied, but it was a lie. Kirk had a long way to go, but he was already too pale. He was already too weak, and Hernan didn't have the heart to take any more from him. He didn't care what the doctor said. Bleeding him wasn't helping, and never would.

"As your friend, may I be so bold as to speak freely with you, my Lord?" Hernan asked as he gently came to wipe at the stray streaks that ran down Kirk's arm.

"We are alone; you do not have to be so formal with me." Kirk replied.

Hernan nodded. "I saw you the other night, my Lord. You shouldn't be out and about."

"I heard the music."

"Yes, his grace had commissioned the musicians all the way from Dresden." The jewel of the Elbe, Europe called it. Artisans of all trades flocked towards the city as Lord Langstrom had to snatch a musician or two from the bourgeoning city if he wished to impress the statesmen. After all, it was all about power for Lord Langstrom. He didn't care that his only son was sick in bed, but only what Kirk could give him if he were not, a legacy.

"It wasn't them I heard." Kirk interjected Hernan's thoughts.

"My deepest apologies if it was your humble servants that kept you awake."

"No." Kirk weakly shook his head. "I do not regret it. I've never seen someone dance the way you do."

Kirk knew he shouldn't have been up, but he had heard the music. Yes, he had heard the musicians his father had commissioned all the way from a faraway city, but he had heard them all his life. Different musicians from different cities all blended into one sound no different from the other. It wasn't that, that had made Kirk tip toe his way from his room, but it was the sweet, soft hum of a fiddle he heard sing through the dark night.

Kirk had followed it. With careful steps, and a heavy hand against the wall, he had followed it to the servants' quarters where the sound of the fiddle was mixed with uproarious laughter. The group was much livelier than those at his father's ball. Kirk, only having been well enough to attend one, remembered their slumbering features, and their repetitive steps through the motions of the minuet being tedious and languorous. But here, in that small room, it sounded nothing like the large ballroom in which the wealthy floundered. It was alive, jovial, but Kirk remained in the shadows.

His back pressed heavily against the wall for support as he only listened. He listened to the wild cackle of the fiddle, the stomping of feet attuned to the rhythm of the heart, and the joyous laughter that sounded as if it would never die for anything nor anyone.

'Hernan!' A voice called. Kirk stiffened at the familiar name, knowing they must be calling out to his friend, his servant.

Laughable isn't? A servant shouldn't be a friend of a Lord, but Kirk couldn't see Hernan as anything else but a dear friend. Ever since he was young, he was a sickly child. It was a miracle he has lived as long as he did, the doctor would tell him, although they both knew what an inconvenience that fact was for Kirk's father. He knew he should have been gone years ago, but then he met Hernan. Hernan was an unruly servant whom his father wanted out of his sight, so he was thus assigned to look after his sickly son.

Kirk didn't mind, and neither did Hernan. Kirk taught him how to read and write, and in turn Hernan made him laugh and would sing to him when he felt unwell. Hernan would teach him phrases in Spanish, and laugh at the way Kirk couldn't roll the 'r' no matter how many times he tried.

'No, mi amigo. Form your lips like so.' Hernan would instruct, and Kirk had watched as those lips pursed, and the 'r' rolled, trembled in the way he felt his body shutter.

Why, Kirk was unsure. He wasn't familiar with the warmth he felt pool inside his chest whenever he saw Hernan smile at him. He didn't know why he felt his heart skip a beat at the way Hernan's blue eyes would light up when he recounted some mishap that happened with the milkmaids earlier that morning, or if the chickens had gotten loose, or some gossip he heard from the chamber maids.

It was all a mystery to Kirk, as was that night when he heard someone ask Hernan for a dance. Hernan danced? Kirk had never seen nor heard of Hernan dancing, but then again, he never saw Hernan outside the four corners of his bedroom. The thought of Hernan dancing, the sight, made Kirk want to chance a look – made him want to peer around the corner despite the danger of being caught.

Kirk took the chance. He peered around the corner to look at the small gathering of workers he's never seen before. Then in the center of the room, he saw him. Hernan was dancing. He held a woman close to his breast with a strong arm wrapped around her waist, and his cheek pressed against hers.

The sight unnerved Kirk. It threatened to unhinge him from morality for the indecency – the scandalous way he held her was so loving, so sinfully gentle Kirk couldn't tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. Even if it was immoral to hold a partner so close, Kirk had never seen someone move the way Hernan did. He never saw someone's feet glide so smoothly as if he were walking on air.

Then dark blue eyes looked past her cheek and were on him. They didn't blink, didn't cower at being caught by a lord, but simply his lips curled in a way fingers would around his throat. It took his breathe away, dangerously so. Kirk looked away. He pressed himself against the wall trying to ease his rapid heart. By the time Hernan came to round the corner in search of his master, Kirk was gone.

"I wish I could move with such grace." Kirk looked over at Hernan, smiling at the memory of the way Hernan had glided across the room.

"You mustn't strain yourself." Hernan warned.

"I fear I have not much left to strain, Hernan. Please, as one final request, dance for me."

Hernan looked over at Kirk, those blue eyes unwavering as he requested, asked him to dance. Kirk never asked him for anything. He was the most unselfish Lord Hernan had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and thus, how could Hernan deny him?

He set the bowl aside as it was nearly full before wrapping a clean cloth around the incision to stop the blood flow. Kirk softly thanked him, but still patiently waited for Hernan's answer.

Hernan responded to the request as he rose from his stool, and bowed low at the waist before Kirk. "As you wish, my Lord, but I have need of a partner."

"I suppose I could call-" Kirk's words had stilled at the hand that outstretched to him.

"May I have the honor of this dance?"

"I shouldn't."

He was far too weak even if he wanted to, but Hernan insisted. "Is this not your last wish? Do you not wish to dance?"

He did. Kirk very much wanted to dance ever since he had seen Hernan hold the maid the other night. As sinful as it was, he wanted to feel what it was like to be held so close. He wanted to feel what it was like to feel weightless, to feel as if he were floating across the room with such ease and grace Hernan had that night.

Again, Kirk warily looked at the hand Hernan held out for him.

"Kirk?" Hernan prompted, and that was all Kirk needed to hear before he took the offered hand. With Kirk's hand in his, Hernan carefully helped Kirk out of bed. It took a few embarrassing moments, but Kirk untangled his legs from the sheets before he felt himself being lifted by strong arms around him.

"Stand on my feet." Hernan instructed him.

"But wouldn't I—?"

"I can handle it." Hernan promised with a playful smile that made Kirk's heart give a solid beat. He silently nodded, and moved to stand on Hernan's feet. Even on his feet, Hernan towered over him as a strong arm wrapped around his waist to keep him standing, and the hand that held his repositioned it so his laid gently within Hernan's hold.

"Are you ready, my Lord?"

An anxious smile crossed Kirk's features, but he nodded nonetheless.

They moved. With a smooth slide of Hernan's foot back, Kirk felt himself being guided forward. He held on tightly. He was worried at first about the length of his night dress. He worried that Hernan would get tangled in it, but the way Hernan held him bunched the white fabric up so his ankles showed. The feeling of the cool air against his bare skin made him shiver.

Being held so close, and his ankles bare… His father would kill him if he saw them now, but then they were gliding, and all thoughts of his father, of his illness, left him. Hernan's body was warm against his, and the way his dark beard tickled the side of his face made Kirk smile.

For the first time, in a long time, Kirk felt alive. He no longer felt like a walking corpse, or someone just waiting for death, but his heart was racing, and the blood he had left in him rushed with life.

He no longer cared if the way he let Hernan hold him led him to damnation. He was damned from the start when god cursed with this sickly body. But in that moment, in the loving way Hernan's cheek pressed against his, he never felt so blessed. He never felt so blessed to have someone like Hernan hold him the way he did now.

Whether Hernan was a devil that tempted him to sin, or a wingless angel who christened him with his touch, Kirk was at peace. His felt peace bloom in his heart, and faith in his bones. The way those fingers caressed his cheek promised salvation, and when those lips pressed again his forehead, it was that of the sweetest prayer. It was a kiss of an angel.

"Te voy a echar de menos, mi príncipe." Hernan whispered across his skin.

Kirk smiled, and his eyes closed softly. Finally, he felt like he could let go; it was time. He was ready.

"Thank you, Hernan. Thank you for this dance."

By morning, his young master was gone. He had danced on death's doorstep for far too long, and finally death had answered. Hernan wished Death could have waited a little longer, but alas he knew Kirk was ready to go. He knew Kirk had held out for as long as could.

However, as he held the lifeless hand in his, Hernan had wished he could have given his blood to him. Although it was only the blood of a peasant, at least he could have danced with Kirk just a little longer. He could have held him a little more. He could have had a little more time to let Kirk know he was loved. He was loved, the sweet prince, by the poor heart of the one who promised to serve him.

"Goodnight, my Lord." Hernan spoke softly as if Kirk were still listening. "Que duermas con los angelitos.*"

One night they would dance again under the moonlight, skipping across the stars like stepping stones.

The end

*Te voy a echar de menos, mi príncipe - I'm going to miss you, my prince

*Que duermas con los angelitos - May you sleep with angels - said typically to children meaning good night, or sweet dreams. As for why I have Hernan use it here is because of Kirk's innocence, and his purity being that of a child to Hernan. Also, Hernan is a little in denial that Kirk is gone, and therefore tells him to sleep well as if Kirk is only resting, and hasn't passed away. I've also consulted a friend from Mexico who said using it as a way to say "rest in peace" was also fine.

Historical Note: The dance Hernan did with Kirk was that of the waltz which was first danced by the poor folk around 1750s in Bavaria, Tyrol, and Styria. It was scandalous to hold a partner so close, or even show much skin which is why Kirk panics at his ankles being shown, or embarrassed by the sight of Hernan holding someone so close.

A/N: Sorry for this sad little thing. I've been writing too many happy things lately so it was bound to happen. This was inspired by the SBB chatroom, and the image came to mind of these two waltzing and thus had to be written. I'm very sorry for the sad Hernan, and that I decided to post this work and not all the other much happier works of mine. It's just that this ended up being much longer than planned, but a length I did not feel badly to post here. Thanks for reading if you've gotten this far, and again, sorry for the heartache.

P.S. This work is unbeta-ed and therefore all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to correct my Spanish for I'm not a native speaker.