"Come on little prince!"
Jadeite's call drifted back to Endymion on the wind and wrapped itself around his pride and spurred him on. A swift dig into the rib of his horse and Endymion was lurching forward, gripping the mane to urge the steed's speed. He pressed his long body against that of the mount. The black leather covering him and the black of his hair blended with the color of the stallion until only a pair of midnight blue eyes shone from the dark blur. Faster, faster! The prince could feel the beating heart and hooves of the animal through his gloved fingers.
"Endymion, how do you expect to rule a kingdom if you cannot win a horse race?" This from Jadeite, who sat cocksure about his own stallion. The blonde general was at no loss for breathe and looked almost as if he was cantering beside the struggling Zoisite. Jadeite briefly tapped Zoisite on the back in warning as he sped past. His friend laid flat on the body of the horse like the prince, but sweat dripped down from long, pale strawberry curls.
"If you had not cheated, I would be too far in front for you to see!" Endymion could not help but roar as he rushed by Zoisite, quickly gaining on Jadeite. Again he pressed his heel into his horse. So close now he could see the lines of strain along the general's back. Jadeite's shoulders were taught in an effort to keep their nonchalance. Endymion lacked the easy style, but his pure adrenaline made him dangerous. Already Nephrite and even Kunzite had been left in the prince's dust and only Jadeite stood in the way of victory. He could sense the speed, could feel the shifting warmth of the sun as he flew through the forest. Now there was Jadeite's profile, knuckles white on the reins and jaw clenched. For a moment, Endymion thought of letting him win. Then he laughed out loud of his own musings, a king could not afford to be weak. Quickly, Endymion flashed Jadeite a grin as he overtook him.
Now there was only the trees and Endymion. The foliage had become thicker throughout the men's ride and now the Prince had to concentrate to avoid the overgrown roots of the forest floor. He had never ridden in these parts. Rumors of witchcraft had kept everyone, even the brave generals and their charge, away. Of course, Endymion was not scared. He reassured himself by touching the golden amulet that hung beneath his armor. Even without his men, he was protected.
And then the forest closed around him. Heavy branches of knotted beige twisted in front and behind of the prince, blocking his path and obscuring his exit. His horse abruptly halted and almost threw its rider forward into the tangle. Nervous feet stamped against twigs and dead leaves. Endymion winced as the sound reminded him of breaking bones. He could die here, he understood. There were more ancient and deadly powers than even the prince of Earth could control. But that did not stop him from trying.
"Let me pass!" The brushwood twittered at his command, waving as if caught in a pleasant breeze. This angered the prince, who unsheathed his sword with an ominous shnk. Now he had the branches attention. They recoiled in fear and bent to hide their green roots. But they still blocked the trail and Endymion was hopelessly lost. Even if the branches unwove their spider's web, he would be unsure of which way were forward and which back.
"Please." A word he had only heard from others tasted sour in his mouth. Endymion never begged, never asked. And here he was talking to trees. Men of lesser pride would have chuckled at the predicament, but the prince felt this was no laughing matter. Evil lived here, he could sense it. The Earth was cautious of it, snapping around him in an effort to protect itself against intruders, against the wicked that threatened to control it. Endymion only hoped that the Earth understand him. He was its protector, its King. As if reading his thoughts, a branch pulled back and wrapped itself around his brothers and sisters. It was only a small opening, just enough for Endymion to squeeze through.
The prince looked uneasily back at his horse. The stallion seemed resigned to its fate and folded its legs to lie gracefully. Endymion frowned. He had no intention of forgetting the animal, but he knew no good would come from staying here. With a last carrot from his riding bag and scratch behind its ears, Endymion left his mare as he slipped through the opening.
A tower of glittering moonstone greeted him on the other side. The single column rose from the center of the clearing and made everything around it seem dull. Green grass paled, purple flowers wilted, and even the water fall quieted in the presence of the gleaming turret. Endymion could not help but feel wrong in his all black ensemble. Purity radiated from the tower and he was intruding. Despite his sense of foreboding, the prince pressed forward. He had to get the tools to recover his horse and return to his home. There was no time for self-doubt.
So the prince grabbed onto a brick of wholesome silver. He hoisted himself up by fingertips and toes, arching his neck to keep a small open window in view. Endymion had always thought himself strong, but this strength was mental. He could not look down and remind himself that there was no net or rope to save him. He could not think about the sheen of sweat that covered his face and coated his palms. Most of all, he could not allow himself to contemplate the idea that no one lived in the tower, that all his work was for naught.
Finally, he reached the window sill. Rubbery elbows pushed against the pale wood and he threw his body forward into the room. Endymion closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to catch his breathe. When he opened them, he found he was sitting on a pile of silver thread. The strands reflected the light from the little window where he then noticed that there was a not a single pile; the entire room shone of metallic color. Before he could react, the fibers shifted from under his bottom and slithered along the floor to land in a heap before a pair of dainty feet. With his eyes, Endymion followed the lines of silver to white slippers, up pale ankles, past a narrow waist-chest and throat-, a obsidian cat perched on a delicate shoulder, to finally reach a pair of wide eyes the color of sapphire. He only had a moment to realize that all the thread belong to her, it was not thread but her hair, and that the cat was saying, "Well at least you finally found a use for the frying pan," before all went dark.
Inspired by Beloved Dawn's Rapunzel. Let me know if I should continue!