Summary: When he was little, he did always enjoy fairy tales. Stanton centric. No pairings.
AN: The dreaded plot bunny strikes again. I've wanted to write a Stanton story without Serena for a while now, and when I read the following quote, the idea for this popped into my head. Hope you like! Oh, the names Segramore, Lamorak, and Trysten are taken from Arthurian legend. Also, I know it was highly unlikely for a Prince and his sons to have such interaction…but…uh…disregard the plot holes?
Italics are flashbacks.
Fairy tales are more than true. Not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be defeated.
-G.K. Chesterton
1279 A.D.
The figure landed softly on the cold, stone floor, his breathing rapid and frantic. The window behind him portrayed the darkness of a night sky without a moon, and the wind howled, making a few of the lit tapered candles in the room flicker. The figure's fist clenched tightly in what seemed to be anger as his yellow eyes scanned the room and landed on a bed.
There he was, the man that he had hated and loved for his entire life, laying flat on his back and sleeping fitfully. The dark figure's fist tightened more, his fingernails leaving small, crescent shaped indentations in the skin of his palm. Slowly, the figure approached the bed and recoiled slightly when he got a closer look at the sleeping man's features.
He was old, ancient even. The figure had not anticipated this, had it really been so long? The sleeping man's skin was thin and stretched like parchment, sagging bags and dark circles under his closed eyes. There were spidery, blue protruding veins at his temples, and his breathing was raspy and brittle.
The dark figure had not anticipated this at all.
He took a step back when he heard the incriminating pitter-patter noise that could only accompany tears. His yellow eyes landed on the floor, and sure enough, there were a few tiny puddles, and it took him a moment to realize that the tears were coming from him. Another moment to realize that his chin was quivering and that he was hyperventilating.
Shaking his head and mentally berating himself, the dark figure leaned over to give the old man a kiss on the forehead and finish what he had set out to do. Yet as soon as he had accomplished his task and was about to leave through the window in which he had entered, the old man's blue eyes snapped open.
"Stanton?" He croaked, his voice hoarse and wary.
The dark figure stiffened, "Father." He replied, his own voice waving from the tears that were still streaming down his face.
1238 A.D.
"Father!" Cried the little boy in excitement as he ran towards his father's horse, his oversized tunic flapping around his legs. Behind him, stood a taller boy with dark hair whom had a look of indifference plastered on his face.
"My sons!" The man, strong and tall with a kind sparkle in his blue eyes, addressed the two children, hopping off of his horse. The little blond boy charged, latching himself onto his father's leg in a hug while the older one stood back a bit, arms crossed in front of his chest. The prince's face broke into a smile at his youngest son, "Stanton, you've grown taller!" He declared, scooping up the five year old and placing him on his shoulders. His smile faded a bit when he looked at his older son, but it still remained in place, "Lamorak."
Lamorak dipped his head in a motion of respect, "Father."
The prince's eyes scanned the area, searching for his eldest son, "Where is Trysten?"
Stanton broke into a toothy grin, "Hunting! He said he's going to take me with him for my birthday next year!" His small chest puffed out, proud of his accomplishment towards manhood.
His father grinned, "As you should, a boy needs to learn how to hunt."
"I'm going to be the best hunter ever!" Stanton declared adamantly, throwing his arms up in the air, "And I'm going to kill the dragons, and the monsters, and…and eat them!" He stated triumphantly, "And then there's going to be no more bad things, because I, Prince Stanton son of Prince Segramore, will have killed and eaten them all!"
Lamorak rolled his eyes and let out a low hiss of irritation while his father just turned his head to look at the golden-haired boy and smiled, "I'm sure you will Stanton, I'm sure you will."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Later that night, a storm had hit, and the winds and darkness howled outside of the castle. Lightening flashed in the distance illuminating the night as the thunder grumbled menacingly.
The tiny pitter-patter of feet could be heard echoing in the hallway as a small blonde head made its way down the darkened halls of the castle, a clear destination in mind. His shaking hand held a candle, white wax beginning to drip down over his pudgy, childish fingers.
Lightening flashed again, and the boy jumped up in fear, his blue eyes widened and his feet moved faster, the slightly oversized tunic flapping around his ankles. When he finally reached the large, oak doorway he began slamming his tiny fists against the door, "Father!" He cried pitifully, his breathing quick.
A groan was heard on the other side of the door, followed by sluggish footsteps making their way slowly to the entrance. The entrance creaked open slowly, and a very tired Crown Prince stood towering over the small and scared frame in front of him, "Stanton?" He asked in confusion at seeing his youngest son so late in the night.
"Monsters!" The child wailed, "I saw them with my eyes with the lightening and the thunder and they wanted to eat my soul and they had claws with poison and sharp teeth and-and-" He gave up his explanation and launched himself at his father's leg instead, gripping it intensely.
Prince Segramore sighed in a paternal frustration as he scooped the little boy up and moved him to his bed, "It was just a nightmare, Stanton. That's all."
The little boy shook his head adamantly, "They wanted me! I could hear them calling!"
The thunder gave a low rumble before lightening flickered throughout the room, illuminating Stanton's haunted face.
His father ran a hand through his equally golden hair, "Do you want me to tell you a story?" He opted, having gone through this routine many times with all three of his sons.
His youngest nodded mutely, "Uh-huh." He whispered, whipping away the tears with the back of his hand.
Segramore cleared his throat and shifted Stanton so he sat on his knee, "Once upon a time, there was a very brave knight."
"What was the knight's name?" Stanton interjected.
Segramore waved his hand dismissively, "Names aren't all that important in this story, anyways, once upon a time there was a very brave knight. He was kind, just, brave, and incredibly loyal to the virtues and honor of his king and kingdom. The lands he defended loved and cherished him, grateful for all of his good deeds. The knight couldn't be happier, his life was whole and complete." Segramore's eyes darkened slightly for a dramatic effect, "But one day, everything changed."
"What happened?" Stanton asked innocently, his previous terror falling away to be replaced by curiosity.
"One day, an evil dragon came to the village where he lived, and took something that was very precious to the knight."
"What was it?" Stanton questioned.
"His heart. You see, the dragon had become jealous at all of the love and attention that the knight was receiving, as it had always been hated and scorned by the villages." Segramore continued.
"That doesn't seem very kind of the villages," The little boy observed.
Segramore shrugged, "Perhaps. But you must remember my son, that dragons were creatures that were inherently wicked."
"Inherently?" Stanton wondered.
A small smile crossed the Crown Prince's features, "It means that they were born to be evil."
"Oh."
"And dragons took away everything from innocent people and never gave anything in return," Segramore continued, "This particular dragon thought that perhaps if he stole the knight's heart, then the people of the villages would love him instead."
"So what happened to the knight?"
"The knight at first was deeply sorrowed by the loss of his heart, but eventually that sorrow was transformed into anger." His father cleared his throat, "Without his heart, the knight became almost as wicked as the dragon, declaring that he would get his revenge and vowing to kill every last dragon in his country."
"What about the dragon? Did the dragon become good like the knight was?" Stanton interrupted.
He shook his head, "No, do you know why?"
The boy mirrored his father's actions and shook his head.
"Because even though the dragon had a heart, he never used it. You see, a heart is worthless unless someone takes care of it." He shifted in his seat slightly, "But back to the story. One day, the knight came across the cave of the dragon who had stolen his heart."
"Did he kill him and take his heart back?"
"Be patient," He said gently, "The knight rode up to the beast, intending to kill the dragon and take his heart back. He drew his sword, which had been a gift from his father, and pointed it at the dragon's throat, making his demands without fear for his life, as the knight had already decided that a life without a heart wasn't a life worth living."
"So he killed him!"
Segramore shook his head, "The knight was about to though, yet he paused at a crucial moment, when he discovered something about himself."
"What?"
"You see, the dragon had began to plea for its life, cowardly and pathetic, and the knight at the last moment took pity on the poor, sniveling creature. It was then that the knight discovered the slaying of the beast would not help him recover his heart; as such an action would surely poison it. He withdrew his sword and bowed his head down to the dragon." Segramore dropped his voice for that of a mock heroic.
"'Sir Dragon, why do you hold my heart which you do not use?' the knight questioned, to which the dragon replied, 'Because I do not want you to have it.'
"The knight seemed confused at the statement, 'But Sir Dragon, you have no use for it!' The dragon appeared sorrowful, 'That doesn't matter. I hate seeing those around me happy when I do not get the same opportunity.' The dragon then prepared to attack the knight, 'I want those with hearts to suffer because I will never have one of my own.' The dragon licked its lips, 'I'm going to have to kill you if you want your heart back so badly.'
"The knight was quiet for a moment, pondering the dragon's words. In truth, the knight did not want to fight such a creature as the dragon, knowing that he literally had not the heart to do so, so he decided to make a bargain.
'I want you to keep it.' He declared proudly, kneeling down in front of his sword, a position of honor.
The dragon was amazed, 'What, don't you want it back?' The dragon was secretly looking forward to killing the knight and eating his heart afterwards.
The knight scoffed, 'Of course I want it back, it is after all, my only heart. But I can see that you desire my heart more. I do not wish to fight.'
The dragon's eyes widened, and he took the heart and held it in his scaly palm, it was then that the dragon noticed that the heart had begun to beat for the first time. 'I will spare your life,' the dragon hissed, not knowing how to show gratitude.
'I have one condition,' The knight broke in, his voice clear and his eyes shining brightly.
'And that is?' the dragon growled.
'If I am to give you my heart, which contains everything from love to hate, you must protect it with your own life.' The knight said evenly, 'If you are to break it or damage it in anyway, it will be you alone who feels the pain.'
The dragon snorted, after all, what was pain to a dragon? 'Agreed.' He then turned around and made his way to the darkness within his cave."
Segramore paused his story to look down at his audience of one, whose eyelids were beginning to close slowly over his eyes. "Stanton." The Crown Prince prodded, the little boy jerked awake, trying to make it seem as if he wasn't dosing off, "How about we continue the story another time? You must be tired."
Stanton's only response was a heavy yawn.
Segramore smiled and scooped the boy up and tucked him into bed, "Goodnight, my son."
The boy mumbled a "Goodnight" before he rolled over.
The Crown Prince nodded and headed out the door, retiring himself for the night.
Segramore never did get to finish his story.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
The old man struggled feebly to get his upper body up, "Why are you here?" His voice, one could tell, used to command authority, but now it was cracked, as withered as his body.
Stanton gave a dry swallow, "I just came to say goodbye." He paused, squirming under his father's stare, "I heard you were ill."
"Why do you care?" Segramore questioned icily.
His head jerked as if he had been slapped, "Because I'm your son."
He scoffed and waved a hand dismissively, "I have no son. You belong to evil now."
It hurt. Stanton had no idea how much his rejection would pain him like a knife through the back. Rejection from someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, "How can you say that?" He demanded, the sting he felt in his heart laced through his words.
"You serve what I have given everything to destroy," He snorted, "The Atrox."
"It wasn't by choice!"
"Nothing that important is ever by choice," The haggard Prince's tone still had bite left in it, "You fought for them, Stanton, bled for them!" He snarled, revealing the yellowed and wasting teeth, "Your actions betray your sentiments. Pathetic."
The blonde tried to maintain composure, to stand his ground. But he knew what his father was accusing him of was true, and he began to feel the acrimonious tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
"Your brothers and I gave you everything," Segramore's words seemed to now be directed to himself, "We loved you! We gave you our hearts and you threw it all away!" He hissed venomously, "You threw it away to serve the Devil!"
Stanton couldn't speak, didn't trust his tongue to say something regretful on his father's deathbed. It had closed up on him, dried faster than a desert. All he could manage to do was stand there numbly, his fist continuously clenching and unclenching as he met the gaze of eyes strikingly similar to his own.
"You remember when you were a boy? You were always afraid of the dark," Segramore whispered now, his righteous fury extinguished as nostalgia took its place, and Stanton had to strain to hear, "I had to tell you stories almost every night, to calm you down." The cataract-covered eyes stared intensely, "There was this one, the one about the Knight and the Dragon. Do you remember it?"
Yes, he did. Yet somehow, his head shook.
He snorted, "I wouldn't expect you to," Some of the coldness expressed earlier crept in, "When I told it to you, I had envisioned you as the brave Knight, surrendering all you held dear in order to preserve honor and virtue. Giving up your heart out of selflessness." His breathing was labored and he gave a sudden whooping cough. Stanton did not rush to his side to help him. When he spoke again, the bitterness resurfaced, "I was wrong, so very and utterly wrong."
Stanton began to back away, preparing to leave. The torment from his father's curses and exclamations shattering his resolve, and the shame of knowing his father's last image of him would be one of tear-stained cheeks, but empty glowing yellow eyes only propelled the urge to leave. His breathing almost became as labored as the old man's, and his mind circled around the story he had heard when he was a boy. The glorious knight in shining armor, and the selfish and heartless dragon.
"Stanton, you were never the Knight. You were the Dragon."
The final words called out to him made him stop in his tracks. He stiffened and tried to prevent the dying man's words from having the biting and hurting effect intended. Slowly, robotically, his legs commenced to move back towards his exit. He didn't look back as he jumped out of the window and dissolved into the shadows.
It was just a stupid fairy tale, after all.
It didn't matter if either his father or himself believed in it.
-fin
Well, this didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. (sulks) Oh well, maybe you guys will enjoy it anyways?
Feedback appreciated!
!nym!