Title: Every Inner Inertia (1/?)
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Characters: Swan Queen, Henry
Warning/Spoilers: Light spoilers for Season 1. Warning for dark themes and angst.
Summary: Post-curse Fairytale Land AU. It has been two years since the curse broke but nothing is as it was supposed to be.
Disclaimer: This is purely fictional. I own none of it.
[…]
A/N: I started this sometime around Heart of Darkness — or maybe it was before Stable Boy. I don't really remember except that it was sometime before the hiatus. This was something quite different back then but somehow it evolved into this and I've been sitting on this for ages now, waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike or something. I've been told that this — and I quote — 'oozes angst and depression; you can feel it coming off in waves' which is silly. When do I ever write angst? :P Okay, no, probably it is a bit too dark and angsty — at least in the start. Let's keep faith for later. Your feedback will be highly appreciated, of course.
"…in my arbor 'til my ardor trumped every inner inertia, lump sum."
~Bon Iver — Lump Sum
in·er·tia / iˈnərSHə /
1. The vis insita, or innate force of matter, is a power of resisting by which every body, as much as in it lies, endeavors to preserve its present state, whether it be of rest or of moving uniformly forward in a straight line.
2. A tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged.
[...]
It had been one of the good days today. He had sat with her for more than an hour, holding her hand and smoothing back the short blond hair from her forehead, and for a change she hadn't shouted or lunged at him. She hadn't tried to scream at him or bite him, or hit him or herself. She had been rather docile; meek, even. He had listened, nodded at, and responded to every jumbled sentence and nonsense word she uttered. He had listened to her sing, the only tune she ever sang, and when he had fed her little morsels of bread dipped in soup, for once she ate without complaint or hysterics. The soup was laced with herbs that were used to put her to sleep. That was the only way to manage her these days. He watched her nod as she hummed the achingly familiar notes she always hummed. He had just discovered from the court bard a little of the meaning and story behind them and they seemed even more haunting to him now. The Queen, apparently, didn't think so because she had banished the old man from the court when she had discovered him singing this song.
Eventually her eyes closed. He lay her down on the mattress, careful to arrange her shackles so that they wouldn't hurt or restrict her too much. He planted a kiss on her forehead before leaving.
"She's asleep," he told the two maids who had been waiting outside the door and watched them exhale identical relieved breaths. It made him want to throw them down the tower window, so when he spoke again his tone was harsher than he intended. "Let her sleep for a while. You can go in after some time to clean her up and change her clothes and bandages. Comb her hair."
"Yes, Your Highness," they curtsied to him. He nodded curtly and hastened towards the steps that spiraled down the tower. There was only so much heartache he could take in one day. He strode across the wide grass lawns towards the palace halls where the King held his court, not even trying to keep pace with the greetings and curtsies he was being offered by everyone he passed. He was the Lord Prince of the realm, after all. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. Sometimes.
"Prince Henry!"
He heard the quivering call before he saw the old man making his way towards him across the main lawn. It was the old court bard. His exotic red cloak was wrapped around him like a set of wings, and his shriveled up face seemed even smaller surrounded by his insane tufts of hair.
"Prince Henry," he wheezed out again.
"Zorbas!" he slowed his steps, and bent down a little to greet the old man. "What are you doing here? You know you can't be here, the Queen banished you just a few days ago."
"I had to see you, my Prince," said the bard.
"But you — how did you even get in?"
"My nephew Edmund is with the night guard, Your Highness. He helped me."
Henry let out an exasperated breath. "You shouldn't be here. If any of the Queen's men see you or if she finds out about your nephew and what he did—"
"Your Highness, I had to see you to give you this. It is about that song you were asking me—"
"Zorbas!" Henry hissed. "You cannot talk about it here! It is what got you banished. I'm so sorry I even asked about it, I had no idea that the Queen would react so strongly." He shook his head. "You should go. The Queen has men everywhere—"
"I know, Your Highness, but you need to have this," the old man handed him a tightly furled scroll. "It is the whole—"
"My god, Zorbas! If anyone saw you handing me this, you'll be labeled a traitor!"
The bard sighed resolutely but when he spoke, his voice was firm.
"I am an old man, my Prince. I've served faithfully as a bard in this hall since I was your age. I have seen many winters and springs. I have eyes and ears, too, my Prince. I see what is going on around me. If my death can bring about some good—"
"What are you talking about?"
"Read the scroll, Your Highness. Read and maybe you'll find it in your heart to be understanding, to see beyond and, perhaps, forgive."
"Zorbas—" Henry sighed. The old man's theatrics had always been impressive; it was easy to see why he had been the court bard for so many years. His soft, slow tone was spell-binding.
"All must end, my Prince. But it is not necessary that it must end like this. I sang you part of the song you sought — the song that the Queen hates enough to banish me from the court I spent my life in. Though once she wouldn't have. Time changes a lot of people, my Prince. As does guilt. This is the rest of it, the song."
He stared at the old bard and felt distress clawing at his heart.
"Why are you giving me this? What is she to you?"
"Nothing. No one, not for a very long time. But once — only once when her marriage was new and her heart still beat in pain — I sang this song for her, and I saw the tears it brought."
"It does not make any sense—"
"It will, my Prince. It will," said the old man. His voice held a strange faith.
Henry looked down at the tightly furled scroll in his hand and then tucked it carefully inside his doublet. And then, guilt overwhelming him, he took out the few gold coins he had in his pocket and gave them to Zorbas. The old bard looked offended.
"Your Highness, I'm not doing this for gold!"
"I know that, Zorbas. It will, nevertheless, make me very happy if you accept these. I am, after all, the reason you were banished and lost your livelihood. If I hadn't asked you to sing this song, this wouldn't have happened."
The old man grudgingly took the gold. Suddenly there was a very familiar bald head visible across the lawn and a shout of "Prince Henry!"
The Master of Keys!
"Quick, Zorbas! You need to go now!"
The old man was surprisingly sprightly and was gone in an instant. Henry watched the outrageous red cloak disappear into a gaggle of peasants and then stepped forward towards the cool, oblong entrance of the palace.
"Your Highness," he was greeted by the Master of the Keys.
"Lord Smithson," Henry nodded at the weasel-faced, bald lord. The man was instantly dislikable.
"Might I inquire as to who you were conversing with just now, Your Highness?"
"You might not, Lord Smithson."
"Begging pardon, Your Highness, but—" Smithson faltered at seeing the thunderous expression on his face.
"Yes, Smithson?" he said, daring the fastidious lord to complete his sentence. Smithson deflated rather obviously.
"I have a message, Your Highness."
"Well, what is it?"
"His Majesty the King desires your presence in the Eastern Hall."
"Did he say why?"
"It is not for me ask, my Prince," said Smithson in his pompous tone. "But I do believe it has something to do with your lessons."
"Of course," Henry sighed. "I shall go there presently. There's no need for you to escort me," he added as Smithson made to walk with him. "I can find the Eastern Hall myself, Smithson, and I'm sure you have better things to do."
Smithson's face became sour as a lemon but he stepped back and bowed his head. "As you say, Your Highness."
He dismissed Smithson with a flick of his hand and made his way towards the Eastern Hall, a long, high room fraught with huge pillars reaching up into the ceiling and disappearing amongst sky-lights, where the King held his main court every day. He entered to find the hall full of people yet there was hardly any sound at all except for the low, sorrowful murmur of King James's voice from his throne at the front of the hall. As he moved forward, people recognized him and moved out of his way murmuring 'Your Highness' and curtseying. He nodded as he moved towards the throne where someone knelt in front of the King.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing down, the edge of the scroll stabbing right at his heart through his shirt. "You called for me?"
"Ah, yes," the King eyed him with his dead, haunted eyes. "Yes. Here you are."
He waited silently for the King to continue. The formality irked him sometimes but he was learning to live with it. And it offered the King and the Queen a semblance of normalcy, a stab at their previous lives, so he was willing to let it go.
"Rise, sir," the King addressed the man in the deep purple velvet coat who was kneeling down in front of the throne. "Here's your new teacher, Henry. Goodman Jefferson has agreed to teach you Cartography of the Fairytale Land."
Jefferson turned towards him and bowed his head. "Your Highness."
Henry nodded back, recognizing the Mad Hatter. "Thank you for agreeing to teach me, Jefferson. I hope Grace is well?" He inquired politely, already longing to get out of the huge hall filled with dead whispers.
"She is, Your Highness, thank you. She sends her regards."
Before he could say anything in acceptance, the King spoke, "Why don't you take him to the study, Henry?"
"Of course, Your Majesty. I'm sorry," he bowed, and the two of them walked out of the Eastern Hall together. He was glad to be outside that place; it felt like a mausoleum filled with ghosts too stubborn to go away, too afraid to speak.
"I hope you've been keeping well, Your Highness?" Jefferson said.
"As well as can be, thank you, Jefferson. Would you like me to call you sir?" He had had a history teacher last month who insisted he call him sir at all times, but Jefferson quickly shook his head.
"Jefferson will be fine, Your Highness," he said.
"Then I insist you call me Henry."
Jefferson smiled. "Thank you, Henry. May I ask how your mother is? I haven't seen her for a long time. I've been wanting to thank her for making it possible for me to reunite with my daughter, maybe I can pay her a visit later?"
Henry felt his heart contract with pain, making him stop in his tracks. Of course Jefferson wouldn't know, not many people in the Fairytale Land did. The King and Queen preferred it this way. They were already suffering a life devoid of Hope, they didn't want to inflict it on their people.
"No," he found himself saying in response to Jefferson's inquiring gaze. "She has plans for quite some time yet. I don't think she will be free."
"Oh," Jefferson sounded disappointed.
"But I will give her your message when I see her."
"Thank you, Henry. That would be nice. Now where would you like to begin, for your first lesson?"
"Actually," Henry said, genuine fatigue creeping into his voice. "Would it be possible for us to start tomorrow? I feel rather tired from … riding today. I'm afraid I won't be able to give my best."
"Oh, of course," Jefferson said. "Tomorrow, it is. Please give my regards to your mother."
It took Henry a moment to respond, "Yes, please give mine to Grace. Goodbye Jefferson." And with that he abruptly turned walked away, leaving a slightly confused Jefferson behind him. But he had had enough for one day; if he didn't run away he was afraid he might scream. And then there was that scroll, its edge still digging into his skin right where his heart lay. He rushed towards the South-east wing of the palace where he had chosen his chambers.
A/N: So relieved to finally put it up! I know I am a sporadic updater but I have quite a few chapters of this written down so this will be updated sooner than others. Hopefully. Can't wait to know what you guys think.
Edit: Zorbas (Zorba's dance) is a song by Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis.