Once upon a time, there were a trio of villages on the edge of a deep forest. Winter was approaching, and yet there was no snow on the ground. The smell of smoky cherry wood from fireplaces filled the forest in a pleasant way. During the day, little hares and little foxes came out their holes to play while the momma and poppa animals looked for the last rummaging of food to make it until spring. Winter wasn't always pleasant in the forest.
The snow did begin on the eve of Christmas Eve. It floated over the thatched roofs like diamonds and landed upon the ground as beautiful as salt in the earth to the north had been found. The old men would complain of backaches and the young would complain of the cold while their mothers fed them hearty slices of honey cake and strong coffee.
In one of these mythical little villages lived a young man named Michael. He was the brother of the king's son and through a tragic accident had lost his mother. So he lived in a little cottage near the edge of one of the little villages. He stayed close to himself, close to his own heart and very much afraid of loving again.
He spent his nights watching his fireplace and sipping on soup and cider. He wrapped himself in a dark, shaggy blanket when nights came and then he would listen to the howl of the wind, listening for his mother. But she had never yet replied. Rumor had been that she was beautiful, tall and blond and well-versed in the strange tales of Romans and their wars and their loves. He remembered that she had loved to wear light blue, the same color that the moon reflected off of the deep snow in winter.
Many people of the villages were kind to Michael and understanding. The king was quick to offer him portions of wealth at a time, but Michael also had an intensely proud streak that kept him from excepting any offers of help. Indeed, he was talented enough at rope making that he got along. His cracked hands often folded into the soft blankets at night as he watched the fire and listened to the wind.
As the winter dragged and this Christmas Eve approached that would be talked about for much time afterwards, Michael realized how low he was on winter meat. He had not been careless, but it had been a hard autumn. Many of the creatures of the forest had begun to migrate and no one had a good reason why. As much as Michael loved warm honey cake mixed with a bit of lemon, he hungered for a bit of rabbit.
Early one morning, he donned his warmest winter coat and boots and set out into the forest. He was quiet enough and the forest itself was almost too quiet. His coat was a variety of fox skins, dyed the color of greyish white. He did not believe in wasting what was given and he freely gave thanks to the creatures that did him such honor.
The day hung lazily over his head with fresh snow on the ground and clear skies above the trees. Michael moved through the forest, finding no game and little hard berries instead of those lush berries he knew would come soon enough in spring. A rabbit appeared from a thicket of bare bushes, rustling in the absent breeze.
Michael tried to follow, leaping silently and reaching for his merciful darts. One swift flick underneath the skin would stop a hare's heartbeat, leaving no poison and no blood to attract predators. The young, nearly white rabbit was quick. However, Michael had practice with his senses on all those lonely nights and followed the rabbit.
When the hare crossed a small, shallow-looking pond that was frozen over, Michael did not hesitate. Raising his arm backwards, he prepared to throw a dart when the weak ice gave way. It was a small fissure at first, just enough of a crack that the hare's ears pricked up as he nibbled a dying leaf away. But the crack became larger, began to weave over the pond which turned out to be not so small.
Wishing to succeed in his mission, Michael leapt toward the brink of the pond, sending his dart before him. He cradled his fingers into a victorious fist as the dart hit its target, but was quickly overcome by the deepening well of frigid waters. His coat began to drag him down almost immediately and he looked toward the light of the clear sun, trying to reach for it and catch his breath.
Struggling became futile as he hit bottom, trying hard to wrestle free from coat and boot and cloth became a frightening affair. His eyes burned from the water taking over his senses. His heart pounded in his chest and his fingers began to grow numb. Michael began to lose the fight, his resistance to the frigid water lessening.
Michael did not feel the water push away from him as the hand thrust itself down, parting the water. His eyes were fluttering, but he did not notice the shadow covering the reflection of the sun. Goosebumps pricked up where the heat of the body above the water touched Michael's frigid torso. Neither does Michael remember being moved over the ground.
The first thing he remembers is the sound, the crackling of the fire and the hiss of something nearly boiling in a pot. Gasping for breath, but feeling too tired to flail, Michael had to make due with with a lunge in a sea that now consisted of blankets and his bare skin.
"You're awake."
Michael's world was a bit fuzzy around the edges from the startling oxygen loss, but what he could see of the person that had dragged him out of the water was incredibly handsome. Never being one to deny offered beauty, he noted it without exception as the picture became clearer.
His eyes were these deep and concerned pools of blue. He had sinewy muscles under his cloth and tunic, but he also had the air of a scholar. Above him was the top of a large, one room cave that smelled faintly of jaguar. His voice had that same flowing authority that came naturally out of his body, seeming to ripple from the lines in his creased forehead.
Michael had the common sense to be startled as he took far too many seconds to notice the stranger. He found himself blushing despite his cold, knowing that the man had had to strip him to save him.
"I am indeed." Michael's eyes fluttered down. "You've saved me and I'm grateful."
Ben shrugged, having the decency to back away just a little as he saw Michael breathing regularly under the warm blankets. "I'm the one that should be grateful. I've never seen anyone take such a clean kill."
"You also retrieved the hare?"
Ben motioned over to the simmering pot. "I've taken the liberty of making a stew and broth for your recovery. Very risky, Master Michael."
"How do you know my name?And am I to know yours so as to repay such kindness?"
Ben winced at the words. "Think nothing of it. It was only repaid kindness in time. I was given the providence to be in a saving space and for that is all there is to be grateful. Are you up to a bit of warm broth?"
Michael nodded and Ben served him a steaming bowl of broth with small chunks of meat and slightly wilted carrots which Michael felt less than well about, for eating a near stranger's stock during mid-winter. Ben sat at the edge of the bed while Michael ate quietly.
"The broth is quite spicy, but also incredibly sweet. How did you do that?"
Ben looked at Michael warmly. "I'm a connoisseur of sorts, herbs these days. They're easy enough to dry, almost as your clothes were."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"Long enough, Master Michael."
Michael shook his head. "I appreciate your hospitality and you're very well read for a hermit. If you'll excuse my curiosity, why do you not live in one of the villages?"
Ben stated his truth matter-of-factly. "Your father's jealousy. I was an adviser to your mother long ago and I was to be your tutor. But, the fates have found a different road for me and I wish no other at the moment."
Michael pounded down on the blanket with his fist. "That's not acceptable! We'll go back into town and speak with my father. You deserve better, you deserve accolades."
Ben spoke dreamily. "The most a man can ever deserve is a spark of life, Master Michael."
Michael reached out for the other man's hand. "Please, just call me Michael. I think maybe your fates aren't always onboard with those same plans."
Ben looked down at the young man's hand covering his own. He let the hand linger, massaging the hardened vein that traveled from index finger to wrist over the back of his hand. Biting down on his lower lip, Ben tried to look away from Michael.
"You'd best be careful. Your father had very specific wishes for both you and I."
Michael chuckled. "My father allowed me to move into my own cottage and pursue rope making. He tethered me not to crown nor home out of guilt for something that was no fault save for nature. Believe me when I say that I could give a far sight about my father."
Ben moved his hand away, raising from the edge of the bed to stoke the fire. "The king is a good man."
Michael felt the tension in his legs as he swung them over the large bed. The covers felt heavy and he half-walked and half-waddled over to Ben and the fire atop the stew pot. Touching Ben's back, he felt the man jump. "My father may be brave, but there is no wisdom at his table and there is no wisdom at mine. My mother wouldn't want us to suffer, why should she want that for you?"
"Please stop. Its true that I made this sacrifice for your family, but I chose this and I would remiss....
As so much more taller than Michael he was, Ben was easy enough to turn into Michael's pleading eyes. "Please, sir, I would be remiss if not to thank you for saving my life."
"Ben..not sir...Ben..."
Michael smiled, suddenly feeling very warm. "Ben, I like that name."
Ben grabbed the small of Michael's back, as Michael leaned up to kiss him. The blankets were held between their bodies and at the back by Ben's hand. Michael had always imagined his first kiss would be momentous and Ben did not disappoint. Perhaps it was the slight nibble on the lower lip or the sweet absence of tongue, but there was a lot of passion. When they broke away, Michael's eyes were shining the fire.
"I'm gonna take you home, back where you belong."
Michael shook his head. "Back where we belong. That's if you want to see anymore of me."
Ben sighed. "Well, I suppose if I have to."
There were sleigh bells that Michael hadn't heard before on the side of Ben's horse-drawn cart. It wasn't anything too fancy and his possessions seemed very few, but Ben and Michael talked as they moved past the forest and into the nearest town's clearing. The blanket that had kept Michael warm lay across both their laps.
And their was a joyous celebration in the kingdom upon the king's son's return. Having found him gone and missing, they had followed his trail all the way to the river and mistook him for dead. The king had such gratitude that he promoted Ben back to head advisor, which he promptly refused so that he could advise Michael solely. At which point, Michael was made a prince so Ben could no longer refuse his rightful place in court or the prince's bed.