A/N: This story is the result of an hour spent re-imagining the HA! universe as a fairy tale, and coming to the realization that it could not be typical. It is a story I imagine with the irreverence of Shrek, and traces of the gore found in the original Brother's Grimm. Truthfully, I imagine the whole story to be much longer, and mostly from Arnold's perspective. But I tend to get excited about stories, write part of it, and become bored. Since this piece actually stands alone very nicely, I figured I'd make it a oneshot.
Disclaimer: Oh man, I can't remember the last time I remembered to write one of these. I'm poor and own nothing, okay? Don't sue!
Prelude...
Sir Arnold has opened the room at the top of the tallest tower, only to find it empty. The princess he expected is not there. In the center of the room is a small wooden box. He looks at the small golden key he stole from around the dragon's neck, and then back at the box. He hears a loud snort, and looks up at the thin slot of a window. The large blue iris of the dragon's eye stares at him, waiting. He moves forward and unlocks the box. Slowly he lifts the lid. Inside, a gruesome sight awaits. A human heart, still beating, lies on soft red velvet, gushing blood with every beat. He is at first horrified, but a sudden realization washes over him. He looks up at the dragon, who is still staring through the window.
"It's yours," he says, "isn't it? This is your heart."
The dragon does not move, but something in the atmosphere seems to change. A soft whisper floats into Sir Arnold's mind. Then, suddenly, the voice is clear. A young woman, likely his own age, tells him her story...
A Dragon's Tale
When I was born, my parents took the blade up off their shelf and cut out my heart. Without a word, they stitched my chest cavity shut, and walked away.
My earliest years were spent lying face up on the cold stone floor, watching as the red lump beside me stained the dust red. My family would shuffle past my chambers from time to time, taking no notice of the gore within. If they ever dared to look inside, they would simply smile, say hello, and continue on their merry way. I was mostly alone. I had no nurse maid to care for me, No mother to tuck me into bed. The only lullaby I ever heard was the sound of my still beating heart beside me. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. I came to hate that sound. Most nights I could not fall asleep until the stench of my unrotting flesh became so vile that I was smothered into unconsciousness.
When I was old enough to walk, I began exploring the castle. I remember the first time I did so, debating whether or not to leave my heart behind me, lying on the floor. But I think I had thought to find a doctor or healer of some sort – for I had heard whispers of such professions in my years spent prostrate – in hope that they might reopen my chest and place the bleeding atrocity back where it belonged. For some time I carried the oozing lump in my left hand, but I found the stench too acrid and the feel too revolting, and I knew that if I were to fall the flesh-balloon might be pierced, popping in a heart-beat.
It was not long in my explorations, however, before I stumbled upon the chambers of my eldest sister. From what I had heard, she was the sun and the moon, and everyone adored her. I was too ashamed of my own condition to approach her, but I watched from the doorway as she dressed in her chambers, readying for a ball. I'll never forget the moment I saw her remove those diamond earrings and place them in her chest, then lock it with a key. It was then that I knew I had found a way to preserve my heart until the healer could be found.
As she swept out of her room, I shuffled inside. On the lowest shelf of her dresser I found a box much like the one for her earrings, only it was smaller and empty, and the keys were placed right beside it. I stole it. I opened my new chest, placed my heart on the red velvet interior, and shut the lid. Once it was locked, I stole a simple golden locket from my sister's vanity, and placed the precious key inside. I have not visited her chambers since.
In the year or so that followed, the stolen box came with me everywhere I went. For a while, things were good. It was cumbersome and difficult to hide, but I knew it would be safer in my own arms than stowed away on some shelf. The locket hung around my neck, as though the golden key inside could somehow replace the void it dangled next to. I was secretive and afraid most days, but at least I was safe until that doctor could be found.
One day I left the castle, though not for good. I had simply gone out in search of my healer. I did not know what a healer was supposed to look like, but I knew by then that none resided within the castle. I was sure I would recognize such a person if I ever saw one. I think I may have found him, but I'll never know for sure.
He was a boy my own age. He stood across the way, and when he looked up he saw me. For just a moment, my box felt lighter. I knew, I just knew that this boy had the answers. But what a fool I was, I unlocked my chest as I tried crossing the street. A horse-cart nearly ran me over, and my heart flew from the box and was nearly trampled. By the time I had secured my heart once more, the boy was gone. I knew then that my current methods were still far too dangerous. I could never reveal my heart to a living soul again. My doctor would have to find me.
I returned to the castle, and carried my heart up hundreds of stairs to the room at the top of the tallest tower. I placed the box in the center of the room. After some time spent staring at the treasure chest that I would not be seeing again, I turned around and left. The heavy door behind me sealed with a thud.
Still, this was not enough. I had learned the lesson of poor protection. It was not safe to merely hide my heart, I needed to guard it. I snuck down to the royal apothecary's chambers (next to the dungeon) and searched the stacks and vials for a spell or a potion that might make me strong. Strong enough so that I could guard my heart forever – keep it safe from even the most vicious of predators. What I found was a vial with a viscous black elixir inside. There were no written words on the label, just the outline of a dragon. Somehow, I knew that this was the one.
That night, I stood atop the castle wall and popped the cork out of my vial. The liquid smelled of cinnamon and tar. Oh, how I wanted to wretch. But this was far too important for tears. I sealed my eyes shut tight, and downed the potion like a shot.
A burning fire spread throughout my body then. Fingers, toes, the backs of my ears, everything seared like the aftermath of an electrical storm. My skin tingled with the hum and the sting of a thousand buzzing bees, before peeling away to reveal scales that had grown underneath. I roared. I roared, like the mightiest of lions. All those who had wronged me fled my castle. It was my castle now, not theirs. The King and the Queen and their princess stood before me, cowed, trembling in their slippers. I suppose I retained just enough mercy to decide against eating my own father's head. I did spit fire in their faces, though, and they fled. We have no seen each other since.
I cannot tell you Sir Knight, how many years I have spent prowling these grounds, guarding my castle from any intruders. Very few have made their way through these gates. Most that manage to pass me once flee after several encounters. There is one young woman who chose to stay. I believe you met her on your way through the castle. She is blind and mute, ravaged by a childhood illness. But she does not fear me. She tends the gardens here, and I keep her safe from those who might take advantage of her state. Though it is primarily a relationship of mutual benefit, I find myself growing fond of her in recent years. She is pleasant company.
And now there is you. You, who have faced and passed me time and again, never showing the slightest bit of fear. You, who have found the tallest of towers among the maze of halls and corridors that is my home. You, who have stolen the key from around my neck, and dared unlock the chest. You, who saw my heart and did not run away in fear or declare me murderous, but instead realized the truth hidden in the tale. The heart in your hands belongs to me. I am the princess. We are one and the same.
So tell me Sir Knight, are you the one who can save me?
Will the Beauty forever remain the Beast?
A/N: So that's it. Sort of a cliff hanger, but I thought it best to leave the story open ended, since this is really more a story withing a story than anything else. Before I go, I beg of you, REVIEW! I have never really tried writing anything fairy-tale-esque before, and would love to know how well I did. I always love feedback, positive or negative, so long as its constructive, so don't be afraid to drop me a line!
Much love, and eagerly awaiting your responses,
YuniX-2