Summary: A hapless prince, a rather inept thief…and.a proposition. A Tyson/Kai fairytale of sorts.
Author Notes: This is an AU fic, my first attempt at parody/humour.
Warning: BL. And a terribly, terribly 'ooc' Kai. (Not that Tyson is any better!) Rated for implication only.
DRAGON HEART
1
Once upon a time….
The bodyguard marched through endless corridors until he finally arrived at an ornately carved door. This he rapped sharply and after a moment's pause, pushed open.
"Your Majesty….His Serene Highness, Prince Tyson." He stepped back, and the dark-haired young man who had been following him entered the room. The bodyguard then left, closing the door firmly after him.
Tyson walked up to the large mahogany table, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the old man who sat there, watching him.
"Alright, Grandpa. Now what is it? What transgression have I committed to get the royal summons?"
"Sit down, young man. You haven't committed any transgression. Yet. The reason I called you over is because I have an important matter to discuss with you."
Tyson frowned. "If it is what I think it is, then the answer is no. I do not want to get married now and you can't make me."
His Majesty, King Kinomiya, contemplated his grandson calmly. Then he said, "I gave you ample time to make your choice. But you still haven't chosen your future consort. Your time limit has run out, grandson. Now I make the decision and you abide by it."
"Why?" Tyson wailed. "Why must I get married now? What's the big hurry? I'm just nineteen, for God's sake."
The old king sighed. "We have been through this before, Tyson. I'm getting old. My heart, my lungs, my liver, my nerves…they are all on the verge of giving out – "
"You forgot your spleen and the kidneys," Tyson muttered.
" – and before I take leave of this world, I must discharge my responsibility towards you. I must ensure that you are settled and happy."
"Settled and happy! And you think forcing me into a marriage is going to make me happy?"
"Your brother, Hiro, agrees with me - "
"Hiro! I should have known he had a hand in all this," Tyson said angrily. The next moment, a lithe figure materialized right next to him. Tyson looked up into the smirking visage of his older brother and heir to the throne, Prince Hiro.
"The truth, dear brother, is that having you underfoot is cramping my style."
"Style? What style?" Tyson asked, laughing derisively. "What style could you possibly have, being married and father of four? You're just jealous that you're shackled and I'm free."
"Well, not for long." Hiro drew a parchment from his pocket and held it aloft. "Check this out." He rolled out the parchment and started reading aloud in a booming voice, "Hear one, hear all…blah blah blah…the king has decided to hold a tournament to select a suitable candidate as the prospective spouse for his beloved grandson…..blah blah blah…. The following are the rules - "
"Show me that!" Tyson snatched the proclamation from his brother's hand and read it, hardly able to believe his eyes. "You must be joking!"
"Alas, dear fellow, we are entirely too serious."
"And if I refuse to take part in this circus….?"
"You wouldn't like the consequences, trust me," Hiro said in a silky voice.
Tyson looked at his grandfather imploringly. But the old man remained silent.
"Man, you must hate me so much…to put me through this! If mum and dad were alive…" Crumpling the parchment and stuffing it into his pocket, he made to leave the room.
"Tyson…" Tyson stopped. Yes, emotional blackmail always worked. Gramps was finally coming to his senses.
"…the tournament starts next week. Don't say you weren't warned."
Tyson stalked off, slamming the door on his way out.
Later that day…
His two closest friends were full of sympathy for him as he poured out his woes into their receptive ears. But Max and Ray were no closer to offering him a solution.
"Come on, guys! You must have some idea, some plan. This is your best friend's life on the line. Think of some way I can sabotage this whole thing…"
"Sorry, Tyson. We have no clue," Ray said. "But if it's any consolation, I won't be here to witness your – er - plight next week. Mariah's in her eighth month and I have to take her home to her village for the delivery. I'll be gone for some time."
"Just what I needed," Tyson groaned. "What about you, Max?"
Max didn't reply. He was reading the proclamation carefully, trying to find some loophole for Tyson to escape through. "Look at the eligibility criteria. Anyone who is single and over the age of eighteen can take part. No other qualification needed."
"Anyone?" Ray asked curiously. "You mean both male and female?" Max nodded. "Your grandfather must be very desperate," Ray concluded, shaking his head.
"Hiro has already ensured the continuity of the bloodline. So it doesn't matter whom I marry, I guess. So long as I marry."
"Good thing we have the Bestiality Act," Max commented, grinning. "At least you don't have to worry about getting hitched to a suitor of the four-legged variety."
"Shh...Max! Not so loud! The king has powers to suspend the law, remember?"
Max continued his perusal of the document. Suddenly, something caught his attention. He turned to Tyson excitedly. "I think there's a way out. Look, the final decision rests with you, so it says here. The suitor who emerges successful has to compete with you in the end."
"And…?"
"Come on, Tyson. With Dragon Heart you can't go wrong. You just have to challenge whoever it is to a duel. You'll win for sure and then you can kiss those suitors goodbye. Figuratively speaking."
"Yeah…until Grandpa and Big Brother come up with more half-baked plans. I need a permanent solution, guys, not a temporary respite." Tyson sighed. "There are so many families out there…rich, poor, big, small…Why did I have to be born into such a crackpot family?"
Ray and Max exchanged a look. Then Max placed a comforting hand on Tyson and said, "Here's a suggestion. Why don't you just keep an open mind and see how things go? You might find someone you like in the tournament. Unless…unless you are determined to remain single."
"I'm not. I don't mind marrying. But I want someone whom I can like, who won't bore me to tears within five minutes of meeting. Someone who….ah, what's the point? I'll never find someone like that in a stupid tournament."
"You might turn lucky," Ray said.
"Dame Luck doesn't know the way to my palace, believe me."
His friends had nothing more to offer him.
That night…
Finally the most miserable day of his life drew to a close and Tyson despondently prepared for bed. After finishing his nightly rituals, he slipped under the covers and reached to put out the light. Then he remembered – the last act of the day was yet to be played out. Pushing off the covers, he padded across the room, ensconced himself in a deep armchair by the open casement window, hidden from view, and waited.
Twenty minutes later, his wait came to an end. A gloved hand appeared on the window sill, gripping it tightly; another followed. Then the head appeared, the face cloaked in a white scarf, as usual. The distinctive hair shade was a dead giveaway, but apparently the intruder didn't realise it. Huffing slightly, he pulled himself up to perch precariously on the window sill and carefully peered into the darkened room.
"We really must stop meeting like this," Tyson said.
"Aargh!" Startled, the intruder lost his balance and would have fallen off the window if a pair of hands hadn't reached quickly to pull him back up and into the room.
"What the heck -? What's the big idea, scaring me like that?" the intruder demanded, glaring at Tyson as he scrambled to his feet.
Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me for not being more welcoming to a burglar. I must have had a really rough day. How else could I have forgotten to lay out the red carpet?"
"Why the heck are you still awake? I thought you'd be asleep by now. That's why I waited so long." The intruder looked warily at Tyson and decided that he was apparently not in an aggressive mood. "And why are you so…less hostile today? Normally you start chucking things at me the moment you sight my head. What's changed?"
Tyson studied him in silence. This intruder, this would-be thief had been trying to get into his room for the past few days, without much success. In fact, tonight was the first time he had been able to set foot this side of the window. Tyson had to admire his perseverence.
"What exactly are you after, in my room? You must know that all our valuables are in the bank vaults. We just have some loose change and money for daily household expenses. Is that what you're after?"
"Petty cash? Who would be stupid enough to scale these walls to steal cash? I'm after something much more valuable, something that you, Prince Tyson, have with you."
Tyson took a brief but thorough mental inventory and decided that the thief was mistaken. He had nothing of value on his person.
"I'm after your Dragon Heart sword."
Tyson gaped at the thief. "What? You must be joking." The Dragon Heart sword was a family heirloom, passed on to Tyson. It was reputed to be the most powerful sword in the kingdom.
The thief laughed, an oddly attractive sound though it was muffled by the scarf. "No. I am going to get your sword. But not today, since you've foiled my well-laid plans once again."
"Why?"
The thief quirked an eyebrow. "You mean why the sword? Hmm…I've come to know that it contains a mystical power. And I want that power. And if you're wondering why don't I thwack you on the head and make off with it… well, I have to take it by stealth or else win it. I see no chance of winning it. And you've spoilt my stealth moves. There…are you satisfied now? In that case…au revoir."
The thief turned towards the window but Tyson forestalled him. "Wait." An idea had flashed into his mind.
"What now? Planning to call the guards and hand me over?"
"No…not at all. Er…why don't you come in? Are you hungry? Robbery must be a tiring work. Wait here. I'll ring up for some food." Tyson moved to ring the bell but the thief reached out a gloved hand and hastily stopped him.
"What's with you? Are you nuts?"
Tyson hesitated and then looked straight into the thief's eyes. "I have a proposition for you."
The intruder's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He stared at Tyson in surprise and slowly backed off. "That's…ah...very kind of you. But you're not exactly my type."
"Not that type of proposition, stupid!" Tyson dragged the thief to the armchair he had been occupying previously and pushed him into it, before moving to turn up a few more lamps so that the room was brightly lit. Then he retrieved the crumpled parchment from the table where he had earlier chucked it and shoved it into the thief's hands.
"Here, read this."
Obviously piqued and not seeing a way out, the thief read the proclamation. Tyson studied him. In the bright light, he looked rather incongruous, not quite as mysterious as he had been when viewed in the dim light. He was dressed in black from top to toe with the white scarf wound around his neck to relieve the monochromatic effect. The scarf still covered his face while the ends trailed over his shoulders. Only his eyes and forehead were visible, though Tyson could make out the faint sharp line of the nose. But it was the hair that captured his attention: it was peculiarly dual-coloured, light in front, dark at the back. Very distinctive, Tyson thought. He was about to take in further study when he was stopped short by the amused voice.
"Do I pass inspection?" Tyson looked up and found a pair of amethyst eyes regarding him quizzically. He flushed slightly.
"Have you read it? What do you think of it?"
"It's good. Very realistic. Are you planning a full-length novel or a short story?"
Tyson looked confused.
"What? You aren't telling me this is for real, are you?…You're kidding me, right?" the thief asked incredulously.
"No. And now you know why I need your help. I want to get out of this - this mess. And you can help me."
"How?"
"Marry me."
"Eh?"
"Seriously," Tyson moved swiftly to stand in front of the armchair (possibly to prevent any escape attempt) and leaned down, his arms on the the chair, effectively trapping the thief. "You could enter the tournament, defeat the other candidates, win my hand and marry me. Within a month, we can apply for divorce or annulment. Everyone is happy. Gramps will realise that marriage is not a happy state for me and he'll leave me alone."
The thief was eying Tyson warily. "Er...what would I get out of it?"
"The sword, of course."
The thief sighed. "I'm flattered that you made me this offer, but I must decline regretfully. I can't just accept the sword, you know. I have to steal or win it."
"But don't you see? By winning my hand you're winning the sword as well."
The thief mulled over the idea. It had certain merit. "What else would I be getting?"
"I thought you didn't like cash. But alright, you can have alimony."
"How about some personal space?"
Tyson stepped back hastily and muttered an apology. The thief got to his feet, walked over to the window. "I am fully convinced that you are mad. But I'm an adventurer and it goes against the grain to refuse such a madcap offer. Besides, I was getting rather tired of you foiling all my burglary attempts. Look out for me in the tournament."
"You mean…you agree?" Tyson couldn't believe his ears. The thief started to climb out of the window. Halfway out, he was struck by a thought.
"Will you be wearing a dress to the wedding?"
The crumpled parchment sailed past his head, missing him. And then he was gone.
"Hey! Wait! What is your name?" But there was no answer.
To be continued….