Long unnecessary A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! There were moments when I was writing and I thought: "damn it, this is too ambitious for me, I won't be able to make it", 'cause English is not my mother language and the story itself takes a lot of work, a lot of thinking. I'm used to simple plots, this is much bigger than I usually go for and it's my first fanfic in English. But I'm not gonna use this as an excuse to make it mediocre. I'm gonna work my ass off here because I love South Park, I love to write and I really believe in this story, so I wanna share it with you guys. Again: thank you, your reviews and opinions are what make me go forward. Don't be afraid to correct my grammar (I know it's not the best) and tell me what you think about this little monster I'm creating!

Christophe slowly put on his black gloves, like he wanted to enjoy every second of it. A cigarette burned on the corner of his lips and he didn't seem to care much about the ashes falling over the table ahead of him. A big cloud of smoke filled the tiny room. Kenny was sitting on a chair across the table with his hands firmly tied behind his back, carefully watching the other man. He bit his bottom lip in anticipation, bothered by how silent the room was. It was just the two of them and Christophe hadn't said a word since he got there. Maybe he had thought too soon that every corner of the elves' kingdom was nice and neat. The dark little room they were in could be many things, but "nice" was definitely not one of them. It smelled like smoke and slime (there was some growing on the walls, apparently) and it was fucking awful. It was so hot in there that Kenny was considering actually asking the man to rip his shirt off.

But perhaps that wasn't such a smart idea.

Christophe was a huge contradiction to the notion that all elves were delicate androgynous gentle little creatures. In fact, all those adjectives could be used to describe everything that Christophe wasn't. The guy was a man. A dirty, sweaty, rude man. He had one of his legs supported by the chair on his side of the table, wearing a heavy leather boot on his feet. His chest, on the other hand, was barely covered by a moss green tank top, so old and beat-up that fell completely loose over his wet body. It exposed his defined muscles and his skin, so white that it looked like the man hadn't seen a ray of sunshine in decades. Kenny's gaze went down to Christophe's belt that held all kinds of sharp objects.

"Non, don't worry." The Mole said when saw the blonde staring at his weapons, taking the cigarette off his mouth. "Ze king 'as some sort of pacifist philosophy 'zat delimits how much fun I can 'ave with you."

Kenny smiled.

"You have a funny accent. Where are you from?"

"Leave ze questions to me, blondie, How about 'zat?"

Finally, the brunette turned his chair around to sit on it backwards, with his legs open, taking a deep drag on his cigarette one more time before resting his arms on the chair's backrest. He puffed the smoke right at the prisoner's direction, who coughed and frowned, turning his head to the side.

"Dude, how many years has it been since you last showered?" Kenny asked with a laugh, grimacing. "You smell like shit."

"At least we 'ave something in common now, don't we?" Christophe answered with a smirk that the blonde wasn't expecting, suddenly liking this guy a lot more. "From my understanding, you and ze princess share ze same last name, is 'zat correct?"

"We are children of the same shitty parents, there's not much to it."

"Ze princess has no brother. Do you really expect me to believe 'zat a noble would be sent on a mission? Ze human royalty does nothing besides getting fat and telling people what to do."

"That's accurate. Yeah, well, we don't have the healthiest family relationship. Look, fellow, I'm with you here. I would be disgusted by humans too if I was an elf. With a lazy useless fatass excuse of a king like Cartman representing our race, it's hard to expect anything else. But I don't work for him. I don't serve the palace. Just because my slutty sister sold herself to the luxurious bloody monarchy's life, doesn't mean I'm like her. I'm a stroller, dude. I don't have a bed to sleep on. I was hungry and those apples were there. Not all humans are trash, you know?"

"Is 'zat so?"

Christophe's dark eyes didn't blink even once while he was listening to Kenny's speech. As soon as it was over, the brunette took the cigarette off his mouth to smash the butt against the wooden table, putting it out. Then, he took both of his hands to the helmet on his head (which, the blonde noted, was nothing like the warrior's or the guard's helmets), taking it off to reveal greasy brown hair and… Ears just like Kenny's.

"Motherfucker. You're not an elf." Kenny whispered, more to himself than to the other man. "Wow. Do they know?"

The answer came with a debauchery laugh. It was surprising that the guy actually knew how to laugh.

"Of course 'zey know! Are you nuts?" He said, putting the helmet on the table. "So don't think, Mr. McCormick, 'zat my problem with you 'as anything to do with race. My problem with you is due to 'ze fact 'zat you are a low-down little liar." Christophe's filthy hand bashed against the wood and he leaned his torso towards Kenny. "What were you after? What does your king want?! Did you come 'ere to cut Kyle's throat in his sleep?"

Kenny didn't miss how this man referred to the High Elf by the name so easily, like he wouldn't even accept calling the king by anything else. It was so different from that warrior, the one who accompanied Kyle to the chamber. That man looked so ashamed to pronounce "Kyle", despite all the intimacy between the two of them. It made Kenny wonder what kind of relationship Christophe had with the king.

"No, Jesus fuck! I didn't even mean to get close to the castles."

The hand resting over the table went right to Kenny's shirt collar, grabbing it tightly and pulling the blond towards him until their faces were dangerously close.

"Why would a stroller wander around so closely to ze enemy's kingdom? Even if you were living under a rock, you fucking knew about ze war!"

"Oh, and who the hell are you to say anything? What were you doing when you first came here? You also got here somehow, now you're freaking working for them. Don't say it like it's an absurd for people to get close to the elves."

"Don't make me punch you, blondie. Your face is a mess already. Give me a better answer and don't fucking play dumb with me."

"I told you, man. I don't have a home. I hadn't eaten for three days, I knew the elves had apple orchards…" His voice trembled under a heavy breath, being replaced by a horrible cough that made Kenny shut his eyes close and lower his face. "If you… If you intend to kill me, damn, just do it. 'Cause I have no good information for you. I can't tell you what I don't know. And I guarantee… No one in the kingdom of Kupa Keep will miss me, not even my sister. She doesn't know I'm alive. C'mon, you're a smart guy. Why do you think none of you knew the princess had a brother?"

Christophe let go of Kenny's threadbare shirt and pulled away. The look on his face was completely unreadable. The man got up from the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose while he went around the table and stepped behind the tied man, tilting so that his lips got closer to the blonde's ear. His breathe was hot and heavy, giving Kenny the impression that behind him stood not a human, but a wild animal. Dirty fingers grabbed a lock of blond hair and pulled Kenny's head back harshly, yanking a grunt of pain out of him. He could also feel a sharp blade against the thin skin of his throat, not pushing deep enough to harm him, but getting the message across quite well.

"Let's say I'm buying your little story, oui? You would have abdicated a very luxurious life to starve in the woods. Why did you leave your kingdom?"

Breathing was getting hard. Kenny's chest went up and down quickly, disturbing puffy noises came out of his open bruised lips.

"Cartman is a tyrant piece of shit! Starving is much better than living under his conditions, I'll tell you that." He took a deep breath. "Hey… Do you think you could cut my hair with your little knife?"

"And which conditions would those be?"

"Look, I'd hate for him to have the stick just as much as you would. The throne wasn't even meant to be his. He'd burn down whole villages and cut little children's heads off if it'd get him what he wants. He's a selfish son of a whore. I mean literally." The words came out shivery, but Kenny couldn't help it. He could feel the man's gaze burning on his skin, aware that Christophe was watching every single blink of his, every breath he took. It was pretty much obvious to Kenny that this guy was trained (very well trained, by the way) to tell if he was lying. So he decided to warm things up with a smile. "But you should know all this, since you're here serving the Elf Queen now."

The grip of Christophe's hand on his hair got even tighter, forcing Kenny's head back against his chest in anger. The blade pressed harder against his neck too.

"You don't want to see me angry, blondie. You really don't."

It was easy to feel in Christophe's hands the burning desire to break that little ignorant blonde's neck and get it over with. But he wouldn't. He was a man with a job. So he let go of Kenny abruptly, pushing him forward so he that the blonde hit his nose against the table's hard surface. This time Kenny held the sore moan down his throat, tired of giving Christophe the satisfaction of his pain.

Kenny lifted his head slowly, wheezing. He could see a little better with his injured eye, at least better than yesterday, even though he couldn't open it entirely. It was enough to see the Mole picking up his helmet and walking to the door, tucking his knife back in the pocket of his unclean brown pants. He knocked the door three times and whistled. Almost immediately, two elves entered the room. They were dressed like the guards who attacked Kenny, but he didn't recognize either one of them. Turning his face to the prisoner, Christophe spitted on the ground and told the guards:

"I'm done with him for today. Take him back."

The Mole walked down the long corridor that circulated the outside of the castle, passing by the stone arches raised by columns, taking a peek at the beautiful garden that felt so relaxing during the night. He liked it so much better this way, with no one around. The back of his hand ran over his forehead to wipe off the sweat. Damn, that room was hot as hell. A few walking elves wished him good night, going on the opposite direction for a night saunter, some of them holding beautiful china cups, sipping steamy tea before they went to their quarters. But the Mole ignored them all. It was late at night. He speeded up his pace, his heavy boots making loud noises when hurried up the spiral staircase, heading to the king's room.

He followed through the long hallway illuminated only by a few wall torches. The hall was decorated with a nice yellow carpet that Christophe was dirtying with his boots. The door to the king's room was the last one down the hallway. He gave it three strong knocks, remembering when Kyle said that could tell when it was him just by the way he knocked. Who opened the door, however, was Stan. Christophe greeted him leaning his torso a little bit forward.

"Stanley."

"Mole. Is the interrogatory over already?"

The warrior wore nothing but underpants and a sheer white shirt with all the buttons undone, exposing his hairless chest and abdomen. He didn't have his helmet on, showing his messy dark hair that the Mole had seen only a couple of times in his life. But Christophe paid no attention to any of that. On a few seconds, Kyle showed up behind Stan and ran his hand over the man's back, signing with his head that Stanley could go inside now, which the warrior immediately obeyed. The king smiled, thanked him and stepped outside the room, closing the door behind him. He wasn't wearing his red mantle nor his crown, but still wore the white long sleeve shirt with art nouveau golden details all over it and had a little cord tied around his waist. It was exactly what he wore under the mantle earlier that day. Christophe bent down appropriately for him, took his helmet off and held it in front of his chest while he took the king's hand on his own to bring it to his lips and kiss it gently.

"Bonne nuit, Kyle."

"Good lord, how French can you be?" Kyle whispered with a smile as the man straightened his torso. "What did you find out?"

"Ze man stills says he's ze princess brother. He told me 'zat he denied ze royalty because he disagrees with ze king's methods. How did he put it... Oh oui. "Ze king is a tyrant piece of sheet". He also claims 'zat his sister doesn't even know he's alive and 'zat he's a starving stroller who just wanted to eat some nice apples. He claims to 'ave no current connections to the kingdom of Kupa Keep whatsoever."

The king's expression went earnest while he paid careful attention to the Mole's report, bringing his index finger to his lips, considering the situation. Lastly, he sighed and asked:

"Well, do you believe him?"

"Ze man is a swindler, Kyle, 'zere is no doubt about it." The Mole said, letting out something very similar to a laugh (although Kyle had never seen him actually laughing) as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "Now, if he's ze king's swindler, I'm not so sure. He may be telling ze truth."

"Don't smoke in here."

Christophe licked his lips and shoved the cigarette back in his pocket, showing no opposition.

"Ze guards said he was pretty dirty already when he was found, oui? He could easily pass for a homeless man. However… 'Zere is no guarantee 'zat he didn't soil himself on purpose. I wouldn't let him go if I were you, Kyle."

"The thought didn't even cross my mind, believe me."

"I figured. But I know your fondly stupid good heart well enough, so it didn't hurt to warn you. You see, Kyle, if you allowed me to use more effective tactics…" Christophe tried to get closer, taking his hand off his pocket to raise it towards the king's face, but Kyle immediately shook his head.

"No. You're not going to torture him. Especially now, giving the possibility that he's an innocent man. Be honest with me, Mole. Do you think he's lying?"

The Mole pressed his lips together in consideration and narrowed his eyes, studying the king's face, taking a moment to think about the whole talk before giving him a verdict. His hand stood still on air, his fingers slightly curved close to Kyle's face. The king couldn't help but look for traces of blood on Christophe's fingernails, but there wasn't any. At last, Christophe sighed heavily and adjusted his helmet on top of his head.

"He is a very persuasive man, your highness. No, I don't think he's lying. But I'll 'ave to talk to him again, you know, give it a few days to see if he'll slip in the details of his own story. For now, I don't think we're in danger."

Kyle nodded, and then stood on tiptoe, taking one of his hands to grab The Mole's shoulder and plant a long kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Mole. Have a good night."

Kyle couldn't see right at the darkness of the hallway, but he could swear he saw Christophe blush a little bit.

Cartman wasn't very fond of sunny days. Since he was a child, while all the other children loved to play out in the sun, running around the sunflower fields, the chubby little boy – who as nothing less than obese at the time – would rather hide underground, inside the wine cellars of his mother's boyfriend's restaurant. Eric remembered him as a kind huge black man who was usually called by the name of "Chef". Cartman liked him just as much as he liked sunny days. Nevertheless, Chef was the closest thing he's ever had to a father figure, since his mother worked as a cabaret dancer and slept with pretty much every one of her clients. The little boy never knew who his real father was. So, Chef would let him hide in the restaurant and play with the rats, because little Eric never had too many friends. It was such a shame that both Chef and his mother had their heads cut off before they could see him become the state's Monarch.

He was very fond of rats, oh yes. Maybe this was his first – and only – real connection to the princess McCormick: the fact that everywhere the girl went, she took that little rodent with her, giving it love and affection, snuggling it and everything. It was kind of gross. Cartman would never actually say out loud that he liked her better because of the rat.

He could already hear the animal's little squeak when the salon doors were open and the princess' high heels click-clack filled the wide room, getting closer. Cartman stood still before the large window with his hands on his back, warmed by the sunshine that came through the glazing. He'd been observing the courtyard from up there, one of his warriors was sitting down the edge of the big fountain with monumental fish statues spouting water. The warrior was flirting with one of the courtesans. The king's jaw tightened in disapproval and he shook his head slightly. The princess' voice interrupted his thoughts:

"Do you have any news about him?"

"About who?" Eric asked absently, turning around to look at her like he had only right now realized she was standing there.

The princess rolled her eyes and walked towards the coral couch to sit down, dropping little Lemmiwinks on her lap so the mouse could freely wander around her puffy dress. It was a beautiful gown, black lace contrasting with the shining violet material underneath. The princess' golden braiding fell down each of her shoulders like two waterfalls and her silver tiara glistened on her head, meeting the sunlight.

"I don't like this, Cartman. I don't like it at all."

"Oh. Oh, I am so sorry, princess. I had no ideia that the king had to think about what you'd like before protecting his own kingdom and the life of everyone who lives in it. What would you prefer? That we let those little pixies, those insidious fucking leprechauns have the Stick? Is that want you want, Princess McCormick?"

"Well, you didn't have to send my brother. You know very well that I would never allow it if you hadn't acted behind my back."

"I don't need your permission to do shit. I'm the fucking king!"

That was Cartman's favorite sentence, right there. The princess had no idea how many times she'd heard him say 'I'm the fucking king' since the riots and the seizure of power. She faced Eric with genuine contempt, her light blue eyes shining in anger and her ruddy lips trembling as she tried to swallow her words. It was Cartman who broke the gaze, walking across the salon. He went around the big while piano in the middle of the room, massaging his temples, looking thoughtful. He let out one of his heavy grunts that his subordinates made fun of him for, imitating it when he wasn't looking. The princess saw them doing it a couple of times, but, instead of rebuking them, she just laughed and went on her way.

"Don't you care at all? He was the only kid who would play with you, the only one who gave you the slightest bit of attention. He didn't care that you were fat and bossy. You guys are friends since you were children, how could you just give him away to the enemy like this?"

Cartman's fist collided firmly against the carved wood table, shaking the porcelain vase on top of it with gardenias inside, spilling some water.

"Don't talk about what you don't understand, princess. Kenny is more artful than your stinky little rat there, he's cunning and elusive. And smart as shit. Yes, he's a fucking rebel. Yes, I feel like smashing his face on the ground pretty much all the time." He hit his fist against his own palm this time, illustrating it. "But it doesn't matter because he gets the job done. Every time. That is why I sent him. Just fucking let the man do his job."

She opened her lips to protest, raising a manicured finger, but the king didn't allow her to speak.

"He's anonymous. Nobody knows his face, since he refused all the royal denominations after the rebellion. He never stepped on a battle field, the elves don't know who the fuck he is. That little fag Kyle won't have a clue who he's dealing with. Kenny will bring the Stick back to its rightful place and soon all this shit will be over. I have a special place over my bed for Kyle's head as a trophy."

The princess didn't respond. She looked down to the little creature that was trying to nibble her dress' lace and smiled to it, taking her finger to caress Lemmiwinks' tiny head, watching how the mouse closed its eyes and rubbed its face against her digit. Cartman snorted and covered his head with his blue hooded cape.

"Those elves will fall for your brother's bullshit like the dumb little girls they are."

"What's wrong with being a girl?" She asked a little offended, frowning.

"Hell, I wouldn't know." The king said with a noisy laugh, walking to the door with no more intention to continue the conversation. "But then again… Neither would you."

Cartman slammed the doors on his way out. The princess took a deep breath and then leaned closer to Lemmiwinks, whispering to her pet in a sweet voice:

"Our king may be a big guy, but I'm afraid his brains are smaller than the elves. What do you think, Lemmiwinks?"

A/N: Damn that was the longest crap ever. I'm sorry for how poorly written Christophe's accent was. French accents are so hard to write. ):