The Fool and the Milkman


By some form of unspoken agreement, they had both agreed not to discuss the events of the royal ball. They agreed not to bring up the laughter or mention the intimacy they had had that night. He had come home late that night, collapsing the moment he neared the bed and falling asleep almost immediately. He had been so exhausted from the strain and the taxation the flirting and charming had demanded that he hadn't noticed how empty the bed was compared to the previous few nights. After pulling the blanket up to his chin, C.C. had wandered outside and watched the sun rise. Returning the horses, servants, and carriage to their original state, she shooed the animals away before leading the two horses away to their stables. Brushing them, she had quietly fed them an apple each, rewarding them for their hard work. And when they had finished, she returned to bed where she lay awake, staring at the ceiling until he finally stirred besides her. Then she closed her eyes and allowed her to fall asleep. She didn't want to talk to him or look at him for at least a day. She wanted to recover – needed to recover – before she'd be able to pretend that nothing had happened and that her fragile heart hadn't shattered when she had sent him away to his princess.

"What's wrong?"

"What?" His eyes flickered to her as she rapped his knuckles with her spoon.

"Are you nervous?"

"…A bit."

"Well, you have her wrapped around your finger. There's nothing to be worried about."

"…Yeah."

"If you—Where are you going?"

He looked down at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"What?"

"Where are you going?"

She eyed him, wondering why he was acting so peculiar. She always found him zoning out, staring off into the distance – whenever he wasn't at the palace, that was, wooing her Highness – and it was starting to concern her. What was he mulling over? What could there possibly be for him to puzzle over? All he had to do was follow her instructions, to say the right things at the right time and give the Princess the gifts she prepared for him. There shouldn't be any reason for him to think so hard. Unless he was starting to regret his decision and wanted to go back on the contract. In which case she'd be forced to offer both his and her life to the Code.

"…I'm just going to town. I noticed we were running low on flour. I'll be back soon."

Flashing her a quick smile, he grabbed his cloak and fled the room. When the door closed shut behind him, she slowly put down her spoon. She sat for some time before sullenly clearing away the dishes. Standing before the sink, she looked out the window and at the field. When she had first come to this farm – when she had first entered his life – the fields had been green and healthy. The harvest had looked bountiful. But now, neglected, it was overrun by weeds, and the broad leaves that had once been so beautiful were full of holes from the merciless pests and were curling and browning at the edges. Almost as if she were a plague.

Letting the bowl crash into the sink, C.C. laughed at herself. Of course it was as if she were a plague. Because in the end, that was all a witch amounted to – a burden and a curse that brought out the worst in everyone. That was all she had ever been, and that was all she would ever be. She may have called him a fool, but she had been the truly stupid one. To think that she had thought that things would be different this time! What ignorance!

Behind her, in the pantry, a nearly full bag of flour quietly sat on the floor as her scornful laughter filled the quiet house.

. . .

"If you've come to gloat, you can turn right around and go back home. You've done nothing honorable or admirable that I wish to hear of."

Standing in the doorway of the barn, Lelouch watched as his friend stood up from behind the cow he had been milking. Slipping off the hood of his cloak, he started to ask why he was so angry, when he heard, "How was the ball? Did you manage to trick the Princess, or do you need help with that too?"

"How did you—"

"What does it matter how I know? It won't change the fact that I know what you've been trying to do for the past week. It must be nice, walking around and lying about how much you love her."

"Did C.C. tell you?"

He glared as his lips curled back in disgust.

"No, C.C. didn't tell me. What do you take us for, Lelouch? Half-wits? You don't think that we wouldn't have noticed what's been going on for the past week? You don't think the news wouldn't have leaked, that there's someone courting the Princess? Do you know how upset Shirley is right now?"

"Alexei, let me explain—"

"What is there to explain? I know all there is to know about this, and we don't want your excuses, so just leave before I—"

"Then you must know that I don't want to marry her."

He shivered in the grey mist as the temperature dropped and the dark clouds rumbled overhead.

"Then you know I don't want to marry the Princess. Right, Alexei? Since you know everything."

Only the shuffling of the cows' hooves and the occasional moo interrupted the silence until his friend quietly asked, "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"…I became a hypocrite. That's why."

"Why now? Why her?"

"Can you explain how you first fell in love with Bonnie?"

Another silence glumly sat joined the two men until Alexei asked, "…Well, what are you going to do now? Stop seeing the Princess?"

"I don't know," replied Lelouch in a tired voice. Falling down onto the bale of hay, he covered his face with his hands as he mumbled, "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Really? Because I know what you have to do."

"And what's that?"

They sat side-by-side as if they had travelled back in time fifteen years and had returned to being strangers again, a lost orphan and a son of the milkman. Even with fifteen years, not much had changed as they sat together on the hay as they used to when they were children. The orphan was still lost and unsure of his place, of what to do next, while the son still knew where to go and how to get there and what to do once he finally reached his destination. Even with the time that had passed, they had remained the same – he was still the orphan and he was still the son.

Lighting his long pipe, the milkman said, "You need to let her go."

"What?"

"Just…" He blew out a cloud of sweet smoke before tapping out the ashes and grinding them with the sole of his boot. "Let go. It's as easy as that."

"What do you mean it's as easy as that?" Feeling insulted, he snapped, "If someone told you to let go of Bonnie, would you—"

"If someone told me to leave Bonnie and if it was for Bonnie's sake, then I'd leave. If it was for her own good, I would leave because I love her and she's far more important to me than my own happiness. Besides. The human heart is powerful, Lelouch. It will always heal, and the person will always move on. It may take longer some times than others, but eventually, they'll always forget, and she will too. You're not as great as you think you are. Especially if you've managed to screw up something as important as this. Especially if you lied to yourself and to her about your feelings."

Studying the chaotic pattern of the broken and shredded hay covering the floor of the barn, he softly said, "Go to the Princess and ask for her hand. Marry her, like you planned to in the beginning, and let C.C. go. Release her from her contract. Then at least the both of you will be able to keep your lives, no matter how miserable they may be."

"When are you going to propose to her?"

"…I'm supposed to do it later tonight."

"Do you have a ring?"

"…She gave me one this morning. C.C. did."

"Well, you better hurry along then. The sun's about to set. Or whatever sun there is hiding in this damn weather."

"…This can't be the only choice I have left." Lelouch looked up and at his best friend. "There has to be another way. I just haven't found it yet, I—"

"Oh, sure. You could tell her that you love her," he replied. "And then if she loves you too, you can go tell the Princess that you're sorry but that you made a mistake, but she's not the one you love and she's not the one you want to share the rest of your life with. You can tell her that you're actually in love with someone else, and when the King sends his men to find out just who it is that stole your heart from his precious daughter and then hears that it's a witch of all people, what do you think will happen? That's right. His Majesty will have you and C.C. arrested, and then you can watch as she's burned at the stake before you're either executed or put in prison for the rest of your life. You want to know why? Because people like the King don't take kindly to mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart. So is there another path you could take? Yeah. But you're asking yourself the wrong question, Lelouch. The real question you should be asking yourself is are you wiling to make whatever sacrifices necessary in order to protect the one you love?"

"And if she returns my feelings." He desperately grasped for an argument, any argument against what he knew was his only choice. "Wouldn't I be doing the same thing to her as turning her into the King for witchcraft?"

"At this point, Lelouch, you can only really choose between heartbreak and your life. Her life. Just let her go; some things just aren't meant to be."

Patting him on the shoulder, the milkman stood up and left the fool to contemplate what to do and how to get out of the dilemma he had led himself into.

. . .

"I can't go with you."

He turned to her as she spoke for the first time since he had come home yesterday. Refusing to meet his eyes, she looked out the window and at the dreary sky as she said, "Witches aren't allowed to cross the boundary. We made an agreement ages ago with the dark pixies. So you'll be on your own in there."

"…I wasn't going to ask you to accompany me."

He had caught her attention. He stared at her from across the royal carriage, reminding him all too strongly of the last time they had been in a coach together and what had happened that night. Swallowing the painful memories, he did his best to look at her evenly, desperate not to reveal any weakness.

"If I had wanted you to come with me, I would have asked you a long time ago."

"…But in my place, this will travel with you and protect you."

She had deliberately changed the subject, and he knew it but he let it go. He understood why she had been so quick to move on. He still hadn't forgotten how holding her hand and dancing with her felt, what emotions he had experienced whenever she had laughed.

She opened the oblong box that had suddenly appeared on his kitchen table earlier that morning without explanation. She pulled out a sheathed rapier wrapped in a swath of lavender silk. Its golden hilt glinted at him though there was no sunlight, and he felt himself being drawn to the sword. Enraptured, he stared as she handed it to him. Taking it, he slipped away the silk and wrapped his hand around the hilt.

"The finest blacksmiths of the Northern Dwarves crafted this. Its probably one of the strongest swords that have ever been made, and I had it commissioned for you."

When she caught the look on his face, she waved him away.

"It was time for me to collect on an old favor anyhow. And I'm sure later on as Prince, you'll have several duties where you'll need a good sword to protect you and your wife until you become King."

"This sword is invaluable. Northern Dwarves? Isn't it a bit much? The Northern Dwarves are famed for their metallurgy."

"The Forest is a force to be reckoned with. Now listen carefully, Lelouch. This sword, the Sword of Akasha, mustn't be touched by anyone else other than you. Particularly any humans. Dwarven metal burns any and all humans upon touch, and most fae, as the sword was crafted for you and will serve only you, its dedicated master. And it's not magical. Not in the way you think it is, at least. It can't grant you invisibility or invincibility. All it can do for you is amplify your skills and attributes, like speed or strength, so don't depend on it too heavily."

"And lastly, be careful."

He finally tore his eyes away from the Sword at the sound of her voice, only to be surprised by the fear he found in her eyes. He glanced at her lips as her breath tickled his chin. He finally noticed how she was shaking and how her braided hair, which was usually so neat, had strands falling out and how tired she looked, as if she hadn't been able to sleep the night before. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand rose as if by instinct and he tucked the loose strands behind her ear. He leaned closer, and her eyes fluttered close when there was a knock and a voice said, "We've arrived, sir."

They stared at one another, three inches short of admitting their feelings to one another until he said in a low voice, "Walk me to the Forest."

She nodded, afraid that speaking would betray her. Pulling away, he fastened his cloak before stepping out of the royal carriage. It wasn't until he was outside when she realized she had been holding her breath. Drawing her cloak closer to her, she shivered and followed after him, all the while trying her best to forget his warmth and the way his hooded gaze had made her heart race.

. . .

Even the birds had stopped singing and the wind had stopped blowing as they stepped off of the well-worn road and waded through the sea of heather and mist. A heavy silence hung over them, made only worse by the dark miasma of the woods, as they neared the Forest. When they arrived at the edge of the woodlands, she said, "There's something I haven't told you."

"What is it?"

"…If you die before I can repay my debt to you… If you die before our contract is completed, I'll be drawn to kill myself. So remember your promise, Lelouch, and come back safely. Please."

He had never seen her so uneasy. Her eyes flickered to fixate on something behind him before returning to him and silently pleading that he survive the quest the King had sent him on. He felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her, to wrap his arms around her and press her close to him as he reassured her that he would do anything and everything in his power to return to her. But he knew that if he wanted to avoid hurting her as much as he could, he would have to refrain. Nor did he trust himself to speak. So he settled for squeezing her hand which he had held tightly all the way to the Forest before lifting his hood up over his head and following the will-o'-the-wisp that only he could see into the forest.

The Witch stood still as he vanished before her eyes, swallowed by the magic of the Forest. Wringing her hands, she too pulled the hood of her cloak up as she looked over her shoulder and rubbed her arms for warmth in spite of the summer weather. Chills running up and down her spine and the hair on her nape rising, she started for the silver birches and for safety. She'd stay with the elves until he returned. Though she had been told that she would be treated as guest of the Princess as she was a "friend" of the Princess's sweetheart, the thought of having to stay under the same roof as the woman who would soon marry her…Her accomplice didn't sit well with her. It shouldn't bother her, but it did anyway. Neither did she want to stay in his empty, cold house as it would only emphasize his absence. So she opted for the elves. They would welcome her, but more importantly, they would keep her busy as she waited for his return…

If he survived.

. . .

He hadn't expected it to be easy. When the King had told him that he would be allowed his daughter's hand if and when he returned from the troll's cave, he knew that a difficult journey lay before him and thus had been quite disappointed – but also relieved – that the witch couldn't accompany him. He had been disappointed at the loss of such a powerful ally, but at the same time… At least she would be safe. At least she would be far from any immediate danger – unless he didn't come back.

He followed the will-o'-the-wisp through the trees, doing his best to ignore the shadows that flew by in the corner of his eye and the distant growling, howling, and unintelligible chanting far off in the distance, too far for him to make out any proper shapes in the fog. She had told him how the Forest was a being all of its own and would try its best to spook him, to make him act as irrationally as possible so that he'd be stuck, doomed to wander through the trees forever until the Forest consumed him. So he ignored them, though as time passed and the only company, he found himself becoming increasingly paranoid as he delved deeper and deeper into the Forest.

What if he lost his way? He had been walking for what seemed an eternity and there were no specific landmarks that would guide him out of the woods. And that was if he managed to kill the troll. Would the Sword of Akasha be enough? They were clever beasts, much more cunning than they appeared. Wasn't the King just trying to get rid of him by asking him to kill the monster that had been terrorizing nearby villages and towns? Knights and princes alike had all tried before him, and each and every one had failed. Who was to say that he didn't share their fate? He was just a mere farmer. He hadn't had any formal training, and he certainly hadn't had the level of preparation and equipment that they had had. So if they had been killed, why should he survi—

He stopped short, and the will-o'-the-wisp whined at him but he paid it no mind as he stared at the wide river with wide eyes. Terror petrified him, transfixed by the impossible width of the river and its breakneck currents. Immediately backing away, he pressed himself up against a gnarly tree trunk and struggled for control over himself. But the memories were too strong for him and the fear too fresh, and soon, they overpowered him and drowned him in his wretched childhood.

His earliest memory was from the age of 5. He knew because all his life, he had tried, and tried, and tried to think of an earlier memory, of anything, of a scent, a taste, of anything, but he couldn't recall anything before the age of 5, save for his name and age, and even those he wasn't quite sure of. He didn't know who his parents where, he didn't know where or when he had been born; he knew absolutely nothing about himself except for the fact that his life had begun when he had woken up to find himself lying on a piece of driftwood and rushing down a current, much like the one that rushed by him. He had blinked up at the bright blue sky, blinded by the sunlight as he wondered who he was and how he had ended up there on an impromptu raft. And then he had tipped over after careening into a boulder and he found himself dragged down to the bottom of the river.

He could still remember the agony in his lungs and the despair he had felt as he lay, trapped, as he asked himself if this was how he was going to die, without even knowing what his name was. And a voice inside him told him that this was the end, that his fears would come true and he wouldn't even have the privilege of knowing who he was before he lost himself to Death. But then just as the dark was starting to become more and more temping, something – someone – had plunged into the water, and the next thing he knew, fire had erupted in his shoulder blades. He nearly passed out from the burning sensation, and for a moment, he did black out, because the next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on the banks of the river and coughing up water.

The river that day had been scarlet, dyed red with his blood, he later realized, as the fire burning his back hadn't been an actual fire but the excruciating pain of having his wings shorn. Alexei's family had taken him in then, bandaging his back and nursing him back to health. It had only taken a week for the deep wounds to close and become nothing more than a dark memory and angry scars, and it took another week for him to remember his name, but the fear and the pain of that day, he had never recovered from. Why? Because they still haunted him. He could still feel his wings from time to time, even if they were nothing more than ghosts, and no matter how much time passed or what he did or what happened, he didn't think he could ever, ever forget the despair and humiliation he had suffered at the hand of the river.

He sat there, staring at the water in horror, for what must have been an hour, when something – a twig, a rotten apple, he didn't know what – plunged into the river, startling a red-eyed crow. Flapping its giant wings, it alighted on a nearby branch before settling its beady eye on him. Its gaze pierced through him, and, uneasy, Lelouch began to reach for the Sword when it opened its beak and let out a scream. Only, it was her screaming. Staring at him, searching for a reaction, it screamed again and again, or rather, the witch screamed. Her shrieks echoed throughout the empty forest. They were meant to scare him, to prove to the monstrous bird how weak he was before being picked off. But instead, it only reminded him of his promise to her. Instead, he was reminded of her inevitable fate if he continued to allow himself to be manipulated by his fear. He had said to Alexei that he loved her, but if he hurt her like this, failed her and drove her to her death, what right did he have in claiming his love?

It was no longer about the Princess anymore. At that moment, he didn't care about using the King's power to find out the truth of his past. He wasn't doing this for himself anymore, or to marry the Princess. He was doing it for her, the witch. He wanted to succeed, and he wanted to become the king for her so that their contract could be complete, and he could stop being such a burden to her. So that he could let her go, free her so that she'd be able to keep her life.

Resolving to at least test the depth of the river, he scrambled up and broke away the branch the bird had been squatting on. Gripping it tightly in both hands, he ignored his nausea as he inched closer to the banks. The last time he had been this close to a river like this, he had nearly died. He only prayed that Death wouldn't be able to steal him away this time. Crouching down, he lowered the branch into the river, only for the water to vanish.

It's a being all of its own. It has its own will, and it'll try its best to trap you. But as dangerous as it is, as bloodthirsty as it may be, the Forest is fair and just and will only use what you give it.

Dumbfounded, he dragged the branch out of the water, and the black river reappeared, its current flicking frigid spray on him and roaring in his ears. He sat on the banks for some time before plunging his foot in, expecting to be swept away, only to be disappointed. And then he put in his other foot and waded into the middle of the torrent. Nothing. Not even a dampness. It wasn't real. It had been an illusion, a trap, he realized as the crow returned with its murder. Red eyes glowed ominously as they watched their prey, but Lelouch refused to draw his sword. Instead, he turned and broke into a sprint as he dove into the Forest. Ignoring the faint cheers of the will-o'-the-wisp, he raced into the thicket of trees, slipping into the spaces between the trunks that were too small for the crows. Heart in his throat, he didn't stop running until he felt as if lungs would burst.

He had wasted so much time already. She had told him how the flow of time was different in the Forest, corrupted by its malevolence – an hour in the Forest could be a day in the outside world. And God knew how much time he had wasted, held prisoner by his own fear. The King was not a patient man. If he took too long…Who knew what he would do?

Leaning against a tree, Lelouch caught his breath before brushing away the hair plastered to his face by his sweat. Unbuckling his cloak, he let it fall to the ground before moving forward. There was nothing he needed, save for the Sword and his courage, for there was nothing but the Sword and his courage that would lead him out of the Forest and to the throne of the King.

. . .

He passed through the second trial with relative ease. He had to draw the Sword when the Sphinx had snapped at him, angered to have been bested so quickly by a mere human, but as it was an honorable creature, it eventually slunk away into the darkness. And though the imminent danger had passed, he didn't sheathe the blade. Instead, he followed the will-o'-the-wisp deeper into the heart of the Forest until he knew he had arrived.

The blue orb flickered uneasily before vanishing altogether. Lelouch stood on the edge of the clearing, tension coiled tightly in him like a spring. He could see the cave's entrance but couldn't find the troll anywhere in sight. He didn't dare entertain the possibility of putting his guard down. Even with the Sword of Akasha, there was no telling if he'd survive. If he were to fall back on a false sense of security even for a moment, his chances of living would only decrease and then where would—

He gasped for breath as he was thrown against a tree and the wind was knocked out of him. Groaning, he struggled to recover, to get up and fight. But he couldn't, and a shadow loomed over him. Wheezing, he looked up into the eyes of the troll, which were as blue and as bright as the will-o'-the-wisp's light had been.