A/N: Minor editing, mostly character driven. Basically, I wasn't as happy with it as I could have been, so I figured I better fix it before it got out of hand and I'd never get a chance. Thank you for your patience.
Fable
"Girl."
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Come here."
The girl struggled to cross the room to stand behind her Lady's shoulder, still unused to moving stiff limbs and inflexible joints. The Queen sat on a luxuriously padded stool as she ran a fine golden comb through her long auburn hair, resplendent in the ornate mirror of her vanity. The woman fairly glowed with power and magic, the girl decided, stationing herself behind the original, however – the Queen was actually quite unremarkable without her fine gowns and painted features. Yes, she could be seen as a very attractive creature, but no more attractive than the next. She took small comfort in this as she waited.
"My King is a fine specimen of a man, is he not?"
The girl hesitated. Subconsciously, she could feel the Queen's scathing judgment waiting to be passed upon receiving her answer. In truth, she found the King fascinating. Here was a being who could be confided in and trusted in a land of uncertainty and lies. He had sought her out, and she had poured her heart out to him the day of her transformation, crying non-existent tears. He had empathized, sharing the story of his life previous and the son that he had lost. He would always share a kind smile when the Queen was not looking and her courage would bolster. She would often find him secluded in the Library, struggling with the pages of ancient texts or writing letters to an unknown party. But the Queen's question required an answer and there was only one she felt she could give.
"Indeed he is, Your Majesty."
The silence was choking, the girl thought. Had she answered incorrectly? The Queen patiently gathered her hair over her shoulder and began to coax it into a thick plait. There was no sign that what the girl said had displeased her, and that was all the more frightening.
"Truly he must be one of a kind," The Queen finally replied, twisting strands of hair between her fingers. The girl ducked her head modestly in silent agreement. He was definitely one of a kind. The girl watched in silence as the Queen easily opened a small carved box that sat on the vanity and rummaged through it leisurely. Finding what she wanted, the Queen drew a simple, creamy ribbon from the depths of the box and deftly tied off the braid. She studied her reflection in the mirror for a minute, then flicked her eyes to the marble woman that stood behind her.
"You spend time with him. Tell me, what are his thoughts? Is he happy?"
"I – I cannot say, Mistress."
"Ah."
No, she could not say. She could not say how he was turning the Queen's creations into allies, Naming every one and granting them that little freedom to cling to; to hope on. Nor how he kept a close communication with the Fairy King, biding his time until the impending coup was ready for its fruition.
Much better not to say. Her mind wandered, and the next question caught her off guard.
"...What does he think of me?"
The girl choked – or would have, if she could swallow, "I beg your pardon?"
"Do not make me repeat myself."
The girl made a small, awkward bow in an attempt at a curtsy, "My apologies, My Lady. But perhaps you should ask your King?" 'For I do not wish to be the one to reveal how he loathes your very presence.' she thought.
The Queen sighed, visibly sagging, "I would – but I am afraid."
"Afraid of what, My Lady?"
"His rejection."
So she was human after all. The girl took another small comfort.
"His rejection, Mistress?"
"Oh, yes. You see, Girl," The Queen turned on her stool to look directly at her living statue, pulling her light robe tighter around her middle as if she caught a sudden chill, "I have done terrible things. There have been many happenings that I have orchestrated that he never deserved. I stole him from his family as a Goblin will snatch a child from its happy cradle. I destroyed his wife and child. I have reordered time and turned his world upside down. But I have done it all for him." She stood slowly, grandly, gathering her pride about her like a shield, "I tore him from the drivel of a mortal life and have given him the jewels of immortality. I have made him King. I have given him my very heart, without hesitation."
The girl was rooted to the spot as the Queen breezed by her, shrugging out of the filmy robe and holding it out. A marble hand reached out to receive the flimsy fabric, holding it gently as the Queen smoothed her hands down her simple, cotton night shift as if it were a gown of purest gold.
"I have done all this because I wanted him. And now I want him," She spread her hands wide and gave the stone girl a sincere smile, "To want me. I want him to look on me with something other than regret or scorn. I do not want his blind obedience. I wish for his companionship. But I fear it will be denied me."
The girl remained silent, basking in this rare instance of weakness in her monarch. Suddenly she found her hands clasped between the Queen's own, robe hanging between them. The woman (as the girl had begun to think of her as) was the picture of quiet desperation.
"Please, you spend time with him. Tell me what I must do to attain his friendship after I have wronged him so."
"I – I am unsure, Your Majesty," She fought to keep herself from trembling under the intensity of the Queen's gaze. What she was about to suggest would get her thrown into the bog for sure, she thought, but it was worth a try, "But perhaps, if you were to start by apologizing to him..."
"Apologize?! Me?! Surely you must be joking!" The moment of weakness had passed and the girl shrank away from the self-righteous fury that the Queen found herself in possession of, "He should be the one to apologize to me! If it had not been for me, he would still be stuck in that monotonous, hopeless excuse for a life! I made him who he is! I made him strong! Apologize to him?! Never!"
"But Your Majesty just said-"
"Just said, nothing! I will not be hearing such nonsense!" In a fit of frustration, the Queen threw herself to her sheets, leaving the girl standing bewildered – robe dangling from one hand. At least she had tried...? Slowly making her way across the room, the robe was carefully hung in the massive wardrobe, and the girl quietly left the room – pointedly ignoring the quiet muttering that emanated from the bed.
Back inside, there was a sniffle – followed by a choked sob.
"Apologize to him," The Queen mumbled, "How daft."
The sheets ruffled slightly as she readjusted herself under the covers. She stared at the dark ceiling.
"We are all victims here."
ooOOoo
She was late.
Toby scuffed his toe on the sidewalk and readjusted the backpack slung over his shoulder. It wasn't like her to be late. He checked the cheap plastic watch on his wrist again, squinting in concentration as he struggled to read it's face. Mother had never allowed him a digital. She claimed that it would be good for him to learn to read an actual clock. Sarah had argued with her about it – finally buying a better quality watch for him to wear whenever he was at Dad's. It was pretty cool. It lit up when he pressed the right button.
Let's see... If the Big Hand is on the Six and the Little Hand is a bit after the Three...
She was half an hour late.
Strange.
He started to rock on the balls of his feet, looking up and down the road. All the other kids had long been retrieved already – leaving him as the last. There was still no sign of the green minivan. He liked that minivan. It was old, but it was fun! Sarah would always let him set the radio and they'd sing at the top of their lungs as she drove them home. Sometimes she'd even take him out for a dipped cone at the local ice cream shop and she'd open the back hatch and they'd sit in the trunk.
But the minivan wasn't here.
And she was still late.
A light breeze teased his bangs. He had fought long and hard for those. Mother had wanted him to have it cut really, really short, but he liked it on the longish side. Sarah had helped – promising that she would take him to get it cut but then going to the movies, instead. They went to Gremlins, and Princess Bride and, Beetlejuice and, Batman, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. She bought him popcorn and soda and candy. He would go home with a smile on his face and a sick stomach. Mother would frown, but Sarah would explain that they just forgot; she promised to take him next week – and everything was okay again.
A car was approaching quickly down the road. Toby frowned, the silver vehicle wasn't one that he recognized. It wasn't long before it screeched to a stop in front of the sidewalk was where he was patiently (borderline not-so-patiently) waiting. A blond head poked out of the top of the convertible. A blindingly white smile spread wide under dark aviator sunglasses. Toby decided they looked ridiculous.
"Hey, Tobe! How ya doin'?"
Toby scowled, "Hi, Finn."
He had never liked the man. Finn was the one who took Mother away from Dad. Toby saw the way he would magically show up whenever he was at the store with Mother and sweet talk her as they walked past the Doritos. He would slip him a dollar and send him off to the candy aisle, but when Toby would refuse to leave, he'd glare darkly instead and lead Mother ahead – Toby would have to almost jog to keep up. He knew that was who Mother was going to see whenever she said she was going to the gym. It was all his fault. Jerk.
That, and there was something about him that just seemed off. Like if you looked at him out of the corner of your eye in just the right way, you would see something completely different. He never wore shorts (even on the hottest, most humid days), seemed to only own green shirts (even the pukey, baby-poo colored ones), and never took off those stupid-looking leather gloves (if they were supposed to make him look cool or exotic, it did not work). It was Toby's dearest dream to find out that he was horribly disfigured under all those extra coverings – and Mother would go back to Dad.
And he called him 'Tobe.' Toby hated that. Everyone called him 'Toby,' not 'Tobe.' The only one allowed to call him anything other than 'Toby' was Sarah – and she would call him 'Sir Tobias'. Only that jerk would call him 'Tobe'.
"Your mom sent me to come pick you up today. Sorry I'm so late," He motioned to the seat beside him, patting the leather, "Come on, jump in."
Something wasn't right. Or maybe it was the way that Finn's hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Toby frowned, "I'm going to my Dad's for the weekend."
"There's been a change of plans," He lowered his sunglasses to peer over top of the lenses, "I thought your mother told you that."
"I'm going to my Dad's for the weekend. Sarah will be here any minute."
"Any minute, huh?" Finn made a show of looking around for any incoming vehicles – the road stayed conspicuously empty, "Strange – I would have thought that she would have been here by now. Are you going to get in or not?"
"No! I'm waiting for Sarah!"
"Toby," Something about the way the man settled himself in his seat and looked pointedly over at the boy was unsettling. Toby held the strap of his backpack tighter, steeling his resolve, "I know that we never really got along, and I regret that. But now is not the time to be arguing with me about this. Get in the car."
"No."
"Toby..."
"No! You're nothing but a... a..." Toby's forehead wrinkled as he struggled to remember exactly what Sarah called the man, "A... home-wrecking, bubble-headed, seedy BASTARD!" He grinned inwardly – Sarah would have been proud. If only she was here right now like she was supposed to...
Then he immediately regretted his little bout of insubordination as thunder clouds rolled over Finn's face. He took an uncertain step back. Finn opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of a car turning the corner and approaching interrupted him – much to Toby's relief.
Finn glared at the boy darkly and peeled away from the side of the road, roaring down the street. Toby watched him go, wishing for all the world that he would go careening off the side of the road and hit a pole. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. A honk called him from his daydream.
His dad's car had pulled up in the spot that Finn's convertible had just left, and he hopped into the passenger seat, glowering. Robert took it as annoyance that was directed at him.
"Sorry I'm late – I-"
"It's okay," Toby interjected, "I'm not mad. Joey's mom was late, too, so we played for a while. What happened to Sarah?"
"Sarah?"
And Toby knew something was wrong.