Acknowledgements — A special thanks to…Youareruiningmylife, AryaScarlett 14, SheWhoLeavesCrappyReviews (you do not :), TheStorySiren, and BlackFox 0100

And as always thanks everyone for the favs, likes, and views.

Note —

I am thinking of changing the title to "Tell Me A Fairy Tale", as that better suited the theme and I changed the blurb of the story. What do you think?

Note #2 —

This chapter contains a reference to a deep trauma from Alfred's childhood. I'm not afraid of no ghost :P

Tell Me A Ghost Story

When Alfred was seven, he was sure of three, no wait, four things: his father was a perfect hero, his mother never lied, Mattie would always back him up, and there were no such things as ghosts.

After declaring that last part to the Ax, his cousin laughed and ruffled Alfred's hair with his large hand. Struggling against the assault, Alfred protested, "Stop it! I'm not a kid anymore!"

That only made the Ax laugh harder.

His cousin had no right to treat his own prince like this! Sure, he could lift a battle ax, but Alfred was getting pretty strong himself. Why, he had lifted a broad sword an inch off the ground for over a second yesterday. A personal record, thank you very much.

This was also why, when Alfred saw the empty chair between Elizaveta and the Ax, he sat between them. He felt old enough to sit with the adults at dinner and he resented how they wouldn't take him serious. He tried to order a pint of ale and what did they do? They chuckled, as if it was amusing and gave him a cup of warm milk!

Well, he drank that just to spite them, not because it was tasty. Not at all.

Alfred was halfway to eight! He was ready to be treated like them.

Instead, he had the Ax teasing, "Aw, widdle Alfie, don't frown like that. How about you run back to mommy and leave the big boys to talk."

"Big boys?" Elizabeta said from the other side of Alfred. Her tone had a dangerous quality.

"Sorry, boys and tomboys," the Ax teased, letting go of Alfred who continued to glare at his dark blue eyes.

"You can't treat me that way! I'm your prince!" Alfred said.

"They're so cute when they're young," the Ax joked to Elizaveta, completely ignoring Alfred's stern scowl.

"I'm not cute! I'm scary like my father!" He grunted — just like his father —when Elizaveta pinched his cheek. "Hey! Don't do that!" He rubbed his sore cheek. "I'm not cute!"

Alfred scowled harder, frustrated. He had spent month's imitating his dad's stern look so why didn't it scare people the same way? Why, when he scowled, did the maids only coo and "aw" over him. It wasn't adorable! He was scary! He was raging bawl of almost-eight intimidation. They should piss their pants in fear!

So what if his feet couldn't quite touch the ground when he sat in an adult chair? He was still very tall for his age — ask Mattie! He should be respected!

"I can't believe you think ghosts are real!" Alfred said, sticking out his tongue at the Ax. "You're a big scaredy cat!"

"I'm not the one sleeping with my mom at night," the Ax said.

"Yeah right! I bet you sleep with your mommy every night!" Alfred responded and for some reason that made Elizabeta spit up her drink and pound a fist on the table as she laughed hysterically.

Alfred glanced between them. Did he say something funny?

The Ax looked less than amused when, after wiping tears out of her eyes, Elizabeta said, "He knows you so well!"

"Shut up, Liz," the Ax said sourly and then grinned. He leaned so close to Alfred their cheeks almost touched and Alfred could smell his alcohol-stinking breath. "You know the part of the castle where you sleep is haunted."

Alfred's eyes went wide. "No, it isn't!" He glanced nervously up at Elizaveta with a look of 'is it?'

"No, it isn't," she said, dabbing at her chin and the somewhat soaked front of her tunic. "Don't believe a word he says."

"Ghosts are real. I saw her," he said, warm breath against Alfred's ear. "She haunts the Keep. A woman in white who floats with golden hair streaming behind her. Pray she never sees you. If you look at her face, you'll see black eyes and a mouth full of yellow, pointed teeth. And she'll gobble up your soul." He made crude slurping sounds.

Alfred drew in a gasping breath as he realized he had been holding it.

"God, you're twisted," Elizabeta said. "Telling a kid that. Alfie, run along before he scares you further."

"I-I'm not sc-scared," Alfred stammered, but he hopped out of his chair.

"Don't run into the White Woman. I'd hate to lose my favorite cousin," the Ax teased.

Fists bawled, Alfred shouted, "There are no ghosts!" Then he blew a raspberry at his cousin and bolted.

It wasn't until the morning he saw the White Woman, a sight burned into his mind, that he realized ghosts were real. And, when they float, they make an odd sound like a creaking rope…

The choking sound of Arthur and the feel of Arthur beating at his arm alerted Alfred to loosen his chokehold — death grip — around Arthur's throat. Still, he remained pressed so tightly to Arthur's back he might as well be grafted to it.

"S-sorry," he stammered, gaze flicking across the unyielding darkness of this cavern-like library. The only refuge was within the circle light from Arthur's glass lantern. It was dank down here; humid enough to see one's own breath and taste the sour air.

"Git," Arthur grated out, grabbing Alfred's arms and sinking his nails painfully into Alfred's arm. "Let go of me."

"D-Don't be like that, Artie," Alfred said, hissing at the pain, but he held on. Arthur was warm like a teddy bear. The perfect comfort blanket for a hero. "I-I need to protect you."

"By strangling me?" Arthur said, looking over his shoulder at Alfred. "I knew I shouldn't have completely numbed the pain in your hand."

Even if Arthur hadn't, Alfred was too wired with heroic fear to have felt much. "I swear. I'll be good."

"Fine," Arthur sighed, letting Alfred once more loop his arm over Arthur's shoulders and rest his other on Arthur's arm.

As they walked, footsteps echoing on the grimy flagstones, Alfred kept glancing around. His stomach clenched, breathing became erratic, and his heart raced. This was surely a library designed by Hell. Every stone corridor was lined with shelves carved unevenly into the grey-brown stone and, upon each, were crammed books over every shape and size.

"A grown man afraid of —."

Arthur never got to finish the statement because a sound of something falling far away sent a wide-eyed Alfred leaping onto him, causing both to crash into a shelf. They landed with Alfred on top of Arthur, an open book flopping onto the back of Alfred's head like a hat. It slid off when he curled around Arthur, burying his face in the crook of Arthur's neck and shoulder, screaming repeatedly, "I heard it!"

"Get off!" Arthur yelled, attempting to pry Alfred off with physical strength. That only made Alfred cling tighter. "I'm warning you!"

Lost in panic, Alfred held onto Arthur in the way a drowning person hangs onto an attempted rescuer. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes blazed with green light and he punched Alfred's stomach.

A wheezing Alfred let go and sat back right before coils of magic — the same as earlier — seized him and threw him backwards across the hall and into an opposing shelf. He hit hard enough to knock free a couple of books that landed around him on the grimy flagstone.

He hardly noticed one of his slippers — items he wore now thanks to Arthur fetching him a pair — had landed in the middle of the hall during his flight. He was too busy trying to curl into a ball. "Let me go!" he wailed, struggling as he was held with his back to the shelf.

Images flashed through his head of the White Woman, floating in front of the windows, as she did that grey dawn all those years again. He felt like a child again. Color drained from his face, his heart raced, and he felt that he couldn't breath. Hot tears coursed down his face.

No! No! No!

A sharp slap to the face brought him out of it. Stars danced briefly in his vision before he blinked and realized Arthur was sitting on him — in his lap to be exact — legs straddling Alfred's sides.

"Ar…tie?" he said in a daze.

"Git?" Arthur's warm hands cupped both his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the fresh tears. In a voice that sounded concerned, he asked, "What happened?"

Alfred saw over Arthur's shoulder than the glass lantern had been set in the middle of the corridor. Little by little Alfred calmed down and slowly, as he grew aware of their positions, found a blush creeping into his cheeks. "Can you let me up?"

"No," Arthur said simply, shaking his head.

"S-so I overreacted a bit."

"An understatement," Arthur said wryly. He looked very comfortable seated where he was. Alfred was the one uncomfortable with this. "What happened?"

"I get a little nervous in… in…," he swallowed hard, "in places like this."

"A little nervous?" Arthur arched one side of his eyebrow. "Just as a raging flood might be considered 'a little wet'? Why are you so afraid of spirits?"

"I'm not afraid," Alfred said, forcing a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just… um… a little cautious. Could you let me up?"

Arthur sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. He adjusted himself which made Alfred more aware of what Arthur was sitting on. Alfred's face was now burning red. "I assure there is nothing 'ere than can harm you. That sound you heard was likely ole' Peter bumping into something. He wanders off and then tries to find us again. It's what happens to most in his stage of the Forgetting."

"It's Peter?" Alfred said, relaxing. "Oh, I mean, I knew that. I wasn't scared." When Arthur gave him a skeptical look, Alfred repeated, "I wasn't."

"Oh git, if there were ghosts down 'ere I would know about them," Arthur said. "I rather find the idea of spirits fascinating. Investigating haunted places was once a hobby of mine."

"It… was?" Alfred was aghast and very curious.

Arthur nodded. With a sigh, he reached over and took Alfred's injured hand — started to ache badly now — and shook his head, examining it. "Look what you did. It's bleeding again."

Alfred's eyes bulged when Arthur kissed his ruined knuckles and soothing magic flowed from his lips. Although it felt good, it sent sensations to other places.

"This mouth could be put to other uses," Arthur offered, wiping a spot of blood off his lower lip with the back of his hand.

Knowing his plea for Arthur to move would fall on deaf ears, Alfred shifted topics, speaking far more high-pitched than he meant it to, he said, "What kind of library is this? One designed by Hell?"

They had been walking for what felt like an hour in this labyrinth that felt more like a tomb for books. Sometimes there were dripping sounds and creaking noises. Sometimes the low ceiling drooped in places just as the floor dipped and rose in others. Earthy and mildew scents pervaded the air. Mushrooms and roots grew in a few of the gaps between the flagstones, even bubbling it up in places.

The temperature was inconsistent, alternating between frigid and sticky. A few intersections had strong drafts and in others the air was stale and thick like jelly. This was worse the catacombs under Grisholm Castle, a place he used to adventure with Matthew until the White Woman.

After a moment of consideration, Arthur answered, "Actually, it's like a much larger version of Merlin's library. A less cheery and eerier version, that is."

Not sounding interested in that topic, Arthur leaned close, bringing their faces within kissing distance, and placed his hands on either side of Alfred's head. Alfred was grateful the dim light hid his red face. "You have a nice body. What say we shag 'ere? As I said, I have a thing for eerie places."

"You would," Alfred said, turning his face to the side, away from the smirking Arthur. His mind scrambled for any spell that would break the bindings, but their levels were so different it was like an ant trying to throw off a lion. And Arthur was certainly a predator of some kind. "Ugh… your breath smells like tea."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Arthur chuckled, breathing softly against Alfred's ear. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the awful taste of tea to keep from getting aroused. He would not let Arthur affect him that way. "C'mon love, I'll be gentle."

"Do you always try to badger people into sex?"

Arthur chuckled, nuzzling the side of Alfred's neck. "Usually they badger me for it. But alas, you've uncovered my devilish scheme! You might as well give in. Time is on my side and you can only refuse so long."

Alfred's breath hitched when palms went to his shoulders and then down to roam his chest. They slid under the opening of brown robe — another thing Arthur had given to him — that had a unicorn sewn on the back. Alfred suspected Arthur had embroidered that on.

"I don't know. I'm real stubborn," Alfred said, studying Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. All he could see was that top of that tousled dark blond hair.

"I don't doubt it," Arthur said, teasing Alfred's nipples.

"Hey!" Alfred said. "Stop that! Don't you care that it would be just meaningless sex?"

"Not a tick," Arthur said, hands going over Alfred's abs. His jaw set and his muscles clenched at the caressing. "Most things we do are meaningless. Repeated routines." His lips grazed over Alfred's collarbones. "Trivial nonsense." He kissed Alfred's adam's apple. "But I'm flexible — ask the frog — if it must mean something to you, I can pretend to love you. I can cry, sniffle, and pine. I can worship you. Make you feel like a king." He bit Alfred's ear softly. "Anything you like, love."

"I don't want your pretend love," Alfred said in disgust, heart speeding up. "Even if you were the last person on Earth, I wouldn't shag you!" His voice echoed down the halls with that. The irony of that statement not lost on him.

Arthur sat back, removing his hands. He wasn't smiling anymore, he looked… curious almost. "Why not? Because I'm a man?"

"B-Because I want to shag someone I love. And I'll never love you!" For some reason he regretted his words as soon as he blurted them out.

While Arthur showed no expression, he did stand up and fetched the lantern. Suddenly, released, Alfred climbed to his feet, almost reaching out a hand. He had no idea why he wanted to apologize to Arthur of all people. It was not as if he said anything wrong.

"I suppose your right. Who would?" Arthur said, face half hidden in shadow. From what little Alfred could see, he was smiling, yet something was off about it. It looked more sad than happy. Arthur's voice had a bitter tinge as he said, "Love is a stupid notion. Something invented for fairy tales."

"But…" Alfred looked around for a moment. "But we're trapped in a castle under a curse from a magic mirror. Are you sure this isn't a fairy tale?"

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it, as if he had no response to that. Finally, he said, "No, I'm sure. If it was, then true love's shag would've broken the curse by now."

"Isn't it true love's kiss?"

"There's no such thing," Arthur said coldly, turning on his heel. He walked at a brisk pace, snapping in a waspish tone, "Keep up, git!"

"Shouldn't we put up the books?" Seeing the circle of light leaving him, Alfred ran and followed closely behind Arthur, clutching his hurt hand to his stomach.

"We're lost," Alfred sighed, running a thumb down the spine of a worn-leather book, feeling the bumps of the raised gold lettering, faint as mist. A moist place like this was a terrible area to store books in. "My hand will heal before we find it."

"We're not lost!" Arthur griped, looking like he was driving the chalk into the center of the four-way intersection's stone floor as he draw a small spell circle. Alfred didn't recognize the angular script Arthur was using at all. "All need is to straighten my bearings."

"Uh-huh. Now who's in denial?" Alfred asked, ignoring the Arthur's eyes boring into the side of his face as he studied the books on a shelf, just as the edge of the light. The upper one, nearly out of reach, had scrolls stacked one atop the other and bound books, some faintly glowing with preservation spells that gave them a luminescent quality.

He pulled off a fat one midway down, one titled "Dracula" and flipped through it. He froze at the scary illustration of a fanged creature dressed in black. Snapping that one shut, he slid it back into place.

He squatted down to examine the bottom shelf. There were so many fairy tales. Nothing here felt organized. How did Arthur ever find anything? He also had a growing suspicion these were all books that catered to Arthur's tastes. Except that wouldn't explain the presence of the sappy romance novels. He couldn't picture Arthur enjoying love stories, not with his attitude about love.

One very worn and very used book caught his eye and he pulled it off, opening it across his lap since he couldn't use his hand. His eyes bugged open at the black and white depiction of two men engaged what could only be described as sex.

Mouth going dry, he eyed Arthur, relieved to see the man too occupied with his spell circle to notice Alfred had opened a pornographic book. As Alfred's turned the page the illustrations only grew more perverted.

He felt hot all over. All the text looked like it was written in Greek, a language Alfred couldn't read, but the illustration told the meaning well enough. It wasn't that Alfred had never seen pornographic material — drawings imported on woodblocks from Japan, foreign material collected by the Ax — but it had always been a man with one or more women.

Never of men doing it with each other.

Arthur muttered something and Alfred tensed, glancing over. However, Arthur now had his back to Alfred while his chalk made a scritch, scritch on the stone.

Licking his lips, Alfred squirmed in his position, feeling funny and light all over. He stopped on one page that featured three men, drawn in thick black lines with grecian features. One was sandwiched between the two, his mouth servicing one's curly-haired crotch while his rear was thrusted into by the other. All had their eyes rolled up in what looked an expression of pleasure.

Leaning so close his nose was within inches of the page, Alfred studied it. He had always believed the sight of such a thing would make him gag, not feel so… warm.

A drop of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, his breath quickening and his body flushing as he thought of him and Arthur in such positions.

No! he thought in horror, shutting the book and ramming it back on the shelf so hard Arthur looked over.

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked.

"N-no!" Alfred said, wincing at the squeak in his voice. He dare not look over, he knew his expression would look guilty.

"Well, quit playing around, git!" Arthur grumbled, sounding very suspicious.

In horror, Alfred realized he had slightly stiffened down there and could not stand until he cooled down. Mind racing, he thought of disgusting things such tea, salad, and… the most horrifying image he could conjure up: his father and Tino having sex.

With a shudder, that had the effect of dousing cold water fast on his arousal. No child wants to imagine a parent of theirs in sex acts. As the bile rose in his throat, he stood up in relief, glad his father was finally good for something.

"Finished yet?" he said as Arthur stood up, throwing him a frown.

"Magic can't be rushed," Arthur said, lifting his chin in a haughty way. "Now stand back. You'll see what real magic is like."

"Oh, you're not gonna summon a unicorn, are you?"

"Belt up, git!"

Arthur closed his eyes and bowed his head, lips beginning to move soundlessly through the words. Alfred could feel the magic growing in the air and the spell circle's lines started to glow with a witchy green light that was faint at first.

There's no way I could find him attractive, Alfred thought as he found himself looking over the lean man. He could never do such things with him. He had better taste than some handsome-looking, silky-haired…

Dammit! he cursed in his head. What was wrong with him?

He shivered, feeling fluttery in his stomach. A new wave of images of Tino moaning under Berwald quickly squashed any aroused feelings of Arthur.

Diverting his attention, Alfred looked around, marveling at all the detail of this place. Why go to such extravagant lengths for a prison? Just to teach Arthur a lesson? It seemed a waste of an entire universe in his opinion. Alfred would have added an astronomy tower so one could study the stars. He so loved gazing at them and searching for constellations. It was heartbreaking that there was no night sky here.

A crackling sound, followed by a brilliant flash of green light under Arthur and then it was gone. All that for a brief burst of life. Then the only source of light was the lantern.

"Was that it?" Alfred asked right before a line of green raced out, traveling in the opposite direction Arthur faced.

"Shush, we go this way," Arthur said, grabbing the lantern. Alfred quickly followed behind him.

"Isn't that the opposite of where you thought it was?"

"Oh be quiet," Arthur muttered grumpily as they followed the line of light. "Waste of magic. I go this way all the time!"

"I've never seen a spell like this? You can do this?" Alfred said, staying beside Arthur.

"Of course. Much must be primitive in your time. Or you're just a bad student," from Arthur's tone it was obvious what answer he was leaning towards.

"So you must be pretty decent with magic."

"Pr-pretty decent?" Arthur sputtered, scowling at Alfred. "I was an apprentice to Merlin. I was one of the greatest who ever lived. I was more than pretty decent."

"So you were very decent then?" Alfred said, grinning.

"Sod off, git!"

Alfred laughed as he trotted beside the grumpy wizard.

Note # 1 —

For some reason a lot of ghosts stories always depicted a ghostly women dressed in white. The White Woman is in numerous tales of haunted places.

TBC… in "Tell Me Of Love Everlasting"