Chapter One

Dean trudged up the hill, his heavy boots leaving their imprints on the lush grass. His sword bumped against his hip as he walked, and his cracked leather gloves strained over his curled fists. The mountain loomed behind the castle, casting the grounds into shadow. It was by no means a particularly tall mountain, and Dean was sure it wouldn't take long to scale it. If he squinted, he thought he could see the glow at its peak, where he knew the Goddess waited to give her blessing. He couldn't be sure, but he would find out.

There was a puffing behind him, and he turned to see his brother chasing him across the grass. He rolled his eyes and stopped to wait for him.

'Did you really think I wouldn't find out?' he puffed when he caught up with him.

'No, I just thought I'd beat you here.'

Sam bent double. 'Well tough, I'm not going to let you do it.'

'You can't stop me.' Dean turned on his heel and left Sam to catch his breath, continuing on across the lawn, until he reached what appeared to be a training area, complete with its own chest of sparring swords and straw dummy. He drew his sword and drove the point into the ground, leaning on it as he waited

Sam ran after him again. 'Don't,' he pleaded. 'You don't have to, surely you can just go up the mountain and see him.'

Dean sighed and held his hand. 'You know as well as I do that only the King and the Lionheart can go up the mountain.'

'That's not true!' Sam insisted, stomping his foot. 'Bandits and assassins go up there all the time!'

'By killing all the patrols,' Dean pointed out. 'I'm not going to do that.'

'So you're just going to pledge yourself to the King instead? That's not any better!'

Dean sighed.

'Why are you doing this?' Sam asked. 'You don't have to go up there.'

'Yes I do.'

'But why?'

Dean looked down at Sam, searching him for answers. He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the huge castle doors creaked open, and a figure walked towards them.

Sam stepped away, defeated, and Dean gave him a bitter smile. 'Maybe he won't want you,' Sam murmured.

'Don't see why he wouldn't,' said Dean. 'I'm supposed to be the best, remember?'

Sam just scuffed his boots in the dewy grass, staining the leather.

'It'll be all right,' Dean said, nudging him with an elbow.

'Will it?'

The figure grew closer, the silver fastenings on his expensive leather jerkin flashing in the light. As soon as he reached the training ground, Sam and Dean bowed deeply.

'Don't do that with your sword,' said the King, indicating at Dean's sword, buried in the dirt. 'You'll dull the blade.'

Dean yanked his sword from the ground, sheathing it, and stared. The King was smaller than Dean expected. Tall but slim, and he held himself confidently. His dark hair seemed to catch even the slightest breeze, and his blue eyes held Dean with a hard, cold stare. His own sword rested at his hip, the sheath dyed deep blue and decorated in silver inlay.

'You are Dean?' he asked.

'Yes, Your Majesty,' Dean said, refraining from grinding his teeth together.

'And you are?'

Sam started as the King addressed him and looked away. 'Sam, Your Majesty,' he said. 'Dean is my brother.'

The King nodded, then looked Dean up and down. 'Your captain says you are one of his best swordsmen.' He framed it as a statement, and did not expect an answer. Then he began pacing around Dean, examining him closely.

Dean shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

'Where were you stationed?'

'Mostly patrolling the north-western border,' Dean told him, 'but I spent a lot of time in the town here, too.'

The King nodded thoughtfully, the looked back up at Dean's face. 'Have we met before?'

'No,' Dean said firmly.

'You seem familiar to me...' The King stared at him a beat longer, then turned his back and went to the chest. He picked out two sparring swords and passed one to Dean.

'Are you going to test me now?' Dean asked, struggling to contain his amusement. Slight as he was, he didn't seem to Dean all that much of a test.

'Yes,' the King said simply, watching the way Dean moved, holding his sword ready.

They circled each other. Dean looked about their surroundings, looking for anything to use to his advantage, but the King kept his eyes fixed on Dean, watching, waiting.

Neither of them wanted to make the first move, and continued to circle each other, until Dean felt a bite of annoyance. He chanced a blow, but was swatted away before he even came close. Dean blinked and a small smile tugged at the King's mouth.

Dean tried again, only this time changing the direction of his sword at the last moment, but he was still easily parried.

'You give yourself away,' said the King. 'Try not to telegraph your moves.'

Dean tightened his grip on his sword and heat crept up his neck. He pivoted and aimed again, but was knocked back. He stopped, and so did the King, waiting to see what he would do next.

'You should pick up the pace.'

Dean narrowed his eyes. Clearly the King's stature afforded him a certain swiftness that Dean had failed to take into account. If he couldn't use speed as an advantage, then he would use strength instead. A few, heavy blows ought to suffice. He lunged forward, throwing all of his weight at the King. Their swords crashed together with a great metallic clang, sparks flying, the blades gave a metallic screech as Dean's scraped along the length of the other. He pressed his advantage, forcing the King back a few steps, but Dean knew he couldn't keep up the assault for long. Brute force would only get him so far, but before he could think of anything else, the King spun away just as Dean tried to land another blow, causing him to stumble away. Dean twisted to face him, and only just managed to block the sword aiming for his ankles. Dean barely had time to asses the King's pattern of movement, but noticed that he seemed to be enjoying the challenge. He even thought he saw a sparkle in his eyes.

'Are you sure we haven't met?' the King asked. 'You have the look of someone I know, I'm sure.'

'I'm sure,' said Dean, pressing again, though with significantly less strength. 'I was at your coronation, though,' he said breathlessly. 'Maybe you saw me there.'

The King dropped back, what little pleasure Dean thought he saw there dropped away, replaced by a mask of cool disapproval. 'You were one of the ones that laughed,' he said.

'No, I didn't-' But Dean was cut off by a flurry of blows from the King, each stronger and faster than the last. Dean did his best to defend himself, but the King pushed him further and further backwards, not allowing him one inch to recover, finally causing him to trip over his own boots. The King flicked the tip of his sword up to Dean's throat.

For a moment, Dean lay there, heart hammering in his chest, terrified that he had lost his chance.

'You'll do,' the King said eventually, turning his back and throwing his sparring sword back into the chest.

'But I-'

'You will go and collect your things, then return here no later than nightfall. The steward will meet you and show you to your rooms.' He paused and looked at Sam. 'Will you be joining your brother?' he asked.

'What?' he said, mystified.

Dean pushed himself to his feet. 'Wait, does this mean you'll have me?'

The King slowly turned and stared him in the eye. 'Yes. You will be my new Lionheart.'

Dean let his shoulders relax. 'That's great!'

The King didn't respond, except to pose his question to Sam again.

'I suppose someone ought to keep an eye on him,' he said, gesturing at Dean.

The King nodded stiffly. 'I'll have some rooms picked out for you.' He returned to the castle at a brisk pace.

'But I lost,' Dean muttered, confused.

'Don't complain. This is what you wanted, right?' Sam frowned and stomped off back towards their house, the opposite direction to the castle.

Dean threw one last questioning look at the castle doors, then followed Sam back down the hill. 'Sam-'

'Don't!' he shouted, whirling around with tears streaking down his face. 'You're going to end up dead on that mountain, just like Father, and for what? To see his grave? Why? What's the point?'

Dean didn't respond, and followed him back to their cottage. His bow rested against the outside wall, along with his quiver and several unfletched bolts lay on the ground, where Sam had flung them when he heard what Dean was up to.

They packed their things in silence, the only sound coming from the rustle of their clothes being shoved into bags. Dean didn't have much, only some simple clothes, a spare pair of hard leather boots, and a red scarf his father had given him, embroidered with the royal family crest. Like a silver bolt of lightning, the threads branched out and down, surrounded in a silver circle. When they were ready to leave, Sam threw a jug of water on the last embers of the fire, and looked around.

'Why?' he asked again, finally looking Dean in the eye.

Dean sighed, and sat down at the uneven, rough wooden table. He stared out of the window, up at the mountain. 'It's hard to explain,' he said. 'In my dreams, I can hear him whispering. I have to know what's up there.'

It had been weeks since the dreams had started. Every night, without fail, he dreamt himself climbing the mountain. He'd never been himself, so it was always foggy, but their father was always at the top of the mountain, waiting for him with arms wide. Of course, Dean knew that their father was dead. Had been for years. But the dreams kept coming, more and more insistent every night. So when the King put out the call for a new Lionheart, he jumped on the chance. His captain had been just as confused as Sam was, but he did as Dean asked.

Sam sat with a bump. 'Dean...'

'If you heard him calling, wouldn't you go?'

'I don't know that I would. Not if it meant pledging myself to the King.'

Dean sighed. 'It's as though I'm being pulled to the mountain, and I need to know why.'

Sam suddenly looked interested. 'Maybe it isn't Father. Maybe the Goddess calls to you with his voice.'

'Do you think so?'

'It would make more sense than Father calling to you. Why didn't you mention this sooner?' he said, lightly smacking his arm.

'I didn't want you to think I'd lost my mind,' said Dean.

'That may still be a possibility,' Sam laughed. 'I still don't think you should go, but you can hardly ignore a call from the Goddess.'

Dean grinned at him. 'The sun is setting. We should go.' He grabbed their bags on his way out, and Sam slung his bow and quiver over his back. He took one last look back at their cottage. 'I don't suppose we'll see it for some time,' he said.

'It's not as though we won't be allowed to leave the castle grounds,' Sam said. 'Well, perhaps you might not.'

'Don't tease,' Dean said, as they made their way back to the castle.

The sun was disappearing behind the mountain, and the air had turned chilly. A squat man with grey curls was waiting for them.

'Hello, lovely to meet you,' he said, smiling widely, and shaking Dean's hand. 'My name is Walther, I'm the King's steward. I'll show you to your rooms. You first, Lionheart.'

Dean flinched. 'I haven't been sworn in yet,' he mumbled.

'It won't be too long, observing the niceties sooner won't hurt anyone.' He ushered them both through the grand doors of the castle, into a cavernous entrance halls. Torches lit the walls in elaborate iron brackets, and two flights of stairs wound around either side and another ornate set of doors stood in between. Dean had been in the castle once before, and remembered the throne room to be on the other side. Walther took them away from the doors and up the staircase on the left side. The top of the staircase wound around and led them to a long hallway lined with doors along one side.

'This one is you,' Walther said cheerfully, opening the door nearest them and urging them inside.

Dean stifled a gasp. This one room was bigger than the house he shared with Sam. On their right, set into the far wall, was a fireplace already crackling merrily. A table and several comfortable chairs sat before it, soft blankets draped over them. A polished bookcase stood to the right of the door, stuffed with books and scrolls.

To their left was a sprawling, four-poster bed, neatly made up with red sheets, and full length wardrobe.

But none of that was what caught Dean's eye. Straight across from the door was a set of shutters that had been thrown wide open, revealing a short balcony, and allowing the now fading sunlight to stream in. Beyond it was a view of the lush, green countryside. Dean thought he could see for miles.

'You will be taking your vows tomorrow morning, and you shall find sufficient clothing in the wardrobe.' Walther stepped over to the bookcase and pulled out a few scrolls, carefully tied together, and sealed with red wax.

Dean bit his lip and took them from Walther.

'I see you already know what these are,' he smiled. 'Best give them a read over. Now then-' He clapped his hands together. 'If you'd like to come with me, young sir, I'll show you to your room.'

'Oh, I – could I not stay here? Just for tonight,' he added at Walther's shocked expression. 'It's a big change, I'd like to stay with my brother… to adjust?'

'I suppose there's no harm in it… For tonight then.'

'Thank you, Walther, I appreciate it.'

Dean turned around to hide his smile, then pushed Sam playfully once Walther was gone. 'You appreciate it? Look at you, mister manners.'

Sam rolled his eyes, then glanced down at the scrolls in Dean's hands. 'The Lionheart scrolls,' he said in a hushed voice.

'Yep.' Dean stared down at them, the unspoken awareness between them that these were the same scrolls held by their father.

'Are you going to open them?'

How many times had their father's eyes read these same words? Dean blinked and hastily put the scrolls back on the bookcase. 'I think we know the gist,' he said, walking away from the bookcase and sitting down in one of the chairs. He watched Sam pace the room, the orange light from the balcony shutters washing over him. He pulled out books and flicked through them eagerly, making a small pile on the table of ones he wanted to read more thoroughly.

Eventually, Sam tired himself out, and Dean let him climb into the bed. There would be plenty of time for him to sleep in it himself, and the chairs were hardly the worst place to sleep, but he found slumber escaped him. For a while, he stared at the Lionheart scrolls. He knew he should read them, but he couldn't bring himself to unroll them, imagining how his father might have done it. For a moment, he was tempted to throw them into the fire, but stood up, walking away from them.

It was a warm night, and he'd left the shutters to the balcony open. Only a soft breeze wafted the curtains, so Dean wandered outside, looking up at the crescent moon, and the wispy clouds that drifted across it. The stars twinkled in the sky, unaware of Dean standing below. Dean breathed deeply, calming himself in the quiet of the night, until a movement caught his eye. He turned and saw another section of the balcony, cut off by a line of iron railings, and the King walking across it.

Dean silently watched him lean on the stone edge of the balcony, only dressed in his nightclothes and holding a goblet. He sighed deeply and turned around, leaning his back against the wall and staring up at the mountain that towered over the castle. Dean followed his example, but whatever the King was looking at, Dean couldn't see, so he took the opportunity to watch the King instead. The moon shone in his hair, and his features softened as he stared up at the mountain, and sipped on his drink. Dean thought it must be wine, since it stained the King's lip. His grip was as sure on the goblet as it was on his sword. The way he carried himself when he thought no one was looking seemed less certain, but he moved less stiffly than he had that afternoon.

Just then, the King noticed him standing there. He didn't say anything, he just raised his goblet, as though to toast Dean, and went back inside his chambers. Dean stared at the now empty balcony, more confused than he had been, but eventually went back inside himself. He closed the shutters behind him, throwing the room into darkness. He smoothed the covers over Sam, and finally removed his boots. He made a valiant effort to put all thoughts of the King and his vows out of his mind and make himself comfortable, but it was a long while before he could find sleep before the dying embers of the fire. There was more to the King than met the eye, of that Dean was certain.

Hello everyone! I've been sitting on this one for a while now and kept reworking it, but I think it's finally time to start posting it. I'm kinda nervous about this one, it's a whole world that I made up and I've never done that before, so let me know what you think! I hope you like it and hopefully I'll see you next time!