Reminder: bold means Sophie's dreaming/in her dream. THANK YOU to all reviewers and those who just take the time to scan my story. I appreciate it. I've a longer thank-you at the bottom of this monster chapter if you want to take a look.

Good thoughts, and hopefully good reading!

-sofi

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Beautiful Charm
Chapter IV: Old-fashioned Fear

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The Prince, it was rumored, was a good man. When he had gone missing and the war arose out of something nightmarish and very human, his kingdom panicked and this was perhaps the first time he understood what he was: a symbol above all else, a banner that must be proudly flown high above for all to see, of peace and prosperity. He supposed this was the same role for any monarch, but could not help the slight bitterness. It was not for his people though, oh no. He was raised beyond that petty character fall-back of a reason. That his people depended on him was natural by the system in which they had all been raised, one of ruler and subject. Subjects subjected so long as the ruler ruled with even hands and an open mind—or a fair one, whichever seemed more appropriate.

Now, aware of Her 24/7, the Prince felt himself to be the very least of good men, if he could even fall into that category at all any more. He stifled an empty laugh. Walking from his bathroom to the window he paused in front of his full-length mirror. It had a sort of Alice-in-Wonderland quality to it with its long oval shape and refined metal working as the frame that held it, tarnished brass. There was a single almost elegant slice through part of it, dividing his face in a slanted manner that reflected back in mocking fashion at him. He looked, for lack of better words or any soft-peddling, run down. His blond hair was sticking in all sorts of directions it really, really shouldn't, his blue collared shirt had so many wrinkles that the cotton looked like crinoline and his black trousers had so many white chalk marks that he was certain they would come out an awkward shade of gray the next time he decided to wash them. The dark colors seemed a sharp flipside to the rather foppish—and he would be the first to admit exactly how foppish—attire he was wearing when his curse was lifted.

Even in a time like this, even with Her lurking God only knew where (but certainly near), the Prince cracked a half-hearted reminiscent smile at that. That awful yellowish suit practically matched his hair and his hair...how vain am I? He wondered, the back of his mind seeming to recall a certain wizard being similarly afflicted. To think of such things. Indeed. At such a time. He scolded himself since no one else would dare. He was after all, the Prince. Sighing, he frowned. The letter he had written to Sophie was not a lie. He did miss her, almost to a point of depression at times and definite longing. Her courage, her brightness, these were things he had been acutely aware of even as a Turnip-head. At the end of that particular adventure though, he had been also very aware of the way her short, silvery hair framed her face in such a way that became her fair skin, like reflective glass juxtaposed to creamy porcelain.

I did not lie, he reasoned, but also finished: I did not tell her the truth though either. He rubbed his temples, as though to massage his self-loathing and concern for the young heroine away in slow, methodical circles, but it hardly even relieved him of his physical nuisance, much less his mental. The strange evil, the mischief he could only call Her or She had cursed—he seemed to have bad luck with those—the parchment and he could only say the most necessary and light-hearted of things to Sophie in that letter. Just enough to make sure she came to the "Autumnal Gathering", the Prince grimaced. That was the last place he wanted Sophie to be.

Sophie, Sophie who he owed practically, his life to. And here he was, inviting her to something that could mean the end of her own.

But the Prince was, as said before, rumored to be a good man, and as things will have it, some rumors come from truths. This was one. Not idle, not spineless, not even clueless, the Prince had been working on various possibilities of rescue for his own savior, or at least protection for her from...the evil. He scowled. The woman-devil-demon thing didn't even have a proper name and she could cause all this havoc without breaking a sweat, all for the attentions of Howl.

Howl. Bitterness resurfaced, if slightly.

The Prince was well aware of the hat maker and the wizard and their...relationship and while he did want Sophie to be happy, he would be a dead liar if he said it didn't hurt to think of her with someone else. He thought back to his curse: ...only lifted by the kiss of one's true love. One's true love. He did let his empty laugh out this time. One indeed. It was one's, inherently, not belonging to two. Love her as he may, she did not, he knew, love him in that same way and while he had meant it when he said hearts change, he had said it more desperately for the sole reason of planting an idea in her head for even the remote possibility of ever considering him, already knowing her heart belonged to Howl anyway.

Some might argue he barely spoke to her, since as Turnip head he could not speak at all. Some might say, one cannot love or fall in love or be in love with such circumstances as they had. Some would say such things.

But that some probably have never been in love.

The Prince thought back to his letter again. If they did come, and he was certain they would out of decorum and out of kindness, not in that order either, he had at this point figured two almost sure-fire ways to protect them a little, or buy time. They were equivalent in nature as far as he was concerned. Already he could smell the sulfur of his palace burning and he clenched his eyes shut against the premonition-like sensory. No, there's always a way around things. I will not see this kingdom fall apart again, he fought his doubts and fears internally, pacing absently.

I will not see her get hurt, he thought softly and paused at his window. Still raining. He needn't have looked to know that, but look he did, and for a long time too. Some part of him was remembering a sunlit field of sloping hills, and a bold young girl in a bolder old woman's body, yanking him out of a rather uncomfortable bush. That part of him was clinging to the sunshine on that day to a point of blocking out the endless rain and for the moment, the Prince was content to let himself recuperate there shortly. Such kind thoughts were few and far between these days. Probably it was sunny beyond the whatever by whatever radius of rain surrounding the palace grounds. Probably Howl and Sophie were out and about.

Again, bitterness! He smothered it with a withering and somber admittance: if Sophie had fallen in love with him for some inexplicable reason, she would have been here when She—the evil one—arrived and probably already be dead.

As such, the bitterness quenched itself on his elated feeling that she was not there, and therefore, not dead. If being with Howl made her safer, then by all means, that was where he wanted her to be. Even if it did twist his insides in a more painful way than the most classic of medieval tortures.

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"Dratted dust," Sophie sneezed as she mopped it all up with a damp cloth furiously, practically rubbing the finish off the wood. Howl watched her through hooded eyes. She'd been like that for days now.

He thought about inquiring, about asking her if she wanted to talk, but he had learned very quickly that usually if Sophie wished to talk, she did so quite openly with him. So thinking, he maintained the silence, perched at the top of the stairs, observing her through the wooden railing of the staircase. She was now meticulously rearranging the pots and pans and vases and other nameless whatnot that cluttered the kitchen beyond recognition. She also continued to mumble to herself. The curve of Howl's lips turned down ever so slightly; what could bother her so? It's probably to do with that dream she's been having, he figured to himself and tapped his fingers absently on the floor.

Meanwhile, Sophie's line of thought was not far from that point. Why can't I shake this off? Her wondering and perplexed obsession over her nightmare was getting to be a daily disruption in her life and she loathed it. Why should a dream cause such nonsense feelings, she scowled darkly to herself and scrubbed a particularly tarnished dishware until her reflection winked solidly back at her. Sophie stifled the brooding tonality of her perspective. That would get her nowhere after all. A pause in her work followed by a sigh and an almost imperceptible turn of her head calmed her decently enough and she untied her apron, tossing it over the back of one of the dining table chairs. As she turned to look around, Howl moved slightly out of sight, just enough that he could still see her and not the reverse. Seemingly satisfied, Sophie dusted her hands off—even though she had just washed them—and grabbed her hat, switching the dial to the pinkish reddish one and exiting the castle with a soft click of the door.

Strange...where is she going? Howl went to stand and follow her but ended up jumping instead as a loud wheeze interrupted his mulling, and he eyed Heen with a bit of reserved annoyance. Shrugging it off, he ruffled the dogs fur a little, scratching him briefly behind his ears before descending the stairs in a hurried fashion, sprinting out the door to see if he could catch onto Sophie's trail, wherever she was headed.

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The sky was very blue, so blue it seemed to disappear into the crystalline surface of the water. Howl wondered at its fortune at having been spared the devastation of the war, by some helped luck and scanned the area, just catching a glimpse of the straw hat disappearing behind a sloping hill. His footsteps were cushioned against the green of the lush grass and the flowerets seemed to part under him, protecting their small lives without indignation.

"Sophie," he called.

"I figured you were there," she smiled, turning to gaze at him over her shoulder and sighing. Removing her hat, she moved to face him completely, looking up at him from her spot at the base of the knoll. "Those stairs are old Howl. They creak something awful." His lips tugged gently upward.

"Are you saying my castle is in disrepair?" he challenged with a lightness he did not feel, Sophie's dream still at the forefront of his mind's worry. He couldn't remember the last time he had really felt worry, not before her. It seemed that maybe he hadn't worried before her at all. He didn't doubt it in a way.

"I'm saying you're as stealthy as Heen," she replied smoothly and her back was to him again as she stared out across the glassy water, watching the breathy clouds drift by on lines of rippling liquid. Practically gliding down the remainder of the hill in little to no time, Howl settled beside her on the ground; he knew she felt less cornered when he sat. He didn't much like to think that she felt cornered by him at all really, but he knew it happened sometimes, often through no real fault of his own. It was simply a part of who she was. In his head he added it up to her almost handicapping combination of concern for the well-being of others and vaguely disquieting uncertainty, but said none of this. For a while—and neither was sure just how long or short a while it was—he just watched the watery sky, Sophie at his right, standing as still as time.

"I do not mean to worry you," she admitted softly, bringing her hand to rest in feather-light fashion on his shoulder. In response, Howl simply turned his head to her hand, pressing upon it the most delicate of kisses. And Sophie seemed to release the shields of protection from around her with an exhale that was the colorless sound of summer breeze, bringing herself down to sit and lean against Howl's shoulder.

"What troubles you?" he asked, twirling a periwinkle floweret between his thumb and forefinger.

"Just bad dreams, nothing really," she answered in a tone that sounded lame even to herself and Howl chuckled at her a little.

" 'Nothing' doesn't weigh on a heart like that. You should know. You've had yours longer than I have mine," his smile was gentle as he tucked the flower behind Sophie's ear.

"Howl, I need you to know that I love you," she finally decided upon saying and Howl's face could not have been more surprised if he had planned and acted it out as such—and he was a good actor after all these years of masquerading as the brave Pendragon over the role of rather cowardly Howl Jenkins.

"Sophie, Sophie love, I know that," he went to draw her closer to him but she stiffened, her spine going a little rigid at the advance and hurt, but compliant, he halted.

"No, Howl. I feel something bad is to happen and I need you to really know, no matter what, no matter why or...or...anything, I love you completely," her words would have been lost to anyone who had not been listening so closely for them. There was such an intensely soft and almost lost quality to her voice that Howl's hurt from moment's before melted away nearly entirely.

"You know something?" his question was so simple. She turned her gaze in his direction uncertainly. "I love you," he smiled disarmingly and drew her to him, relieved to feel her tension dissolve as she settled into the curve of his arms. Resting his chin on her head lightly, he added thoughtfully, "And I'm not running anymore, Sophie, if you will recall." She shifted in his embrace, but did not pull away.

"Something tells me maybe you should, this time," she forced each word out painfully, almost nauseated at how horrible the idea of Howl's absence from her life made her feel.

"You don't know everything, love," Howl said calmly, not the least unnerved by her worried and charged statement. "A dream is a dream. I did not stay a cursed monster. I gained a heart and a reason to have it, which was in no way any of the dreams you had in my castle at that time, I am sure," his words were to soothe her. Sophie held one of his hands in both of hers, absently tracing the lines on his palm.

"Who made you so wise, Howl Jenkins?" It was practically accusatory. "What became of the drama-queen—" she was cut off here:

"Drama-king," Howl corrected, not missing a beat, and she waved a dismissive hand, dropping his into her lap.

"—whatever. What happened to the frivolous, terrified-of-his-teacher, obsessed-with-his-looks wizard of so many names? Where is he?" she almost sounded wistful.

"I am here, I promise," was his jocular response as he continued to say, "I swear to you, Sophie Hatter that underneath my fine words and desire to soothe you is still some hint of all you have just inquired about...the difference is all in a heart. And it seems it was gone the moment I got it back. You've got it now, you know," this last part was very quiet.

"So you know that I love you, then?" back to that. My, she's persistent, Howl smiled inside. He adored her for it, undoubtedly.

"I know," he affirmed.

"And you...you love me," she faltered and he frowned, refraining from rolling his eyes only by the grace of good luck.

"Goodness Sophie, yes. Now shut up and let me kiss you," he ordered and without waiting, turned her face with his hand swiftly to him, bringing his lips down onto hers. The surrounding flora seemed to bend away from the engrossed couple. Whether out of courtesy or otherwise, only they knew.

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Sophie's eyes flickered open as she brought a hand up to shield them from the incurring daylight. Noting the warm softness behind her, she remembered she was not alone and slowed her stirring. Letting her eyes wander over her shoulder, her lips curved upward subtly. Sleeping like a baby, she thought as she shook her head ever-so slightly. They had, after their...romantic interlude...both decided it would not hurt either of them to pay their tributes to the sun by taking grace in its warmth for the most innocent of catnaps. Said catnap had turned into about three hours of undisturbed slumber, but it mattered little. For today, Sophie wanted to feel—even if she knew better—that they had all the time in the world. Just today.

Turning over onto her side and facing her Howl—yes, her Howl—she marveled at the fact that less than a year ago this same man was no more than a faceless, skirt-chasing magic-maker who had, rumor said, a moving castle...among other things. How things change. Howl had, in the recent months, let his bangs go and his hair was much like it was the very first time she had ever laid eyes upon him with her fast-beating heart. Of course, it was black now, but this did little to change his charming appearance; if anything, it made him more so himself, she felt personally.

She knew it to be a useless gesture, but reached out a hand to tuck a few more rebellious strands of his hair behind his ear. It occurred to her that this seemed the sort of thing only a man would do, and shrugged it off. Howl's hair was at this point, longer than her own and called for more attention. He shifted in his sleep, lips parting slightly in that pre-wakening slumber stage and Sophie felt her heart pound like it had that first day. She never knew love, not really. She had always known duty, and responsibility and reason, also strength even...but not love. Yes, she cared for her sister and family, very much, but it was the events and escapades caused by a single encounter with a flamboyant and outlandish wizard that sparked in her something that brought her soul to another level of compassion.

"I love you," her whisper trailed off her lips and wrapped themselves around her object of affection like a blanket that kept out the cold. Howl shifted again and seemed to nestle deeper into the lushness of the grass and to Sophie's surprise, his eyes peered at her suddenly through his uneven wisps of hair, slightly hooded with the remains of sleep. Without a word, he propped himself drowsily up on his elbow and with his free hand delicately took hers from where it lay docilely in front of her. She tilted her head to one side in question and Howl simply brought her open palm to his lips in response, letting his kiss linger as only a lover might. Sophie's blush was picked up by some of the smaller flowers in the garden, pinkish and endearing.

"Those are nice words to wake up to," he said finally, releasing her hand from his lips but not from his gentle hold.

"I imagine they're a great deal better than me sending Heen to rouse you," Sophie admitted as what she had said was one of her "meaner tactics" according to Howl who did not much appreciate the wheezing breath of the dog to be his first conscious note of the day.

"Quite right," he quipped, and continued, "Your voice is a lot nicer than Sulliman's dog's."

"I can only hope as much," she returned and he laughed.

"What would I be without you?" it was said in his laugh but without any hint of lightness.

"We don't have to worry about it either way," she said simply and pulled herself up off the grass completely, stretching before she pushed herself off of the ground. Turning to the still reclining wizard, she crossed her arms over herself and looked off to the blue horizon, as though considering something. Howl waited. He knew enough—sometimes at least—to be quiet. "Thank you," Sophie's final choice of words could not have been more confounding to him as his blue eyes flashed incomprehensibly.

"Forgive me, love, but what for?" he asked, face blank as he too pulled himself up off the soft bed of now thoroughly flattened grass to stand, facing her, less than a foot between them.

"Sometimes," she paused but pushed herself onward, "Sometimes, sometimes I imagine what life would have been like if I had never met you and it hurts," her hand unconsciously was clenched very tightly over her heart as she continued, "If, if this had never been...I don't know what I want to say yet, but for now, I just wanted to thank you, Howl," his name almost disappeared before she said it, but not quite. He drew her closer to him, arms encircling her shoulders and as though a puzzle piece, she let her head rest easily against his chest.

"Then, thank you too, Sophie," he said only those words and somehow Sophie felt the discussion or babble or ramble or whatever it was, was over for now and let herself be led back to the castle, sunlit breeze billowing the clouds out like frothy stars above them.

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That night, Sophie eased the door to Howl's room open just a little more than an inch's worth and did her very best to memorize his sleeping perfection, all moonlit and unawares. Mentally she traced the outline of his jaw with her fingers, stroked the soft tendrils of his hair into some semblance of parted order, kissed his lips lightly and briefly...but she did not dare actualize her thoughts. She might wake him and that could not be. It snapped a piece of her inside to turn away from him and close the door, but she did and softly crept toward the door of the house, switching it to the color that led to Kingsbury. Hand on the knob, she was about to exit when a timid shuffle nearly had her jump out of her skin. She turned, worried it would be the beautiful, blue-eyed wizard. A sigh of relief escaped her. It was only Markl.

"Markl, what is it?" she did not let her voice rise above barely audible. Markl moved closer to her, and to the door.

"Where are you going, Sophie?" his voice was drowsy and she suspected he had just come down for a glass of water, if anything, and accidentally stumbled upon her in the midst of her attempted-midnight run.

"N-nowhere, Markl. Here, let me get you a glass of water...or would you rather it be warm milk? It won't take long," she hoped to bury the recent memory of her standing poised to leave them with words, lots of them.

"Mmm...water's fine," he mumbled, rubbing dry sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hands. As she got him his water, Sophie's resolve faltered and backed off completely by the time she was ushering the small boy back to his room, fearful he might sleep-fall down the stairs without assistance. I cannot leave tonight...she thought stubbornly. Tomorrow. Her hands wrung a corner of her skirts into a severely twisted lump of cloth as she took seat at the window as she had done many nights before and leaned against the curve of the wall. Its cold comforted her somehow, bringing her closer to awareness of what might be done to prevent her nightmares from becoming real. It was however, difficult to prevent something one could not even properly entirely remember. She could go on little but instinct and luck—brilliant Sophie, she rolled her eyes at herself. Much too soon after that, her head had lolled to one side, her breathing evened and her hands gone limp with fatigue that had consumed her lately—anyone with a decent degree of scrutiny could assess as much.

In her dream, it was different this time. Was she being talked to?

"Don't come."

Come where?

"Don't go."

I'm not leaving. Am I?

"I can't protect you!"

Who are you to protect me!

"Please, Sophie, I—"

And there it was, that acrid smoke burning her lungs from the inside, stinging tears out of her and that terrible feeling of hopelessness. But there were no flames, only the smoke and someone had been speaking to her through it...but it sounded like nothing now. Had he been interrupted? Hurt? Sophie's eyes widened at the thought. She did not want him to be hurt! Wait...him? Who was "him"? Why did his voice seem familiar? How did she even know him?

Her head ached severely and she got the distinct and unsettling feeling she was missing something key to the whole enigma of this ever-changing and discouraging nightmare.

And suddenly the voice was back in a frighteningly weakened state:

"Sophie, I love you..." and the voice, it died away in a catch of shaky breath that could very well have been a gasp of pain.

Her eyes shot open, her breathing ragged and her palms sweaty. She glanced through the window at the rising sun. It felt like she had not slept even five minutes and she groaned. Who was that? She wondered at the strangeness of it all and flinched as she moved; sleeping against a wall certainly was not helpful to her neck and it was making its grievances known rather obnoxiously. Her neck and back seemed to crack in a similar fashion to when she was cursed and she brought her hand to the back of her neck to try and work out a couple kinks as she rose from the window seat to make some tea. She hoped Calcifer would not begrudge her waking him at dawn, but she needed something to calm her nerves.

She hadn't left like she had planned, hadn't left to go to the palace by herself and try and figure out why she dreamt of its destruction and the eeriness that lay itself like a smothering cloth over the land of late. Little by little she had begun to remember parts—only parts—of her dreams and they scared her for the safety of those she now lived with. Her plan had been to disappear at night and be back by morning after doing some snooping but it occurred to her now, in daylight hours, how silly and impulsive that had been. Surely it was much more conspicuous to poke around at night alone rather than in a constant crowd of outgoing and ingoing peoples. She mentally thanked Markl's accidental run-in with her, thanked Markl and did her best to shrug off her most recent nightmare off like the sun shrugged off the night itself.

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Sorry if this was a slow chapter. I figured we needed some more background on the prince though and his sort of person-type because if left undefined it could make for some real trouble when action starts going on everywhere. Sophie needed to be deepened and small perplexities had to be added up. Again, sorry. I hope someone still finds it decently enjoyable. if not, I can try my hand at another story. Do let me know though, if you've a moment. A word of encouragement is always helpful to slay such things as writer's block and in the midst of my work and school prep and such I tend to forget about things like this fic. (hence the update time wait, sorry again. But the reviews I have set to be e-mailed t me now automatically, didn't know that was an option! So any review will be a reminder for me on a daily basis and I'll try to update accordingly)

THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH, everyone who has reviewed for me thus far. I find all your comments helpful and encouraging. My teachers tend to dislike my writing, so it's nice to find someone or some ones who even SORT OF like it, and some who I guess, according to their words, really do like it. I was surprised anyone liked this at all, but very pleasantly so. Thank you so much. It means a lot to me. Most said longer is preferred, so I am not too afraid anymore to write them as they come. The previous one was actually just cut from the beginning of this one...haha...for now this will have to do though. I guess all in all, some will be shorter, others longer, varying depending on whatever else is happening.

We shall see, yes?

:smile:

-sofi