To Ash

(Day 91: Saturday Afternoon)

"Next up on the agenda," Ben glances down at his notepad, before he cautiously eyes over the council, "is the ballot results from the tax dollar event. I had listed five options: tax cuts for small businesses, more or higher incentives for farmers, an upgrade to the community centers, reconstruction of railroad lines to lower expected travel times, or low-income housing." They keep their attention focused on him. "The highest amount of votes went towards the low-income housing at fifty-two percent, followed by tax cuts at nineteen percent and reconstruction of railroads at sixteen percent." He clasps his hands over his notes, "Over half of the inquired population has asked for something, and I believe it would be irresponsible to deny them of what they say they need." He announces, "And so, I propose that we construct a low-income apartment in each of our kingdoms, including a lobby area where the more impoverished homeless can take shelter when needed."

After he stops speaking King Phillip questions, "How do you plan to pay for this?"

"We will use the leftover money from the infrastructure and natural disaster funds that was not spent last year." He nods, "And more than that, if needed."

"More than that?" King Eric speaks up in disbelief. "Since you've retired magic, my father-in-law has been unable to tame the storms of the sea. What is my kingdom supposed to do the next time a hurricane hits us?"

"First off," Ben addresses, "I didn't retire magic; my parents did, and despite the rumors that they did it for their own selfish purposes, magic when used in excess always leads to an undesired result. The triton may have been able to keep storms at bay, but that energy had to go somewhere and who's to say that it wouldn't have built up with time and destroyed us all?"

King Eric looks down in thought, "Sorry, my king."

Ben's eyes shift, "Look." before he wets his lips. "I realize I'm a lot younger than all of you." He glances over them, "But would you not rather make sure your citizens have a safe place to wait out a storm, even if it means your buildings aren't in absolute perfect, beautiful condition once the damage has been done?"

"There's no need for us to choose," King Phillip speaks up. "It's the church's responsibility to care for those who cannot care for themselves. The government should be focused on laws and the country as a whole. The people wouldn't want us to get involved."

"The people are asking for us to get involved," Ben swiftly reminds him, "and I mean no disrespect to any religion, but a church is only as charitable as the people running them. Your family may have cared for your community through the church, but that same selflessness has not extended to the rest of the country." He thinks aloud, "I don't need to remind anyone here that the Roman Catholic Church was the lawmaking authority of this land, and it was not they who united the kingdoms. They had a chance to serve the people and they failed. Are we really to stand idly by in hopes that they will not fail our people again?" He watches everyone look over one another, "My proposition is simple." before he uses the remote to turn on the projector and the council examines the diagram. "We will start with a five story building, the ground floor as a spacious lobby and the upper floors consisting of twelve apartments per floor for residents. We will not cut corners on materials." They face him again. "If your kingdom gets hurricanes, then use flood resistant materials. If your area gets sandstorms, then make sure any openings into the building can either be fully closed or covered. It sounds costly, yes, but if any corners are cut, you will not only be disrespecting my authority but you will also be doing a disservice to your people and yourselves, as the maintenance of an improperly constructed building will be more costly than the construction of a properly constructed one." He eyes over them, "Once the apartments have been built and inspected for safety we will reconvene to discuss a cost for the current homeless to rent at, but please keep in mind that any profit we earn from this will start only as the continuing life of those who may have died otherwise and that as far as money goes this will very much be a long-term investment." Ben pauses, "Any questions?"

"Yes," the sultan speaks up. "When will we expect to see the details of this project?"

Ben smiles, "Everyone here has already been sent documents, which can be added to when looking over their electronic format. For anyone here who may or may not be able to access the internet or who finds the traditional way easier, then you may either send me a letter or a voicemail and I will review your questions or concerns."

King Arthur comments, "King Ben, Camelot has a hard enough time keeping buildings up the way it is. How can you expect us to follow through with this project of yours?"

Ben half laughs, glancing down with a grin, "That was a major oversight by my father." before he frowns at him with an intense stare. "When I said not to cut corners I meant it. I expect you to build with fireproof materials. In fact, I'm now expecting you to have all of your buildings coated in fireproof polymer until this war you have with the dragons ceases."

"You can't be serious," he disapproves.

"Camelot has consumed more financial resources than all of the other kingdoms combined," Ben asserts. "So, yes. I'm very serious."

King Arthur takes a breath before trying to reason, "My king, please understand. The dragons haven't just been burning our buildings down. They've also been stealing our cargo."

Ben slightly nods in thought, "Trade with them."

"Excuse me?"

"Are you not stealing their food from them?" he accuses.

"Dragon armor is impenetrable without magic," he softly, yet urgently, defends. "How else am I supposed to rid my kingdom of those beasts?"

"Those beasts?" Ben raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "Those beasts are intelligent creatures, and it's exactly because of their impenetrable armor and long lifespan that you shouldn't be stealing their food. If you think keeping the wild animal population low is somehow going to starve them to death, then you're dead wrong. Because, when their food supply runs out they are going to be forced to kill off your livestock, and up until this point dragons have chosen not to make humans their primary food source but we are all aware they could if they wanted to."

After King Arthur silences King Charming speaks up, "Ben, don't you think you're taking this a little personally?"

"My girlfriend is only part dragon," he sarcastically responds as he eyes down the Camelot king. "How could I possibly be taking this personally?"

"We can't just trade meat for our cargo," King Arthur quietly addresses. "They would probably kill us on the spot."

Ben thinks for a moment, "I would say that if the dragons are as strategic as my girlfriend can be, then you would have nothing to worry about; however, I also know that when Mal's needs aren't met, then she is a lot more rash in her thinking. And you have been starving these poor creatures, so what do we do now?" He glances down, "You notice how your kingdom is the only one being rampaged by these so-called beasts?" and he gives the king a moment to mull it over. "If you leave the dragons alone, then just maybe they will eventually leave you alone."

"Eventually?" he loudly questions.

"Yes. Eventually," Ben evenly states, "because genocide is not something someone just gets over, and because dragons can live a thousand years that only means they would be remembering those attempts firsthand."

"Who said dragons live a thousand years?" the sultan inquires.

"My girlfriend," Ben informs. "Apparently, her mother is already about three hundred years old, and we all know how Maleficent took her revenge."

"So, dragons live a long time," King Arthur comments, and Ben turns back to him. "They can't possibly keep a thousand years of memories."

"No. They can," Ben automatically disputes.

"And how do you know that?" Camelot's king skeptically responds.

It takes a minute for Ben to admit, "Not to delve into personal matters or anything, but my girlfriend has a hard time forgetting anything bad that's ever happened to her."

He frustrates, "Stop using your girlfriend as a source. Just because something happens to her doesn't mean that it will happen to a real dragon."

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Ben retorts with raised eyebrows, and when the king fails to answer he continues. "Here's what we're going to do: you are going to leave the dragons to their own devices, you will care for your people by keeping them out of this futile war, and you will fireproof the outer layers of your buildings in case the dragons decide they still can't trust coexisting with you."

He gives in with a bow of his head, "As you wish, my king."

After the meeting is finished King Charming shakes Ben's hand just outside of the door, "For what it's worth, I think this project of yours will pay off."

"Thank you," Ben tries to smile, but then he recalls his comment. "And the decision I've made about the dragons." He watches the king begin to frown, "What did you think of that?"

"Honestly?" He purses his lips before saying, "I think dragons are too different from humans to coexist with us. If they really are intelligent enough to steal cargo, then that makes them a threat. And carnivores no less."

"Vampires are considered carnivores too," Ben unsurely debates, "but we're not trying to kill them off."

"Because they can communicate with us," the king explains. "Any species is going to be less likely to kill someone when they can understand what they're saying."

Ben thinks, "Who's to say that dragons don't understand what humans say?"

King Charming looks at him for a moment, "If dragons can understand human language and still eat humans—" He sees Ben about to interrupt, "Whether provoked or not, then that makes each and every one of them no less evil than Maleficent." He hesitates, "And as far as vampires go, that's just a bad comparison. A vampire is nothing more than a human infected with a blood transmittable retrovirus. It's a disease. They're not even really another species."

Ben wets his lips, "I think some vampires would disagree with you about it being a disease. A lot of them are just born that way. It's who they are."

"And people can be born with HIV too," he counters, "but sensitivity to light and heat, daytime tiredness, and an increased risk for sunburn and skin cancer, that's not a good thing."

"They can see in the dark," Ben rebuttals, "and they have heightened senses in general. Every con they face has a correlated pro."

"But is that worth their cravings?" he seriously inquires. "Is strength, speed, and a faster healing process really worth their need for blood?"

Ben's eyes shift, recalling just how many times he's struggled to ignore his mother's scent, "No." He slowly shakes his head, "It really isn't."

"And, sadly, after all this time there's still no cure." Ben meets his eyes, and King Charming tries to smile. "At least with the donor program no one's going to get killed."

"Like all vampires are going to want to come out," Ben skeptically responds. "And the entire process is tedious: the screenings, filing documents, and the safety check-ins. Talk about an intrusion of privacy. I doubt everyone follows the rules."

The king's smile falters, "They will if they don't want to end up in prison."

"They end up in prison if a documented donor is being mistreated or if a non-donor claims they were violated," Ben reminds him. "No one goes to prison if they're being safe."

"The only safe way is to be screened and monitored," he sternly remarks. "Otherwise diseases spread and people get killed." Ben eyes away for a moment, and he places a hand on his shoulder with a slight smile, "This was a very nice discussion, but rules and laws are in place for a reason."

Ben slightly nods, "Of course." but he continues to frown.

He lets his hand slide off of him, "You know… If you knew someone who was breaking the rules, then it is your job to make sure they follow them."

Ben cockily smiles, "I don't know anyone who doesn't follow the rules."

"Not even your girlfriend?" he suggests, and then Ben's mouth gapes. "Being part dragon, I imagine she would be a carnivore."

"More or less." Ben wets his lips, "But she doesn't eat any more meat than I do." and then his eyes shift. "It's really a nonissue."

The king smiles, "I'm glad to hear that." before he checks his watch. "I'm sorry King Ben, but if I want to be home in time for dinner I have to leave."

"Of course." Ben attempts to smile, "It was nice having you here." and after he watches King Charming head for the front door Ben maneuvers towards the left staircase, going up two stories before turning down the hallway and facing his father. Ben's smile falls at the sight of his squinted eyes and clenched jaw.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he glares at him.

Ben's mouth gapes, "Father." He breaths, "I—"

"You dare build these homes for those lazy lowlifes," he shouts as he walks forward.

Ben steps back, his heart starting to race, before he yells back, "This is a long-term investment. It will do everyone well."

"It's a handout," he loudly disputes as he comes nearer. "You should be focusing on people who matter."

"These people do matter," Ben furrows his brows, but as his father takes another step forward he takes another step back. He unsteadily breathes, "Everyone matters." His father stomps forward, towering over him, and when Ben tries to step back he feels the edge and glances over his shoulder. He's back by the white marble staircase. He takes a shaky breath before widening his eyes at his father, "Dad."

"You're a weak king," he grits his teeth. "You're going to turn this country to ash. You and your dragon girlfriend."

"Please," Ben pleads.

He takes another step, and Ben watches as his exit to the dining room is blocked. He should have gone when he had the chance. "You're just a stupid child, and your mother still plotted against me to give you the throne."

"You participated in the ceremony," Ben desperately tries to remind him.

"You think I would willingly hand it off?" he takes a final step forward. "It was your mother. Her beauty. Her fancy words." His blue eyes pinpoint at Ben, "She loves you more."

"She's my mother," Ben tries to reason. "There's chemicals in the brain— and hormones— that connect a mother to her child, but that doesn't make her love me more."

"It's always about you," he fumes. "How's Ben? What did you say? You should think about him more." He shouts, "Well, I say I've thought enough." as he leans forward, and Ben moves back; however, when he does he feels his foot leave the step, and he turns his other foot in attempt to keep balance. He sees the steps below and tries to grab for the banister, but his fingers are just out of reach and he falls on his shoulder before tumbling down the stairs.

When Ben opens his eyes they widen at the sight of his father kneeling over him, and he grits his teeth, "Get the fuck away from me." He hears a ringing and then feels the sore spot on the back of his head, but when he feels the wetness he looks at his hand. The fingers are covered in red, and the smell is chalky but sweet.

"Belle," his father calls, and Ben's eyes shut hard at the loudness. "Belle." He grabs his arm, "You should—"

"Don't touch me," Ben pulls it away.

"You need to cover your head," he insists.

Ben pauses for a moment, glancing at the red on his fingers before placing the hand back to the sore spot on his head, and he looks up as he watches his mother come out of the left of the light. "What happened?" she worries as her heals clack down the stairs. "Ben." He sees her standing near his legs, her hand clutching onto the end of the banister. "Can you stand?" she repeats, and Ben looks around, realizing that he's still lying on the floor.

He moves his legs off from the stairs and sits up; however, when he uses his left hand to stand he groans at the pain in his shoulder, automatically moving his right hand towards it and staining his suit jacket with the blood. "What's wrong?" he hears his father's voice, and he gapes at him in disbelief before shaking his head.

His mother steps forward to offer him her hand, and he uses it to stand to his feet. Her face turns to horror, and when Ben turns to see the puddle of blood he reaches for his head again. She moves a hand over his back, "Come on. We need to get you to the hospital." before she guides him down the second flight of stairs and the three of them head out the front door.

-Posted: 11/08/2018

- Rose The funny thing about your post is that I saw it in my email box first, and it didn't actually show as a comment on this cite until about three days later and now you have two posts saying the same thing. Anyway, thank you for your comment. I'm glad you're enjoying the dynamics between Mal, Evie, and Ben. Even though this story is labeled as a Romance the romance itself isn't the main thing going on, so it's good to know that I've been able to keep characters talking to each other despite that. Notice how some movies don't have characters saying anything to each other if it doesn't forward the plot? I know a time limit is a thing (and something I'm really bad at), but it's like... you can't just put three people together and claim they're friends (who else hates exposition?). It needs to get shown somehow.

- Tzei Awesome job at getting through 108 chapters in a day and a half. It's okay. I've noticed plenty of people who have binge-read my stories... Some people decide they don't like it and quit because they don't consider psychology to be as entertaining as action, but— hey— it's people like you who make up for people like those. (I private messaged you the answers to your questions/comments. If you didn't get it, let me know and I can answer them here instead... maybe just shorter).

- So, because of what I've spoken about in the Author Notes previously, I feel the need to mention that in no time in my life did I ever fall down the stairs due to someone's intimidation... On the other hand, when I was living at my cousins in elementary school we were all downstairs, and I was bored out of my mind because everyone was watching football (American, not soccer). I was sitting behind them as they had their eyes glued to this small, black TV box, and at some point someone was pretending to punch me. They kept doing it, I kept sliding back, and eventually I fell back over the side of the bed and cracked my head on the concrete floor. According to my aunt there was a lot of blood but that I didn't even cry, which could either be due to my high pain tolerance or a concussion I was never informed about. Now, for a long time afterwards whenever I mentioned the incident my cousins were insisting that I had been jumping on the bed and that's how I fell (which, yeah. I was bored and I remember moving a lot, but I don't recall any actual jumping). They would always sing the song about monkeys jumping on the bed whenever anyone brought it up, so I eventually stopped talking about it. When I went to the doctor I got stitches with what they told me was a stapler, and to this day I can still feel the scar on the back of my head. It's like a long cut dented outward.