So, you know when I said that this was going to be a one-shot? That the story that had sprung into my head was a crazy bit of confluence, and I would never degrade a nice concept, and a pretty well written bit by degrading it? There would be no way that despite so many people following an admitted oneshot would stir my vanity, no amount of praise would ever give me an idea as clever, and I would never consider an occasional series of drabbles to whet my writing and help get the rust off from time to time.
Well, I'm a filthy fucking liar. I also had the benefit, in the meanwhile of writing this story, to read Skin Game, which helped with the ending. Watch out folks!
Blame my muse for sticking a rabid plot bunny in my head, with an idea for a continuation that it consumed other ideas for the plots of my longer running stories.
Prince Hans of the Southern Isles titled back another glass, chugging another pint of ale in the bawdy house before slamming the pewter mug onto the counter to the cheers of the others around him. The barmaid served him, eyeing him suspiciously as she refilled his mug. Being a member of the nobility conferred special privileges when it came to the filling of ones glass without coin, and being a member of the royalty doubly so, but these excursions generally tended to leave the proprietor with a nice hole in his income for the night, not that he tended to do much about it. Generally, those shortcomings would be made up in the tips he would squeeze from his barmaids, who would be enticed to provide, *ahem*, extra services to keep the gentlemen happy before they found the company of their honest whores. In general, serving these lords was a trade off. What you lost in the cost of your booze, you generally made up in the cost of your women, or at least in the possible expense of being shut down for refusing service to one of the gentry. Whether or not he could afford to pay for the services he requested was considered a secondary concern.
Prince Hans was considered to be one of those prices you needed to pay. Any bar in the Southern Isles would consider a copper from him a myth of legend, but the tales that he would spin would eclipse even those, and the stories that drunkard storytellers would tell to their less capable drunks would fuel the trade for nights well after. After you tossed in a likely night with the local talent, you were looking at breaking even, with a high chance of turning a meager profit, so most barmaids were more likely than not to give that second, and third, and fourth pint on credit that they highly doubted would ever be paid.
For Prince Hans, the tale was always that of the one that got away. He would always speak, when deep in his cups, about how close he was to being True King of Arrendale, which for now seemed to be as audacious claim as the moon. For the Prince, it was his great tale of loss. After briefly wooing a princess of Arrendale, and making a play for the foreign throne, he had ultimately failed. The backlash had been…extreme.
His father had chosen to not disinherit him. To do so would have conveyed weakness to the neighboring kingdom. Skeptics, those who were wise enough to hold their tongue when it might have been lopped off, would suggest that there was a second reason. That there was now a chance that ten sons might die before reaching the dishonorable eleventh. But his father, the king, had been clever in his is punishment. Hans of the Southern Isles was, in essence, a Knight Errant. He held no lands, and his title of Prince was every wavering with the others in line before him. With barely any effort, his father had diplomatically crippled any real rise to power, whilst leaving one final fail safe behind his brothers.
And if there had been any regrets then, there most assuredly wasn't now that he was sixth from the throne. There had been victims of what lay North now, with the thick fog said to hide…things. Things that lurked and things that preyed, and things that would whisper in you ear and steal you very soul. The Prince had spoken of such things, and men had laughed at first. None were laughing now.
Hans set down his cup of mead and eyed the new girl, a pretty young thing with hair as blonde at the fresh morning light on the glistening snow. She gave him a coy smile as she refilled his mug, and he couldn't resist the urge to grab her by the waist and pull her into his lap. The girl made a small sound of surprise, but grinned at him as she started to refill his mug, shifting her bottom ever so nicely as she adjusted to her new position.
"My Prince…" The girl looked up, her smile with just a hint of the devil upon it. She leaned back with an draped against her chest as she refilled his mug. "You shouldn't be doing that."
"I have made a habit of doing things I shouldn't." Hans replied, her arm snaking around her waist. "I rarely regret it."
"Ohhhh my Prince." The girl tittered. She looked down meaningfully and then back at him, biting her lower lip. "I really shouldn't but…if you can wait, I could use someone who can walk me home."
The implication was clear, and Hans tried very, very hard to not allow himself a grin that some might call "predatory".
"But my fair lady, what will your father say when I return you home at this hour?" Hans asked flirtily as he continued to tease the girl, moving his hands to her thighs.
The girl let out a low moan before forcing herself off of his laugh. "My father has been dead for years my Prince. And I highly doubt my mother would object to bringing you home." Hans allowed himself a smirk.
Of course she would be. For family without a man in the house, having the bastard child of a prince in the family, even a disgraced prince, would help them from starving in the winter. The serving girl gave him a quick wink. "I'll make sure to see you before I leave. Please don't leave before I do." She swung around, her skirts flaring out as she made a point to swing her hips a bit before looking back over her shoulder.
"Well, I'll be damned…" Hans shook his head as he took another draught of mead. "Maybe my luck is about to be turned around." It as a simple task to wait for the end of the night, despite catching a curious look from the bartender when he brushed aside some of the ladies of the evening that he was typically fond of, and any annoyance from the delay was measured by the warm glow of the mead, and a few coy looks from his new target.
The night flew by, and more drinks were had before Prince Hans felt a cool pair of lips on his throat, causing the hairs on his neck to rise in a most peculiar and enjoyable fashion.
"I'm ready for you." The honeyed words were whispered in his ears as the serving girl shuffled to the door, casting a look over her shoulder as she stepped outside into the cool autumn night. The leaves rustled in the trees and cracked over his footfalls as he stumbled out to join her.
She was waiting for him, arms entwining around his neck as she kissed him, tongue sliding past his lips as she helped his hands over the curve of her hips and beyond. "I would appreciate your company on my way home dear Knight." Her fingers traced a pattern over his chest. "And I believe I have a proper obeisance of what you would be do."
Hans felt himself grinning. "Well love is an open door. We'll see where that leads us."
The girl tittered and held his hand, gently pulling him as he moved to his horse. The creature, somewhat out of character, pulled away from his ties, rearing back.
"What is it you stupid beast?" Hans muttered, undoing the leather straps of his mooring. The instant the creature was free, it bolted, running into the woods.
"Damnation!" Hans swore, stumbling back as his ride ran away, only to be comforted by an arm over his shoulder.
"Don't worry." Came the voice in his ear, followed by arms around his waist. "It's not a far walk." He could feel a hand squeeze his, and the serving girl began to slowly lead his down the path. Her hands seemed to grow more adventurous as they want along, as did his. She seemed to resist after a bit, trying to push his hands away, but her complaints came with soft moans.
"Oh sir…" The girl pushed away, moving into the woods. Hans could feel something snarl in his belly as he chased her, running through the woods. The full harvest moon gave a clear few as he tracked her, grabbing her and pushing her down to a butte of flat stone. "Oh my Knight…" She rasped. She seemed to curl a little, half against him, half away from him in fright. "I…will you be my Knight? Will you be mine, and shelter me from harm. Otherwise…"
Hans could feel a predatory smile cross his lips. His heart was racing with the thrill of the chase, and his manhood was throbbing against his breaches, aching for release, to plunge into her. Hans grabbed her hair, tugging on it as he pulled her close. "I swear. I will be your knight if you will be mine. And now…" Hans hiked up the girl's skirts. "You're mine."
There was small murmer, the first word of which he couldn't make out, perhaps a sweet "ahhh" of pleasure, before the words "I love thee."
"I love you too." Hans replied.
She would wail, and she would whine and she would keen, and a fresh trickle of blood would flow. With a gasp and a groan, the prince released his seed. He could feel the rush of euphoria run through his body like lightning…and then another…like ice. He panted, and looked up to see the menagerie around him. Creatures of all shapes and sizes looked down at him, and he was suddenly reminded of that night, a night he could never forget in a thousand lifetimes.
"She has you son." A goat faced…thing spoke. "Well and truly won. May whatever God you seek have mercy upon you."
"There is none to give." Hans suddenly felt his lanky hair yanked, a surprising mirror to what he had done moment ago. The flash of golden hair was gone, only to be replaced with pure blinding white and Hans could feel himself shrivel as realization dawned.
"No…" His whisper was cut off as a hand was forced over his mouth, ice cascading over it. To his surprise, it didn't hurt in the slightest.
"Oh shush." A finger traced over his chest. "You received exactly as you wished." The blondes eyes turned black. "I was truly worried. I was worried that you were partial to redheads…like my sister." Claws of iced formed at her fingers and she swiped his chest. The impromptu claw raked him, and unlike the ice from before, this brought about a sudden rush of pain and a welling of blood. "I am forbidden from casting harm upon mortals…but my Knight…my Winter Knight…I am free to punish and please as I see fit." She placed a hand over his chest, as ice cascaded over him, providing a minor chill but no other inconvenience. "And I intended to do both at my will. Such pleasures we will have."
The disappearance of Prince Hans was a minor scandal, for a while, but when his horse returned without him, with nary a sign of blood on him, the conclusion had seemed clear. The man had drank even more than usual that night, even so much that he had seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn't there. He'd most likely have been thrown from his mount somewhere and he, or his body, would be found eventually.
No historical records reveal the fate of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.
Only one source remains.
John looked down at the coin, sure that the gold he saw was real, and then looked at the woman in front of him.
"And you're sure that you want to you want to contract my services?"
The woman, clearl
y highborn, smiled demurely in front of him, pretending not to look at the bag that she had thrown him that was worth far more than he would have normally made in months.
"Oh, I am quite sure that your talents are up to the task. I have a feeling that they will continue to echo through the ages. In fact, I am counting on it Mr. Keats. All I ask is that you journey to the point that I have asked, and compose what you find. I think you will find this an amenable arrangement, no?'
John looked back at the purse, and then back at the woman. It was a short ride, and for what was asked…well, a new muse would hardly be a fault for a poet. A borrowed horse did well enough, and he made his way to the place spoken of by the lady. As she had said, there was a man waiting, crouched among plants. He seemed a man tortured, abmorally pale. What might have once been a handsome face was gaunt and tight, stretched arcoss his cheekbones as other parts seemed to sag.
The man seemed to moan, weak and pale, seeming as a broken man despite only seeming of the late 20s.
"Did she send you then?" He rasped, raising a hand toward a certain Mr. John Keat. "Did she?"
"Who?" The poet asked, drawing a pen at a the ready.
"La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Replied a broken Knight. "The beautiful woman without mercy."
"It still seems like a waste to me." Queen Skuld did not resist the chance to shake her head one more time, though she did have to hide her smile. "Giving up a Winter Knight simply to your pleasures…it seems to be a waste Winter Lady."
Mab smiled, offering a coy glance. "Yes, we did lose a Winter Knight for a few years…so much the pity. But the story of him. Of what became of him, of what will become of others, of what happens when the fools dally with the Sidhe without warning will become legend. And Mother, please do not think that I am ignorant to what those Venators are trying. A few careful stores over a few years will provide value in the centuries to come."
Rather than being upset, the Ice Queen seemed pleased my her daughter's response. "I knew that I chose wisely when selecting a Winter Lady. It is not often that a Queen may choose someone they know to be a proper replacement." The Queen placed a hand over the cheek of her daughter. "If only you would give up that damn romanticism."
"I…" Mab, once known as Elsa pause for a moment. "I am not entirely sure what you mean."
"You could have chosen a thousand knights. A dozen princes. But you chose the one." Her mother's words are not a rebuke, simply a statement of fact. "There may be a day when things are not ended so tidy. A day that a choice to make such an ending may cost you. And you will know the dearest cost of revenge."
Mab smiled. "I think I understand it now."
Mab looks back at her new Knight, and a new ally and remembers when she thought revenge was simple.
"You dealt him the worst pain you could imagine." Her new Knight says, beginning to understand what will lay ahead. "You took away his daughter. No, you did even worse-you made him do it himself."
And that is it. She thinks. A fate too cruel that I could imagine for myself, the dearest cost of revenge on another…
And she feels nothing but cold.