Once upon a time, in a far distant memory, there lived a prince who loved nothing more than to turn off his alarm clock, roll over, and snooze away his mornings. This young, handsome and devilishly charming young royal would try everything he could to trick his mother and older brother into letting him ditch tutoring, piano, dance, and etiquette in favor of another hour of z's.
That, however, was an Alistair of a different time, one who hadn't yet experienced weeks upon end of not being physically able to lift himself out of bed, of being so depressed, so heavily medicated on a cocktail of pills and patches that the thought of rising exhausted him right back to sleep. The Alistair of the present couldn't tolerate lying in bed one minute after waking, not after so many days of lying in hospital beds. So every day, as the sun rose, so did Alistair. This presented another problem, though; how to fill his day.
He quickly became a practitioner of what he called snail-fu; taking every small, daily task and spreading it out to make it last as long as possible. He'd made a study of this ancient art before, but now he had to time to dedicate to its mastery. He made his bed with hospital corners, and each day attempted to see if he could tug his sheets tight enough to bounce a dime, like he'd seen on tv once. His few possessions were lined up in absolute precision, arranged by size, color, or age, depending on what day of the week it was. Eventually, he even submitted himself to a better routine of personal hygiene; he was sure not a one of his siblings had cleaner teeth.
Despite all this, though, there was still only so much to be done in his locked room. It was large, empty, and cavernous, and at a younger age it would have been ideal for the imaginations of himself and his older brother, but now Clovis was in school, and couldn't be his constant companion. That left Alistair to his own devices for entertainment, preoccupied by his own mind.
Didn't his family know how dangerous that was?
)o(
That afternoon Alistair had plenty to do. With an iced ankle and a ballpoint pen, he spent 3 hours copying down the phrase, "I do not have Spidey-senses and will not ascend my bedroom walls with bed sheets and candle wax."
)o(
He was also no longer allowed to use said bed sheets and smuggled twine to make a zip line across his living room.
)o(
The next day, Odysseus outlawed chewing gum, and Alistair had the bald spot behind his ear to show why.
)o(
"Clovis, did you know the average human arm has over 5,000 hairs?"
Clovis looked up over his drawing tablet. "How would you know that?"
Alistair sat tall with pride. "I counted!" he beamed.
Clovis nodded slowly. "Uh huuuh…that's funny. I heard most people nly hae about 3,000" and without another word he returned to his still life sketch.
Had he still been observing his brother he would have noted the way his eyes became coin-round, and he pulled up his shirt sleeves in a panic. Instead, he only heard his anguished wails, lamenting his lineage to Sasquatch.
)o(
"Wake up, Alistair"
It wasn't Oddie's baritone voice that shook him awake though; it was the crash of a half dozen thick, hardback textbooks colliding with the hardwood floor that jolted Alistair from his sunlight snooze.
"Holy sweet Jesus Oddie! I was sleeping!" Alistair whined pissily. It was 3 pm, the time when the warm afternoon sun started to pour through his soaring windows. Soon it would flood the room till it brimmed and boiled with desert heat. Curtains would prevent such baking, but he wasn't allowed them. But this mid afternoon light was perfect; enough to warm the floorboards and Alistair's skin.
Being as such, he wasn't pleased with being jolted from his catlike nap, even if it was from Odysseus.
Oddie tried to placate his crankiness with a plate laden with dinner; a thick turkey sandwich, peaches, baked potato and three cookies. Butter cookies, which he knew Alistair loved.
The young prince eyed the peace offering with measured skepticism. He plucked the sandwich from its fancy lettuce bed and pealed apart its layers to begin his investigation. Turkey, tomatoes, sweet onions, relish, mayonnaise and mustard. His lavish bite was the noble child's seal of approval.
"Your sacrifice pleases me," he chomped around a mouthful of poultry. "Next time I may not be so lenient."
"…You know I outrank you, Alistair," Oddie smirked, forever using his title as Crown Prince as his one dominance over his brothers. Well…that, and his old age and shear behemoth size.
Alistair contemplated his low standing next to his brother for a moment. "That is irrelevant!" he finally declared with another lavish bite of his dinner. "And I'll…think of a reason why later."
"Have I effectively distracted his majesty with food?" Odysseus smiled, ruffling Alistair's unusually clean hair.
He sidled away, and scooted his dinner tray with him. Alistair eyed both his brother and his stack of textbooks warily.
"I know you brought the food because I'm your favorite and you love me," he said cautiously. "But what's with the brain food?"
Oddie just smiled, and for the first time Alistair noted the tote bag he carried over one shoulder, only as he began to unload it. Notebooks, pens, pencils and rulers, one after another, found a home on the floor next to the books. He also withdrew a calculator with more buttons that a small laptop, and none of this was settling well with Alistair.
"These are some of my books from college," Oddie said, looking through them a little nostalgic. Alistair noted that all of the books were for remedial courses, which made him feel a little awkward. He'd like to pretend that the simple courses were merely a result of Oddie only attending college for two years, but these weren't freshman courses; they were mediocre freshman courses. Oddie seemed so smart to him; he always had answers for him and Clovis when they needed them, but times like these reminded Alistair that academically speaking, Oddie really wasn't very remarkable. It was Schneizel who was the genius of the family.
"I saved them once I dropped out; I don't know why. I knew they'd be outdated soon. Shoulda donated them I guess. But I figured I could continue my studies solo." Something akin to regret flinched across his face, but too quickly for Alistair to really register. "Anyway, these ARE mostly outdated, but not too bad. I don't think math has evolved that much. The history books are missing the most recent stuff, but that's not real important. It'll do."
Alistair opened the front cover of an Algebra book suspiciously. "Do for whaaat…?"
"For your lessons!" the exact answer he didn't want to hear.
"But I'm not in school anymore!" he protested immediately.
"I know," Odysseus countered with a smile. "You haven't even had a tutor visit in months. It's time you start again! Someday you'll be back in classes, and I don't want you to feel like you've been left behind! Now, we'll start with Algebra, and Civilized History. Tomorrow we'll have Literature, English-"
Alistair let his brother prattle on about his impromptu lesson plans, and leafed unsurely through the math book. Signs and cosigns and tangents and other words that made no sense…
"Are you going to teach me?" he wanted to know.
Oddie paused for a moment, as though hesitating. "…I promise you'll get better marks than I did in school," he swore desperately. "But I really think this is important. Besides, you need something productive to do."
Alistair couldn't argue with that, but eh still wasn't convinced this was a great idea. He had a feeling that his older brother had ulterior motives behind his thirst for knowledge.
"Odysseus...isn't my hearing coming up in two weeks? Shouldn't we be getting ready?"
THAT seemed to do it. The first prince's enthusiasm dwindled noticeably.
"Oh, yes, it is…but don't you worry about it Ali-Cat! I've got it under control. We're going to do fine. That's why it's so important for you to catch up! You'll be back in school before you know it. The Judge is going to clear you, I promise."
Alistair thought he was more than a little overeager to assure him, but he trusted Odysseus. He knew his brother was working on his appeal; it wouldn't go like the last one did. That had scared him straight, hearing the Judge proclaim he had one year left…just a few months ago. How wonderful and freeing it had been to be reprieved just seven weeks after for good progress. A clock stopped, 4 months now…surely Oddie wouldn't let it count down those last 10 months.
He seemed so invested in playing teacher that he just couldn't refuse. Though Alistair had a feeling he wouldn't be allowed to decline anyway. And he was right; he was bored senseless anymore, he was actually starting to miss the time lessons took up.
"Alright, Oddie," he agreed, picking up the Algebra book. "But if I get held back when I return to school, I'm blaming you."
)o(
"Homework, Clovis! He had the audacity to leave me homework!" Alistair threw his college-rule notebook across the room in a temperamental fit.
Clovis, who was use to his little brothers epic flare-ups, wasn't even fazed as recycled tree went whizzing past his head at a lethal speed.
"Can you believe him?" Alistair demanded. "I agreed to be tutored, not to have to finish 2 problems sets and a chapter of history by tomorrow!"
Clovis kept his composure, twirling a blond lock of hair around his finger calmly. "Well…what else would you have done with your night? Wank off a few into a sock?"
Clovis snorted to himself, but Alistair just paused, gave him an impatient glare and asked, "Do what into a sock?"
Clovis nearly choked trying not to laugh. "N-nothing, brother. Nothing. My point is, you need something to do anyway. Tell you what. You finish your math homework, and I'll bring in some of your art things; I found where they were hidden."
"And how did you do that?" Alistair asked, intrigued. Such an expansive palace, and his brother afraid of dirt!
Clovis smirked. "Oh, I know the castle," he said casually. "Grew up here after all.'
"So did I." Alistair deadpanned impatiently.
"I'm older!"
"By days"
"Still counts!"
Alistair studied him a minute, appraising. "You flirted with Schneizel for information again, didn't you?"
Clovis's pale, smooth skin instantly became blotched with an angry red blush. "I do NOT flirt with my own brother!" he shrieked indignantly.
Alistair said nothing for a long moment before scoffing. "Ooooh Schneizel!" he cooed in an exaggerated falsetto. "Is that a new cavarat? It looks just daaarling on you!"
"I do not sound like that! Clovis tossed back haughtily. "And I'll have you know it WAS fetching on him!"
Alistair burst into peels of laughter over his own mimicry. "Clovis, admit it. You're totally head over heals for Schneizel. But it's ok! We're royalty! We're all inbred!"
"You mean like Guinevere's mother? You know she's fathers cousin right?"
"And my mother's great great uncle was related to the Britannian family too. But not you. You're French. Nobody breeds with the French."
"…If you want your sketchbook, you'll knock it off, Mr. Alistair."
Alistair, still in peals of giggles, had no fear over Clovis's empty threats, but quieted his taunting all the same. His big brother was a big baby at times, and couldn't stand too much friendly fire.
Clovis did indeed make good on his promise. After an hour of math homework that came all inclusive with twenty straight minutes of bitching, he left Alistair's quarters, only to return with a large sketchbook, pencils, erasers and watercolor pens.
"Clovis, I could kiss you!" he beamed, glad to finally have some of his toxic chemicals and dangerous paraphernalia back.
"a genuflection and small bit of worshipping at my feet will suffice," Clovis retorted grandly, extending his right hand down to be kissed. Instead, Alistair yanked him down by said hand.
The sky outside Alistair's windows had darkened by now, the room being lit mostly by the soaring overhead lights, but the floor nearest the windows was illuminated pale blue by the moonlight, and the glittering lights from the city that surrounded then. It was an awe-inspiring sight for such young boys, even one as disillusioned as Alistair. To be in the midst of the capital city of the world's most powerful nation and still be able to rise above every edifice that soared towards the desert sky was a powerful feeling. Such a view spoke of his family's endless powerful, wealth, influence and nobility, and he felt a chilling sort of pride knowing that his home was being looked at by hundreds all around Pendragon. The Imperial Palace was set in the very heart of the buzzing metropolis, visible from every direction. Could anyone below see him? The small, thin boy sitting outlined in the windows? Would they recognize him as a prince who reigned above them?
He doubted it. He didn't feel very royal anymore. A prince didn't spend his days in backless hospital gowns, getting stabbed and poked and sent to sleep every time he expressed even a drop of displeasure. Alistair shuddered; he was grateful to be out of those places for a while.
He glanced up at his elder brother, still avidly rendering peaches and plumbs, and corrected himself. No, not for a while. Forever. The thought of being confined back into locked wards and padded cells was incomprehensible. There was nothing that could make him put his old mask back up to his acne-scarred face. He'd spent two years living a lie, one that could have him put to death. That incident with his medication…now that it was out of his system, he could understand. They were right, he hadn't wanted to end his own life. The first time, yes, but not now. He hoped that quack would be the one locked away.
It would be fine, he told himself softly. Alistair tucked a wave of coppery brown hair behind his ear, and let his pencil dance across the page, finding its way into a tree-thickened landscape. He loved art, a passion he was glad to share with Clovis. As a child, finger-paints and crayons had been a way to distract them, keep them quiet, but as he grew it became something more. It became power, control. He often heard people on tv and in his aunt's fancy art magazines talk about how spiritual art was, an abstract expression of one's deepest passions and desires.
Well. He wasn't sure about that. He just enjoyed being a creator, a craftsman. When he thought about it, looking at his work, a drawing was nothing more than a page covered in gray. He just had to know what areas needed to be dark, which lightened, where his lines needed to fade and taper or be bold and stand strong against each other. It was a craft, one that he just did. When his little brothers and sisters would ask him to teach them, he always refused. He didn't know how to do that. 'Know when to push down hard and when to be light,' was the only advice he could give, and what good was that?
There was just something…powerful about looking at a finished tablet and seeing every single centimeter covered in color, or ink, or paint. Britannia stood solid all around it, but within those neat, tidy edges was a world where his father couldn't enter, couldn't even touch. Sprawling landscapes were what he liked. Ocean shores and bloodmoon meadows, where every blade of grass was where he wanted it to be.
And as he drew, every time he drew, every time he dabbed his paintbrush into fresh acrylics, he heard Oddie's voice, just a year before, whispered in his ear as he held him close.
"Why can't you craft your mind like one of your paintings, Alistair? Where you put everything where it needs to be, nothing wrong, nothing out of place."
What a lovely idea, thought Alistair, closing his tablet and staring out at the cityscape. How neat and tidy his crowded mind could be, if only he could learn to paint his thoughts like he painted his canvases. Ordered and arranged and just how it should be.
No better time to try.
)o(
Two floors below, another sort of image was unfurling in the emperor's private quarters. Very few people were allowed into these most lavush of rooms; even Charles's own lovers and wives were kept away, excepting his most beautiful and bewitching. Marianne, Schneizel's mother Anna, before her death…
There was one guest, though, who was always welcome, and never questioned as to what business he had visiting the Britannian king. Though he held no such official title, the plethora of guards standing sight outside the doors always let him in with only a simple greeting of "m'lord". Once, he'd held a far grander title within the empire, but ah. Such days were behind him. None of those lackluster knights outside were old enough to even remember those times.
The visitor made himself comfortable, bidding the butler assigned to serve only the emperor and his guests to get him some tea, and something fresh to eat. He left promptly, leaving the man to his own business. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long; Charles was expecting him.
Comfortable in a posh leather armchair, he enjoyed his tea and the petite fours he had been served. A little dainty for his tastes, but considering his stature, he didn't expect to be served anything more refined. He'd have to complain about that.
"You said you'd arrive at 11."
The visitor smiles behind his teacup, replacing the fine china back onto its saucer.
"Forgive me, Charles. I wasn't expecting to be done consulting with the carpenters so soon. Really, I'm amazed at the help you can find here!"
His chipper attitude was not matched by his highness's. Charles wasn't the sort to jest, or joke, or make small talk. His smiles were never brought about by true uplifting news; only bits that meant the misfortune of another or a personal benefit to himself.
"Should you really be surprised? Charles countered, sinking into a chair opposite him. "All the same, I don't appreciate you arriving so early. It's still possible you'll encounter someone who'll recognize you."
A smile and a shake of the head. "Oh no, not after all this time. I assume most think I'm your distant nephew, or perhaps even one of your children. You have so many, Charles!"
"I have so many beautiful women willing to lie with me!" he retorted with a smirk, finally beginning to become as relaxed as the Britannian emperor ever did. He too bid for a drink, but one much stouter, and remained silent until it was brought, and the butler gone.
"I really must thank you for your generosity," the traveler began again to break the quiet, seeing no point in lingering longer over unneeded chat. "Do you know how boring it is, having so little to do?"
"What of the Order? Doesn't it keep you entertained?" Charles wanted to know.
He shrug. "Oh, I suppose. But you know how interested I've been in the boy. For something so foul to crop up in OUR bloodline…and I find him adorable."
Charles took a long swallow from his glass. "You find madness and screaming fits charming? I can't stand to even be in the same room as him."
"You're looking at it wrong, Charles. You have power and influence over billions, and I have only a handful of people to play with. You know my desires and diversions are the same as your own; can you blame me for needing a project?"
"You don't need to beg any further," Charles said in a warning tone. "I've already told you you could have Alistair. No one will be surprised that he fails his hearing on the 4th; the child's been lost to madness for years. I'll have him euthanized the moment it's legal. Such a waste of good blood."
A blond eyebrow rose ironically. "Legal? Since when do you need to go about with what's legal?"
Charles side and drained his scotch. "Believe me, if I'd have known he'd grow into something so worthless, I'd have had him drowned at birth. But it's best to make an example out of him. Follow the protocol, to show that no one's an exception, not even a son of the empire. He'll be taken out of public light after the hearing, and in less than a year's time, he'll be out of our hair. Until then, brother, you may do with him as you wish."
And V.V. smiled, eager to finally have a new toy to distract him.
)o(