Prince's Purpose
Salios : HP/Beowulf (Verse? WTHK: who the Hel knows!…) x-over. Harry taken in by the Viking (Hrothgar).
0o0o0
Hrothgar's first born was a boy with one gold eye and one green: a wizard-born lad, the king's bastard gotten by a witch's bed– but for all that the prince of the people, beloved by them. He was named Harry, but that was not all known of him. He would never take a wife; never gain either the warrior's crown or the king's throne from his father's word upon this day. The day Hrothgar had vowed this to Wealhtheow as he took her for his wife.
Between father and son, Wealhtheow had met the son first, who had acted as her escort from her father's court to Hrothgar's own. She had been startled that the son was as old as she, black haired with his wild miss-matched eyes. Wealhtheow had thought, watching him arrive in a caravan, that he would be her husband and so she had not protested her father's choice when she had had the chance. Now it was but too late.
"Lady, are you well?" Wealhtheow turned to look to the man addressing her: if there was any man Harry trusted more then Hrothgar – it was his "brother", Unferth. If they were brothers there was no resemblance, for Harry was fine looking while Unferth made her uneasy, and further he had an ill history not meant for fine born men and women – his brother's had lain with knowledge with their mother, and he has slain the both of them.
"You're…brother – what is his history?" Unferth bows his head with a smile, and Wealhtheow does not like the sight of it.
"We are not brothers by linage, Lady – as you may guess with your own eyes - but by our masteries of magic – he was born to it, and I? I was honored when he taught to me his gifts." Unferth draws a sword from his side, showing the naked blade to her. It is silver with a ruby upon its hilt.
"This is his, by name Gryffindor - and his witch mother gave it up to Hrothgar – a king's gift for her son to be taken in by him. How he must have slighted and scorned her – why she bothered to leave Harry there I do not know – but I am glad for knowing him. Hrothgar gave this silver sorceress sword to him when he was old enough to master spells and the sword as one – but he gave it up to me as a sign of kinship, for I would not spill blood with it against those he keeps as his people, worthy or not – and for me I gave him my own father's swordHrunting so he might never fall in battle against mortal or immortal." Unferth whatever else he might be is proud to claim such a close tie of kinship with Harry.
"You would have him for your lord master always, your brother?" Wealhtheow does not think it wise, this love between not-brothers, and fears for Harry – for Unferth by breed true to his sinful blood.
"I would have him for my own, Lady." Unferth's smile is full of a knowing of her own desires, with lust not for her that is gleaming there in his eyes. She looks away quickly, her cheeks burning – she is no innocent fool, to not know what warriors or sorcerers may do together without women: she can not help wondering if Harry knows his 'brother' desires him so.
0o0o0
"Father..." Harry bows down on one knee before Hrothgar's crown and throne. What he sees there worthy of his love and loyalty, Wealhtheow hopes she may learn. Bravely she steps forward and upturns her face to her husband and king.
"My son has brought me my bride to be!" Hrothgar's words ring through his hall. His people cheer, for she will be queen. Hrothgar has never had a queen one before her, and will not have one after her.
Unferth gestures he to the throne beside Hrothgar's own, he smiles – because he is pleased for he knows who she would rather have side at her side as king, and before Wealhtheow sits in that throne and seals her fate with a deed and crown, she looks with longing at Harry, who still kneels there alone.
He had not cheered, and she hopes.
Unferth steals it all away, for while the people celebrate, his hand on Harry's shoulder rises him up from the floor. His back is the last thing she sees, and a glimpse of a golden eye.
0o0o0
"Harry! You startled me, what are you doing out here all alone?" Wealhtheow asks, for in the middle of the winter the people's prince is not known to sit in the snow at night alone. He is always in the company of somebody, she has seen – his father's warriors or priests or the king's advisors. Yet she sees her own husband do nothing, and thinks sometimes that Harry really rules in his father's shadow.
"Lady Wealhtheow, I would ask you likewise. You are with child." His head had turned skyward, as if listening to the wind whisper to him. His eyes are red, and his cheeks raw. He is cold looking, and strange. Then she looks again, and he is only lonely and lovely.
"I…I didn't know – how?" She had told no one, and had not known for sure until he told her just now. He smiles at her startled surprise, and he is pleased for her.
"My magic, Lady." He wiggles his fingers, mockingly. It is a silly gesture, and she laughs away any suspicion or unease he leaves with his strangeness.
"What will it be, my baby?" His duel eyes stare her down, and she swallows. She had not been serious, but he is. She waits, and hopes the news will not be badly told. Having asked for his magic, she could not take it back – it was too late.
"A daughter…." Harry stands abruptly, blinking. The wind blows, as if angrily, howling. Harry is pale and cold looking, but takes off his outer robe and wraps her in it, leading her into the keep for her health and safety.
"I am pleased to give you a sister." Wealhtheow says softly, cheeks flushed, for it is perhaps the only pleasure she can give to him. Her sons will usurp his place, and she knows he would rule here if she were not queen. She does not meet his eyes, but his warm fingers lightly touch her chin, lifting her face to his, making her meet his green eye and gold eye. It is his only visible strangeness, but it is not unpleasant to look upon.
"My thanks…Lady, my people – my family – I am most honored to have you be among me and mine." Harry nods, as if he's said what he meant as best he could. Wealhtheow only shakes her head, baffled but pleased by his praise. It is only then that she notices that his robe should have been cold to touch, but it is as warm as any fireplace. His fingers too, had been so warmed, despite snow and cold he does not seem ever to feel or mind.
He is never ill.
0o0o0
"What will you name her?" Harry asks her, when her belly is getting bigger then any other part of her body.
"Freawaru." At this, Harry smiles in a way she has never seen before: it is beautiful – only then does she realize she has never at all seen him smile. The name means peace-weaver.
"Does this please you, her brother?" Wealhtheow asks, boldly taking Harry's warm hands in her chill ones and putting his hand to her belly. Her daughter has never kicked for any but her mother's attention – no matter when Hrothgar may touch her: but for Harry she wiggles gently.
"Behave." Harry fondly chides his unborn sister. She is quiet and still then, as if falling back to sleep. Harry is the first whom holds his sister, Freawaru.
He is the last as well, for with him for her escort Freawaru as her mother did before her goes to marry: to another king, Ingeld, son of Froda. She is to be raised in his domain, and Wealhtheow weeps until Harry returns.
He gives to Wealhtheow the gift of a Golden Dragon Horn. He does not tell her what it means.
0o0o0
Wealhtheow has hoped and dreaded to give Hrothgar her sons. Where Harry does not hold it against her, Unferth does. He sees her watching Harry upon the roof, making repairs to the roof so fearlessly it as if he is one knows the secrets of flight. Perhaps, perhaps, he does.
"I see how you admire him from afar, Queen Wealhtheow." She is loathed to be caught staring, but feels no shame in it. She had lost her longing for Harry with his strange gift of the Golden Dragon Horn; she only now knows she must ask him its meaning. When she feels braver, and does not fear he would fall from his place up high if she spoke.
"What does it matter to you?" Her tone is sharp, for she is not the coward she once was – she is queen. Unferth does not look down to preserve her dignity or in any show of loyal honor. He sneers in warning.
"You reach too far; no son born of your body will usurp him from his high place." He looks upward to where Harry moves so fearlessly, in him is his clear admiration. Wealhtheow wonders how it is no one else sees his desires so clearly as she. It can not be merely because they both had once wanted him.
"A son born of his father will." Wealhtheow is not prepared for Unferth to laugh at her. It rings up to fill the air, and Harry looks down, as if he knows of whom they are speaking. He does not look pleased, and his look is for Unferth alone.
"It is his mother you ought to fear. Why else do you think Hrothgar would send your daughter so far away so soon in marriage?" It had troubled Wealhtheow, but she did not think it so strange. It had made them a strong alliance, her daughter's marriage, and Wealhtheow had heard Harry tell Freawaru to be proud of her domain where she would be queen.
"You told me his mother was a witch!" This Wealhtheow hisses, as if for fear Harry might hear. He can not; he should be too distant from them to hear anything but laughter and a shout. Yet her eyes meet his mismatched ones.
"Her breed has magic in its blood, but human? Oh, my queen – ask your husband with what he laid in lust with before binding you to his bed." Wealhtheow reaches down to touch her waist, where her daughter had come from. Unferth sees the gesture, and perhaps with magic sees more: sees her sons. His face is a twisted thing, full of loss and hate.
"You would yet lay in lust with him." Of that, Wealhtheow is sure. He loves Harry, who still wears Unferth's sword in his hilt: for he has ruby hilted Gryffindor.
"He does not want me, he has magic enough for the both of us – he wants a warrior. It is for a warrior he waits, and longs for, and when that warrior comes – we will all both be left alone." Unferth sneers, as if to tell her that she is surely not that. He is cruel, but right in such a judgment. Wealhtheow is not brave, and when her twin sons are born they are named that same day by Hrothgar as Hreoric and Hroomund.
To celebrate the birth of twin sons, Hrothgar opens Heorot hall.
By next morning they are slain, the crib's bed sheets no longer red with dry blood - but no bodies or bones are left behind to find, to bury, Harry is pale and shaking by the time they find him. He had been hiding, and on one had ever known him to do so before or since.
"What happened?" Hrothgar demands roughly of him. He lays hard hands on his son, pulling him forcefully up from where he was found on the floor behind the door, dazed– Harry only then turns his face to his father then.
"Be-spelled!" Unferth hisses at Hrothgar, who lets Harry go and steps away as if frightened of his own blood. If not for Unferth, Harry would have fallen back to the floor. He seems not to be seeing his friend or father, not her – not any of them – or anyone at all: his sight is still distant, far away and fearsome.
"You did fail to tell me I was not born alone." Harry looks sickened, and pulls away from them, one and all. This –he had been told (and later tells her while Wealhtheow weeps over empty graves) – is his father's price to pay. He stands, his hand going to the blade about his waist. He hesitates only at his father's next words.
"Where will you go?" Hrothgar father asks, with no sound of kindness in him. He speaks to Harry as if he is someone already owned – a slave, a horse, a dog. And Wealhtheow had never seen it before. Only now Harry does not obey, hesitating, his hand hovering to take the blade at his side.
"To kill Grendel." Harry has only ever growled then, like a man no better born then a beast. It is only later that Wealhtheow understands: his own twin brother he would kill in favor of her own twin sons.
"I have lost my sons, my heirs –I've lost enough in one day. Let Grendel be today, we will mourn - and I will send our army to slay him before the dawn." Hrothgar opens Heorot hall to drink himself numb.
Grendel comes again during that night, and Heorot hall is closed then.
Wealhtheow splits the kind's bed between her body and his, and will not make love with her king again – for all that in marriage she is bound to throne, crown, and bed alike.
Harry is not allowed out of the keep, or the king's sight. He asks one day of Unferth, for the sword Gryffindor – and it is given to him. Between Hrothgar and Unferth, Harry is never left alone day or night. Still, he waits, when Wealhtheow steals glances of him, at window side looking out to the sea.
Warriors come, and are slain by Grendel, and every time Harry seems to die little by little, withering away while waiting for his warrior. She goes to him, because it hurts her so to see him in pain. She speaks, though he is silent.
"You are not a monster, whatever your race." She does not think he will respond, so still he is he barely breathes. When he does, she is startled.
"She caught my soul after I died, and swallowed it, and I was born again, here." He weeps, and Wealhtheow knows not what to do. Never has she felt so helpless, and wonder if ever there was a queen who feels just as she does now.
"This warrior you wait for, is he worthy? Do you even know his name, or are you as ignorant as I when you came to make me Hrothgar's queen?" She says it because she must, this reminds she of her own history with Harry, this waiting, this loneliness, and the lack – of love, of life. Harry is not himself, and she fears he never will be again.
"You went willingly, as I willingly wait." Harry presses his lips together, as if he had not meant to say this, and will now say nothing more.
"Do you wait to die?" He does not answer, not because it is true – or not. It is because, she fears, he does not know.
0o0o0
Wealhtheow sets eyes upon him first and finally, the hero Beowulf, the warrior and his men, and know at once that this one was whom Harry had been waiting for. She tries to mock him, tempt him to go away empty handed without claiming anything like victory. Hrothgar knows this man, and would see them damned. Heorot hall is opened, the doors closed behind them, but the sounds of men living for every lust out of life, as only warriors know how – it draws out the wizard's brother.
What they had wanted, cruel as they are – Harry is there, watching and though he does not weep, he does nothing to help.
Grendel's arm is torn off, and the monster - just as her own sons had - dies during the night. Wealhtheow knows, for it is the night that she meets Grendel's mother face to face.
"You keep my son from me…." Wealhtheow opens her eyes to see her, above her bed. She could scream and have help, but this is a chance she can not let slip though her fingers.
"He is not yours, of your blood yes – but not born of your soul. If he came to you, he would kill you – and never forgive himself, it is why his father Hrothgar keeps him in sight – why we will not let him stain his silver sword with your blood. Why warriors who come to kill Grendel – his own brother - call him coward." She hisses, does the mother of monsters and wizards alike. Will that she does, in the face of a women's fury – a women that is queen and mother both. She has lost sons of her own, just as Grendel's mother. They are equals, perhaps not in mortality, but in this they understand each other.
"He awaits a warrior?" She stirs uneasily, does the wizard prince's mother eyes flicking to where Harry's chambers are – and the window he keeps watch by. How does he not know that his own mother is near?
"Why?" Wealhtheow's question is like a sob, for she has seen Harry dying these past days and weeks, slowly but surely. She knows the signs of a withering heart, her own having suffered such blows. She had been young, and had healed, but Harry was older now, it would not be so easy for the likes of him.
"Harry was born to rule, with power and magic, it is why I gave him up early into Hrothgar's court and keeping. It is not a wizard's way to rule alone. Think, lady queen – of the lore of your mother's – sword fights sorcery, or sorcery fights sword, they are an equal force, the strength and weakness; he awaits a warrior to match him. That warrior must be great indeed, Beowulf who has slain one of my sons – and will steal away the other from us both." The mother of Grendel, she shudders, and for all her golden beauty and she is so very sad at this loss.
"No!" Wealhtheow begs, pleads, for what from a mother of monsters she knows not. There want is in unity.
"There is a way…" She is not being kind, but grim and golden. She will not say until Wealhtheow makes a sign of her agreement. Slowly, she nods – she would hear the wizard's mother.
"I will bed Beowulf, and Hrothgar will die. I had favored him with my two sons and this land for his keeping. Now I take the favor back. You will take Beowulf to your bed, and keep him as your king. In this way, Harry will remain by your side and the side of your king. There is no warrior greater then Beowulf - who has slain my wizard-born son's twin, this Harry knows and would not await or follow or fight for any but him." She smiles, does Harry's mother, at her own cunning.
"What will you gain?" Wealhtheow asks, for she must – there must be something, for never would it be as simple as that.
"A son by Beowulf would be great indeed, and perhaps a worthy warrior-brother of Harry – for no son of yours could be." Wealhtheow bows her head, but her silence speaks for her. They are in agreement in this – this is a deal of her own making with a demon, and she hopes never to regret it being made.
When she looks again about the room, it is empty.
0o0o0
It goes just as Grendel's mother had claimed, for Beowulf returns empty handed of the sword Hrunting and the Golden Dragon Horn. What Grendel's mother did not say is that such a son of Beowulf would desire his sire's life to prove worthy of such a brother as Harry to stand at his side.
Harry knows, being his mother's son, and when Beowulf is without the treasure a demon would lay claim, upon Beowulf's return – he knows. For first time Wealhtheow sees the prince of the people, the wizard born, raise up his silver sword to Beowulf's throat.
"You have spilt the blood of my brother, defiled my mother, and raised yourself up upon my father's thrown, claiming his wife and crown." Beowulf shakes his head, wide eyed – his words are as surprised as any who hear Harry's own.
"I do not want any of it!" It is his claim, Beowulf's friend Wiglafstands at his side – as Unferth stands by Harry's own.
"He speaks truth, Harry. Did you not hear and see it for yourself?" Unferth asks of him, gently. Harry's duel eyes flick then to Wealhtheow's own.
"So be it!" Harry spits, and flings himself the way his father Hrothgar had gone. He does not fall, but flies, his shape shifting into one that is winged and golden as his mother's hide.
"Beowulf!" Wealhtheow had but watched Harry fall become more then a mere human-like shape, and is not aware until Wiglaf cries out that another has followed him in falling.
Impossibly bold, Beowulf had leaped after and climbed up a dragon-back. Never do either return to claim the crown and throne that is Wealhtheow's to give by marriage right. Heeding the words of the mother of a monster, and the mother of her dearest friend, she makes husbands of a warrior and a sorcerer – claiming Unferth and Wiglaf as kings.
Together they are strong – of Harry and Beowulf, she hears news of but once more – by Freawaru, her daughter, who tells of what might have been.
A warrior-lord and a wizard, who come to her aid, then leave by dragon-wings. Of two others who kept them company – a boy and his lady mother who does not speak to any who are not nobility.
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(Its 1AM, I'm off to bed, good night, good day, sweet dreams and day-dreams and readings and writings. Your reviews are all of these things to me.)