The Kingdom

Yes, this story has gayness, slash, yaoi, whatever you want to call it. The story is an outlander visits a royal court and falls in love with the prince. This is from the princes point of view, though

The Kingdom

Tree branches clothed in gold swayed in the light breeze. The afternoon was a quiet one, at least for in a castle. The usual shouting of cooks at servants and maids alike filtered from an open window, while from another came sweet music. Was it Idrine playing the violin, or maybe Falmere and his reed flute? Both were too busy with themselves to bother with him. The apple orchard was quiet and lonely, just the way he liked it.

Lessons started soon, but he was most likely going to stay here. Tranquility was a rare thing in a prince's life, and taking advantage of it and escaping to think was important. Maybe he should draw something, a memory of autumn before winter stripped the trees of leaves and cold was a common enemy. 

Sighing, he leant against the tree, knots digging into his back. No-one ever came here, at least not in this season, and even then not intentionally. This orchard held memories though, like when, as a child, he'd danced about the trees as the servants had picked the ripe apples.

"Look, look Juni, I'm doing a cartwheel!" The young boy catapulted across the grass, narrowly missing the tree roots. His nursemaid sat a distance away, smiling. The maids were giggling at the child's energy and antics. 

"You'll hurt yourself." The boy shook his head defiantly. 

"I'm invincible!" He proceeded to stride towards the nearest tree, avoiding strewn apples and other things. His nursemaid saw what was going to happen and stood up, shouting a warning. He stopped and looked up. A shaken apple was falling full-speed towards his head. He ducked, knowing the apple would hit him anyway. The apple struck his forehead, inevitably leaving a bruise and bouncing away. The boy crumpled to the ground, clutching his forehead. "Owie..." 

He unintentionally began to bawl from the pain and Juni rushed over to him. She lay a cool hand to his brow and cradled the young child, as if her mere touch would ease the pain. She was right, as the boy hiccuped and quietened considerably.

"I'm sorry, master!" yelled a maid, sorrowful face appearing between the leaves, eyes offering extra apologies. His nursemaid waved the girl away, indicating for her to get back to work. 

"Sh, sh, sh," Juni whispered into the youngling's hair, blowing strands about.

Even if he was young then, he shouldn't have cried. Princes were supposed to be strong like their fathers. To be strong was to be a king, fair words in this kingdom. But he wasn't a king, surely not, for he didn't win any contests with the other palace children in his childhood, nor now. None dared jeer at him, but their thoughts were clear. It wasn't his fault, he was merely talented in other things. He did try to impress his father, but it didn't work. There were others who could easily best him in strength, bulky men who could squish him with one finger.

But they couldn't, for fear of expulsion or, even worse, death.

"Wulfric!"

"Oh, go away," he whispered, recognizing Idrine's voice.

"Wulfric, there's a royal meeting! Quickly!" He groaned and stood up, brushing leaves off of him. Turning to the tree, he bowed, touching his brow. An old ritual, he thought to himself. Idrine spun him around, pulling at his hand frantically. She gave him a quick glance-over. "You'll do. Oh, there's a leaf in your hair." She plucked the leaf out and threw it away, then smoothed his unruly black hair.

"What is it?" he asked as she pulled him into the castle and down the long corridor. 

"I don't know, but someone important is here, and your father wants you present." Strange, nobles weren't that important, so maybe a foreigner of some sort. She rushed them down the hallways and around corners until they reached the door to the throne room. 

He calmly walked inside. The entrance he had used was behind the thrones, offering a quiet entry. Wulfric sidled around to his small throne to the left of his father and sat down. His mother was seated on the opposite side, and the three thrones sat on steps above the court. He nodded at his parents, then looked forward and down. 

A boy of his age, maybe 18, knelt at the base of the steps, face shrouded. Wulfric looked in astonishment at the straight golden locks tumbling to the floor. They glinted brightly in the sunlight, shining gold, then wheat-coloured, then other shades of blonde. Who was this stranger?

"Stand, foreigner, and pledge your case." The outlander stood straight, eyes grazing over the prince. The boy nearly gasped. The stranger's eyes were of a deep aquamarine, different from the mud brown eyes of commoners but different also from lush green eyes that ran in the royal family. They held a deep knowledge of something ancient, an otherness.

"King Eomund, Queen Gwendolyn, I wish to pledge my allegiance to you."

"And how would you prove useful?" The outlander grinned.

"As a teacher for your young prince. I am a professional swordsman and marksman."

"But we have a teacher," Eomund said, leaning forward. "Why would I employ you?"

"It would appear at the moment that he is, ah, not progressing as fast as he should."

"Hm, insightful. But first, a test." The king snapped his fingers, bringing forth his steward, Kadain. "Please, a friendly brawl of sorts. Wooden swords, until the other surrenders." Kadain nodded, making his way down the stairs. A servant brought forth the swords, then signaled the fight to begin.

The prince sighed inaudibly as the outlander gracefully swished around the now clumsy looking steward. His hair did not hinder him as expected, but added to his offense, distracting his opponent. Kadain was Wulfric's current weapons teacher, but was offensive and strict. The faint thacking of swords filled the room, until the stranger casually flicked the steward's sword high in the air and pressed the sharp point into his throat. He caught the other sword with his free hand, dangling it by his side.

"I surrender." The gathered crowd gasped at the strong man's response. How had he been beaten? The king clapped loudly into the silence.

"Well done, outlander. You may join this kingdom." The stranger blew a strand of hair out of his face, then glanced at the ebony-haired prince. "But may I ask, what is your name?"

"Droman, my lord." Eomund nodded.

"Very well, Droman. My son will show you to your quarters." Wulfric nodded, more white-faced then ever before. "Now peasants, back to your jobs!" 

The crowd bustled out the doors, a hub of confusion and conversation. When the last few had left, the king motioned forward. The prince gulped before standing up. He walked down to stand beside Droman, noticing that the boy was slightly taller then him. "This way." They trudged out silently, out into the maze that was the castle.

"I didn't hear your name in there." The outlander had a slightly honeyed accent, making his words lighthearted. 

"It's Wulfric." They turned around a corner, narrowly missing a stray maid. She blushed and hurried away. The prince stole a side glance at Droman's hair, which now hung below his waist.

"I won't bite, you can ask questions." The boy thought for a moment before asking,

"Where are you from?"

"Across the mountains, in Tamriel." That was a long way to travel, and he said so. "Well, I had to." When the prince realized that he wasn't going to elaborate, he asked another question.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"An old hermit I stumbled upon taught me partially. He told me that to learn more, I had to find the 'path within myself'."

"Did you?" the boy asked curiously.

"Yes, but it wasn't that simple." They were nearly there, so he dropped the questions.

"These are your quarters," he said, pointing, "I hope that they are satisfactory." Wulfric made to run away before Droman called out,

"Wulfric, tomorrow at 3 o 'clock, past the castle gates. Meet me there. Your lessons shall start then." The prince continued walking but nodded. Droman sighed. Did the boy have a open mind?

"You're not concentrating," said Falmere as the boy blew the wrong note again. 

"Sorry. I am trying." The teacher sat beside him. It was still early in the day, only 10, and his flute lessons weren't going so well.

"What is your problem, prince?" The teen blushed and looked at his feet. Obviously his thoughts were as clear as glass.

"It's Droman." Falmere raised an eyebrow at the boy's response.

"The outlander?" The prince nodded before looking away into the apple orchard. He wished that he was there instead of here, answering questions.

"There's something different about him. But... I can't work out why." The man patted him on the back.

"Alas, I am but a lonely flute player; I know nothing. Let us continue with your lesson." For the rest of the lesson, Wulfric tried to concentrate, but it just wasn't working.

Wulfric leaned against his apple tree, lonely as ever. It was around half past 2, judging by the sun; he had to meet Droman soon enough. Using his lessons to think, he now knew why he felt strange.

Never had the prince looked for beauty in another being, let alone in one of the same gender. Yet here it was, lain before him. But then, there had never been a Droman in the court before.

He'd always thought that his parents would eventually set him up with a princess from another kingdom. Surely by now they would have found someone?

But now, he'd already given his heart away and he would never be able to take it back. And what if Droman didn't feel the same and was disgusted by the prince's feelings?

Better just to say nothing of it, maybe even just let go of it. Yes, that was what he would do.

Wulfric knew that nothing could happen anyway, and Droman would probably leave soon. 

He looked up into the apple tree, studying the branches and leaves in silence. Complication was a normal thing for him, but this was far more than just complication. 

This was... love.

"And where will you be going today, young prince?" The guard was suspicious of the young teen; his lessons should have started by now. 

"Sword-fighting, Yohan," the boy answered, making to push past the stubborn guard.

"Sorry, prince," Yohan said, holding his stance in front of the wooden gates. "You can't go out there." Wulfric fumed in anger at the old guard; what right did he have to talk to one of the royal family like that?

"Look, it's true! Droman told me to-" He was cut off as a soft hand was laid on his shoulder.

"The prince is right." Yohan stepped aside, his head bowed in shame.

"Sorry, master. You may pass." The gates were opened, loud creaking sounds being made. 

Droman and Wulfric made their way onto the stone bridge that covered the Vast River. Halfway along the bridge, when the silence was too much to bear, the prince asked,

"Where are we going? My lessons are normally held within the castle."

"There's a place outside the city's walls, by the farmlands." Wulfric was astonished. The farmlands? "It offers seclusion and space, free of spies." He nodded then looked behind him. A towering amount of equipment hid the small servant that was trailing behind them.

The pile was wobbling precariously, and soon the boy would be crushed underneath swords and other items. The prince quickly grabbed half of the pile.

"No, master, it's fine."

"It doesn't bother me. What is your name?" While the prince and the servant exchanged conversation, Droman watched in admiration. To be distant from your subjects led only to rebellion, and this boy already seemed to be learning this.

The crowd split to allow the three of them way and they made quick haste to the second set of gates; these led to the farmlands, situated outside the city's walls in the countryside.

The guards on duty gave them no trouble, simply bowing and raising the portcullis. 

"I will take these. Return to the castle." The young servant nodded and left quickly, looking behind and waving at Wulfric. The prince waved back before he and his teacher continued down the dirt road. Birds sang and crickets chirped merrily around the two. 

The outlander's hair was almost white in the sunlight, and Wulfric couldn't help staring at it. Droman turned to the prince and smiled. "This way."

They turned down a hidden path between two crops of wheat, covered in a few brambles. 

"Are you sure about this?" The prince was still dressed in his royal clothes, especially useless in the overgrown path. Droman didn't answer and they simply walked down the small path. 

Seeing the plants thin and sunlight appear, his teacher rushed forward. 

Author's Note

Please comment/review and tell me what you think! If you think there could be better parts, please tell me. And don't flame me, either. Flames shall be put in a jar and pulled off the shelf to be told as party jokes late at night. :) Also, this is a work in progress. Also, beware young yaoi-lovers, this story will soon be rated mature.

Reviews

[Winter of '97]

Very good!! I love your writing style! Keep going! This ones a winner! (:

[Jonathan Biswell]

i like it so far please contines :)