Work Text:
Once upon a time, in a small, island kingdom, lived a young prince named Arthur, after one of his uncle. He was hoped to be a military tactician, as successful as him, to shoulder his older brother Tristan. He was promised a successful life, just like all second sons were.
Except fate loved to twist and bend what was supposed to happen. Every straight lines were broken to be crooked into a whole other direction. Those promised to great things rarely amounted to them how they thought they would. Hence, it would be no surprise that destiny decided to have Tristan die of an untimely death, impaled by a spear during joust. When he died a few days later, Arthur had climbed on a throne he had never been prepared to take, hailed by his people like he was some kind of saviour, a god on Earth.
From now on, his life was filled with duties, laws and worst of all – image. Arthur had always been a rebel, getting tattooed secretly even if it was frowned upon, disrespecting protocol at any occasions he saw fit, each time it seemed too stupid for him. If he had always secretly dreamed to be king, now, it was eating him away, filling him with dreads and worry. All these projects, laws, castles he had to supervise, wars he would need to fight…
Always a solitary young man, Arthur preferred to spend time in his gardens, riding alone in the woods, sneaking under the cover of starlight to escape and remember his insouciant days, when there was nothing he needed to do but to study and hope for a war for history to remember his name.
But of course, this was right where fate waited for him, in a moonlit clearing as a beautiful naked woman sitting on a tree, whose crooked trunk had formed something akin to a seat. She smiled at him, moving strands of her impossibly long, blonde hair to smile at him. Curious, the young king walked closer, blinking in confusion. What was a woman doing there, all alone, on a cold spring night?
Leaving his horse to walk to her, Arthur unclasped his cloak to lie it on her shoulders, keeping his eyes on her elegant face and eyes. Was she a peasant? Who was she? Arthur had never seen anyone like her and watched her, mesmerized by her cat-like smile.
“Thank you, your Majesty,” she said, smiling wide to him, the red of his cloak clashing against the paleness of her skin, just like a Lady should have had. “What brings a man of such important outside, at night? Shouldn’t you be surrounded by guards?”
Arthur scoffed, “What does such a fair, beautiful woman does alone in the woods? Naked, to booth.”
“Well, isn’t that mysterious.” Running her fingers along his jaw, she looked up to him with a smile. “But Your Majesty, you seem quite troubled. Maybe you could talk to me about all this?”
Somehow, Arthur felt his tongue loosen, his mouth opening without him being able to stop himself, “Being a King… is all so difficult, my Lady. I…” Arthur tried to stop himself, looking at her, quickly realizing he was standing in front of a fairy, or a woodland nymph. “I…” He couldn’t stop speaking somehow, “It’s stressing. How can I provide for my kingdom? How will I help my people? How can I find a wife who can give me sons who will survive?”
So much was on his young shoulders; he was barely eighteen, it was no age to become King so soon.
The nymph placed her hands on his cheeks, pulling him close to kiss his forehead, as she was as tall as he was. “My poor child…”
She held him and Arthur let himself relax in her arms, enjoying the warmth that radiated from her.
“I could help you. If you promise to marry me and make me your Queen, you will the greatest King this kingdom has ever known.” She stared into his eyes, hers were a shining blue, sincere, real, beautiful. “I will give you sons. And you will be remembered for eons and eons.”
The young man looked at her, agreeing as if there was no other ways.
“Yes. I will marry you.”
“At one condition: you mustn’t ask where I go, one week a year.” She held his chin, forcing his eyes to stare into hers.
“What will you do? Is it dangerous?”
She smiled, patting his cheek, “It is nothing you need to know. If you respect this, I will make you the greatest King there ever was.”
It wasn’t important, was it? Arthur kissed her, bringing her to the moss and linen under them, moving the cloak to admire her slender, perfect body.
“Yes.”
No one questioned their union. It was perfect – the queen was tall and beautiful, just like a Queen should have been. She stood straight, regal, holding the King’s arm as she was presented to the court.
She passed for the child of a far away, French Duke, who wasn’t even questioned. No one asked questions, charmed right away by their beautiful queen. She named herself Blanche, and all of the land loved her, without asking question, for such a beautiful, kind woman couldn’t have hidden anything behind her gentle smiles.
.
.
.
On their wedding night, Blanche rode him, as if to squash every of his illusions that she might have been a virgin before this night. Arthur couldn’t have cared less, holding on to her hips. Long strands of hair were falling out of her intricate hairdo, the breasts jiggling lightly with each of her thrusts. Arthur could feel himself falling deeper and deeper for her.
It was his first time and she made it memorable, her mouth never leaving hers.
“I love you,” he said, as if it was natural, as if it was the only thing he could have said.
She smiled then.
His court was amused at their antics, excusing the young king and queen’s fervour, letting him spend most of his time inside his room. An heir ought to be made and with such a beautiful queen, there was no doubt she would give him sons, sons who would live and be strong to become good kings, just like their father.
Blanche was pregnant almost immediately, yet, that did nothing to quench her appetite. The nymph would straddle him still or let him roll over her, purring as his hands rubbed on her stomach.
“I love you, I love you and our child,” he would say, each time, looking up to her shimmering, malicious blue eyes.
.
.
.
Blanche softened once their first son was born, deciding to call him Alfred, as if to honour the origins. She had promised to give him sons and yet… The nymph couldn’t stop holding the tiny baby, finding the way humans reproduced to be incredible. She had made this child and he was hers too.
Yet, she would have to leave them soon.
Before leaving, she kissed her king tenderly, telling him not to worry, that she would be back in one week. Alfred was left with a wet nurse and his loving father and she left with worry and a heavy heart, looking back with each steps she took.
And it never got easier.
Arthur wasn’t stupid enough not to see his wife, who had been fond of him before, much like a woman would have been fond of her lap dog, now returned his feelings. After all these years together, she loved both him and their two sons. She had given him the children he had wished for, a prosperous kingdom and a wonderful, wonderful wife.
.
.
.
The boys were seven when Arthur’s cousin, Ailein – whom he couldn’t refuse, for he was the king of a neighbouring kingdom –, arrived, just a day after Blanche had left the castle. Arthur was furious to see him there unannounced, but that was just like the man for him to come there when he could have had some quality time with his children.
The man was noisy, ate like a peasant with his hands. Sauce dribbled down his chin and into his beard, he scared the boy with his loudness, especially when he was drunk. Ailein had been Tristan’s best friend and if the man thought he’d find the same quality in the little brother these two had teased relentlessly during his youth.
But of course, he had to humour him.
“So, where’s that wife of yours?” he asked him the day after he had arrived, after bugging him for an hour about going to hunt in the lush woods surrounding the castle.
“Gone. Family matters.” Arthur had learned the lie perfectly, by now. He wasn’t sure what Blanche was exactly, but they loved each other and it didn’t matter to him. She loved him and she had given him sons, stood behind him to give him the confidence he needed to run his country.
“Shame. Heard she’s a beauty.”
Arthur glared. “She is.”
If Ailein thought he would be able to make his wife stray from him he was dead wrong. Blanche had never even seemed to think about adultery even once. She was content with him and it certainly wouldn’t be with an unmannered pig that she would start.
Arthur had no choice but to go hunting with the man two days after, wanting to stop his incessant whining about the lack of manly things in his castle, even about the amount of books in his library.
The spring air was cold around them still, even so late in the year, Arthur needing a cloak to keep himself warm enough. The day was cloudy, hardly a day he’d enjoy to hunt, whenever he had to, either to entertain himself or his guests. But today, he dragged himself on his horse, bow and arrow ready in one hand, following Ailein as the dogs barked around them.
“See? Now that’s an activity fit for kings,” the redhead said, smirking at him as Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Hunting is useful. It gives us food.” He didn’t particularly enjoy the act of killing. As a child, he had seen a deer, with arrows stuck to its flanks, breathing hard, panicking as it tried to flee still, until his father came to break its neck. The image of the animal’s wide, helpless eyes had haunted him for months.
Something akin to dread filled him as they trotted through the woods, Arthur keeping an eye between the trees. He wondered where Blanche was, wishing she had been around to entertain Ailein and convince him from not hunting, as he had all time at home to do so. But deer were fatter here, as boars were, he said.
“Look! A doe.”
Turning around, Arthur watched as a pale white doe walked in front of them. She hadn’t noticed them yet, walking around the forest lightly, threading carefully. Killing that? Was Ailein crazy? It was almost the season… surely, this young female would get a fawn soon, or she would be having one soon. Didn’t Ailein want a stag, whom he could keep the antlers as a trophy, one that would have more meat on it?
Arthur didn’t even have time to turn to his cousin before the man shot accurately, the arrow piercing through the doe’s delicate body, blood pouring on its white fur.
Yet, it wasn’t a doe that fell on the ground but a beautiful, fair, blonde woman. Blinking to make sure he was seeing what he was, Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as he stumbled down his horse, rushing to what he hoped was a sick joke, a terrible dream.
But there was Blanche, an arrow piercing her chest, looking at him with wide, scared eyes. Arthur clung to her, pressing his fingers around the wound, knowing how futile it was, but unable to stop.
“I’ll heal you,” he said. “I’ll make you all better… and I… I’ll find… I’ll find something.”
His white doe’s soft hand laid on his cheek, tainting his cheek with her own blood, breath taken out of her.
“I… I love… you…”
She died in his arms as he rocked her, wrapping her inside his cloak as her teeth chattered. Blanche died, bringing with her everything she had promised for him. Wind picked up through the leaves, the clouds growing dark. Arthur could swear he was seeing something through the barks of the tree, the shining eyes of a wolf watching him, all black like ink.
“You promised,” it said. “And you failed.”
And Arthur knew he was guilty, judged, jailed
And he deserved it all.