HERO - An Original Fantasy Tale. "Ch 1 - The Boy and the Princess"

[drunkenpandaren]

For the longest time I've been wanting to get Prinny's backstory developed and then when I wrote it all down, I discovered I had a genuine tale on my hands.

So I'm submitting it as I go along. Raw and unedited, this is the tale of knights, sword, sorcery, love, hope and most importantly, strength.

This story I swear to you is true. It is a tale of love, of death, of war and peace. And the truth behind every person that everyone can become one of these.

Perhaps I should start from the beginning. It all began in a kingdom, much like you find in storybooks. A vast sprawling city and in the middle a shining castle that gives a radiant glow. The streets were uncommonly clean but that was in due to the progress that was so readily found in the kingdom.

In the sky, great ships flew. Made of cloth, burlap and sporting grand sails, these ships flew across the winds, bustling from location to location. Birds flew in between these massive dirigibles, hoping to avoid striking them with each turn.

In the middle of the castle, a vast tower was built with a glinting golden bell. This bell chimed the hour upon hour, and was the grandest structure in the entire city. And on this day, on the seventh ring of the hour, a young boy was working hard at cleaning the stables.

He had no name, none that he remembered. The stable-master called him whelp or boy, because he was from a poor family on the outskirts. They had sold him into the service of the king, and could be found shovelling manure day to day. His mornings were spent cleaning up after the stallions. He never argued about his duties, but he was always tired by the days end cleaning fodder after fodder.

Sometimes the boy would be given the task of cleaning a shining white mare, the horse of the princess of the kingdom. She was a beautiful mare with a white coat and a spotted pattern on the back of its rump. He spent many an hour caring for the mare in order to make her perfect; brushing its mane and cleaning the tail and coat. He would file the hooves and make certain that she was well fed.

And then like clockwork at precisely two, she would come.

A princess of the kingdom, she was the youngest of three children: her two older brothers and herself, the baby of the three. Every day she would come round for her mare, touched the horse on the nose and fed her a carrot. Then she would look at the boy and say “Is my saddle ready?”

The boy would nod, but could not speak for it was polite and traditional that the servants of the kingdom would not say a word. He offered his rough hand after making certain it was clean, and helped the princess up onto her steed.

Being a stable-boy, he knew that his duty was to guide the horse out, and he did so, keeping his head low so that he would not make eye-contact with the princess.

And every day, the princess would say “Boy, please look up to me for once. At least then you will be able to see before stepping into a pile of dung.”

The boy looked forward to this, and did look up. On this day however, instead of being able to see straight into the sky, he accidentally caught the girl’s eyes.

They were crystal blue, a sign of royalty while his was a deep red, a sign of mixed blood. No one else in the kingdom had eyes like his and he ducked his head in shame, making a sign of apology with his hands.

The princess giggled a little, the sound like music. And then said, “Boy it is impolite to break eye-contact with the royal house.”

He looked up in surprise and she smiled at him. “That’s much better,” said the princess. “You may gaze upon me when I allow you to.”

The boy swallowed and nodded, remaining silent. The princess smiled back, and she added, “Come. Bring my mare to the riding range if you will.”

The boy did what he was told, and watched her as she rode around. Her dark black hair streamed behind her, and she looked magnificent, tall and proud in the saddle. The boy however, could not get the sight of her blue eyes out of his head, and when she rode back, he ducked his head reflexively.

“Boy, please look up,” commanded the princess and he did obediently. She offered him a little smile and held out her hand. He took it, and she slid off the mare into his arms.

The boy stifled a gasp of surprise and she giggled a little before pulling away. “Thank you for caring for my mare boy,” she said.

The boy nodded, and took up the reigns to guide the mare back to the stables. But then the princess called out, “Boy? Please tell me; what is your name? We have seen each other many a day, but I have never learned it.”

The boy froze and then ducked his head, ashamed. “I have none,” he said softly, his voice unsteady and disused.

The princess looked confused as she walked up and leaned down to look at him. “No name? Surely you have a name boy, or shall I call you that?”

“It is what the stable-master has called me for twelve summers,” swallowed the boy. He was nervous, as speaking to the royals and nobles was forbidden. But she had commanded it, so he continued. “My family were poor, on the outskirts of the kingdom city. And I have no name, for the petition for one such as myself never passed.”

Names were important in the kingdom. They told a lot about a person, and housed great power and status. Some even got two, a name and a title. The princess was known just as that: Princess. She had no name other than that, as much as the boy knew.

“That’s no good,” said the princess, circling around the stable-boy. “I will call you Yeshun then.”

The boy looked up in alarm. “But that is a name conferring the highest of the priests! I cannot take that!”

“You can and will,” said the Princess and the newly dubbed Yeshun swallowed.

“Yes my princess.”

Two days passed and the boy once again met the princess. She looked determined however and proclaimed, “Yeshun will not suit you. You will be known as Mark.”

“Yes my princess,” said the newly dubbed Mark and he took her on her daily ride.

But a scant day later, she had arrived with a new name. Gilgamesh, a title conferred to the highest swordsman in the world. Again his name changed and the boy continued his duties.

But that too was not suitable for the princess. Every day for a month, she came up with a new name for him, but discarded it even minutes later.

Finally, on the last day of the month, she was exasperated. “Your name will be boy for now,” she finally relented. “Because none of them fit you at all.”

“Yes my princess,” said the boy, thankful the ordeal was over. But it was the most he had spoken to the princess and he was glad for it.

That evening, the stable-master had been drinking hard from the day’s work, and he was roaring to his subordinates who were roaring back. They were loud and rude men when not on duty, and many of them used to be knights before they retired from duty due to injury.

The boy was working on a small wood-carving when a tall man with dark brown hair dropped in next to him. “Wot’cha got there boy?” he grinned, toustling the boy’s hair before snagging up the half-made item. “A flute?”

“Yes,” said the boy. “it is a present for princess.”

The men who overheard broke into uproarious laughter and the man even grinned. “A present for the princess?” he echoed. “Methinks the little master has gotten a bit of a crush on the girl!”

“Fairest in the land!” roared one. “A deadly beauty to be sure!” laughed another.

The boy flushed hotly. “It isn’t like that!” he protested. “Princess has given me the chance to speak with her!”

The silence was deafening. And then a man dropped his tankard.

“Boy,” said his friend. “Is this true? Have you been speaking with the princess?”

The boy nodded. “She commanded it, so I had to answer.”

“Blimey,” said another, retrieving the fallen mug. “You have no idea what kind of mess you’re in boy.”

“That’s right,” said another. “Anyone who the princess speaks to, is in a daft amount of danger.”

“Danger from what? Be dazzled to death by her stunning beauty?” demanded the boy.

“You don’t know do you?” said a third.

“Know what?!” said the boy angrily. But before anyone could reply, a pounding at the servant’s door startled the men before an armoured knight strode in.

“We are looking, for a boy,” said the knight. “Send him over men.”

The brown-haired man squeezed the boy’s shoulder and the boy stood. “I am he sir,” said the boy. “There is no one else who is under the age of thirteen summers.”

The knight, and thus was his title, looked at him before stating “Come with us.”

The boy looked at his friends. One of them raised the tankard in salute.

The boy knew then, that it would be a long time before he saw his friends again.