Bad Hair Day
by Fancy Figures
Heero sat high upon a jet black steed, champing at its bit, impatient
with the delay as they waited at the entrance to the castle. He was
a tall, dark and extremely handsome young man (of course), dressed in
the armour of a warrior, but with the rich and colourful hat, badges
and cloak of a mission less military. And the unmistakeable bearing
of a noble Prince.
When he had gathered his aides around him, and smoothed some of the
travel stains from his cloak, he rode into the castle forecourt.
Ladies in waiting leaned out of bedchamber windows, and swooned.
Young manservants peered around the door of the dining hall, through
the rising portcullis, and also swooned.
Grooms chucked bales of hay around, shovelled horseshit, and
scratched at any itches they felt in their peasant groins. They knew
they'd never get a look in on anything so hot.
He was the most attractive thing any of them had seen for months.
*
The king and queen also found him attractive. The queen, because she
hadn't felt a man's touch for some years now, and Heero seemed to
ooze touchability. The king, because he had a major problem, and
here was another candidate to take it off his hands.
The pleasantries were over. The best wishes from the respective
dynasties had been exchanged. The food had been eaten, the good wine
drunk. The young cellar slave (a tall, spotty, drunken boy) had been
peeled away from their esteemed and gorgeous guest's leg, and taken
away for a beating.
"Our daughter, the Princess - she has been abducted by a witch," said
the king. The queen's sniffles were but a background. "I would wish
that you had met her - you would have been impressed with her grace
and beauty." There was a stifled sound from a courtier at the back
of the room.
"She must be rescued," sighed the queen; a thin, pale woman. It
sounded as if she'd been through this routine many times before. As -
indeed - she had. Heero was the third Prince to approach the Quest,
this month alone. "And then she will be presented to the successful
Prince as a devoted and gracious wife."
"I think she will find you a worthy husband," mused the king, his
eyes ranging up and down the new Prince's athletic form. "And, of
course, she has a sizeable dowry. Do you wish to take on the Quest?"
"I would be proud to consider this prestigious Quest as my own,"
replied Heero, as he'd been taught to do by his mother. His voice
was strong and confident, and the queen flushed a little at the
fantasy thought of being *Heero's own*. "May I ask why she was
abducted from such a well protected castle?"
It was the king's turn to flush. "It is a punishment. I - I was
unfortunate enough to have - *taken* - something that the witch
perceived as her own. In return, she took our child and imprisoned
her in that tower."
"Tower? And is that Tower far from here?"
Heero had visions of a longer Quest than he'd originally planned
for. He had a prior engagement at a harvest parade, later in the
month.
"It is in the forest, not far from our land. You will be escorted
there tomorrow, and any provisions you may need will be packed up for
you. We will be eternally grateful for your help and bravery, good
Prince." The king and queen were up and out of their chairs, and
passing out of the dining hall with indecent haste.
Heero remembered that he had many other questions to ask about this
Quest. He didn't seem to have had any time to put them forward.
He wondered if it were important.
*
The next afternoon, Heero set up camp a few yards into the forest.
Or rather, his manservant and grooms set up the camp, and set out his
personal effects, and cooked him a meal. Then they retreated
respectfully, back to the castle, leaving him in a relatively
comfortable position, though considerably further than a bugle call
away. He had rarely been alone like this in all his life.
He felt like the brave adventurer. And possibly on the trail of the
love of his life!
Heero didn't know how he felt about love. Or Princesses; or
marriage. It had never really occurred to him. For sure, there had
been an exciting exploration with the young niece of one of his
mother's friends. And there had been *several* exciting explorations
with the two, older nephews of that same friend....
But it had been Mother's expectation that he seek out a Princess -
preferably one that required a dashing rescue and possibly even the
slaying of dragons or wizards - and marry. Quickly. He thought it
may have been to do with the fact that she'd caught him with the
nephews, just as things were getting even more exciting -
Anyway, he had been as obedient as ever, and now he was on an
appropriate Quest.
He was tired. Four days of travelling, three duels, two ambushes and
a posse of goblins along the way. He'd been kept busy. And never
had his confidence and ability with the sword let him down.
He slept with a clear and comfortable conscience.
*
Even at his alfresco breakfast, (bread, cold meats and assorted
fruits left in a carefully covered basket by the manservant) Heero
felt the dominating presence of the Tower. How could he avoid it?
It was the tallest structure for miles around, and its stark, grey
stone walls reared above the verdant forest like a spike through its
heart. The stone was naturally finished, yet it was deadly smooth
all round, and its face struck a cold atmosphere in the clearing that
surrounded it.
It was his plan to enter the Tower, defeat any opposition, face the
witch and her minions, and carry the grateful Princess away.
The plan of an unimaginative soldier.
It took him some time to work through the foliage, and approach the
Tower itself; the distance had been deceptive. And it was only when
he approached it in the full, sharp light of mid-morning that he
realised the first, critical flaw to the plan. There was no door to
enter. He circled the building several times, but never with any
luck. No door; no hidden entrance among the seams of the stone
bricks; no underground passages. There was a high window, but he
could see nothing through it. There was no evidence of life anywhere
around or in the whole place.
Was it all a trick?
He sat for a while, back against a tree, watching it. With some
frustration, and a little dismay. He slipped off his breastplate,
and unbuckled his sword, though it always stayed within a hand's
reach. He may have been unimaginative still, but he was far from
stupid.
And then, as a sudden shock in the still, crisply cool air, he heard
a voice strike up a song. Well, fragments of a song; with variable
volume. The sound seemed to come from within the Tower. The words
weren't entirely intelligible, but that didn't seem to matter, as the
song lapsed into enthusiastic, noisy humming for much of the time.
Perhaps the singer had problems remembering the words.
It was a happy tune; a tuneful voice. The notes ran up and down a
wide scale. It wasn't the sound of a siren, nor of a nymph. It was
too obviously mortal for that. *Earthy*, thought Heero to himself.
*Human. Lusty, even*. Then he wasn't sure where that word came
from. He shook off a rather unusual shiver that ran up his spine.
It was far from unpleasant, but was surely inappropriate at this
critical moment. He found he was reluctant to move; to investigate
further. He was enjoying listening to the singing. Something about
the carefree, cheerful tone appealed to him in a way that the whining
and simpering of his obsequious camp followers did not.
His eyes were drawn back to the Tower. There was no doubt it was
coming from there. He lifted his head to the window, seeing that it
was open. His heart rose a little in his throat - it may be the
Princess herself! He may at last see the woman he sought - well,
that he was meant to be seeking.
Instead, he saw a strange sight. He saw a hank of hair appear over
the sill, and flap impatiently against the smooth brick. It was damp
with washing (he assumed). And then there was another. The colour
was dark; the hair was thick and rich. And there was still more of
it. *Much* more. The original tresses slid over the sill and down
the wall, and just kept on flowing. Heero watched, almost comically
open-mouthed, as the longest hair he had ever seen poured out of the
window, waving in the chill wind.
Eventually it stopped. It shook as if by itself, but he realised
that its owner was probably shaking it out to dry. He did the same
himself sometimes, when he had no time for his manservant to comb and
fuss over it after washing. He'd stick his head out the window and
shake it dry, running fingers through it when it felt clean and
soft. He wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through
*that* hair. He felt that same frisson that he had when he first
heard the voice. It must be the autumn weather, he reasoned, for he
wasn't exactly accustomed to such fanciful things as 'frissons'.
He had led a very sheltered life in many ways.
The hair was being waved gently in the air, as if it was being parted
carefully for braiding, and he had a glimpse of thin, pale fingers on
the sill. He imagined the delicate, feminine hand that possessed
them. They had looked to be fairly long digits, even from this
distance - but he had no objections to a girl with hands larger than
average, did he? And besides, what knowledge did he have, to know
what was average?
She will play the harp, he thought. And weave. And stroke my hair
in the evening. And those fingers will play deliciously down the
front of my britches...
He fought the strange feelings again, for he thought they may
conflict with the discipline of his military training. Is this love?
he thought, abstractedly. Might I be in love already? Just with a
voice - with *hair*?
His naiveté should be excused. He was a young man who didn't get out
much, except into battle and on official parades.
He was bright. He would learn.
*
He had called up to the window three times now. His throat hurt.
His dignity felt rather sore, as well. It was obvious that she was
there, for the hair was still spread out upon the sill, but he'd had
no reply at all.
And then, when he'd drawn an even larger breath, and had bawled a
rather inelegant shout up the smooth, impenetrable walls, there was a
response.
"Go away!"
Heero thought for a moment. His strength in battle was his ability
to plan well, and to anticipate his enemy's moves. He hadn't
anticipated this move in any manner. He questioned - briefly - what
previous experience he had to guide him in a campaign such as this.
The voice had been warm, though rather angry, and fairly low for a
young, virgin Princess. It was very difficult to make it out
clearly, because of the distance to the high window, and because of
the autumn winds through the forest. However, he was sure that the
speaker must be beautiful, if such a sweet singing voice had come
from her. And when her anger had abated, she would be kind, and
gentle, and probably very accommodating in bed...
His thoughts had run away with him again, in rather an unruly - and
warming - direction. He didn't see how the mere sound of a voice
could have that effect on him. *That* never happened in battle!
"I am here to see the Princess!" he announced. His voice sounded a
little reedy, and the wind whipped it away as it crept its way up the
unforgiving brick wall. He wished he'd brought the trumpeter with
him. Or some of his aides. Someone, anyway, who would reassure him
as to his importance.
He wasn't used to presenting himself as a singular man.
"Let me see you, lovely Princess! I come from your dear parents, who
have sent me to rescue you from this cruel and barren imprisonment!"
"Ahhh..." came the low reply. It sounded suspiciously like there was
a laugh attached to it. "You're another one of *them*, then!"
"Them?"
"Those bright young things, who ride in with pomp and circumstance
and shining boots, to rescue the Princess - and who then ride away
when they fail, with rather less pomp, and rather more humiliation,
and their metaphoric tail between their legs."
Heero stared down at his new boots and felt strangely uneasy.
"I will succeed where others have failed!" he announced. "I am of a
different calibre!"
"Sweet cakes," came the murmured reply, "you're gonna have to be!"
It was an astonishing comment, and with an attitude and tone that he
had personally never heard from a discreetly raised young girl. The
hair was suddenly swept up from the sill, and back into the room.
Heero swore he could smell the wafting perfume of spring water as it
moved, and could see the glints of the evening sun on its dazzling
coppery colour.
There was no further communication from the window, except for the
snap of a shutter.
He stood for a long while, because if he were truthful, he wasn't
quite sure what to do. The afternoon got darker and the chill of the
encroaching evening teased at his boots. They were a little too
tight for him.
Heero went back to his camp.
*
He was back, earlier in the morning this time. As if it were truly a
military campaign. He searched the Tower for any hint of a weakness;
any chink in its implacable armour. He could find none. He tried to
crawl up the walls, but grazed skin off his hands, and scraped the
fine new boots. He tried to use his sword for purchase, but blunted
the edge. He had a rope, but it would never reach to the window, and
there was no other point to fix it to.
He cursed. It was a half-hearted attempt, using some of the words
he'd heard under his manservant's breath on a day when he'd been a
difficult master. He didn't think he'd been so frustrated before in
all his life.
"You gonna give up now, then?" came the soft voice from above.
He looked up sharply, but there was no sign of the speaker. The
window had obviously been opened. And then, as he stared, still
angry with the Tower and its resistance, the hair started to flow
again. He watched, entranced, as it slid softly down the walls,
strands of it lifting in the breeze. If he stretched right up, all
six foot plus of him, he could just touch the ends.
He did that - very quickly, in case he offended, or in case it was
withdrawn again. It felt very soft, and still damp - it felt like a
warm, viscous liquid between his fingers.
"It's beautiful!" he said, abruptly. His breath felt tight in his
chest, and he didn't think it was from his physical exertion.
"Thanks," came a murmur. Heero didn't realise he had spoken loudly
enough to be heard, and he flushed. There was emotion in the voice
from the high window that he could not recognise. "It's a pain to
wash daily, but hey - what the hell else do I have to do here?"
"Will you look out at me, Princess? Will you give me a word of
encouragement?"
"Why do you need encouragement?" came the low reply. Cautious.
"Because I need to find a way to enter this Tower, and to rescue
you. Because - I would like to know that you welcome that." Heero
was surprised at his own words - he suspected that they hinted at
uncertainty of some kind. He didn't suffer uncertainty. Though that
was before he encountered this dastardly Tower.
There was silence for a while.
Then, suddenly, Heero caught the glimpse of movement above his head,
and the hair swished heavily to one side. There was a face at the
window, though it was in shade from the bright light of the morning
sun. It was a heart-shaped face - it had a wide brow and a firm
chin, and for a second he also saw a glint from a pair of large,
bright eyes.
And then it was gone again.
His heart was beating very quickly, and his knees felt a little
unsteady. He couldn't understand why his attempts to scale the Tower
might have exhausted him so much.
"I - don't suppose that was the sort of encouragement you were
after?" The voice was a little distant - the face was speaking to
him from a way back into the room. As if it had retreated. As if it
were nervous of having shown itself.
"I think it was," said Heero, quite clearly. And truthfully, though
he had no real idea why.
"Don't laugh at me!" warned the voice.
"I'm not laughing at you," he replied, surprised. "Why should I do
that?"
But there was no further answer for him that day.
*
It was another day, and Heero was getting used to preparing his own
meals; choosing pieces of meat from his provisions, collecting water
from a nearby spring. He found a few fruit trees, and ate well from
them. It all tasted much better than the meals he remembered at the
castle.
And then he would make his way to the Tower.
He tried each day to climb it, and failed. But he never stopped
trying. He threw the rope a few times, experimentally, up to the
window. It always fell short. One day, he sought to make a ladder
from tree vines, but his knots were inadequate, and it fell apart on
his first step.
And then he would settle down at the foot, and talk to the prisoner
within.
He enjoyed that a lot more than the vain battles with inanimate
stone. He enjoyed that a lot more than most anything he could recall
from his life at home. There was a pleasant, relaxing ambience in
the air when he sat on the flattened grass, and the window above was
thrown open to the day.
The hair would tumble out across the sill every day; long, thick,
shining with health. It was like silk to the touch; Heero wished it
would touch more of him than his fingertips. He never said such a
thing. His companion was obviously an unusual type of person; but
his own upbringing dictated that he be more respectful.
It would be divided into strands, then aimlessly braided. Sometimes
the exercise would be abandoned with a laugh. Sometimes Heero would
sit and watch the slow, sensual combing of each hank individually.
There would often be a song to accompany it. The singing would start
a little self-consciously - but the obvious enjoyment would overcome
that, until notes and snatches of melodies would race and catch and
fall like leaves in the wind. It would often end with more rich,
genuine laughter. He would join in with that. That was his
favourite time.
He tried to catch further glimpses through the window, but that never
happened again. He tried to imagine the inmate's bearing; the
clothes; the facial features. He tried various permutations of
Beautiful Princess in Golden Gown and Silver Slippers. It just made
him slightly nauseous. And somehow the visions would not connect
with the songs and the bold, careless speech.
He wondered why. His imagination was being stretched - and not
before time.
"You're not like the other guys, you know." The voice was thoughtful
today.
He liked its timbre. It struck a chord in his own self. It
continued to have the power to tease at his senses; to touch his
nerves as if the endings were raw. It continued to make his blood
race around between his legs. It was all very unnerving.
"Why am I not like them? What did they do?"
"They tried to climb, like you have. But rarely more than once.
They threw stones - they shouted more than a few obscenities. As if
it were my fault that they couldn't succeed."
A sigh. "All eminently suitable for the purpose of Rescuing. All of
noble lineage. Most of them stupid as pig shit. Some of them
handsome."
Heero felt a ridiculous emotion that he believed may be jealousy.
"*You* are a handsome man, Prince." The words sounded almost
surprised. As if the realisation had crept up on them, and forced
them out of the mouth.
Heero felt a strange, warm flush start down between his toes. He
hoped he wasn't taking a chill, for it would curtail his Quest.
"They didn't talk to me like this. None of them. Not like you..."
The window was shuttered rather abruptly.
Heero was restless on his bedding that night. The creature was a
mystery to him.
The feeling in his groin was becoming less so.
*
Heero was looking a little tousled. He'd torn his silk tunic on one
of his attempts to climb, and his hair had been washed in the spring
and left to dry naturally. But his cheeks shone with exposure to the
fresh air, and the sparse food was starting to lend a leanness to his
already fit body.
He found himself whistling this day. The third and fourth attempt at
climbing had been as unsuccessful as ever, but he didn't really
care. He had a new scheme, involving a rope strung up between two
trees, and a form of catapult, using his horse blanket. His military
training told him it should be feasible. His growing commonsense
told him he was a moron if he even considered trying it out.
He sat on the grass instead, and played dice quite comfortably for a
while.
"I'm not the Princess, you know," came his daily conversationalist.
"I have guessed that by now," he replied, quite calmly.
He was rewarded with an unbridled laugh that made his toes
curl. "You're not as green as you're cabbage looking, are you?
What's your name, Mr New Prince?"
"Prince of the Third Kingdom, First Born of the family Yuy, Master of
Sword and -"
"Your name, sweet cakes," drawled the voice, "not your job
description!"
"I am Prince Heero."
A period of companionable silence. These were developing nicely
between the two of them nowadays.
"If you are not the Princess, who are you?"
"One of her other, many relations. My name is - Duo."
An unusual name - Heero had never heard of a girl with that name
before. Or any person for that matter. Though most of his
acquaintances began as Lord-or-Lady, and he often switched his
attention off before they elaborated. He'd never had much interest
in names before. But he liked the sound of this one.
"I know nothing about other relations."
"Yeah well, I'm no social success!" sighed the voice. The hair - as
it often was - was switched briskly to demonstrate an impatience with
life and families in general. "I erred twelve times too many with my
family. They were happy to offer me up to the witch as general
factotum-come-slave-come-companion to the sacrificed Princess."
"She is inevitably a caring, just mistress - "
A bitter, loud laugh. "She's a nagging, selfish bitch! Did no-one
tell you at the castle?"
Heero, despite his newfound tolerance, was shocked. "You should show
respect as a servant to a Princess -!"
"I should kiss my ass, sunshine!" came the sharp rebuff. "I'll show
some respect when I'm shown some in return. I've been banished by my
family, mistreated by a frigid, miserly, razor-tongued hag of a
Princess, threatened with eternal frostbite by a witch - *and* a bird
crapped on my hair last week! Do you think I have any concern for
social niceties at this stage of my less than glorious career?"
Heero was stunned.
"I've never heard anyone speak in that way before."
"You should get out more," murmured the voice, with some sympathy.
Which is, of course, what anyone would have said about Prince Heero.
"But where, then, is the Princess?" he asked. His voice was a little
faint with trying to cope with a whole new raft of emotions and
experiences.
There was a definite tinge of sympathy now in the reply.
"She's not here, for sure."
"What do you mean, she's not here?" Heero mustered up some unusual
spirit. "Where the hell else could she go?"
"She's gone. She's gone long ago. Shortly after the last of July's
brave fools came to try and scale the Tower and carry her off."
This was too much to absorb! "What? How?" He'd tried to breach that
Tower a hundred times already (well, almost, but he wasn't really
counting), and he could see no way of escape for a prisoner.
"Calm yourself, I-am-Prince Heero. D'you know why the witch snatched
her in the first place? Because her father the king was little
better than a thief, and had been systematically robbing the witch's
prize crops from her treasured garden. The abduction of the Princess
was a calculated revenge. The pair of 'em tried negotiation for
months, while the Princess was imprisoned here. Never came to any
agreement. She'd have rotted here, I daresay, before her father
would've given an inch away of his position.
"But the Princess took matters into her own hands. Her vicious
tongue wasn't restricted to me alone! She nagged the witch like
night follows day and then turns into night again - until it was one
time too many, and she got her reward."
"She - the witch released her?"
Peals of laughter, now. "The witch ate her! With boiled potatoes,
and an apple sauce made from the fruit of that tree by your camp.
You want to pass that message on to the dear family?"
Heero felt a chill settle round his heart. What did this mean for
his Quest? "No, I don't."
He found he couldn't think very clearly about the Quest, and the
unknown Princess of his (supposed) dreams. All he could think about
was the singing from the Tower each day. The fabulous waterfall of
hair from the window, and the thin, skilful hands combing the locks.
The sharp, saucy speech that he was learning to accept and respond to.
"And you -? You are still here?"
There was a chilly silence from the window. The shutter creaked, as
if the speaker was unsure whether to close it or to keep it open. "I
got forgotten - as always eh? Always the poor relation. They were
best rid of me, I think."
"What did you do to incur such displeasure?"
A deep sigh of resignation. The need to share the confession,
perhaps. "I kissed someone. I kissed - a *boy*, Heero. Could a
family *be* more scandalised? No - the best place for me is here,
obviously. Out of sight, out of narrow mind. I don't expect you to
understand, my sweet, sheltered Prince. You must go back to your
camp, now, for you'll need to rethink your Quest."
The shutter closed, abruptly.
Heero was very confused. We know that he had a limited knowledge of
love, to say nothing of a love that was obviously unsuitable. He
tried to imagine why - unless, of course, the boy had been of the
wrong social class. That he could find understandable. But that -
he knew - was not the issue here.
He went back to camp. He slept badly.
His dreams were vividly erotic - when he awoke in the morning, his
hand was clasped tightly to his groin. The bedding was a little damp
and sticky, and his limbs felt unusually lethargic. He rather wished
he were back in the dream, but he couldn't have explained why.
*
"Are you back, Prince?" came the voice, sharper than usual this
morning. "You must be due to return to the castle."
"I find myself reluctant to leave," he replied gently. "Do you think
that the witch will return here soon?"
The voice laughed, and it was a relieved sound. "I doubt it! The
indigestion from eating that Royal Cow was enough to resurrect her
hiatus hernia. She'll not want to come back to this forest for a
while yet!"
"Good," he said.
He gazed up to the window, and for a second he thought he saw the
pale flash of the hidden face. Glimpsed the shocked glint of the
eyes.
"Aren't you keen to get back to whatever castle is yours? There'll
be another shortlist of eligible, rescuable Princesses that you need
to start work on."
Heero heard himself saying, "I'm not that keen on Princesses, in all
truth. I have five sisters myself. I find them a trial."
The reply was wary. "You're beginning to sound as eccentric as me,
Heero! You must watch that. No-one wants a smart-arse Prince!"
Heero chose his words as carefully as he could - he, a Prince who had
rarely considered any of his words as needing to be measured in any
way. "It can be tedious, to be a Prince. I do not always enjoy it,
I think. The pomp, as you said - the formality, the parades, the
duties. And always the expectation of my mother - to find a bride.
To find my Princess."
The voice was now so low that he had to stand on tiptoes to catch
it. "You need *someone* to keep you company, Heero. Someone to
share your life with. Someone to keep you warm, indeed!"
"You mean - physical intimacy?" He remembered his father's
disjointed, confused 'talk' about such matters, when he was a teenage
boy. He winced at the embarrassed memory. Far better the education
he'd received at the hands of the nephews -!
"I confess, Duo, that I find that a trial as well."
"Have you kissed a girl before, Heero?"
"Yes, I have."
Heero didn't know what made him say the next thing, except that he
badly wanted to. He was unused to following such uncontrolled
urges. "And I have kissed a boy, too. It was - far more satisfying
to me."
There was a sharp intake of breath from above, which sparked out
across the suddenly still air.
Heero realised now how he was always waiting for conversation with
this astonishing person. Looking forward to it. It made him feel
warm. No longer lonely. Heavens, he'd grown up in a court full of
people, yet he knew now he had always been lonely. He'd never really
thought of it before.
Like we know, he was bright enough. He was learning very rapidly now.
"Duo - do *you* want to be rescued?"
A pause.
"A quaint idea, Heero, and not unattractive. Seems no-one else is
returning for me. And I am so damn *bored* here!"
Heero's heart was racing again. "But how am I supposed to scale the
tower?"
"That's your role, Prince," came the reply, laced with amusement that
was slightly nervous. "Don't they issue you with some kind of
instruction booklet on that?"
"I think not," said Heero, rather too seriously. "What about your
hair?" His dream had come back to him in a flash of (what he saw as)
inspiration. He had been grasping those thick, soft tresses - he had
been wrapping them around his wrists. He had been steadily climbing
the sheer, smooth walls, and he had been mere feet from the window
sill -
"What the hell are you thinking, you lunatic Prince?"
"Throw down your hair!" he called, poetically. "Throw it down, so
that I may use it to climb the Tower and rescue you!"
The braid came spinning out of the window, and stopped a foot above
his head. It was tightly tied today, and was therefore shorter and
sturdier than its usual, free falling guise. Heero jumped, and
stretched, and took hold of the end. He bound it around his wrist,
and he tugged.
"Ouch!"
"Be patient, Duo! I'll soon be there!" He held tightly to the copper-
coloured rope of hair, braced his foot against the stone, and
launched himself on his first steps up the wall.
There was a yell that sounded suspiciously like 'Get the fuck off!"
though Heero would not necessarily have understood that profanity.
The braid was yanked sharply out of his hands, and he fell to the
ground with an awkward thump.
They were both silent for a while, Heero regaining his breath, but
not his dignity.
"Guess I'm stuck here, I-am-Prince. Go back to your camp and pack.
I insist on it!"
There was a sob of frustration from the window, and the shutter
slammed shut.
Heero stood up and felt the waves of a strange and deep
disappointment swamp him.
*
The day dawned, and the tall, dark and handsome Prince stood
patiently at the foot of the Tower. The window shutter opened with a
lazy creak.
"Back again, I-am-Prince Heero? I'll admit, you have more stamina
than any of the others. I told you she's gone! There's no Princess
here to satisfy your Quest!"
"But I came to see you," he said, simply.
"Me?"
"I fail to see how your family could forget you, Duo. You are -
unique. You are unforgettable. You are - *truly* worthy of rescue!"
The figure at the window was a shadow behind the shutter. It held
itself very still. "You are a bright boy after all, aren't you? To
look beyond the depths of my disgrace."
Heero spoke as bravely as he could. He had, after all, stayed up
most of the night practising what he would say. "I think that I like
you *because of* your disgrace, Duo! You have been a good companion
to me. The best I have ever had."
"You're a damn fine listener, Heero," came the warm reply.
"And I don't think you are a maidservant," persisted Heero. His
throat was a little dry.
"I think you're getting brighter by the minute..." The tone was wary
again.
"I love you, Duo! I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever
seen!"
"You've barely seen me!" the voice exclaimed.
"I don't care about that. I have seen your voice, and your opinions,
and your companionship. I have seen your glorious hair, the touch of
which binds me to you and affects my senses in a way that's
frightening and yet totally thrilling! I've not seen you with my
eyes, no indeed. But I have with my heart."
He paused, almost scared of his own excitement. "I do not know the
words, Duo. I need your help to tell me what I feel!"
"More than bright..." came the murmur. It sounded pleased. "But
Heero - I don't think I'm quite your type, am I?"
"What's my type?" he argued, bullishly. "How do you know?"
"I answer you back, I argue with you. And you - a Prince!"
"Now you are laughing at *me*!" Heero said, rather miserably.
"I'm hardly very submissive. I don't play the harp - I don't weave -"
"That matters less than the badger crap on my boots!" snapped Heero.
His boldness had come along tremendously since he arrived in the
forest.
"I'm not a virgin..."
"Neither am I!" he growled.
"Heero..." the voice sighed.
"I'm a boy."
"I know!" Heero almost yelled. "Isn't that the most wonderful stroke
of luck?"
*
There was a strange, painful creak, as if the very earth was
splitting open. The seam around a section of the cold, grey bricks
crumbled as if it had suddenly grown very tired of life, and it
dribbled to the ground. The segment of wall, as large as a doorway,
slowly swung out from its moorings. For it was, indeed, a hitherto
secret doorway.
A young boy stepped out, stretching a little, and staring at the view
around him with some disorientation. Heero knew why he had never
pictured him in a maiden's clothes. He was tall, like Heero himself,
and slender, but with long, strong legs and broad, masculine
shoulders. His clothes were rough, but well cut; the shirt was open
at his throat, showing a long, pale neck. His britches were tight
around narrow hips, hugging his calves down to soft, well-worn
boots. Heero thought that maybe he would like *his* long, strong
fingers to play inside of those britches. And the hair! - it was as
glorious as ever, thrown carelessly over a shoulder, and a little
dusty from his emergence. The golden chestnut colour shone amongst
the green of the forest; the thick, soft fringe fell over wide, blue,
cautious eyes. And the tips of that silken curtain teased at the
base of his buttocks.
Somehow that had all been reflected in his voice. Heero knew without
a doubt.
Duo's eyes accustomed themselves to the new setting, and his feet
back on solid ground. They accustomed themselves to a proper, face-
to-face view of I-am-Prince Heero, and they shone with delight and
excitement.
"I'll give your mother a heart attack!" came the dry drawl that Heero
had grown to know so well. Duo's hand was reaching out rather
tentatively to the Prince, and for a second their fingers touched.
"I sincerely hope so!" came the reply. And Heero dropped his sword,
and drew the boy into his embrace.
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