- Damnit, it’s all
Evremonde’s fault. I was perfectly happy ignoring her litslash,
but she got me to thinking. Who would I slash if I wanted to slash
a classic?
- Twain, obviously.
-
- So here we go. It
isn’t wrought with smut. I was more interested in the story.
I’ve always had a fascination with Edward Tudor. He really was a
gentle king for the times. Unfortunately, everyone was after his
crown. He died at 16, some say of consumption, some say congenital
syphilis. That’s so not okay with me, and not very romantic (and
you guys know what a sentimental romantic I am (insert eyeroll
here). I’d rather he lived. So here’s my litslash. This takes
place roughly seven years after Twain’s illustrious work.
-
- Title: To Forego the
Crown
-
Fandom: The Prince and
the Pauper
-
Author: Caer
-
Warnings: Just a bit of
boy on boy action. More Lime than Lemon.
-
-
- Bedecked in the finest
raiment one could acquire in England at the time, a young boy who
currently bore the heavy title of Edward Tudor, King of England, sat
and stared down at the street beyond the castle walls, wishing he
could go about in the thick of it. Instead, he was trapped here,
listening to a cumbersome lecture about his inability to grasp the
intricacies of the Greek. Of course being king, the unhappy speech
was bedecked with “begging thy grace’s pardon” and “with all
due respect.” For though Edward was a gentle king, and young still
at 16, his courtiers still carried themselves as though the were yet
under the unhappy shadow of his late father, King Henry the VIII.
-
- So the young boy bore
with a brave heart, this lecture, though he was tempted to cast the
unhappy teacher out, that he might have some respite from the long
day. Many hours had been spent dictating policy and hearing trials.
Rather than this tedium, he longed for a light repast and a little
sleep. Instead, he had been whisked off to attend his studies for
the remainder of the day.
-
- A knock at the door
ended his torture and a silken servant opened the door announcing a
visitor.
-
- “His majesty’s
Ward, Tom Canty and the head swords master, Count Trelaine.”
-
- Happily dismissing his
teacher with an airy wave of his hand, the young king rose to meet
them.
-
- “Tom! Count
Trelaine. A pleasure to see your return. Let the table be spread
for my guests.” He clapped his pale hands and immediately, two
servants jumped to fulfill his majesty’s wish.
-
- “How now, Count?
Thou hast an unhappy countenance about thee. Did the training go
badly?” He looked to the young blond boy, raising an eyebrow
while the count sputtered and “hemmed.”
-
- “I can not stay,
majesty but I beg ye. It was with great regret, but a good grace
that I accepted to train this young man in the art of swordsmanship.
However, he hath disgraced my teachings, rathering to make me a
fool. First, pretending to be ever clumsy with the rapier, then
fetching my hand such a blow as like to a master. If he can not
take his teaching seriously, I must sadly ask that you find another
teacher, for I am at my end of patience.”
-
- “Indeed,” the
young king looked crossly at his young ward, and were it but for the
differences in their raiment, he might well be looking into a
mirror. The boy was small and frail. Ringlets of blond curls hung
prettily under his feathered cap of purple velvet. His eyes shone
with mischief, though he bowed his head humbly. The young king
bowed his head to the unhappy count.
-
- “Indeed, tis not
meet that he should riddle our good swords master with such
disgrace. Go then with assurance, that he will not go unpunished
for such an unhappy offence.”
-
- “You are most
gracious my lord.” He bowed and doffed his hat to the king,
before throwing on last heated scowl at his young student and
strutting off, as if satisfied that justice had been done.
- When he was gone and
the door was closed, the boy who looked to be Tom Canty grinned a
vibrant grin. The king however sighed and hung his head.
-
- “Sooth your grace,
thou hast gotten me in trouble now.” He began to take off his
kingly vestments, laying them carefully on the bed, while his less
brilliantly decked counterpart did the same, still smiling.
-
- “Oh, but Tom, twas a
joy to go about, and none to tell me of my responsibilities or
burdens. Thou should have seen the good Count in his perplexed
ness. Twas glorious. Long has it been since I have been able to
humble that great oaf. Ha! Thinks him a swords master, but I hath
learnt from far better than he!”
-
- Tom smiled as he
disclothed piece by piece until he was only clad in his hosiery. He
did not notice the disguised kings hungry eye upon him as he
assisted his king in disrobing himself.
-
- “So please your
worship, twould be no ill burden now and again to trade thee places,
save for the vexation of the Count. Next we meet, shall he labor me
with a heavy hand.”
-
- “Nonsense!” the
king said good-naturedly, allowing Tom to slide his customary
doublet onto his thin shoulders. “The good count shall be paid
treble for thy teaching and perhaps show a little more humility at
thy next encounter.”
-
- Tom had doubt of this,
but spoke not. His young king had been ill of late, and sorely in
need of excursion from his daily tasks. He was tired and wrought.
Even after one day away from the palace, there was color back in his
cheeks and lightness to his step. Tom would have taken this small
weight and more to see his good king well again. Still, it often
left him in a bit of trouble. He buttoned King Edward’s doublet
and strapped his small dagger back about his waist.
-
- “Then, if I might
entreat your majesty to perhaps better prepare me when next we
exchange places? I was ill ready for the courts today and I fear
thou shalt have hardship making good mine clumsy errors of policy.”
-
- The king laughed a
merry laugh then. “Tom, thou ruleth with a hand as gentle as a
lamb. Truly, thou art at times a better king than I. Worry not.
Now, to your punishment.” The king said, casting about for
something. Tom sputtered.
-
- “My punishment?”
-
- “After all,”
Edward said blithely, eyeing his young ward critically. “The king
did promise the good Count a proper punishment upon thee.”
-
- “But… in sooth, it
was not I who disgraced the Count but thee!”
-
- “Tis true, but we
are but ourselves again! Surely thou would not have me punished
instead? The King of England? Wouldst call the whipping boy Tom?”
-
- Tom shook his head
incredulously, as Edward found what he was looking for. It was a
whip, with several leather tassels. It was more decorative than a
true device of torture, a fine gift from the good lady *****.
- “Now, good Tom, thou
shalt sit on the bed, on thy knees and receive thy thrashing.
Dar’st thou defy thy king?”
-
- Tom bowed his head and
submitted. It was more game than anything and he was glad that his
king was in a playful mood again. Sad he had seemed of late.
Obediently, Tom crawled onto the bed, still clad in only his hose.
Sat he upon his knees and awaited ‘his’ punishment.
-
- “Now, seal thine
eyes and open them not.” Young Edward whispered, walking to the
side of the bed.
-
- Tom closed his eyes,
trembling a bit, though he knew that his king would not bestow heavy
blows upon him. The cold air bit at his naked torso and if that
wasn’t enough, the mere knowledge that Edward was circling him
with the whip in question made his skin tingle with imagined blows.
However instead of the leather assailing his skin, he felt it soft
and clinging against his hosed thigh, trailing up his chest before
caressing his neck, the whip catching his chin and raising it up.
-
- “Raise thy head Tom.
Accept thy paltry stripes, not as the beggar thou wert, but as the
highest of royalty, for thou art at my side always.”
-
- Tom was shaking, but
he nodded, shifting uncomfortably, a slight heat building in him as
he was scolded thus. True to his king’s wish, he kept his eyes
closed. The whip trailed down around his shoulder, the leather
tassels brushing softly over his shoulder and onto his back before
it was raised away and he waited, trembling for the first strike.
-
- Edward admired the
delicate beauty of the young boy… his mirror image, sitting there
on his knees on the bed. Rosy nipples were perked in excitement and
Edward licked his dry lips as he watched his young ward shiver in
the chilly air. His skin was as gooseflesh from the cold, though he
dared not cross his arms and give into the chill without consent of
his king.
- Edward traced his soft
buckskin whip along Tom’s thin back before raising it up and
bringing it down again, only hard enough to leave a bright pink
welt. Tom flinched minutely, but seemed to breathe a sigh of
relief, as the pain was minimal. Edward bestowed upon him twenty
lashes, making the soft skin of the boy’s back hot to the touch
that came afterward. Edward laid the whip upon the silks of his bed
and brushed his fingertips down the hot skin.
-
- Again, Tom shifted
uncomfortably. The heat was not only in his back, but also between
his legs and on this, Tom wondered confusedly. Only in vague,
unexplained dreams had this particular heat arisen, and Tom had
awakened feeling wet and dirty, hiding his laundry ashamedly
afterward, wrapping them in the sheets, so the maids in waiting
would not see such soil and think him the wretch that he had been
born.
-
- “Wicked Tom. Hast
learned a righteous lesson now? Prithee, refrain opening thine
eyes, lest ye bring the wrath of thy king upon thee.”
-
- “An it please your
majesty, tis not my right to utter it, but thine to declare me
vindicated of my sin.”
-
- “Well said, young
ruffian!” Edward clapped his hands at the game, but bounced
around on the bed till he was facing young Tom forwardly. Lost in
his own fascination and comfortable that they were unhindered by
curious eyes, all the servants having been dismissed, Edward stared
at the young blond, entranced.
-
- “Prithee, Tom, move
ye not.”
-
- He raised a softened
hand to trace the soft lips of his veritable twin. They were a bit
dry from excitement and Edward shivered as his ward’s small pink
tongue darted out to wet them, touching his own straying fingers as
they moved away. He smoothed his fingers through Tom’s ever clean
blond curls.
- Edward moved forward
and cradled Tom’s head, drawing forth an exhale of surprise at the
King’s close proximity. Tom smelled raw and unperfumed, save for
the cider that tinted his breath of apples. Edward could hold back
no longer, his desire to taste that sweet vapor and closed his mouth
over Tom’s, licking at those whetted lips as he pushed the boy
down onto the bed, pinning him with his own small weight.
-
- Tom’s eyes flew open
and he cried into the warm mouth that assailed his, but he was
unable to pull away as he was pushed into the soft billowy blankets
of the king’s luxuriant bed. The strong hands of his king wrapped
like steel bands around his wrists, pinning his arms on each side of
his head. He could feel something hard against his leg and did not
think that it was his majesty’s dagger. He was afraid to fight
his king’s desire or privilege and yet this was beyond all sense.
The king nudged Tom’s reluctant lips open with his own and slid a
questing tongue into his slack mouth, making Tom moan with fear and
pleasure both.
-
- Edward came away with
shining eyes, looking down on his beautiful ward.
-
- Toms own eyes were
glistening with tears, and with terror as he took deep breaths after
being muffled so. Gathering his courage, he voiced his objection.
-
- “Majesty, please.
This cannot be! Surely thy sickness addles thine constitution. I
am no woman.”
-
- “For soothe, no, ye
are not Tom, yet more beautiful in mine eyes than any of my fairer
courtiers. Know I not, why I desireth such sinful pleasures.” He
said, rubbing the hardness that Tom still did not quite understand,
against his quivering thigh and moaning as he did so. It was not
until he shifted slightly, straddling the poor quivering boy that
this hardness rubbed against the fiery heat of Tom’s own that Tom
began to realize.
-
- “No, majesty!
Degrade thyself not. This is not meet! God help me. Though shalt
wake tomorrow and surely think thyself cursed with illness for such
a regretful feeling. It is wrong in all eyes, and in God’s eyes.
If friends we truly be, would ye invite such horrors as would be my
fate, were the court to find that ye were beguiled so?”
-
- “Such madness Tom!”
His lord’s eyes flashed indignantly. “Perhaps you are right
that my recent ill health has made me so. However, I would never
let any hand touch you in such an unkind way, such is our
friendship.”
- Edward let go of one
of Tom’s wrists to stroke an errant tear away from one pale and
beautifully flushed cheek.
-
- “However, do you
deny your king such a simple pleasure? Perhaps, once sated, my
illness will leave me. If it is my command that you remain bodily
under me and let me take what pleasure I desire, then the king has
spoken and it shall be so.”
-
- The fire in Edwards
eyes bespoke a harsh punishment should Tom refuse, and more than a
few gentle lashes. Tom prayed that that fire also bespoke of
another fever, that oft afflicted his frail king of late, and prayed
that God would forgive them both for what Tom was about to let
happen.
- The shaking boy closed
his eyes and submitted, a soft, scared “So be it then, an it
please your majesty.” Edward descended upon him then, rubbing
unashamedly against his gentle ward, groaning and kissing the boy.
Tom let the tears flow then… tears for his majesty’s ailment, as
well as his poor wretched self. The heat between his legs grew and
he moaned between sobs, for surely he was going to hell and wondered
if the better choice would have been to flee from his majesty
instead.
- Edward feasted upon
Tom’s neck and lips like a wild animal, all the while rubbing
hard, trying desperately to quench the heat between his own legs
upon Tom’s person. He was hard and wet against his hose and he
reached down, hiking up his doublet in order to get more sensation
against his wards less covered excitement. Panting and moaning, he
gyrated his hips, needing more, but knowing not what. The fire
built until it was raging inside of him and a feeling of such
blessed pleasure, rocked him to his core and he pressed his hips
hard against Toms, feeling his hosiery grow wet with warm liquid.
-
- “Oh Tom!” He
cried out in pleasure, before collapsing against his wards quaking
chest, incoherent to anything but the receding pleasure of his
release.
-
- When he came to
himself, Tom was beside himself, shaking with sobs, his beautiful
blond lashes dampened with tears. His cheeks were wet with them and
red with shame. Edward cooed soft assurances to his sweet beautiful
ward, that he had done nothing wrong and would receive no
punishment, but Tom was inconsolable and would not speak. A cloying
guilt began to gather in the young kings stomach, when Tom would not
be calmed. Pulling the covers over Tom gently, he slunk away to
wash himself. Ridding himself of his soiled hose, he reclothed
himself and left Tom to his misery retreating to some corner to
release his own shame and sorrow.
-
- Miles Hendon made way
with little grace and much cursing, fumbling his way through the
dark room. This was once Edward’s boyhood playroom and it was
rich with toys and amusements of all sorts, lavish gifts from
monarchs throughout Europe. Though the boy no longer played here,
he often came to this room for solitude. Indeed no one was allowed
to venture here, but himself and Tom Canty. When the court had
begun to fret over the young King’s whereabouts, Miles had offered
to come find him.
-
- Sure enough, the
comely young boy was seated in the corner, gazing out the small
window into the court below. Miles approached with much noise,
hindered as he was by lack of light and objects of mystery
throughout the room.
- “Your majesty, I had
word that you were not to be found. I was suspect that perhaps you
resided here, as you are oft to do when you are wrought with ill
humor.”
-
- He grunted as he ran
into something in the nearly black room.
- “Thou would light a
candle for ease of sight, my young prince. It would not do for you
to come to harm by an odd trip…”
-
- Sir Miles Hendon came
to stand by his young friend, not missing the glitter of an errant
tear on the brave face.
-
- “Thou art troubled
my lord?”
-
- With trembling lip,
the young king bespoke with gentle sadness.
-
- “I fear that I…”
he choked, trying to be strong. “I…”
-
- Miles’ heart went
out to the young boy. He was a king, but a boy ever still. Barely
sixteen years had he claimed, and though he had bestowed a kind and
gentle hand on his people, and kept a firm hand on his court, it was
no secret to his close friends, that the burden of the crown weighed
heavily on him. His health had suffered greatly, and with his body
already frail and little, the strain shown even more clearly.
-
- “Your majesty, if
what little comfort I may bestow, though I bear not the worth of
such an honor, perhaps if I may…” He reached out a hand
hesitantly, touching a shaking shoulder under the fine crushed
velvet.
-
- Presently, he felt a
small trembling body fairly fly within the protection of his steady
arms. The young boy shook with sobs and buried his face in Miles’
shoulder.
-
- “Oh Miles, what am I
to do?” He wailed, clinging ever so tightly to his older friend.
Miles brought a hand up to cup softly, the blond curls of his frail
King’s head, and bring what comfort he could to the distraught
boy.
-
- “Methinks the very
devil hath laid his evil hand upon me! For though I am want like my
father, to look for companionship in the fairer courtiers, rather,
mine eyes find only happiness in the bright visage of my gentle
Ward. I have just hence taken a base and physical pleasure from a
sweet and gentle soul. I let him not deny it. In sooth, beside
thyself, he is my most loyal of subjects, more over a dear friend.
Yet have I dealt him ill. He lies now with bitter tears within my
chambers. Surely now, he will have naught but hate for his king,
who hath used him unjustly.”
-
- Miles started in
shock, though it did not surprise him utterly. He had seen the
hungry way Edward had looked at his young twin of late. He had
noticed the errant touches and gentle courting of a young lover.
However, he had thought it might pass, an errant fancy of a young
boy. It was all too familiar to him. He held Edward tightly,
lending what support he could.
-
- “Nay, good majesty.
Thy ward loves thee well, make no mistake. However, his grace
forgets, that young Tom has seen men burned alive for less. Even
though thou hast since repealed the punishment for buggery, the
whole of England hast not yet put forth this law in practice.
Though Tom is yet of a simple mind, he is like to think himself a
witch, or becursed himself by the devil for tempting thee thus.
Were it to be found, he would surely be flung to the tower, or
worse.”
-
- “Nay, this would
never be allowed.” The young King’s eyes flashed fiercely. “No
such harm would be allowed on the head of my ward, of this I swear!”
-
- Miles observed him
gently. Already his shaking had subsided, yet he did not pull from
his larger friend’s embrace. However the deep passion shone. The
Earl of Kent wasted no time in his response.
-
- “My lord, list thee
well. A young cousin of mine, was once so afflicted, and though he
too bespoke of bewitchment by the devil, he was in mine eyes no
sinner, nor had he any evil within him of which to speak.”
-
- The king listened
quietly, not moving as Miles wiped the tears from his cheek.
-
- “He loved, a young
and comely tinker boy, though such a love was unrequited. He
thought himself victim to the devil himself and set to various
remedies, potions, tortures and cures, trying to rid himself of such
a blemish. Yet, so sweet and gentle, to seem absurd that the mark
of the devil could be on him. He died shortly thereafter, unable to
stand his pain… yet never another soul harmed but those that loved
him, by his death.”
-
- “Though thinkest he
was not evil?”
-
- “In truth, I knoweth
not, your majesty. But were I to see such a fate befall thee, my
guilt would know no bounds, truly, for in gentleness, thou and he
art the same.”
-
- “But what is to be
done?”
-
- “My lord, it is no
unhappy accident, that I came in search of thee. There are terrible
things afoot. Such plots against thee. Prithee, thou hast oft
spoken of a desire to lay aside thine scepter and live again to
enjoy the common freedom. Didst thou jest?”
-
- “Explain thyself,
with speed. Thou knowest I did not.”
-
- “Thy grace’s
illness is not by chance, but by poison, I have learned.”
-
- “Poison? But surely
my taster…”
-
- “Would notice a
quick poison, true, but a slow poison, when he tastes but a small
portion of thy repast, and thou devoureth the rest.”
-
- “Tis true.” The
prince said slowly, chewing on this new discovery, unsurprised,
having had such suspicions himself. “It is well known to me that
John Dudley hath taken unkindly to my refusal to let him rule as
like to the King.”
-
- “And surely not
alone in his vie for the crown through you, as has been witnessed.”
-
- “He shall be thrown
in the tower then!” The prince said, stamping his foot.
-
- “I beg thee stay thy
hand, your majesty, for we know not whether it be him or not, but
such plotting may yet work to our advantage your grace.”
-
- “Prithee, how so?”
-
- “Were ye to die a
staged death, none would be the wiser, and ye could quit this
place.”
-
- “Staged? But how,
with physicians always at beck and call?”
-
- “Physicians can be
bribed your majesty. However, they can also be deceived.”
-
- “Do go on.”
-
- “A draught,
concocted by the witches of the Bridge, which claims to bring a
sleep, so close to death, that no expert physician would be the
wiser, but lasting only a night.”
-
- “Oh, is it so?
Surely, such a miraculous drink could have me done with my royal
shackles!”
-
- “And when the body
hath been removed from public eye, could we steal away with it, and
never be again seen in London. For thou wouldst agree that in less
stately raiment, would none recognize a king having never laid eyes
upon him first hand.”
-
- “And to live in
Hendon Hall, with but a small coffer to last us, oh and twould be a
joy, and more bliss than my dreams hath brought. Were I to drink
but a simple potion.”
-
- “No!”
- Both turned at once,
the king quickly leaping from his friend’s arms, brushing down his
waistcoat. Seeing only Tom though, both relaxed.
-
- “Good Tom, thou
givest such a fright. Whence came ye and how long?”
-
- “Twas sufficient.”
He stepped forward and dropped to his knees in front of his king,
who put a tentative hand on the boy’s head. “My king, I beg ye.
Let poor Tom be the bearer of this drink, for thou art weak of
body. Surely even a less harmful poison may bring thy unhappy end.”
-
- “No Tom.” The
king looked upon his young ward with fierce eyes. “Thou should
not take such a risk. I would not have it!”
-
- “Tom is right, my
lord.” Miles interjected swiftly. “Far safer, that ye were to
trade places again as ye did today.” This statement made both
boys blush scarlet at having been discovered; yet by such familiar
eyes as those of Miles Hendon it was no surprise.
-
- “My lord,” Tom
spoke softly, his head bowed. “I am afear’d of this thing that
we hath done. Yet were I to see thee succumb to death, mine own
life would soon follow. Please, for this small boon. Let me take
thy place.”
-
- Edward stroked Tom’s
pale cheek with his hesitant fingers. A joyous ache arose in his
chest and the young monarch was humbled. Tom had not forsaken him.
More still, the love he must have, to offer possibly his life, made
Edward Tudor tremble with happiness. His eyes were shining as he
let his fingers trail along Tom’s chin.
-
- “Tom… I thank ye.”
-
- Tom’s eyes rose to
meet those of his king, and he smiled. All uncertainty he may have
had was dashed away by the love and tears shining in the King of
England’s eyes.
-
- Miles stood and bowed.
“And now, if I might beg thy majesty’s leave, I must away with
speed to the Bridge to acquire this fateful drink. The sooner we
carry out this task, the safer my lord will be from foul. I would
suggest the banquet set for two nights hence.”
-
- “Let it be done
then!” the king cried happily, his tears forgotten. “Tom and I
shall be so like to the other, our own blood will find no fault with
the jest.”
-
- ************
-
- That night, in the
great banqueting room, Tom sat quietly, surrounded by the highest
lords and ladies of England. Far over, at the end of one of the
lower tables, he eyed Miles and his good king. Edward met his eyes
and bowed his head slightly. That small gesture instilled a great
confidence in the young boy and he lifted his head regally. Twas
long since he had sat in such a position for such a fine feast, and
he waited patiently, a small vial clutched in his small fist.
- Grace was said, and
the loving cup was passed. By and by, eyes strayed from the small
king to the feasting and dancing. Carefully Tom waited, using his
thumb to pry off the small cork under the table. Leaning forward,
he poured the tiny amount of dark liquid into his cup. Looking up
quickly, he saw the eyes of only his king. The boy’s face was
pale as he watched, almost rising up to stop this act, but for
Miles’ hand on his thin shoulder.
-
- Shakily, Tom smiled at
his king, hoping to reassure him. He thanked God that his friends
could not see his shaking hands at such a distance. He stared at
the cup now, not sure how to go about the task. That could be his
very death in that cup of cloying sweet wine. Truly, if God was
angered at recent actions with his king, might he very well smite
him down this very night with this nefarious concoction.
- However, he thought it
better to be he than his beloved king, and with this on his mind, he
took the cup and downed the liquid in one drink, hoping that the
discourteous act would be politely passed off as a heavy thirst, as
he could not muster the courage to take the potion in sips. He
waited for the drink to take effect but felt nothing. Looking at
his king and his friend, he raised an eyebrow in question, they
replied with the same confused gestures.
-
- Edward leaned over to
his friend.
- “Miles, I see no
effect!”
-
- “In sooth your
majesty, I may have been deceived for a pretty sum. Perchance your
young Tom has simply downed a drought of valueless colored water.”
-