Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

Trellis (Verome)

Deep in the woods, under the ancient oak tree, two men met hundreds of years ago. The tree was a sapling, then, and it stood alone. Both men had come to hunt, but the grove that had once been there was gone, rendering the place almost useless.

The first was small and sly, quick on his feet and to think. He was used to struggles like this, as the palacemen often destroyed the forests where he caught his prey. When he came that day, he stayed to grieve, for not only had the trees been harvested, but so had the animals.

The second was tall and strong, and looked as if he wasn't supposed to be here. His clothes were regal, and a golden circlet bound his wild brown hair. He held an axe in his hands, and two daggers clamped to his side. When he came, he was disappointed to find that the army had chopped down the grove, only to leave a tiny sapling, not even a yearling.

The royal man saw the lithe hunter and smiled. Perhaps he wouldn't be alone in his plight.

"A royal," the smaller said, looking up at him, mixed with fear, joy, and disgust.

"A peasant," the royal mocked.

Now, the first man wasn't like most people. Nearly everyone either man knew would have blown up at the remark, but instead, the smaller boy responded with a laugh.

And it went from there.

The two became closer than brothers, often meeting in the same spot. As the years passed, the single tree started to grow, sprouting and unfurling its branches and leaves. Unbeknownst to the boys (who had never learned each other's names; they simply called each other Royal and Peasant), the tree could have been used to show how their love rocketed. Neither of them really knew what was happening. It was just... There. A feeling, in the back of their minds, that made them excited when they saw the other. A sense, to both protect and harm them, when the other was near. They cared deeply for each other, but didn't really realize it.

Not until the peasant boy had the nerve to kiss the royal.

They had met (incidently dressed much like they were the first time they ever talked) like normal, carrying a simple conversation and joking around with the other. The royal took off his crown, and set it on the peasant's hair, binding black locks. "I like you like that, as my king," the royal boy said. "You know, their going to marry me off soon. I can't keep pushing it back."

"But you won't leave, right?" the smaller man asked.

"No, of course not. I won't let them."

Smiling, the peasant clutched at the royal's hair. They were just inches apart, and it was clear they both wanted the same thing.

The dark-skinned peasant reached up and gently pressed his lips to the royal's.

That kiss wasn't full of sparks (though, the shivers that went down the royal's back were very real), but it was slow and passionate all the same, more of a dance than anything. When the two pulled away, the smaller's face was dark red.

"My name's Vikk," he whispered.

"I'm Jerome," the royal answered, a smile playing on his lips.

"Prince Aceti!"

Jerome let Vikk go, whirling around to see the owner of the voice, a knight without his armor, on the back of his horse, sword in hand. Other riders fell in behind him.

"Mitchell," he said smoothly. "Why are you here? And why did you bring your men?"

"Prince Aceti, you're under arrest for having relations with a peasant," Mitch announced, then added, with regret in his eyes, "It's your father's order."

"You can't do that. There has to be a law against it. 'The crown rules all.' Something."

Jerome was surprised by Vikk's begging. Did he really care about him that much?

"Jerome isn't 'the crown.' Not yet, anyways," Mitch replied, dismounting his horse and walking over to Jerome, who sullenly held his wrists out to be cuffed.

"Take me, please. You can't throw royalty in the dungeons," Vikk pleaded, pushing past the Prince. "I'm the one who dragged him into this."

"I can't do that. It's against the King's words," Mitch said awkwardly, though anger had started to lace his voice.

"Kill me," Jerome murmured, looking up at the knight, who used to be his best friend. "Maybe it'll show my father that royals don't have to follow such a strict set of rules. It might be a stupid reason, but civil rights apply to us, too."

"Jerome..." Vikk said in awe and fear.

"I... We used to be so close. I couldn't do that," Mitch responded, clearly swallowing hard.

"Then give me the sword and let me do it myself!" Jerome snapped, and with that, Mitch waved off his men.

"A-Are you sure? You can't take something like that back."

"I'm sure, Mitch. My death will mean something. That's all I've ever really wanted."

"Y-You can't!" Vikk spoke up. "I love you, and we... We could have been something."

"Come with me, then," Jerome said, smiling invitingly. "You don't have a family back home... I followed you, once."

And Vikk did.

The conversation had been short and sweet afterwards, Mitch handing over his sword with tears in his eyes. When the people found out what the Prince had done, many thought he was overreacting.

And maybe he was.

But Jerome knew he could never stay with Vikk, who was the complete love of his life. Royals and common folk were too different, and their rules forbid it. They could never grow old together, or have each other's hand in marriage. Jerome would have been locked away, and Vikk executed.

But deep in the woods, under the ancient oak tree, it's said that once a year, you can see the royal and the peasant, wrapped in each other's embrace, meeting each other yet another time. They would never be split, as their bond was too strong. I can tell you from experience that sometimes, the sword would sit there, shining and free from any blemishes or scars to remind one of the deed it had done. After all, the two were happy now, locked in that place for all of eternity.

And they wouldn't have it any other way.

····

I'm not crying, there's just a plane in my eye.

Anyways, a promise is a promise, isn't it, Rosie?

So...

See ya next chapter?

Baiiiii