18-Jul-2000
Disclaimer: I don't own GW or the Grimm Fairy Tales. I'm poor. This story is for entertainment only. This story has yaoi, some lemon (maybe it's just lime. I never was a good judge.), violence, it has a death, but there is a HAPPY ending, (trust me) and will squick you. (IT WILL!) I am also mean to the Doctors. You have been warned. If you can't deal, don't read. This is based on the Fairy Tale "The Woodsman's Daughter."
Once upon a time, there lived a woodsman. This man was poor but honest and respected by all those in the nearby village. The man had one son, a boy named Quatre. The man's wife had died giving birth to the boy and the woodsman did his best to raise Quatre right. As the years passed, his son grew be a kind, gentle, and well-loved young man. There was one problem, however; the man needed to find Quatre a wife.
Normally, this would have been no trouble, but the woodsman was poor and lived too far from the village to please the village girls. With each passing year, the woodsman became more and more desperate. If Quatre did not marry soon, he would be considered too old and spend the rest of his days alone. Finally, the woodsman publicly declared that he would accept the next eligible person to seek his son's hand.
One day a tall man wearing expensive robes appeared at the woodsman's door. He said his name was O and he was a wealthy trader whose home was deep within the forest. Tales of Quatre's beauty and his father's offer had drawn the man to ask for the young blond's hand.
Seeing the richness of the man's clothes and the gentle manner in which he spoke, the woodsman thought he'd finally found a good choice for his son. Together the two waited until Quatre came back from a day of gathering herbs from the forest. When the little blond entered the house, the woodsman was happy to see the delighted expression O wore. After introducing the man to his son, the father began to discuss the wedding arrangements. He was so caught up in his joy, he missed the fear and loathing in his son's blue eyes.
As soon as O had touched Quatre, the young man felt something wrong. It had just been a friendly handshake, yet he felt covered with something cold and slimy. When they moved to sit at the table, O kept one hand on the table while the other sought to grope the poor little blond under the table. Quatre found himself trying to look normal while avoiding the questing hand. Matters were made worse by the increase in the feeling of wrongness pouring off his suitor. Something about the man was evil; Quatre was sure of it.
Finally, the long discussion was over and the two men shook hands sealing Quatre's fate and binding him to O; the wedding would take place in one month. The bald man suggested Quatre come visit his home the following week so he could see the house they would live in and meet the servants. Before Quatre could object, his father heartily agreed.
For the rest of the week, Quatre tried to find a reason not to go. Each objection was overridden by his father who seemed to think his son merely had a case of pre-wedding jitters. The day arrived and Quatre was sent on his way. Halfway through the forest, he met a friend who'd been thrown from his horse. The poor man, called Rashid, was limping along in obvious pain. Grateful for a chance to avoid visiting his intended, and truly worried for the big man, Quatre offered to help him back to the village.
The next day, O came to visit wondering where "his little Quatre" had gotten to and worried the beasts of the forest had killed him. The woodsman assured O his son had tried to visit, but had run into a friend and could not leave the injured man. Only Quatre saw the dark annoyance that lit up O's eyes for a moment before the pleasant smile hid his true feelings.
O laughed off the missed chance and extended the invitation to the following week. The woodsman promised Quatre would make it this time. The two men talked like old friends for few hours. The more he thought about and saw of O, the more certain Quatre was that something was wrong with the man. He laughed and smiled with his father, but when he looked at the blond, his features darkened with lust and hunger.
Another week passed and again Quatre could not convince his father to let him stay home. Once again the young man set off into the forest praying for something to stop him. He was almost to where the house was supposed to be when a group of King's Rangers stopped him. The men told him they were hunting a notorious band of thieves and murders. They lured innocent, beautiful youths to the forest and then killed and robbed them. The Rangers took Quatre back home and warned his father of the danger.
The next day, O again came to visit. This time he let some of his annoyance show. The woodsman, desperate not to lose this man, quickly told him of the Rangers and their story. O looked horrified. He promised to have his men clear the forest and ensure his future spouse's safety. Before leaving, O made the woodsman promise to have Quatre visit him the following week or he would have to think of calling the wedding off. After all, it would leave only one week before the wedding. Quatre needed to get to know O and his people before the young blond moved in.
The woodsman promised his son would be there and firmly lectured Quatre in front of O. Satisfied, O left. In the next week, Quatre felt a growing sense of dread. Every time he thought of visiting O, ice gripped his stomach and fear ate at his heart. His father refused to listen to any protests voiced by the blond. The day Quatre was due to visit O, the woodsman told his son to either make the visit or never again come home. Faced with the terrible ultimatum, Quatre left to visit O.
He reached the place the Rangers had stopped him at about noon and had a good view of the forest ahead of him. It was dark with rotting trees and no animals moved there. O's house should be located at the center of this area from what the directions O gave told him. Remembering his father's threat, the young man swallowed his fear and entered the darkness. For more than an hour, Quatre stumbled along until he saw a large house ahead of him.
Instead of looking like a grand mansion, it was rundown, dark, and stained. He carefully approached and knocked on the door. No one answered. It suddenly occurred to Quatre that he could be early. Thinking this a good opportunity to discover the truth about his soon-to-be spouse, the blond tested the door, found it unlocked, and entered the house. The inside of the house was worse than the outside.
The furniture was broken and covered with dust. No curtains hung in the windows. Worst of all was the smell. It was like the smell of an animal's den. Refuse, rotting flesh, and death. Nothing good could live here. Quatre was about to turn and run when he heard a voice coming from the back of the house. The voice was singing a sad song about a trapped lover; it was the most beautiful voice Quatre had ever heard.
Following the sound led the young man to the kitchen. There he found a terrible sight. The walls were streaked with dried blood, a large kettle was set in a huge fireplace, a stove was right next to it, and the most beautiful man he'd ever seen stood in the front of the stove stirring a pot of something.
The young man was tall and had brown hair that grew into a strange bang covering half his face; looking carefully, Quatre could see one emerald green eye. As the stranger turned from the pot, the blond could see a metal collar fastened around his neck and a length of chain ran from it to a bolt in the middle of the floor. He must have made some sound because the tall youth suddenly spun around and faced him.
"You have to get out of here," the tall youth hissed. "They'll be back for dinner soon and if they catch you, they'll kill you just like all the others."
"Others?" Quatre gasped.
"Haven't you heard of the bandits who are killing beautiful young people like yourself?"
"I'm supposed to meet a man named O," Quatre began but was cut-off by the look of horror on the other's face.
"He's the one who lures most of the victims here. They kill the ones they bring here. I'm forced to watch what they do and I can't interfere because of the chain. The only thing keeping me alive is the fact I can cook and clean; something they are loath to do." A noise from the front of the house made both youths jump. Fear darkened the visible green eye as a yell echoed through the house. "It's them and they have brought another to die."
Grabbing Quatre by the arm, the tall youth dragged him toward the fireplace.
"I used the stove to cook today so the fireplace should be cool. Hide behind the kettle and the wood will keep your legs hidden." He looked pleadingly at the blond. "No matter what you hear or see, do not come out. I cannot keep them from you, if you do. And they will punish me terribly if they find you."
Quatre had just managed to get his body behind the kettle when he heard a group of people enter. From the sounds, they had a captive with them. The blond found he could peak out from behind the kettle through a small opening between the kettle and the fireplace wall. What he saw made his stomach turn.
O was dragging a slender young man behind him. The youth had violet eyes and a very long braid. Despite the difference in size, O towered over the younger man, the youth was putting up a good fight. He kicked and punched for all he was worth. O didn't even seem to notice. Four men followed the struggling pair. Each was old and seemed physically twisted; their bodies mimicking what was in their hearts.
"What have you done to Heero," the violet-eyed youth yelled at last.
"The same thing we're going to do to you, my boy." The man with a scar laughed darkly.
That wasn't cruel enough for O, apparently, for he pulled the youth close to him, clearly enjoying the struggles. He ran his hands over his captive's body and smiled.
"We killed him. I choked the life from him and laughed when he died. Then Trowa," he gestured toward the chained youth, "cooked him for us, but he was far too tough. I think you will make a far better meal. You look so tender." The man was practically drooling.
"No," the youth whispered weakly. "Heero can't be dead. He promised to come back. He promised."
"Then he shouldn't have joined the Rangers." Proclaimed a man with long white hair. "Those interfering bastards were hard to kill and hardly any of them were good for sport."
"They were good for one thing," a man with a tied on nose said. "They led this beauty to us."
"Killing wasn't the only thing I did to your precious Heero," O growled. "Shall I show you exactly how he died?"
With that statement, O pushed the young man back onto the table and began to rip his clothes off. Quatre wanted to look away but found himself unable to move, trapped by the tragedy playing out before him. The other men held the screaming, struggling form down as O dropped his pants and placed his hands around the other's slender neck.
"Say hello to your love when you get to hell," O laughed and began to squeeze.
Violet eyes went wide with horror and desperation; they darted over the room seeking help and fixed on one part of the kitchen. Trowa sat huddled in the corner, his fists covering his ears. There was nothing he could do to stop this. If he interfered, he would die as well. Someday he would be strong enough to end this; he swore this to himself every time an innocent died on that table. Someday. In the meantime, he tried to hide his crying.
Quatre watched the young man grow weaker and weaker. Just as the light faded from violet eyes, the slender form was rocked by something. The blond's gaze was drawn back to O. Bile rose so swiftly in his throat that Quatre was hard pressed not to give himself away. O was raping the almost dead youth, a look of pure bliss on his face. With a shudder, the giant man released at the same time his victim died.
For a moment, the small blond dared to believe the horror was over. The men had other ideas. Each quickly began to search the victim's clothes, claiming anything of value. O noticed a small gold ring on the middle finger of one hand and tried to remove it. After several pulls, he looked around.
"Trowa," he ordered, "bring me the meat cleaver."
The tall young man stood with a sense of inevitability. Moving quickly, he brought the cleaver to O. Quatre noticed no one seemed afraid to see their slave armed. Of course, even if Trowa killed them all, he would starve because he could not get the collar off. For now they knew safety, unaware of the determination taking shape behind the glassy emerald eyes.
Taking the cleaver, O carefully folded the other fingers back and delivered a fierce blow to the base of the finger sending it flying across the room and straight into Quatre's lap. The blond looked at the digit in horror. O cursed under his breath and started toward the kettle. Thinking quickly, Trowa moved to intercept him.
"I used the fireplace today. It's very hot," he said softly, not daring to look in the killer's eyes.
"Why do you care?" O said, suspicion dripping from his words.
"I don't," Trowa shrugged. "I just don't want to be beaten if you burn yourself. When it cools down, I can get the ring for you."
O looked over the tall young man then nodded and went back to the body.
Quatre fought down the need to run or be sick so many times in the next few hours, he lost count. The men tore the body apart when they were done searching for treasure. The parts were given to Trowa to prepare for a meal tomorrow. The chained man then cleaned the table and set dinner on the still stained surface.
Conversation turned to Quatre and his failure to show up yet again. O told the men he would not give up on the pretty blond; he'd felt the youth's soft flesh and wouldn't be satisfied until that tender meat was his. He would just have to go through with the marriage and kill his 'bride' on their wedding night. The men all agreed the idea was a turn on. They begged O to let them watch. Laughing, he agreed.
For hours, Quatre sat listening to all the things the men planned to do to him; later they began to recount some of their favorite kills. Once the man with long hair ran a hand over Trowa's back and commented about getting someone to take his place so they could taste the tall youth's flesh. The green-eyed slave showed no reaction when several of the men nodded in agreement.
An eternity passed before the men left and the house was filled with the sounds of snoring. Trowa quietly moved the kettle and called the stiff blond out. Quatre spent the first few moments of his freedom getting blood to circulate again and wondering how he would get his savior out of this monstrous place. Trowa had other ideas.
He urged Quatre to leave and summon the authorities to the house. No matter what happened to him, the evil men had to pay for their deeds. The determination on the tall young man's face made the blond even more sure he could not leave alone.
A minor argument broke out between them. Quatre knowing the men would kill Trowa at the first sign of someone finding them; if only to keep their prisoner from tell anyone anything about them and he refused to leave him because of this knowledge. Trowa reminding Quatre of the chain that prevented his going anywhere and his own guilt in the deaths of many; he'd just stood by as the men killed. Never interfering.
Quatre told his companion about the Rangers. It was his father who warned O; even if neither had known what O was at the time, the Rangers blood was on his hands as far as Quatre was concerned. Both men put forth their points, yet one thing was very clear, Trowa could not leave and Quatre did not want to leave him.
Unnoticed, a small cloud of vapor lifted off the dismembered body lying in the corner. It drifted over to Trowa and encircled the collar at his neck. The collar shook and fell to the floor. The youths stared at it and the vapor in confusion.
"Will you two shut up now and get out of here." The vapor said. "I have never heard two such stubborn lovers in all my life."
"We're not..." they began at the same time.
"You love each other," the vapor cut them off and even turned red in frustration. "It's one of those love at first sight things. I know. It was the same way for me and Heero." Two violet eyes appeared in the middle of the strange mist and focused on Trowa. "You are not to blame for what those men did. Nothing could be done to save any of us and we hold no grudge against you. Quatre, the Rangers do not blame you either. All we want is for those bastards to be brought to justice."
As Quatre and Trowa listened, the ghost outlined a plan. When it had finished, the pair left the house and ran almost all the way back to the woodsman's house. There, they found the poor man certain he'd sent his only child to die. His emotional state left him more than ready to listen to Quatre's fears now and hear the tale of his adventures.
As dawn turned the sky into a pageant of colors, the woodsman sent his son to the magistrate to begin the plot to bring the killers to justice. Trowa was hidden in the cellar for fear O might see him and begin to grasp what had happened. The monster had no reason to suspect his former slave and Quatre had met or helped each other. So it was that O came to the house not knowing who could hear his every word.
The woodsman apologized profusely for Quatre's not showing up and told the man a lifelong family friend in the village suddenly came down with a terrible fever and his son took herbs to help him. The blond couldn't leave his friend but nothing would stop him from being at the wedding. The woodsman talked for a while with O and put the man at ease. The murderer saw nothing out of order and left planning his wedding night.
Plans were made on both sides. Trowa and Quatre became closer and closer until the woodsman just grabbed Trowa and ordered him to marry his beloved son. Trowa agreed, but blushed brightly at the prospect of being Quatre's "bride". An altar was placed outside the woodsman's house and the pair was married that same night. Unlike the night O planned, Quatre thoroughly enjoyed this one. Time was short though. Before anyone knew it, the week was passed and the day of the wedding dawned.
O arrived with all of his confederates in tow; none suspecting anything. Dressed in their finest clothes, the men looked nothing like the vile creatures everyone now knew them to be. The minister called for the ceremony to begin. O took his place at the outside altar with his men taking up positions in the audience.
Quatre walked slowly to his "husband" and stopped at his side. The ceremony went on until the part where someone must object. Calmly stepping out of the forest's shadows, Trowa claimed Quatre as his and O as a murderer. His fellow killers were seized by the crowd, but no one could have anticipated how fast O moved. Before the guards, once disguised as guests, got more than a foot, O had a knife at Quatre's throat, cutting him just enough to show the blood.
Under his orders, the other killers were released and they started to back towards the forest. All knew if he reached the shelter of the trees, he would disappear, taking Quatre as his next victim. Yet, if they did anything to stop him, Quatre would die; his throat cut open.
Trowa decided it would be better for his beloved to die a quick death now than later at the hands of O. As he tensed for the attack, a wind tore through the forest and a hideous scream built within it. Hazy shapes surrounded the five monsters and their captive and flowed around them as the wind increased, creating a tornado around the men. Trowa thought he could see the faces of all the victims he knew of and many more. Soon the men and Quatre were totally obscured by the cloudy wind.
"Quatre!" Trowa yelled frantically. Surely the ghosts did not mean to harm the innocent blond. Surely they would take him instead. Without warning, Quatre sailed out of the vortex and landed right in his lover's outstretched arms.
Sounds of inhuman suffering filled the air for a long time. The haze keeping the men from sight became red and pieces of something would become visible for a moment before being sucked back into the tornado. No one wanted to know what those pieces were.
As suddenly as it began, the wind stopped. All that was left of the killers was a red circle on the ground.
In front of Quatre and Trowa, several shapes took form. The two recognized the longhaired victim as he stepped forward.
"Thank you," he said, hugging the young men. "Now we can rest in peace."
"Hn." commented a ghost with messy brown hair and cobalt eyes.
The violet-eyed ghost skipped over to that ghost and threw his arms around its waist.
"Well, we can screw each other silly in peace, at least," he whispered huskily.
The cobalt eyes went wide and then the braided specter found his mouth being ravaged. Together, the busy ghosts faded from sight. The other shades followed, each wearing a smile and waving goodbye. Finally, only the guards, guests, and the woodsman's family remained.
The tale of what happened that day is often told, even today. As for what happened to Quatre and Trowa. They both lived happily ever after
The End.
Phoenix
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