Fairytale Fic: The Prince and the Potions Master
Title: The Prince and the Potions Master Author: julesnoctambule Fairytale AU; rated G.
Once upon a time (for is that not how a fairy tale should begin?), in a land not as faraway as one might think, there was a kingdom and in that kingdom there lived a prince.
There had been a queen and a king to rule there, long ago, but they had died and the heir apparent had gone out on a quest to prove his worth and earn his throne by slaying a fearsome dragon, so the prince had been chosen by the royal advisors to look after things in the meantime.
It is generally accepted that princes should be brave, strong, fearless and handsome, but this prince was actually quite ordinary. He preferred books to swords, though he could fight well if duty called, and he was more patient than he was bold. His hair didn’t bounce in the wind or shine like gold under the sun; it was brown and, to be honest, had a touch more grey in it than one would expect a young man’s hair to have. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth but though he did not look excessively noble or dashing. he did have beautiful hazel eyes and a very kind smile.
He was also prone to fits of illness, when he would be made senseless by fever and pain, and often would take days to recover. Despite suffering, the prince performed the duties of his office without fail and for that, the people found him very brave and admired him even though he lacked an abundance of the usual princely attributes. A multitude of potions, poultices and other remedies were administered in the hopes of making him well, but only one ever succeeded.
In fairy tales, a good heart is usually signified by good looks, but there are always exceptions. The potions master was tall and thin like a birch tree, with pale skin and a nose that one could refer to as ‘noticeable’ if one were being polite and ‘protuberant’ if one were not. His black eyes kept a guarded expression, he tended to greet people with a scowl on those occasions when he could not avoid them and he was usually left quite alone in the castle tower where he lived, not that he minded.
Though he was almost half the age of most successful potions masters, he was exceedingly bright and able to concoct many fascinating potions, even potions his elders insisted could never exist. One of these was the remedy that kept the prince from illness, something the potions master dismissed as ‘nothing particularly special’ whenever it was mentioned.
The prince felt otherwise and insisted that he and only he would create and administer the elixir, for there was no way of knowing if someone else would be able to make it as perfectly as the potions master did.
At first, the potions master quite begrudged this intrusion into his life; he enjoyed things the way they were and didn’t need some bit of royalty complicating things. Other people might think it glamorous to treat a prince, but the potions master had no such opinion.
Being an observant person, the prince was quick to deduce that the potions master’s impatience toward him came from the expectation of being treated differently, for he was not well-liked among the royal advisors. They distrusted him on the grounds that he was not one of them, but to the prince, that was a mark in his favour. He did not always think his advisors had the best interests of anyone but themselves in mind, though he never said so to them. The prince often felt that they advised in ways that would make them appear to be the most important instead of ways that solved the problem at hand, but the potions master, on the other hand, did not care for courtly intrigue and appearances and as the months passed, the prince found himself relying on the potions master for advice as much as for his medicine.
The potions master, also quite adept at observation, noticed that the prince seemed in need of a companion outside of the court and, after his initial irritation had waned, found that he rather enjoyed the company. Before long, it became quite common for the prince to seek him out for his opinion on one thing or another.
Such was the case one winter afternoon, when thick snow muffled all sounds and icicles spangled the trees like fallen stars. There had been a most unsettling meeting in the royal court that morning and the prince was far more subdued in mood than he was wont to be.
After giving the prince the elixir, the potions master saw at once that his patient’s drooping shoulders and listless expression were due to more than the winter’s chill. ‘Is something troubling you, your highness?’
The prince finished his potion and set the goblet aside, frowning. ‘Will you ever stop calling me that?’
‘It is the correct way to address you. Imagine the looks on your advisors’ faces if they caught me doing otherwise.’
The frown on his face began to fade into a smile. ‘It annoys me, and you know it.’
‘Very well.’ The potions master cleared his chair of a few wayward books and sat down opposite the prince. ‘Is something troubling you?’
His amusement dissolved and the prince’s expression became solemn. ‘The royal advisors have informed me that they are concerned about the fate of the heir apparent and wish for a new king.’
‘And they propose you take the throne?’
‘They do indeed.’
‘Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem to endorse the decision.’
‘It was never my decision to make, it appears.’
‘According to kingdom law, any ruler must be wed in order to prevent the throne being lost through a monarch’s death. You are unwed.’
The prince sighed, eyeing his empty goblet as if he wished it contained a healthy draught of mead. ‘Another decision that my advisors have made for me.’
‘Again, you do not seem to care much for the idea.’
‘I do not. If you will excuse me, I must return to the court; they will be informing me of the time of my prospective bride’s arrival. I understand there is to be a lavish celebration lasting at least two weeks.’
‘Most men would relish the prospect of a bride and a kingdom,’ the potions master pointed out.
‘I am not most men,’ replied the prince, making his way out the door with reluctance showing in every step.
‘You most certainly are not,’ the potions master said to the closing door.
Where would any fairy tale be without a princess, elegantly dressed and arriving in a carriage pulled by a dozen white horses? Youthful and smiling, the princess was almost as lovely as her official portrait, though her nose was a bit more upturned and her hair was not golden, but such a fair Titian that it looked almost pink. She was at least as clever as his advisors had promised and she was a fair dancer, only stepping on the prince’s toes twice when it came time for the waltz. When they danced, the prince noticed the dowager Duchess giving him a look of approval the likes of which she had never before bestowed.
By the end of the second day, it was clear to the prince that the princess had come with the intention of falling in love and marrying and his advisors had not discouraged these notions. When the time came for him to make his excuses and go take his potion, he was quite relieved for the break in her near-constant attentions.
‘You seem distressed,’ the potions master said after noting the prince was ingesting his medicine in almost minute sips. ‘Was she not as you had hoped?’
‘She is a princess; she is young and lovely and well brought up.’
The potions master nodded; he had slipped down to the ballroom the previous evening and seen the girl himself. ‘And yet you are happy to be away from her.’
‘She is full of hopes and dreams and thinks they shall all be achieved the moment she takes a husband, and I feel I will not fulfil her desires.’
‘I can make a potion for that, too.’
The prince glowered, but the hint of a smile danced at the corner of his mouth. ‘I daresay you know that is not what I meant.’
‘You were speaking of the image of love she has in her mind, no doubt, and while I have the ability brew something to approximate the feelings of love, I would never presume to falsify such a precious thing. Rare though it may be, to force it where it was not intended only sullies the true occurrences.’
‘You do not think I should marry her.’
‘I did not say that.’
‘You will not say exactly what you do think, I believe. Why have you not attended any of the festivities? If you do not object to this arrangement, why do you not join in the celebrating?’
‘I dislike dancing, I do not care for rich food and I have no time for the chatter at court.’
The prince smiled sadly. ‘Such luxury, to come and go as you please. Court bores me as well; I would much rather spend the evening with you in this tower than sit in the ballroom and pretend to care about the idle conversation.’
The potions master overlooked the compliment. ‘A monarch’s time is never their own.’
‘All the more reason to avoid becoming one, I should think.’
‘Are you absolutely it is a path you do not wish to take?’
‘I never wanted it. I’m here only because the queen and king thought I would be a suitable guardian for their son, but then he went off on that ridiculous quest of his and now I am in this position. I do not want a wife, nor do I want a kingdom.’
‘What is it that you do want?’ asked the potions master. He thought that perhaps it was easier for him to imagine wanting none of those things than it was for the advisors and courtiers, could they even begin to grasp it.
‘A little house of my own, with a garden and plenty of trees and somewhere quiet to walk. Perhaps in the country, or by the seaside.’
Shuffling through the papers on his desk, the potions master nodded. He, too, would enjoy those things, but there was more work to be had in the city. ‘You would be very alone in such a place.’
‘So I would; I do not much care for being alone,’ said the prince. ‘Tell me, do you like the country?’
‘I prefer the seaside,’ he replied, not looking up from his papers.
By the end of the first week, the royal advisors brought up the subject of proposing at every opportunity. The dowager Duchess even managed to work it into a discussion on the prices of grain, claiming that a true king would honour his people by proving as fertile as the land. The prince endured the constant haranguing of his advisors and the hopeful looks from the princess, as he had no other choice but to put on a brave face, yet when night had fallen and there was no one hovering over him, he slipped away to the potions master’s tower.
The door opened to reveal a mussy-headed, scowling potions master, who appeared only a little mollified by the identity of his late-night guest. He sat the prince in his usual chair by the fire and put the kettle on to heat. When the tea was ready, he took his own chair. ‘You do not look poisoned and you do not look ill, so what do you want?’
‘They want me to propose,’ the prince told him, cupping his mug of tea in both hands to keep it from shaking. ‘I can think of no reason to delay or deny the request.’
‘Aside from the fact that you do not wish to marry or to become king?’
‘My wishes are not adequate cause.’
‘But you do not love the girl. Surely, that counts for something.’
‘The heart matters little in affairs of the state.’
For a few minutes the potions master sat, sipping his tea, watching the prince and wondering. After a while, he spoke. ‘It has been a long time since you were last ill. The potion keeps you from becoming ill by rendering you impervious to the sickness, not by destroying the sickness. If you stop taking the potion, you will again be susceptible.’
‘But how will that help? No doubt she will cling to my bedside, since caring for me would look most noble.’
‘You could trick them. The princess, your advisors, all of them.’
‘Trick them? How?’
‘Tell them you will marry the girl if she can cure your illness.’
The prince looked intrigued yet still wary. ‘And if she can?’
‘It cannot be done,’ he assured the prince ‘I have studied this illness for years and years, and even I cannot cure it, only hold it at bay. If you stop the potion, it will return with strength and vengeance. She will not be able to give you even a moment’s respite.’
‘I fear being ill again,’ the prince confessed, bowing his head.
The potions master reached out, touching the prince’s fingers lightly with his own. ‘I will not allow harm to come to you. If you are willing to take this risk and escape a life you do not want, I will help you.’
When the potions master went down to the kitchens the following evening, he heard a chambermaid tell the cook that the prince was ill and refusing care from anyone but the princess. He took his supper and went back to the tower, noting which maid had spoken in case he needed to speak with her at any point. By the next morning the news was all over the palace and the city, spreading as quickly as the prince’s fever. In his rooms, the potions master mixed a delicate concoction and waited.
In the prince’s chambers, the princess sat by his bedside and the royal advisors hovered over her, fretting. She had tried singing songs, weeping, dancing around the bed and offering tokens of her affection, but not one thing had affected the prince’s illness. As every hour passed, he grew sicker and weaker and she could not understand why, for surely the power of true love should cure all.
The royal advisors gave her much encouragement; the dowager Duchess spoke at length of her many children, the Baron marvelled at the mysterious powers of love and the chief astrologer predicted wondrous things in the skies but it was all to no avail. After the fourth day, the princess decided that her love was not strong enough and, bidding the unconscious prince farewell, she returned to her homeland. The royal advisors sent for the potions master at once.
‘He is fading!’ exclaimed the dowager Duchess.
‘He is dying!’ wailed the chief astrologer.
‘He is neither of those things,’ snapped the potions master, ‘but he would be better had you not left him like this so long in an attempt to prove your point! Now out of my way, all of you.’
When the prince awoke, it was to the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead and the taste of potion on his lips. Opening his eyes, he saw the potions master seated beside the bed, a goblet of water in his hand.
‘I see you are well again, your highness.’
He took the goblet and drank deeply, though a few moments passed before he could speak again. ‘I. . .have told you. . . .’
‘Not to call you that, I know. It is preferable to calling you my king, is it not?’
‘It is indeed.’ The prince sat up against the bed’s gilded headboard. ‘I take it the princess did not succeed?’
The potions master nodded, the hint of a smile on his face. ‘She did not.’
‘And yet I am cured.’
‘For the moment, and as long as you take your potion, yes.’
‘Well, then,’ said the prince, turning to the potions master, ‘as you have conquered my illness, I suppose it is you to whom I shall offer my hand in marriage.’
‘It was I who made you ill again in the first place,’ the potions master reminded him, suddenly becoming interested in the parquet floor.
The prince nodded in acknowledgement. ‘That is true, but there was no such condition attached to the proclamation.’
There is a sort of magic associated with kissing in fairy tales; generally, a spell is broken or a beloved’s looks transform from plain to breathtaking. There was no such magic in this kiss but that was a fine thing, for the prince was quite fond of the potions master’s noticeable nose and the potions master held much affection for the lines at the corners of the prince’s eyes.
The chambermaid who opened the door quickly thought the best of it and closed it silently. Surely, the news that the heir apparent had returned and had prevailed in his battle against the fearsome dragon could wait a while.
The coronation of the heir apparent was an elaborate affair held in conjunction with the announcement of his engagement to the dowager Duchess’ only daughter, and the people of the kingdom celebrated as if there was no end to the merriment.
Most of the people celebrated, at any rate. In a not-all-that-small house by the sea, the prince and the potions master spent the day sitting in front of the fireplace, drawing up plans for the garden they would build behind the house that coming spring.
And, of course, they lived happily ever after (for is that not how a fairy tale should end?).