Chapter Text
Once upon a time there lived a penniless king. His face was carved from stone, but his heart was in the right place.
THEN:
"One day, I'm gonna be a knight!", Frederick announces, kicking his feet against the floor.
Richard looks up from his newspaper, glances at his oldest child currently sprawled on the carpet. He tries not to grimace: Michael's clothes are relatively new and he's just lying there on his stomach like he doesn't even care about all the dust surrounding him.
"Is that so?", Eleanor asks from the kitchen. Unlike him, she probably doesn't mind that the boy is ruining his perfectly nice trousers. In fact, she sounds amused but, apparently, is quickly distracted by Mike tugging at her sleeve and demanding another spoonful of that unpleasant-looking baby mush.
"Yep." Freddie snatches his yellow crayon from Hazel's mouth and continues doodling. She looks like she's about to complain and Richard tenses because there's only one thing he hates more than crying children, and that's the sound of his crying daughter. Fortunately, she seems to think it over and goes back to brushing the hair on her doll. "I'm gonna be as tall as Dad!", Frederick adds, beaming at him.
Richard wants to smile, assure him that, genetically speaking, he's all set and shouldn't have to worry about that. Instead, he returns his attention to the newspaper, saying: "Don't draw on your books."
He doesn't see Frederick's smile falter.
Although many believed his heart to be missing, the king fell in love with a girl made out of sunshine and, together, they had three children whom they loved dearly.
LATER:
"Is Mummy going to be okay?", Hazel asks from the back seat. She's holding Frederick's hand and the boy stares seriously into the rear-view mirror, determined to meet his father's gaze.
"She will be," Richard lies.
"I don't wanna go to grandma's," Mike whines a minute later, breaking the silence.
"Tough." Richard wishes he could be more sympathetic (he's not fond of his mother either), but there's nothing he can do about it at this point: he can't leave the children alone while he spends the night at the hospital and he's not dragging them there with him either. Sadly, his parents are the only people he knows with a big enough house that can receive three children within short notice.
"It'll be fine, Mikey," Frederick says quietly, pulling his little brother into a one-armed hug. For once, Mike doesn't complain nor does he squirm.
When Richard checks the mirror again, Frederick's still staring at him.
Right?, his eyes ask, and Richard looks away.
Their youngest son had the temper of a demon and the disposition of a tornado, but he resembled more a kitty rather than the lion he intended to be.
NOW:
"What's the point in having access to all these fucking programs when there's nothing worth watching in any of them!?", Mike yells at the television, but he doesn't stop flipping through the channels nor does he feel particularly inclined to remove his feet from his brother's coffee table. Finally, after a few more seconds of complaining, he settles for something with an excited "oooh!"
Their only daughter was as beautiful as her mother and as wild as her younger brother, but she was level-headed like her father and, therefore, his favourite.
"Ew, Mike, gross! We're not watching Animal Planet again!" Hazel tries to reach for the remote but Mike holds it a safe distance away from her.
"But it's educational!"
"Watching two lions getting it on isn't educational, you idiot! It's gross!"
"You only say that 'cause Carrothead's out of town and you're jealous of their sweet lovin'!"
"Oh, look who's talking! Is Sophia still making you sleep on the floor?"
"Shut the fuck up!"
The king's oldest son was a charming boy. He had eyes and hair of gold, and was as sweet-tempered as he was well-behaved. He spoke of love and dreamed while awake.
"Cut it out, the both of you," Freddie says wearily, stepping into the room.
The other two stop their impromptu wrestling match to look at their brother. Today, he's uncommonly clean: Freddie has shaved and none of his clothes are stained. Hazel would even bet that he doesn't smell like ash tray or stale beer anymore.
They take a few moments to recover from the shock (by the gods, it looks like he's even brushed his hair!) and Mike reacts first: "And where are you going all fancy-like?", he wonders, smirking.
Hazel's copies the expression and the mocking tone: "Did you clean your ears too?", she coos.
Freddie mumbles an affirmation and scowls at the floor, and it's then that they realise that he hasn't looked at them once since he walked in.
"You okay?"
Freddie moves his head, but the gesture is so vague that they're not sure how to interpret it. "I'm having lunch with Dad," he informs them with a sigh. Hazel and Mike wince sympathetically. She stands up at once.
"Good luck, Freddie," she tells him, walking over to him to kiss his cheek and give his clothes a quick inspection.
"You're gonna need it," Mike adds solemnly.
Their brother finally looks at them and he's doing a valiant attempt at a smile, but it's too weak to fool anyone. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, but he thinks it better and rubs his neck instead. "Yeah."
He leaves without saying goodbye, and they watch the door close with the odd feeling that Freddie might as well have been leaving for war.