Chapter Text
The doctor summoned him at midnight.
“Is it bad?” Martin asked, pulling his dressing gown over his shoulders as they hurried down the darkened halls of the castle. Outside a storm growled, lashing rain and the low, grumbling roll of thunder.
Dr. Grice shook her head. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “Her breathing - she’s struggling.” She heaved a heavy breath of her own; shot Martin a serious look out of the corner of her eye. “You should be there.”
Martin drew in a hissing breath between his teeth, his heart clenching in his chest. That sounded… final.
Lady Blackwood was laid on her bed, as she had been for all the long months of this last stage of her illness. Her cheeks were hollowed with exhaustion; her skin was pale. Martin could hear the rasp of her breath even from the doorway, labored and thin.
“Mum,” he said weakly, hesitating by the door.
Dr. Grice laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she said quietly. “Call if you need me, but… there’s not much left I can do.”
Martin nodded numbly, not taking his eyes off his mother. There was a swoosh of air beside him; footsteps, and the closing of the door.
Then they were alone.
Martin took the few shaky steps necessary to sink into the chair by her bedside. Lady Blackwood’s eyes were closed, flickering behind their lids in fretful slumber.
He opened his mouth to speak-
Closed it, and swallowed thickly.
Tried again.
“Mum,” he said quietly. “I- I’m so sorry, mum.”
A slow roll of thunder rattled the window in its casing.
The room was silent again.
Martin took a deep breath, closing his eyes and tipping his chin down to rest against his chest. He clasped his hands together in his lap. To an outsider, it would have almost looked like he was praying, though he’d lost faith in any gods he might once have prayed to long ago.
A soft noise from the bed drew his eyes again. Lady Blackwood’s brow was furrowed with troubled dreams; he head twitched sharply on the pillow where it rested.
“Mum?” Martin asked, leaning forward over the bed.
Her eyes shot open with a gasp, staring unseeing at the ceiling for a long moment before she remembered to exhale and began to look about herself with a wild expression.
“Where am I?” she asked urgently, voice cracked from disuse.
Oh. So it was one of those nights.
“You- you’re in your bedroom, mum, in the castle,” Martin said gently. “It’s alright.”
Her eyes focused in on him, heavy with confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been sick,” Martin explained. “I’m- I’m taking care of you.”
“You’re no doctor.”
Martin tried for a smile. “The doctor is just outside, mum. Do you want her?”
All he got in response was an incoherent mumble. Lady Blackwood’s eyes went distant again, drifting away from him across the room. Her momentary energy seemed to leave her, and she sank back into the sheets, weak and fading.
Martin’s heart clenched in his chest. Yes, they had a troubled relationship, and had done for years, but she was still his mum. It pained him to see her like this.
“Mum,” he said again, softly, reaching out to touch her arm - to offer comfort, or companionship, or even just to reassure himself that she was still there, still alive, for a little while longer.
His mum flinched away from his hand, a look of disgust crossing her face as her gaze shot back around to fixate on him. “Don’t touch me, Lord Blackwood!” she spat, with another burst of energy.
Oh.
She was confusing him with his father again. It… happened, every now and then. More often recently, as the illness took stronger hold of her and her mind spent more time drifting.
She’d never called Martin by his title, not in all the long years he had carried it. He was always just “boy” to her.
“Mum,” he tried again. “M-mum, it’s me. It’s Martin.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t sully the boy’s name in your mouth,” she hissed. “It’s your fault he’s like this. I raised a strong son; it’s your negligence that’s corrupted him into this lack-brained weakling.”
Martin drew his hand back, fingers curling into his palm. He took a deep breath; mustered his reserves of calm.
She’s sick, he told himself. She’s just lashing out. She doesn’t mean it.
He wished that saying it would take the sting of the words away.
“Dad’s not here, mum,” he explained. “It’s me.”
“Don’t try to trick me to save your dignity. I may be sick, but I’ve still got my wits about me,” she said, against the evidence. “I’d know your face anywhere. Never was able to forget it, no matter how hard I tried. Not with the boy the way he is.” Her voice was getting louder, more agitated.
“Handsome?” Martin said weakly, trying for a joke.
“The face of an angel, I once thought.” She scoffed. “The face of a demon!”
The last word was almost a shout. She was shaking, arms trembling with effort as she tried to push herself upright.
“Mum,” he said, worried. “Mum, you need to calm down, you’re- please don’t tax yourself-”
“Don’t tell me to be calm, you- you bastard!” she screeched, her voice breaking on the word as she fell back onto the bed. “After what you did! Leaving me alone to deal with our son, to raise the boy all on my own with no help-”
“I- I mean, there were the servants-” Martin offered weakly. They had done most of the job of raising him, ever since he was an infant.
“The servants?” she choked in disbelief. “That’s no substitute for a boy’s own father!”
For the record, I agree, Martin thought, in the privacy of his own head. He hated being in this position: bearing the brunt of his mum’s anger over the way his dad had abandoned them. He had been a bastard, breaking her heart, abandoning his family, and Martin wished he could take that pain away from his mum; wished they could bond over that shared pain, instead of letting it tear them apart.
“You’re just- you’re heartless,” Lady Blackwood was hyperventilating, now, her eyes wide in pain and anger. “You’ve always been heartless, and I, fool that I was, didn’t see it until it was too late.” Her eyes narrowed, suddenly, and her next words came out as a snarl. “Well, no longer.”
“What-”
Before Martin could so much a stutter a question, she was sitting up, throwing the sheets back from the bed, and pointing at him with one thin, trembling finger.
“I curse you,” she said, low and fierce, her voice stronger than it had been in years. “I curse you, Lord Blackwood, for all the ill you’ve done to the world. To me.”
Martin’s mouth dropped open in shock. She… what?
“I curse you for abandoning your son. I curse you for breaking those vows of marriage you once made so willingly. I curse you for all the love I gave you, that you swore you would return and never did.”
“Mum,” Martin said softly. He had a feeling he should be turning and running - this didn’t sound good - but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her when she was so obviously confused. She was working herself into a frenzy, and he was worried-
Well, she really shouldn’t be exerting herself.
“You’re a beast!” she shouted at him. “And all the world shall see it! I curse you to bear your beastliness on your skin until such time as you find it in your heart to learn what it is to love, in all its pain and heartbreak - and until such time as someone else is fool enough to love you back!”
Oh, shit. That wasn’t good. There was a tingling starting in Martin’s lower spine, the sparking, electric feel of magic at work.
“Mum, look, please stop, I’m not him, I’m your son-!”
“Until the petals fall from this rose!” she shrieked, ignoring him, and snatched a flower from the vase Martin had left on the side of her bed the day before.
“Um. Mum, that’s not- that’s not a rose.” Martin tried, in vain, to catch her attention.
“If you do not learn what it is to love by the time the last petal falls,” his mother hissed. “Then die.”
There was a flash of lightning, so brilliant and white that it eclipsed all sight of the room, and then the world went dark.
~~~~~
Martin woke to the faint sound of birdsong outside the window. There was a fresh smell in the air of new-fallen rain.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the haze of deep sleep.
The first thing that greeted his sight was a hand, pale and limp, draped delicately over the edge of a bed. It’s fingers were curled around the stem of a flower. It took him a moment to remember why this was important.
When he did, he groaned, closing his eyes again for a moment before taking a deep breath and levering himself upright into a sitting position. His body felt strange with every movement: large and unwieldy.
His mother was lying on the bed, the sheets tangled around her. She was dead.
Right. Okay.
Martin pushed himself to his feet, claws leaving deep gouges in the wooden boards as they dug into the floor.
And there was that too, of course.
He stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the emotions to hit him. Grief or anger or horror or…
When they didn’t, he nodded to himself.
Right. There was a serious possibility that he was in shock right now.
“Right,” Martin said, aloud this time, and went to go find the doctor.
~~~~~
It wasn’t all bad, being a beast, once you got used to it. Sure, the horns were a pain on some of the doorways, but he could reach the top shelves in the kitchen without stretching now. The fur got hot in warm weather, but it was a blessing on cold winter days. And the claws, well… he’d found a way to deal with those pretty quickly.
And yeah, there was the looming threat of an untimely death if he didn’t find someone to fall in love with by the time the last petal dropped off his flower, but really, that wasn’t as big of a deal these days as it might once have been. Ever since old Prince Adam went public with his story of how he’d met his beautiful wife the tales of the beast-curse had spread, and these days young hopefuls looking for true love didn’t think twice about trying their luck with the ferocious monster next door.
Which, as it turned out, was an issue in and of itself.
There was a knock at the door.
It echoed up the abandoned halls of the old castle, bouncing off faded portraits and the marble busts of ancestors long gone. It shook the dusty silence free from the walls, sounding louder than it should have in the quiet of that place.
Martin, several floors up in one of the smaller reading rooms, frowned when he heard it.
Who one earth would be visiting him?
He made his way down the many flights of stairs to the main hall, trying to hurry as the knock was repeated, with some impatience. Once there, he took a moment to catch his breath, and to sweep the fringe of fur out of his eyes in an effort to look more presentable.
Then he crept forward, and pulled the door open a crack.
“Hello?” he asked cautiously, poking his head around the frame.
There was a young woman there, standing on the front step and looking off into the gardens with a small frown on her face. She was dressed in practical traveling clothes, and had a leather bag slung over her shoulder.
At Martin's voice she jumped, looking startled for a moment before her face suddenly shifted to a pleading expression, and she staggered on her feet, seeming much weaker and more helpless than she had a moment ago.
"Oh please!" she begged, clasping her hands in front of her. "I am but a humble traveler who has gotten lost in these wild woodlands! Spare me, beast! I sought only shelter, and did not intend to intrude upon your ancestral home!" She flung a hand to her forehead. Martin could see her peering out from under it, judging his reaction.
"Uh…" he said. "Er… yeah, sure, no problem. Um. The town's just down the road that way, if you were looking for an inn for the night…"
"No!" she gasped. "Please, do not take me prisoner within these dim walls! I'll do anything to earn your mercy. Anything," she repeated, with a significant look, then seemed to register what he had said. "...Inn?"
"Uh, yeah. Richardson and Shelley's. It's a good place, they do a mean beef stew. Only about twenty minutes' walk from here."
Her hands dropped from their pleading supplications, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Oh, woe is me,” she said, very deliberately, as though he were being thick. “I am but a poor, helpless young woman, lost and alone in the woods with no one to save me. I hope some ferocious beast doesn’t decide to take me prisoner in his big empty castle. Whatever would we do, all alone, just the two of us, and me only able to offer relief and companionship from the lonely existence he’s been forced to lead.” She glared at him, one eyebrow raised pointedly.
"It’s not that bad actually, bit of peace and quiet from the…" It clicked. "Oh!"
"Mhm," she said, nodding at him encouragingly.
“Oh, you meant-!” If Martin weren’t covered in fur, he was sure he would be blushing.
"Oh dear oh dear," she said. "Whatever will we do, you and me all alone out here with no one to disturb us…”
"I'm very flattered!" Martin blurted hurriedly. "But I'm gay!"
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. "Shoot."
“Sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing,” he added, vaguely embarrassed for no good reason.
“Eh.” She shrugged, waving a hand at him. “It was worth a shot. Not every day you hear about a beast-man looking for love.” She winked at him.
“Um.” I’m not, actually, Martin considered saying, but decided against it in favor of the more pressing, “You heard about me? Where?”
“Tavern rumor a few towns away.” She gave him a considering look. “You didn’t know? Word gets around about this kind of thing.”
“Right,” Martin nodded blankly, somewhat stunned to learn that he had become a matter of local gossip. “Good to know, I suppose.”
She shrugged again. “I suppose. Anyway, you said there was an inn nearby?”
He pointed her in the right direction and waved her off, then retreated back inside the castle and shut the door firmly behind him.
People were telling stories about a cursed beast-man in the castle? That was to be expected, he supposed, now that he thought of it. He wouldn’t have thought anyone would go through the trouble to seek him out, but to each their own. It’d be a funny story to tell in the future, at least, that time someone had come knocking at his door hoping to be romantically kidnapped.
Martin chuckled to himself, and put it out of his mind.
~~~~~
A week later there was another knock at the door, this one a thunderous, impatient pounding that shook the old oak in its frame.
“Coming, coming!” Martin called, hurrying across from the kitchens where he’d been preparing lunch. “Just a second!”
He arrived at the door flustered and out of breath and flung it open to see a handsome young man, scantily-armored in various leather bits, muscles gleaming as though oiled in the bright midday sunlight. He was carrying a sword as though he didn’t know how to use it.
“Hark at ye, beast!” he cried, pointing the sword at Martin dramatically. “I have come to slay thee for thy crimes against humanity!”
Martin frowned, not impressed. “What did I do?”
“Do not try to plead your innocence, beast! I can see thy true evil in your eyes.”
Missed a few ‘thys’ there, Martin noted. “Look…”
“Unless,” the man said, stepping closer and lowering his sword. “Could it be? As I look deep into your eyes I see that perhaps there is no true evil, and you are simply a poor, misunderstood soul who craves only the kind listening of an understanding ear. I too know what it is to be misunderstood. Oh, I can see that you and I are kindred spirits!”
He flung out his arms, leaning forward as though seconds away from clasping Martin to his chest in a soulful embrace.
“Listen,” Martin said, as he began to catch on. “You’re not here to try to seduce me, are you?”
“Um.” The man blinked a few time, then cleared his throat, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Well, um, I say. Um. And if I was?”
Martin sighed, lifting a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, you’re a very handsome guy, but you’re really not my type,” he said, as kindly as he could.
“Ah.” He looked embarrassed for a second, then sighed and sheathed his sword. It took a few tries before he got it right. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you?”
“It’s no problem,” Martin said, feeling slightly guilty over the disappointed look on the man’s face. “Kind of flattering, just…”
“Quite.” He cleared his throat again. “I’ll just be going, I suppose?”
“Probably for the best.”
He left, with an embarrassed little wave, and Martin returned to his lunch.
~~~~~
The week after that brought another two visitors to his door; the following month, seven more. Word of the beast in the castle had spread far and wide, and every starry-eyed, wannabe curse breaker for a hundred miles around was converging on Martin just as fast as they were able, with only one thing on their minds.
“Take me!”
“I’m yours!”
“I’ll break your curse!”
“For god’s sake,” Martin found himself telling an amorous traveler for the third time in as many days, “it’s about love, not sex, and even if you were interested in something more serious I’m really not looking for that kind of relationship right now!”
And so the years passed.
The life of a beast was a lonely one. Shunned from society, forced into isolation and solitude, the years dragged and blurred together, fading into a long grey haze of misery and quiet in the unchanging sameness of the days. The only comfort was the memory of life and light, and the distant hope for that one special someone who would take the time to see beyond the monstrous face to the man who lay beneath, and love him despite his beastly exterior. Until then it was nothing but the quiet emptiness of an abandoned castle, and long, silent days with nothing but his own company to pass the time.
Martin wished.