Work Text:
"I would never dream of putting you to work in the scullery, my treasure!" The King laughs, as if it's the most absurd idea he's ever heard. "You will never be asked to scrub, sweep, dust, or mop."
"Okay," The Pippins says slowly. He's pretty sure he's going to get the same answer again, but he's starting to run out of ideas. "I read fast. Am I to be some sort of record keeper? I know shorthand, and I'm ambidextrous, so I'm sure I could be of some use in stenography-"
"Oh, no need." The King's smile widens.
"Oh. Do you- already have people for that?" He's starting to feel...stupid. He must be missing something. He's already been here an entire week, and he has yet to figure out what his actual job is supposed to be.
"In a manner of speaking," he says airily. "I have scribes for taking dictation and recording notable events."
Greenie, as he was called in town, considers this, and stares into his teacup in thought. The castle is beautiful, and very, very big, and today the King has them seated outside, insulated in the cool air under the warm lamps of the outer gardens of the estate. On the fine marble table there are two glass teapots, white peony in one and green rooibos in the other. He had asked for something light and mild, and the King wanted something sweet and calming, so both had been brought out to them in a matter of minutes. Greenie's teacup, fit for the King, is a small bowl in his hands. The King audibly giggles when he sips from it.
What other work is he qualified for in a royal setting? He can teach reading and writing. He helps collect ingredients for the local alchemists to mix medicines, and cuts old people's toenails for them. The King, given his generally serpentine build, has no need for such assistance.
There is a maid on standby, ready to prepare them something new or bring the King more sugar cubes at a moment's notice. He is running low, and if Greenie doesn't drink from his tea bowl in a timely manner, the King will sneak a sugar cube into it. He can't tell if he means to steal what's left of it if Greenie abandons it, or if he's simply having fun teasing hm.
The maid is unwavering, standing prim and silent as she awaits her next task. She is probably not kept guessing at what that might be. He notices that she's dressed in light green cotton and a sturdy black apron. Working clothes.
He's dressed in silk, helping him stay warm in the later months of the desert Diamond Kingdom. He's already ruled out manual labor, but surely he's going to be doing something. He can't be here for no reason. Being nothing is no big deal, but he can't just do nothing.
He's not as fidgety as some Pippins, but he has, not unkindly, been described as...high-strung. He can't just shuffle a deck of cards over and over and be fine, he has to engage his brain in something or he feels like he's going crazy. Which is a similarly painful sensation to having his brain too engaged, and feeling like he's going crazy. Doing things that need to be done at a regular time and pace, and that is also the sort of work that someone who is going to do it right should be doing, was perfect for him.
"The scribes must keep track of who all works here, then. Am I meant to go to them about my duties?"
"No need, my treasure," the King says again. "I already know everyone who works or lives in my castle."
Works or lives. That or is going to crack under all the heavy lifting it's doing.
"...I'm not being asked to work here, am I, your Majesty." He doesn't need to make it a question. He's certain he's figured it out. "You want me to live here, but not as a butler or a manservant, or anything like that."
The King claps one pair of hands politely, and with the other he props up his chin while he leans on the table. "I do. You are brilliant, just as I've been told. You belong here."
His face flushes green. "O-oh. Um- your Majesty, with all due respect, you- I should work. I need to earn my keep, I need to be helpful to- well, you, or to the kingdom."
"Oh, but you are!" The King says brightly. His smile never seems to falters, and though he hasn't gotten used to the fangs yet, the Pippins has noticed that the King never bares them in a threat. "I will tell you as often as you wish to hear it, you are a treasure that belongs here, with me."
A sugar cube sweetens his bowl.
"I want, no, I need to impress upon you how enchanted I am with your presence. Never, in all my life, have I met a Pippins printed in green."
The Pippins, known up to now as Greenie, looks down at himself. At the fineries he's been draped in. It's green all the way down. Different shades that have different names, but still shades of green. Shades of incorrect.
"Your Majesty, Pippins are meant to be printed in red. All of us. If I may speak honestly, I don't appreciate being put on display for having been misprinted." For having been made wrong.
That drops the King's smile away in an instant, and his eyes seem less jovial than they did a second ago. "Who's decided that?"
The Pippins shrinks back, averting his eyes as the King snakes his long tail around the table they share. Around the legs of his chair. "U-um, well- it- it's just the...way things are...? Your Majesty." It's true, but suddenly he feels like he's in trouble not just for saying it, but for knowing it.
"Then you are not the result of a simple mistake." The King says, as if it's the thing in the world. "If Pippins are all red, for whatever reason, then you being printed in green must have been done with a purpose." With all the sureness of saying that a King is made to rule. He doesn't say it in a way that sounds placating, he says it in a way that sounds...correct. In a way that makes Greenie feel silly for never having seen it that way.
"Oh." Is all he can manage.
And the King's smile is back, tranquil. "If I may be bold too, it is with full confidence that I believe you have been made to match me. A sign, a gift, from the Light World. My Kingdom is blessed, made holy and perfect, because you are here."
He doesn't know what to say. He knocks back the rest of his tea, and stares wordlessly into the intricate carvings in the table.
The King reaches one hand across the table and places it over his own. The difference in size is staggering. Worrisome, even, at first glance, but the touch is so very gentle. "My treasure, find peace here, I beg of you. As my most precious gemstone, you will want for nothing. What can I give you that will make you happy? What do I need to provide that will bring you ease in your new home?"
He considers this. Busywork, for one. A sense of accomplishment. Something to do, something to contribute. But he feels like this might get a rise out of the King again, and he'd rather not get into that at this time. He could ask for specific food. He's always been partial to a hardy root vegetable, difficult to grow but worth the extra work. Considering a valet has appeared at his side every morning to tell him the plans for the meals of the day, and inquire if he has any input or requests, he doesn't need to. He's always liked the idea of a hot spring, but the King has an entire spa treatment arranged every month, and he's already been informed he's to be treated alongside the great reptile on the next. Maybe the King was right when he said Greenie would want for nothing.
...oh.
Oh.
"What about a name?"
The King's tilts his head. It would be endearing, if the Pippins would allow himself to think such a thing about his ruler. Boss. ...Landlord?
"Elaborate for me, my treasure."
He swallows, suddenly terrified that he's asking too much. "You said Greenie wasn't a good enough name. That I needed one that suited me better. Give me a new one, something perfect, and I will be happy here." The with you hangs between them, unspoken, but felt.
The King descends from the marble slab that serves as his chair and slithers slowly around the table. He appears to be inspecting his loyal subject from all angles, sliding one hand over the back of the chair as he eases by. When he catches the other's eye, he winks. The shade of green his cheeks turn has the King grinning uncontrollably. On his third pass, he lets one hand fall to rest on each of the Pippins' shoulders. The King leans down into his periphery, and offers another hand, palm up.
"Will you do me the tremendous honor of making your home here as my most beloved Ruby?"
Breathless, heart racing, Ruby puts his hand in the King's.
"Yes, your Majesty. Always."