Clockwork! Clockwork! Let Down Your Beard!
Pariah Dark finds a mysterious tower in the woods, and from out the single window at the top spills quite an impressive silver beard.
For the Prompt: Dark Ages Rapunzel AU [from @pennerjones]
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[Warnings for fantasy violence, rapid aging/de-aging, death by old age (unnatural), and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it referenced suicide]
The Infinite Realms was a vast and sprawling kingdom, though whether it was truly infinite, none had yet been able to confirm, nor deny. The king ruled over the realms with an iron fist, and his son, the crown prince, had every intention of ruling just the same way when he ascended to the throne. Their army was powerful, and their patience thin. The Dark family had, generations ago, united the realms as one kingdom, and those members that still lived very much planned to keep it that way.
But the Infinite Realms was a strange place, full of strange phenomena, and if one wandered far enough in any direction, one could find something like they'd never seen before. United though it was under the rule of the Darks, there was no man in the kingdom who had seen everything it had to offer. The crown prince, Pariah Dark, however, had his sights set on being the first.
Every day, after he'd finished his lessons and his training for the day, he would head out into the woods that surrounded the castle on three sides—the fourth, of course, was open to the path leading to the nearby city. He would walk deep into the trees, and explore every inch of the place, traversing further every day. He knew he couldn't go to far, for he would always have to return to the castle eventually, but if he wanted to see everything his kingdom had to offer, he supposed he could start with seeing what the nearby woods had to offer.
They had many new and interesting things to show him. Trees that moved and spoke, rivers that changed their path from day to day, strange birds that watching him with human-like eyes and followed him as he walked.
But when he became king, he was too busy to explore his kingdom like he had planned. He was usually too busy to explore at all. There were many matters to attend to, both diplomatic and warring. Complaints to field from citizens both near and far. It was only late in the night when he had even a moment to himself, and when he did, he would often just sleep.
Then, one day, his advisors brought up the thing he'd been dreading most of his life. If he was to be king, then sooner or later, he would have to find a spouse, and secure himself an heir.
At first, Pariah reviled the idea, and griped and groaned at his advisors for even bringing it up. But then, he saw the opportunity in it. He told his advisors that he would leave his duties earlier in the evening, dress himself in commoners clothes, and go out in search of a spouse who was worthy of the crown.
After all his moaning and groaning, his advisors were too relieved that he was finally being cooperative to argue, or ask why he wanted to disguise himself and refused to take any guards with him on his search.
The first day he was to search for a spouse, he dismissed the line of citizens seeking an audience with the king in the early evening, just a few hours before his audience was normally closed. He changed quickly, and left the castle, blending in with all the other common folk heading down the path back toward the city—either toward their homes, or to inns where they would stay until they finally saw the king.
But Pariah did not follow them into the city. He split off just far enough away that he knew the watching advisors wouldn't be able to see, and he circled around into the forest on the other side of the castle. Rather than search for a partner to rule with, he explored idly, as he had in his youth, and reveled in the rare freedom to reconvene with nature and ignore his royal responsibilities.
It was on his third evening of 'searching for a spouse' that he came across the tower. He had never seen it before. It was tall and thin. It had no doors, and only one window, from which spilled a flowing mane of silver hair. Curious, Pariah tugged upon it.
"Yeowch!" came a cry from above.
Pariah jumped back and drew his mace from the folds of his clothes, prepared for a fight.
"What did you go and do a thing like that for?" the voice called again.
It was coming from overhead, and Pariah looked up to see an old man, poking his head out the window.
"My apologies, sir," Pariah called up. "I... didn't know all this hair was attached to someone."
"Well, truth be told, I don't mind much," the old man replied. "In fact, if you'd given me a little warning, I would have let you climb my glorious beard all the way to the top. I'd be glad of the company."
"Would you?" Pariah asked, amused at the prospect of climbing an old man's beard to the top of a tower.
"Quite so!" the old man confirmed. He took his head back in, and then, after a moment, stuck it out again. "All set!" he called down. "Come on up, if you please."
If Pariah were the type to laugh out loud, he would have done so.
The thought crossed his mind that this old man might be some sort of wizard with malicious intent, or a criminal who'd been imprisoned in this tower for killing everyone who came within arms reach. But it mattered not. Pariah Dark feared no wizard, nor no murderer.
He could have sworn the beard had grown longer in just the few minutes he'd been standing there, though, as it now wrapped around itself in a pool on the grass at the base of the tower. Paying it no mind, he took hold of the long silver beard and began to climb.
The tower was taller than he'd thought, easily a hundred feat high. The old man had a truly impressive beard indeed. At the top, a frail hand reached out to help Pariah through the window, but he ignored it, and managed to climb through himself.
"You would refuse my hand?" the old man asked, aghast, though he seemed to be joking. "How bold. Have you no respect for your elders?"
Now that they were standing so close to each other, Pariah saw that the only man had a long jagged scar over his left eye, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be glass.
"I simply did not want to inadvertently harm you," Pariah replied, his tone equally light. "My grip is so strong, I would fear breaking your brittle, ancient bones."
The old man chortled, and Pariah couldn't help but smile at the sound. It was a pleasant sort of chortle, but there was an eerie chill beneath it that told Pariah this man may be in good humor now, but he was not one to be trifled with. The king respected that.
"Now, who are you stranger, might I ask?"
"I am... Pariah," the king replied, electing to withhold his surname for the time being, lest recognizing it color the old man's opinion of him. "And you?"
"I am called Clockwork," the man replied. "How did you find your way to my humble tower?"
Pariah explained that he was simply exploring the woods when he happened by. Clockwork remarked how he wished he could explore these woods, but alas, he was trapped in this tower. Pariah began to describe some of the things he'd seen whilst exploring. And by and by the two conversed, quickly falling into a casual back and forth as if they were old friends.
At the minutes turned to hours, Pariah watched with growing concern as Clockwork seemed to age before his eyes, growing older and older. His voice became croaky, his body shriveled, and his beard grew longer by the minute and pooled on the floor until he had to occasionally get up and throw armfuls of the stuff out the solitary window so that it wouldn't be in the way.
Every so often, Clockwork would glance at the old grandfather clock against his wall, and when it struck eleven in the evening, he sighed, a deep, world-weary sigh. He stood up, and with hands that trembled with age and tied his beard on the hook over the window.
"I'm afraid, my friend, that you must go now, before it's too late," he said. "If it's not too presumptuous of me to ask, would you mind coming to visit me again tomorrow?"
Pariah was not typically the sympathetic type, but he looked at his friend of only one day, and felt sympathy. Just by looking at him, he knew that the old man would be dead before morning. Pariah had watched him waste away all through the evening, and he knew. Still, they had become friends in the hours that passed, so he agreed.
"Of course, my friend," he told the elderly man. "I shall return tomorrow."
"Do you promise?" Clockwork asked, his voice rasping and desperate.
Pariah felt a pang of sympathy in his chest, and mentally prepared himself to return to find a corpse on the meager bed.
"I promise."
The next day, when his duties were done, and Pariah was meant to set out in search of a spouse, he returned to the tower instead. As before, there was a long, white beard spilling from the window, though it was not as long as Pariah would have expected, considering how much longer it had been when he'd descended the tower the night before.
"Clockwork!" he called up. "Clockwork! May I come up to visit?"
Much to Pariah's surprise, Clockwork poked his head out the window, looking very much alive, and a few seconds later he called down:
"Yes, come up!"
And so Pariah gripped tightly the old man's beard and began to climb.
At the top of the tower, he saw Clockwork again, looking still old, but fit as a fiddle compared to when Pariah had left him. A surprise to be sure, but perhaps his condition waxed and waned, growing worse at night, and easing in the morning.
Clockwork greeted him as if they'd known each other for years, and not just a single day, and Pariah returned the greeting in kind.
Again, the two talked late into the night, conversation flowing easily between them. Again, Pariah watched as his new friend grew older with each passing hour until he seemed as though he would die of old age before their conversation ended. Again, when the clock stuck eleven, Clockwork bade Pariah that he should leave before it was too late. And again, he asked him to return the next day, so they might pass the evening together once more.
Pariah promised a second time, and a second time he repelled down the tower, and mentally prepared himself for the possibility that he might return to a corpse.
A third time, he returned, and once more, Clockwork was alive and well when he called up to request entry.
When he was once more in the room at the top of the tower and saw Clockwork looking, still old, but healthier than he had been when Pariah left the night before, he finally decided to ask outright.
"My friend, why do you always seem on the brink of death when you urge me to leave," he asked, "but when I return, you are alive and well?"
Clockwork smiled a melancholy smile. "I'm not actually old. I've been cursed, you see."
"Ah, a young man cursed with an aged body," Pariah guessed. "I've heard of such curses before, nasty things."
Clockwork shook his head. The roots of his beard swayed, and Pariah noticed that the beard had been tied to a hook above the window, evidently to lessen the strain on the old man's chin when Pariah climbed up.
"No," Clockwork said. "It's worse than that."
The old man untied his beard and went to take a seat before he told his tale. The room at the top of the tower was small, with only a bed, a writing desk, a grandfather clock, a wardrobe, and a single chair. With Clockwork on the chair, Pariah took a seat on the bed, the thin mattress sagging deeply under the weight of his substantial form.
"Listen well as I tell you my tale of woe," Clockwork began. "I was born to a lowly clock maker and his humble wife. But before my birth, in a manner which has never been revealed to me, my parents earned the ire of an evil mage, Observantis, the one-eyed witch. My parents would have done anything to erase the ill will between them and Observantis, even give away their unborn son.
"And so, upon my birth, I was taken away by Observantis the one-eyed witch. But of course, he had no use for an infant. With his magic, he tore out my eye and used it to cast a spell on me, a spell that would age me over the course of a day. Unfortunately for the both of us, the spell went awry. Instead of simply aging my infant self to adulthood, I grew to a very old age, and then... at midnight, I died.
"I don't know what happens between midnight and sunrise, but at sunrise I wake again, a newborn, and grow throughout the day to a very old age, and die at midnight. Over and over, day after day, I assume for all eternity, for I can see no end to this cruel cycle. I've tried to end it myself, but alas I always wake at sunrise, born anew."
Pariah didn't say anything for a long moment, processing the story he'd been told. For all the cruel things his ancestors had done, and all the cruel things he himself had done, Pariah could think of nothing so cruel as what this one-eyed wizard had done to Clockwork, seemingly by mistake.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. He could think of nothing else to say.
Clockwork shrugged. "It's not so bad, when you're used to it," he said. "Walking and talking comes easily enough in a few hours, and the arthritis doesn't set in until around five or six in the evening, depending on what time the sun came up. I have most of the daylight hours to enjoy my relative youth before the aches and pains take over in earnest."
"Is there no way to break the curse?" Pariah asked.
Clockwork's silver beard swayed and brushed across the floor when he shook his head.
"None that I've yet found," he replied. "I haven't given up hope, but any solution would require Observantis' magic, and he hardly ever comes to visit me. Not to mention that it's rather difficult for me to do research when I'm trapped up here. If I could only get my hands on some magic books that would be something, but those are hard to come by even when one is not trapped in an inescapable tower."
"Perhaps..." Pariah began to suggest, haltingly. "I could provide you with some magic books to study."
Clockwork raised a bushy, white eyebrow skeptically. "And where would you get a magic book, let alone several?"
It was true that magic books were very hard to come by. They were typically hand-written by mages and full of highly personalized spells, and often, mages would be buried with their spell books, making them a very rare commodity indeed, especially for those who were not magical apprentices, which Pariah was most certainly not.
However, the royal library held many spell books, as whenever the royal arch-mage passed—which happened rather often as one had to be highly accomplished to become the royal arch-mage, which typically necessitated being rather old, even my mage standards—rather than being buried with it, their spell books would be added to the shelves of the royal library for their successors to consult.
"Suppose I am a man of some means," Pariah responded vaguely, "and I could provide you with a spell book or two, to study. Would you like that?"
"Very much," Clockwork replied, almost laughingly. "But I fear you'd have to be a man of quite considerable means to manage something like that. I don't believe that only 'some' will do it."
"As you say," Pariah relented.
But when he returned the following day, he carried with them two of the former arch-mages' spell books in a satchel.
Clockwork gasped when he saw them, and when Pariah gave him permission to take them—assuring him that they were gifts, and he didn't really need to ask—he stroked his gnarled fingers over the worn cover with reverence and tears beginning to form in his eyes, and gingerly opened it to the first page.
"This is the grimoire of a former royal arch-mage," Clockwork observed. "However did you manage to get such a rare and valuable tome?"
Pariah shrugged and shook his head. "Suppose that I am a man of some means," he replied, "and let us leave it at that."
Clockwork frowned and eyed him skeptically, but ultimately he must have decided to let it go, because he didn't prod any further. They spent that evening poring over the spell books together, looking for anything related to age or time, and whiling away the hours with idle conversation until the grandfather clock, that traitorous old thing, struck eleven once more.
"Perhaps... I don't have to go," Pariah said.
Clockwork shook his head. "If you don't leave soon, you won't be able to. I'm sure you have other obligations that need tending to besides just me. And even if you didn't..." Clockwork paused and turned his gaze toward the floor. "I don't want you to have to see me at midnight.
Pariah wanted to argue, wanted to stay and comfort his friend, keep him company in his worst moments, but he knew what Clockwork said was true.
"Very well," he agreed. "But I shall return tomorrow, I promise."
"Don't forget your books."
"Keep them." Pariah smiled. "I shall bring more tomorrow."
And with that, he climbed out the window and down the side of the tower.
Over the next days, and then weeks, Pariah slowly brought all the magic books from the castle library to the tower in the woods. When he was gone, Clockwork would study them on his own, and when he came to visit, they would scour the books together, talking about anything, and everything, and nothing, and occasionally breaking to play a game of chess, or cards, when they'd been staring at books for so long the words started to swim around in front of them—sometimes literally.
When he learned that Clockwork never ate or drank anything, because he only lived for less that twenty hours at a time, and that wasn't really all that long to go without food, if you thought about it, Pariah started to bring some of his favorite treats as well, for him to try. Fresh wild strawberries, mead, dried beef, and warm bread. Clockwork tasted each and every one of them. Some he liked, and at some he made a face of utter revulsion and gagged, but he always trusted Pariah enough to try them.
As old as he looked when Pariah was able to visit him, Clockwork was always rather young at heart, and there were countless things he'd never had the chance to try or experience that he seemed almost childlike sometimes. He held within him both wisdom and wonder, and slowly but surely, Pariah started to fall in love. And as sure as his beard was long, Clockwork began to fall in love with the king as well.
Then, one day while Pariah was visiting, and the two of them were taking a short break to play a game of cards when a strange wind blew through the window, and suddenly a man was standing there, thin and tall, with a pitch black broomstick in hand. Pariah stood ready and drew his mace, though he did not strike the first blow. Still, he noticed right away that the stranger had only one eye, and Clockwork quickly confirmed his suspicions.
"Observantis," he said coldly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I came all this way, from the far reaches of the Realms because I sensed a book of magic entering my tower," Observantis replied. "Then another, and another. Imagine my surprise when I came to see where you were getting them all, and found the tyrant king."
"You're the tyrant, Observantis," Clockwork retorted. He didn't seem surprised at the revelation that Pariah was the king, but this was not the time to dwell on that fact.
"And you know that everything in my tower belongs to me," the witch said with a wicked grin. "You belong to me, you damaged, broken thing. All these magic books belong belong to me, so thanks for that. And oh! The king" — shadowy tendrils shot out of the floor to wrap around Pariah's arms and legs and hold him fast — "He belongs to me too.
"My what a powerful witch I've become."
"Let him go," Clockwork demanded.
"I think not."
With a cruel smirk, Observantis stuck out his hand, chanted a brief spell, and Pariah screamed in agony as his left eye was torn from his face, leaving a jagged, smoking scar behind. This, Pariah knew, was his method. Next he would use the eye to cast some sort of curse on Pariah, perhaps a coercion spell.
"LET HIM GO!" Clockwork repeated, his voice booming with a power and rage Pariah had never heard from him before.
Then, he began to chant in that old language only mages knew, and Observantis' single eye wide with horror. He understood every word perfectly, and he obviously didn't like what he was hearing.
"No... you wouldn't... you... you couldn't!" the one-eyed witch stammered. "You don't know how!"
Clockwork kept chanting, reciting from memory passages he'd read over and over in the weeks of studying the magic books his love had brought him almost every waking hour.
"This is my tower," Clockwork declared, "not yours. You do not get to leave me here alone for over twenty years, and then come back to claim my love and the gifts he gave me as your own. I disavow you, Observantis. You are nothing."
Observantis screamed as he began to shrivel up and shrink, rapidly aging before Pariah's eyes... eye. The tendrils released the king, and he watched as Observantis, the one-eyed witch, a man no more than forty years of age and strong as any mage out there, died of old age.
And Clockwork, who had looked so old mere moments before, stood there, a man in his mid-twenties, tall and strong, and in the prime of his youth. If not for his clothes, and his distinctive scar—one Pariah would share, once his eye healed—Pariah might not have recognized him. But then again, he thought he would always be able to recognize his love, no matter what.
"Your curse, my love," Pariah said. "Is it broken?"
Clockwork lifted his hands and flexed his fingers, and rolled his shoulders.
"Not... quite," he said.
As Pariah watched, Clockwork began to look younger, until the king was looking at a teenager, and then a child. Then, at around five or six, he turned the other way and grew older again, and older, and older, until the familiar, ancient, bearded face stared back at Pariah. Then, once more, he reverted to himself as a young man.
"I can feel that the curse is still within me, but in killing Observantis, I have wrested control of the curse away from him," Clockwork explained. "I still will not age normally, slowly growing older until my time finally comes, but I completely control my age now. I can decide whether I will be old or young."
"That is amazing, Clockwork." Pariah stumbled slightly. His head was becoming rather fuzzy and the vision in his remaining eye blurred.
"My love, your eye!" Clockwork rushed to his side.
"I will be fine," he insisted, but Clockwork ignored him.
He looked around momentarily, before noticing Observantis' broomstick on the floor next to his body.
"Hold on, Pariah," he said taking up the broom and preparing to fly them both out the window. "We have to get you to the castle. The royal doctors will be able to fix you up."
He coaxed Pariah onto the broom, and then the two of them were flying out the window, soaring over the tree tops toward the spires and fortifications of the castle in the distance.
"How long have you known that I'm the king?" Pariah asked.
Clockwork chuckled softly. "Every book you brought me was a spell book of a former royal mage," he said. "It wasn't exactly a difficult thing to put together. You didn't seem to want to tell me, so I decided not to push. I thought that it might be as freeing for you, coming to visit me thinking I didn't know who you were, as it was for me, having a visitor for once, even trapped as I still was."
Soon enough, they reached the Castle, and the castle guards immediately surrounded Clockwork with swords and spears at the ready. He understood. Only witches rode on brooms, and a witch coming to land into the castle courtyard carrying their injured king wasn't typically a sign of good things to come.
"Please, the king is hurt, and he needs treatment!" Clockwork said.
A few guards hazarded the distance to take the king from him and to the royal doctors. The rest arrested Clockwork and took him to the dungeons. He did not resist. When Pariah recovered, he knew, the king would come to have him released, and in the mean time, imprisonment was nothing new to Clockwork.
He paced anxiously in his cell, rapidly aging and de-aging in his nervousness, hardly able to control himself. He just hoped Pariah would be okay. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than for Pariah to be okay.
After a few hours, Pariah stormed town the stairs to the dungeon, various guards, knights, and advisors all clattering after him. The left side of his face was heavily bandaged, and he was hearing bedclothes, but he looked every bit as Regal as he ever had.
"Release this man!" Pariah ordered.
"But... sir... he is a witch," his advisor insisted. "We can't just let him go. We don't know anything about him. What if he presents a danger to the kingdom?"
"Release him," Pariah repeated. "He may be a witch, but he's my witch, and I would have him as my spouse, if he accepts."
Clockwork stared at Pariah, his heart full of love... and guilt.
"I... I can't, your majesty," he said finally. "I am unworthy of such a loft position. I was born a commoner, and now I am a witch. I killed a man with dark magic. I cannot be your partner. I am but a loathsome thing."
"You would dare refuse my hand?" Pariah said.
He hoped that Clockwork would remember, a long time ago, on the occasion of their first meeting, when a very old man said that same thing to a king. He seemed to, for he smiled, and sagged with relief.
"No, your majesty... no, my love," he said. "I wouldn't dare. I will accept."
"But... but he is a witch!" an advisor sputtered incredulously. "By his own confession he is a witch, and a murderer! He should be put to death! He is not fit to rule by your side, sire."
"Enough!" Pariah barked. "I said I would find a spouse, and I have. I will hear not a single word against him, so if you have them I suggest you keep them to yourself, unless you'd rather I bludgeon you to death for daring to insult my word, my crown, and my soon-to-be king-consort."
"Y-yes, sire."
The two were married shortly hence, and they lived happily ever after.
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