A Thousand Years And One [Godchild, Cain/Riff, PG]

[nekokoban]

Title: A Thousand Years And One
Author/Artist: nekokoban
Rating: PG
Prompt: Count Cain/Godchild, Cain/Riff, Devotion, "Deep within I’m shaken by the violence of existing for only you."
Word count: 1842
Summary: A story for Merryweather.

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On a particular night, Merryweather, in a fit of pique at her brother (who had promised and promised that he would be back in time for her piano recital and then had missed the entire thing because--as she had it on Riff's very good authority, he was too busy flirting with the Lady Angelique Bathry and had quite lost track of the time) declared that while she would like to hear a chapter of her bed-time story, she wanted Riff to read it instead, and then she crossed her arms and glared so fiercely that Cain finally acquiesced. The next half-hour, as Merryweather was prepared for bed by her maidservant Lilia, were awkward as any Riff had known in his service to the Hargreaves: Cain lurked just around the corner from Merryweather's room, and occasionally he would peer around it and give Riff doleful looks, as if his pouting could sway Merryweather's heart, though the young lady herself had ordered Riff that, under no circumstances whatsoever, was Cain allowed to set foot into her bedroom that night.

After she was tucked into her bed, the blankets up to her chin and her soft gold hair brushed and tucked neatly under a night-cap, Riff knocked twice at the door and waited dutifully until she summoned him inside before entering. He left the door just slightly ajar--enough for his skulking master, but not so much that the young lady herself would notice--then went to sit in the chair by her bed. He untucked the book from his arm and opened it to the correct page, sliding finger down the ribbon bookmark before he removed it. He smiled at Merryweather, who turned to curl on her side facing him, her eyes wide and soft and not yet sleepy.

"One chapter, then, my lady?" he asked.

"Yes," said Merryweather. Then, a beat later, she added, "Please."

Riff smiled again, for he was very fond of the young lady, and cleared his throat once before he began: "And so, having left behind the forest of thorns, the Prince Kyle journeyed on, to the home of the North Star. There was new determination burning in his breast, for surely the North Star, who guided all travelers, could tell him the way to find his beloved Princess Margaret, who had promised to wait for him a hundred years and a day, but no longer, for at that time, she would turn into a bird and fly away from the world of humans, no longer to remember human love or warmth.

"Day after day the prince traveled, for the home of the North Star is always close and yet far away, and only those who are truly determined may find it. He walked until his feet were broken and sore, and until his back ached from the effort, and then he walked more, for in his heart there was only Margaret's smile, and so he was able to forget the pains of his body. Any time he began to waver, he would look up and see the flight of birds across the sky and new strength would fill him. Each time he would renew his vow to save the princess from her fate, and each time, no matter how many times he'd fallen before, he would get up and walk again.

"However, there finally came a time when Kyle's body was so worn that he could not force it to go another step. He fell to his knees and looked to the sky, and he wept bitterly at his failure. Soon, his love would become one of the number that flew overhead, all because he could not find her in time. And despair overcame him, so black that it nearly suffocated him, his head sinking now to his breast and his tears watering the earth.

"But as he wept, a woman came to him, and said, 'Prince, why do you cry?'

"'I cry because I have failed,' he said. 'The Princess Margaret is doomed to be transformed into a bird, and so lose her human heart and soul, unless I can find her in time. I have traveled long and far, but I have failed.'

"And then the woman said, 'But there are other princesses in the world, who are just as fair and as kind as the Princess Margaret, though she is renowned for both beauty and kindness. There are others who are just as deserving of love, or of rescue. Why do you weep for her?'"

Riff glanced up as he read this part: Merryweather was sitting up a little in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes wide, her expression enraptured. She was distracted enough that she hadn't noticed how her bedroom door was now cracked open wider; in the sliver of space that was created, Riff could see Cain's white shirt, curved along the outline of his shoulder. He had to take a deep breath before he could look back to the words and recite them, and it took effort to not let his voice quaver, as perhaps the story-prince's might have, faced with such questioning: "'There may be others who exist in this world that are deserving, but for me, there is none but this one other person, though seas of others may throw themselves upon my feet and beg my pardon.'"

From the corner of one eye, he saw Cain shift, then walk away. It felt very much like there was a lump in his throat, but Merryweather's eyes were drooping, so he forced himself to read on, as the woman revealed herself to be the North Star, whose touch healed the Prince Kyle of his wounds and his sorrows, and whose kiss on his brow offered him protection from further weariness, as his trials in the forest of thorns had granted him an unfailing arm in battle. She gave him a horse who ran as swiftly as the wind and told him to visit her sister, the Evening Star, in whose kingdom the Princess Margaret waited until the turning of the season--though where she might go after that, even the North Star could not say. The chapter ended with the prince riding off to the kingdom of the Evening Star with the wind in his hair and his cape, and Riff carefully marked this stopping-place before closing the book and smiling at Merryweather.

"I hope that was satisfactory, my lady," he said.

She sank down into her sheets again, tugging at her blankets until they covered her chin and mouth, her eyes wide and dark. "You're very good at that, Riff," she said. "But I think next time, I want Brother to read to me again. When you read it, you make it sound much more sad."

"Sad?" he asked, startled. "It wasn't to your liking?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't that," she said, "but when Brother reads, it sounds exciting, like an adventure. When you read it, it sounds like there's going to be a tragedy at the end." She sank lower into her pillows, small fingers worrying at the blankets. "Brother and I decided, you know, when he started reading me bed-time stories, that if we found anything that was too horrible, we would rewrite them until they had happy endings. Because even if everything else is terrible in this world, at least in stories, they can be all right. But I didn't tell you, Riff, so you couldn't have known. I'm sorry."

"No, Miss Merryweather," he said gently. "I think that's a very good idea. The next time, Master Cain will read to you, and I'm sure the two of you will come up with a much kinder story."

"Good night, Riff," said Merryweather. She pulled her face free of the blankets enough to show him her smile. "Thank you for reading me a story."

He bowed. "Of course, as the lady commands," he said, then turned off the lamp. He did not tiptoe out of her room, though he walked softly, and this time, he closed the door completely behind himself.

"You're good at that," said Cain, from around the corner. A moment later, he sauntered into view, his expression dark and almost unreadable. "It's like you've already read it before."

"I haven't," said Riff. "I've heard the pieces you've read to her before, but I don't know this story at all." He looked at the book in his hands, with its worn leather cover, the silver leaf of the title long since rubbed away. "It seems like a very old book, though."

"It was from my aunt's room, in the sanitarium," Cain said. He walked forward and reached out to tug the book from Riff's hands. "It was one of the few possessions of hers I decided to keep." He glanced up and smiled then, abruptly, sharp as the blade of a knife.

"Master Cain?"

"I've read the whole thing," said Cain. "Do you want to know what happens? I could tell you. Merry's asleep, she won't hear the truth. I am going to rewrite it for her anyway, there are parts that even a girl like her shouldn't have to hear about." He rocked back on his heels and opened the book--not to where Riff had bookmarked it, but near the end--but he did not look at the words on the page, staring straight into Riff's eyes instead, his own nearly glowing in the dimness of the hallway. "The prince takes the full hundred years to find the princess, and then, on the last day--"

Riff stepped forward and put his hands over his master's, gently pushing until the book closed again. "It doesn't matter," he said. "They're only characters in a story, Master Cain. Whatever their doom might be, it does not mean that it will be reflected in life. Your father knew where your aunt was the whole time, but never went to seek her until it was too late." He did not let go of Cain's hands, though he could feel their minute restless shifting under his own, for Cain was much like a cat in that sense, craving a warm touch and yet recoiling once it was given to him. "But wherever you go, wherever you fly, I will find you, and I will follow."

Cain stared at him, unblinking. He wet his lips once with a quick nervous sweep of his tongue. "You're a good man, Riffael Raffit," he said, "and the house has never run as efficiently as it has since you became butler. If you wanted, any house in the whole of the British Empire would be honored to have you."

"What I want, then," said Riff, "is to serve the Hargreaves House for a hundred years and a day, and then beyond that still."

Cain's lips thinned then relaxed. His hands stopped moving under Riff's own. He said, "I think I'll have a bath before bed, tonight."

"As my lord wishes," said Riff.