An unOrdinary fanfiction

Chapter 1

Chapter one.   

  

Endless, unnecessary bloodshed over petty slights. pompous bastards born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and cruel, uncaring assholes. That is how John viewed the high-tier monarchy.   

  

John had never cared much at all for coronations, royal brats being born, or the fact they'd compete every year in a competition, or rather, what he deemed, an excuse to pummel each other senseless. John steadied his hand above a carrot and with some force, pushing down the far too dull kitchen knife, making a thud against the wooden counter, A thud that almost caused him to miss the booming knocking at his door.   

  

Three knocks.   

  

John spun around to face the old wooden door, drying his hands on a towel aptly attached to his waist before heading to see who dared to interrupt his cooking time. The door whined open with a squeal reminiscent of a hungry infant, John peered curiously up at the person who cast a shadow upon his doorstep. Standing there, a tall, lean man. Whispy golden locks framing his face, blue eyes fiercely studying John. John had never seen the blonde man before, and behind him stood about a dozen or so soldiers. John furrowed his brow, Wondering if the enforcer he'd beaten up for the other day had snitched and whined that John was a criminal of some sort, John ran a rough hand through his soft midnight hair, craning his neck to meet the eyes of the man before him.   

  

"Can I help you?"   

  

John asked with a certain tone of annoyance that made the blonde narrow his eyes, John didn't take kindly to being interrupted in the middle of cooking, especially since today was special. He'd been gifted a bag of meat from a farmer he'd helped out with some tasks, And he'd been thrilled at the prospect of fixing up a beef stew for him and his dad. A rare delicacy for him, as for the last 12 years he'd been living off mostly scraps and whatever his dad could scrounge up from his underpaying job.   

  

"We're looking for John doe."  

  

The blonde finally spoke, his voice cold and distant. commanding, Like he was used to people listening whenever he spoke.   

  

"I am he."   

  

John replied, fixing the fancily dressed man with a look, blazing golden-brown eyes staring into the icy blue ones before him. The blonde seemed to size him up for a moment, parting his lips to say something.  

  

"And you are?"   

  

John interrupts before he can say anything. A soldier behind the tall frame scoffs and reaches for his sword at the impertinent question and tone, the blonde raises a hand, gloved with white leather, instantly stopping the soldier in his tracks.  

  

"Prince Arlo. Heir to the throne."   

  

The blonde, The prince, Arlo, gives him a studying look, wondering if the man will realize his blunder and fall to his knees, grovelling for forgiveness once he realizes his boorish performance, Instead, the raven haired boy seems to tip his neck back and hum in acknowledgement.  

  

"And.. why are you here? I hope you aren't here for stew, I don't have enough for the lot of you and I don't like sharing."   

  

John continues after a silence, Prince Arlo's face almost contorts with his inner reaction, This commoner speaking to him as if he were some sort of old friend, irritation furrowing in the blonde man's brow, letting out a sigh as he realizes his anger is irrational. The black haired man is probably just some sort of idiot.  

  

John's attempt at humour falls flat on the silent crowd outside his door, he cringes to himself as his nails dig into the splintering wooden door he cautiously holds half opened. Prince Arlo cuts through the silence with a sigh.   

  

"We've come to bring you to the castle."   

  

Finally, there is a reaction other than impatience from John, a flash of emotion plastered on his face for a brief moment, though the prince cannot figure out what it was. Anger? Sadness? Dread? Arlo couldn't tell, But what john felt was of little importance to him. He didn't come here to coddle.   

  

"Now?"   

  

John replies weakly, his voice having lost its humour.   

  

"Now."   

  

Prince Arlo responds, moving his tall frame to reveal a horse drawn carriage waiting for them, a horse impatiently pounds it's front hoof into the dry dirt of the pathway before john's home.   

  

"My father-"   

  

John pleads.   

  

"He will be informed."   

  

The prince's cold voice has grown impatient with him. Hands behind his back, he gives a nod to a soldier who grabs john's muscular arm, causing him to drop the wooden ladle he held defensively. As if a wooden ladle could even touch the prince of Wellston. John gives a desperate glance back at the Prince and then at his humble, Small home, anxiety swirling in his gut as he's loaded into the squeaky, anything but inconspicuous carriage.   

  

.   

  

Golden eyes scan over rolling grass-covered hills, the sights of crumbling homes and humble shops being traded for lush pea green hills and clear, running lakes. The prince doesn't bother to look, his eyes squeezed shut- though John can tell he's awake, John takes the opportunity to take in the man before him, He can see now, earrings lining his pointed ears- all the same colour as his eyes, John wondered if he did that on purpose, made some poor jeweller scrounge for the perfectly blue gemstones. He wore an impossibly alabaster white blouse, topped with a white waistcoat, intricate gold detailing stitched delicately at the seams, Long black trousers secured with a belt, though they were hand tailored no doubt. The outfit would almost be casual if it didn't likely cost more than John's home.   

  

*Rich bastard*  

  

John thought. The carriage remained silent all except for the clip-clop of hooves against gravel paths and wheels squeaking with friction. After what seemed like hours, Rolling hills were again traded for all-too high gates and the sights of many more soldiers. The prince's eyes flickered open after what was perhaps deep thought.   

  

"We're here."   

  

John almost flinches at the sudden nature of the chilly voice filling the carriage, like ice down his spine. John peers cautiously at the prince.   

  

"I can see that."   

  

The midnight haired boy responds, earning a glare from the prince. How dare he speak to him with such disrespect, where did this foolish cripple get the audacity? He'd ought to skewer him without a second thought for the sheer lack of consideration in his voice, But, he doesn't.. And John is then hauling out of the carriage and resisting the urge to stretch, Arlo figures exhaustion must've caught up to him as a reason to why he didn't force the boy to his knees to apologize. He's soon out of the carriage as well, leather shoes pressing into the cobblestone paths leading into the castle