[~] east's oneshots ~ hc/mcyt

dream boy

(Flower Husbands flangst, 1359w)

Prince Jimmy of the Swamp Empire jolted awake. Throwing off his sheets, panicked, he clutched his chest where he'd just been--

Where he'd just been impaled. By an arrow. During a battle. In a foreign world he didn't know.

Jimmy blinked, and realised tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. He slowly lifted his hands from his chest to wipe face.

No need to cry. He chided himself, Just a nightmare. None of that actually happened ..

But.. What if? He patted himself and his bed, just to make sure that everything was real.

His mattress felt real. So did his silk beige sheets and his plush green blanket. His pyjama bottoms felt real. His knotty blond hair felt real. This was real.

But so, it seemed, was that dream. That arrow, that battle… Jimmy's joyous little flower field he had called home. He remembered everything too well.. Each blade of grass had to have been real, each etching in the beautifully carved wood, each day that had passed. Every small smile, every lingering glance, every..

No. That made no sense. That was ridiculous. Jimmy couldn't have just dreamt up an actual reality. Jimmy had always been imaginative and bright, but as he pushed himself up to get dressed for the day he forced himself to grasp his reality.

"I am Prince Jimmy Solidarity." He muttered, "Only son of the Cod Father, heir to the title and throne of the Swamp Empire. I am not some gay flower elf."

Repeating those words as if they were his lines for a play, the prince went about his morning. While at breakfast, in a desperate attempt to distract himself, he offered to do one of his least favourite things: go to the monthly Royal Council of Empires with his Father, where all the Empires in the region met to discuss the state of their respective environments and trade and stuff.

It was a royal pain in the butt.

"Where's it gonna be this time Dad…?" Jimmy asked, forcing himself to focus on his food and ignore the beautiful vase of sunflowers, set for decoration in the middle of the table.

Jimmy's father-- a hearty man, bold and strong --grinned at his son with obvious excitement. "In the frozen mountains of Rivendell, the homeland of Snow Elves!"

The blond prince paused, "...Elves?"

"Indeed, son!" His father boomed, "A proud race, the Snow Elves. Loyal, and proud."

Jimmy sighed, and pushed away his plate. He was ready to get the day rolling, so the memories of his dream could become a distant blur. He hoped being around Elves didn't remind him too much of his strange dream. "Well, let's be off then."

Jimmy couldn't fly yet, and his father was, frankly, salmon-eggs at it, so the Elven king had graciously arranged a chariot to come pick them up. Jimmy was sceptical of how a chariot could get them up a mountain in time for the meeting, until he saw what was pulling the chariot.

Stags. That could walk on air.

Long story short, they got to the meeting on time. As the magical chariot circled the mountaintops that made up the kingdom of Rivendell, Jimmy's father leaned over and whispered, "Legends say these mountains were inhabited by gods long ago. The Elves say the gods are still there."

"Are they?" Jim asked,

The Cod Father grinned, "Who knows. My bets, though? The Snow Elves are the gods."

Jimmy tilted his head, "What does that mean? Is it because they're proud, like you said?"

The king chuckled. "You'll see."