Lance was eight when his parents died.  It hadn't mattered all that
much to him at the time.  Not as much as his nurse mattered to him,
or his puppy who he'd been given for his last birthday by his
nurse's husband.

He knew, without being able to say how he knew, that he was not
supposed to call them Mama and Papa, even though he saw more of
them than his own parents.  He played more with their son, an older
boy the same height as Lance, with dark hair and who liked to
tackle Lance, than his older sister.

But then, his parents were the King and the Queen of the land, and
they had Important Things to do, and his sister was a princess, and
someone who had her own Important Things to do.

Not that Lance had any idea what those Important Things were.  Just
that they were more important than him.

Chris loves Lance, but Lance isn't his brother.  Lance is the
prince, whatever that is.  Chris really doesn't care.  All that
matters is that Lance is his and he's Lance's and they're happy. 
Lance is smart and sweet and funny and good to nap with, when
you're tired and lonely.  Chris loves Lance, even though Lance
still has to wear diapers.

But not everybody loves Lance.  Princess Stacey *hates* Lance.  She
says he's a dirty little whelp.  Chris doesn't know what that
means, but it's scary when she says it, because she yells.  And
then he and Lance go hide.  There are dozens of places to hide in
the castle.  The can hide in the straw or in the kitchen or in the
armory or in the pretty room with the bed or behind the throne
or... anywhere they want, because Lance is special or something, so
he can go anywhere.  And Lance loves Chris and Chris loves Lance,
so Chris gets to go with him.

But then, it changes.  Everyone screams and cries and wears black. 
Chris and Lance have to wear black, too, and stand while the priest
chants words and puts people in a hole in the ground.  That's
scary, and Chris would much rather run away and play or hide.  Not
in a box, though, because that'd be like being in the scary, dark
ground.  The dead people are Lance's parents, which is a mommy and
daddy who *don't* love their baby, like Chris's mommy and daddy
love him.  Chris has a mommy and a daddy, not parents.

Only, now, Lance doesn't have either.  He's just got a Stacey,
who's his sister.  Sisters are bad.  They scream and say they hate
you and all your friends.  Sisters shake you and slap you and call
you names.  Chris knows, because that's what Stacey does to Lance.

And sisters are evil, because they take you away.

~~~~

Chris remembers, sometimes, the innocence of youth.  At least, he
thinks it was innocence.  He remembers being happy, and playing. 
He remembers life being good.  It's strange, how kids see the
world.  He hasn't been a kid in long time.

Chris scrubs flagstones and replaces rushes.  He mucks out stalls. 
He pushes a plow and wields a short sword, when one of the frequent
groups of raiders tries to come and take his home.  Life is hard,
and lonely.  Chris has one consolation -- retreating into his mind. 
He spends hours having silent conversations with his alterego, a
young, innocent boy.  Someone he remembers loving fiercely, though
he doesn't know who it was.  He remembers shiny hair and warm
cuddling, but thinks that it's just his imagination.

Chris has always had an incredibly vivid imagination.  He's always
in trouble, because his mind is far more interesting than the real
world.  He seems crazy to people, because he wants to *play* and
*enjoy*, instead of working and being downtrodden until death. 
Rather than face constant scorn, stoning or being driven from his
home, he talks to the boy in his head.  Life in Princess Stacey's
castle isn't exactly worth paying attention to anyway.  It's all
hate and darkness and scorn.  It's all about appearances and the
Lord and Lady scheming to get closer to the other nobles.

But Chris's parents work in the palace, and Chris knows *why* she's
like that.  Stacey isn't the Queen.  She's just sitting on the
throne, waiting to have a boy child.  Someone else is the King,
someone far away who must never come back, or Stacey will lose her
place.  So she wines and dines the nobles, and makes them think
she's wonderful.  That way, they'll never tear her down.

Chris doesn't marry.  His mother chides him gently, but he doesn't
want to marry.  He cares for his mother and his sisters -- who
aren't evil, though he somehow expected them to be.  His sisters
get married.  Chris makes sure it's to good men.  He's 18 when the
second one gets married.  It's around then that the rumors starts. 
It seems that there's a *castle* somewhere deep in the woods.  It's
supposed to be protected by sorcery and contain a great treasure.

One day, a knight comes.  He sups with Princess Stacey and Lord
Ford, and tells them he's come to search for the castle.  Chris,
who's serving, learns that he's a wonderful knight, blessed at
birth.  He can never die in combat, it seems.  And he never gets
sick, the way normal men do.  He's healthy as an ox, and strong as
a bear.

But in the morning... he's dead, arched horribly and with a macabre
grin on his face.

~~~~

Lance wakes sometimes.  The spell keeping him asleep was a powerful
dark magic, but it couldn't keep him asleep forever without killing
him, and a death of the king by unnatural means would poison the
soil and water of the kingdom and make the animals flee and the
people sicken and die.

Lance had heard all of this while playing with his puppy.  He
didn't know who the king his sister and the old woman talked about
was.  He grasped dimly that his father was dead, but no one had
told him who had taken his father's place.

He was sad because he missed Chris and his nurse.  His sister
hadn't let them come with.  She'd made him have a bath and wear
scratchy clothing with lace and even made his puppy take a bath. 
All so his sister could come to this place in the woods and have
boring conversations with an old, scary woman.

He wakes now and again.  Those moments of clarity are brief, and
for a long time, Lance can't tell them from his dreams.  He dreams
of another place and a serious dark-haired youth toiling at endless
labors.  And every so often he wakes, just long enough to smell the
lush smell of roses not yet blooming, bloomed, and dying, and know
that he has been trapped in this place by the ambitions of his
sister.

And that he will never get out.

~~~~

A band of rogues move into the area.  They don't attack the castle,
they just kill knights and princes leaving it.  Chris doesn't
understand why a group would operate like that.  There's more
profit in robbing *everyone* then in focusing on heavily armed,
single men.

And thieves are nothing if not practical.  Which means, Chris
thinks, that someone else is paying them.

Chris is twenty when his mother is declared too old to work and is
told to leave the castle immediately or be thrown out.  Chris is
glad his father is dead.  This would have killed him.

He isn't to be thrown out, because he's strong and can work.  And,
the man who tells them this says, as he eyes Chris's sisters, the
two youngest girls don't have to leave either.

His mother is about to agree when Chris interrupts harshly, "We'll
think about it."

The man, dressed like a soldier and not a courtier or a servant,
laughs.  It isn't a friendly or a nice laugh.  "You think about it
then."  He eyes the older girl and licks his lips, laughing again
as he leaves.

When the door is closed, Chris looks at his mother.  She is frail
and old.  She was born and raised in the palace as a servant in a
day when the rulers were more kindly and the old were pensioned off
with a cottage or allowed to live out their days in the only home
they've ever known.

"We must leave this place," Chris says.  "Before he comes back. 
Without anyone noticing we've gone.  We'll move to the village." 
He looks at Molly, now fourteen and with a steady beau.  "Will
Tomas marry you now?"

She nods.  "He has wished to, but waited, knowing that you'd not
let me until I were fifteen."

Chris nods back.  "Then you will marry him.  Taylor and Mother can
live with Emily and Katie as you get started.  We will all care for
each other.  I will send my money down to you."

Molly shakes her head.  "You'll need it far more than we will, I
think.  Tomas's father will help him get the items he needs to set
up his own smithy, and we will move to the village on the other
side of the forest.  They have no smithy of their own and Tomas had
promised that he would come there and live next year, when he could
bring me as bride.  He'll be glad to give up the ride there and
back.  He says the forest feels haunted."

Chris nods slowly.  "We should all go there.  We will ask Emily and
Katie to come too."

And so it is that Chris's whole family begins the slow move.  They
pack that night, two wagons full, and start on their slow way
through the forest the next morning.

Them, the thieves do not bother.  They are peasants, and of no
account to anyone.

The girls complain and Tomas agrees that the forest is dark and
forbidding.  The trees appear ancient, tall and stretching so high
that they blot out almost all hint of the sky.  The ground at the
foot of the trees is bare except for detritus dropped by the trees. 
Nothing lives here.  Nothing could in that darkness.

Everyone draws together, seeking comfort from each other that there
is still something living in this alien place.

~~~~

In his rose-scented bower, Lance stirs, but does not wake.  He is
dreaming again of the dark-haired man and he does not wish to awake
from those dreams.

~~~~

Chris frowns into the gloom beyond their firelight.  "Lance?" he
whispers.

There's no answer from the darkness, but it curls more familiarly
around Chris, as though recognizing something it remembers.

Chris stands.  Only his mother is still awake, and he moves to her
side.  His four sisters and three brothers-in-law do not stir. 
"Mother?  Who's Lance?" he asks, kneeling by her.

She turns her head to him and gives him a searching look.  "What do
you know about Lance?"

Chris frowns.  "There is something here.  It whispers, and my mind
comes awake."

"You feel something in this forest?"

"Yes."

She studies him a while longer.  "Lance was a prince of this land. 
Years ago, when you were young and he was younger, I was his nurse
and you were his most constant playmate."

"He's here," Chris says.  "He's all alone here."

She sighs.  "No one knows what happened to him.  Not for certain. 
After the King and Queen died, Lance was taken away.  He and the
Princess went on a journey of state, or so she said, and she
returned in mourning, saying that Lance had died, murdered by
brigands.  You cried for days."  She looks at him, as if
considering whether to say more.  "A few years later, travelers
started mentioning a place in this forest, thorned in by thick rose
bushes reaching three times the height of a man, above which the
turrets of a castle could be seen.  I've always suspected that that
poor lad was locked away there by his sister.  But who would
believe me?  And all who've tried to go there have died."

"I think I need to go for him," Chris whispers.  "I think he needs
me."

She grasps for his hand.  "Everyone who has tried to go there has
died.  There's no proof that Lance is even in there.  And if he is,
he couldn't possibly still be alive.  If no one can get in, then no
one can get out.  He may have died years ago."

"He calls me, when I dream.  He's with me.  I miss him."

"Chris..."

"Mother?"

"I lost a son when Lance was gone.  I don't want to lose two."

"What if he's all alone?  What if he needs us to come save him?"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.  When she opens them
again, there are tears standing in them, but they do not fall. 
"You will do what you must.  But I fear that I will never see you
again."

Chris bows his head over her lap.  "Then I will go with you.  I
will not lose you, for a foolish dream."

She strokes his hair.  "Not all dreams are foolish.  I will not
tell you to stay.  It grieves me to think of you gone, but if this
is what you want, well.  I had thought to lose you some other way,
to a wife or to the army or some such.  It is not so bad to lose
you to a dream."

"I love you all," Chris promises.

"I love you, too."

Chris stands, shoulders his pack and walks into the dark night.

~~~~

The roses have started to reach out into the forest, runners thick
with thorns indicating that the castle lies somewhere nearby.

However, true confirmation of the castle's presence are the
glimpses of sky through the trees, marking a place where the trees
do not grow.

It is dangerous to approach the castle.  With more light and closer
to their center, the vines are as thick around as Chris's waist and
the thorns longer than his forearm.  The vines are the floor of the
forest, and the thorns stick every which way, made travelling
toward the castle increasingly treacherous.

From the direction of the glimpses of light comes the faint scent
of roses.

Chris learns to pause after every step.  He learns to watch his
feet, his arms, his head.  He learns to look up.  The vines don't
exactly move.  They're just so large that even the small movements
of growing cause motion.

A branch catches Chris across the face, ripping perilously close to
his eye.  He camps on a large rock, cleaning his wounds with water
from a spring he'd found the day before.  The cuts gape and the
pain is indescribable.  Chris lingers there for days.  He sews his
wounds closed and sleeps for hours.  The scent of roses wakes him
in the night and forces him onward.

The weeks become months.  The thorns are now so large, and so close
together, that Chris often has to stop for weeks at a time,
patiently hollowing out a hole *through* the branches.  Or he has
to double back for more water.  And the only game to be had this
far into the bramble is small, and requires patience to catch. 
Chris wonders about his family.  He misses them.

There are nights that all he can think of is going back to them. 
He's made the decision to turn back in the morning.  His dreams are
always full of pleading and need, and the sweet glow of remembered
joy.  In the morning, Chris always continues deeper into the
tangle.

~~~~

Lance only wakes during the day now.  He has little control over
his current state of being, but there is nothing for him in the
days.  Not even the minute slide of his fingers through the hair of
the dog sleeping at his side holds any charm, although once upon a
time, that tiny physical sensation had been something he'd focussed
on, something to keep him from going mad or being lost in his
dreams.

Except now, he'd rather be lost in his dreams.  He sees such things
in his dreams.  Soothes another's pain and wanders with him through
endless dark gardens of roses.  He does not recognize his
companion, but he knows in the way of dreams, that he loves him and
that the man returns his regard.  They are warm dreams, warmer than
the sun, and he despairs when he wakes in the dark, because he is
missing a moment with his companion, who is only ever there in the
night.

Chris is marked by his journey.  Physical, inescapable mementos of
the pain and struggle needed to be here, in the tiny clear space
between vine and stone.  The castle's walls are dark stone, pitted
with age.  Chris would sleep, but a storm is coming and there's a
sense of desperation about the place.  Lance needs him *now*.

The castle's courtyard is free of flowers.  Although thick vines
have grown up the outside walls, inside there is only the fragrance
and the sight of a few swaying blossoms.  There is a crumbling
fountain in the middle of the courtyard.  The stream that feeds it
has overflowed its boundaries, and now it is a small pond, that
wells up and then rambles across the courtyard to disappear under
yet more debris.

Chris makes his way stealthily across the courtyard, pausing every
few steps to check for vines.  He is unaccustomed anymore to taking
a full step and his legs ache when he tries.  The heavy doors are
bolted, but the kitchen entrance is unlocked.  Chris eases in and
begins exploring.  He bolts the door to the cellars, leaving them
for last.  Nothing on the ground floor, or the next up, or the
next.

The door to the top room in the highest tower of the castle is
barred from the outside.  The crenellations in the tower let in
enough light to see how small the room must be.  It is noteworthy
only in that someone has chosen to lock something this remote.

Chris lifts the bar, setting it aside, and enters the room.  The
last light of sunset shines on the tiny room and the bed there.  A
young man lays silently on the bed, a dog next to him.  Chris
kneels next to the bed.  Lance's face is so lonely.  Chris's
calloused fingers gently touch Lance's cheek.

Lance wakes again.  It seems he wakes more often now, although he
has no way to judge the passing of time, not when he cannot move at
all, not more than a hair's breadth.  He sees that it is dusk and
that the light is fading and does not try to hold onto the day,
closing his eyes and instead looking forward to the night and his
companion.

"Lance?" Chris asks.  "Lance?  Are you awake?"

His eyes open again.  He blinks slowly, disbelieving.  There is a
face in front of his.  It is pale from lack of sun, and it is lined
and scarred.  It is not the face of a young man, but he recognizes
the man's eyes.  It is his companion, seen in the waking world.  As
he cannot wake, and this is obviously impossible, Lance accepts
what this must be with an exhaled sigh of relief.  "At last, I am
dead.  You do not know how much I have longed to see you, if only
now, after my life has passed."

Chris smiles.  "You're not dead."  He kisses Lance in joy.  The
same kind of kisses they'd given and received as children.  "You're
here, with me."

Lance raises his head, marvelling every moment at the ability to
speak, to move.  Besides him, a golden head pops up and nuzzles his
leg, before barking sharply and jumping off the bed.

"You're real then?" Lance asks in wonder.  "I had thought you only
a dream."

Chris laughs.  "What did you name the puppy?"

"What did I..."  Lance's eyebrows arch and he squints at the man in
front of him.  His mouth falls open and he gasps.  "Chris?!"

"Yeah," Chris says, hand going to his face in an unconscious
gesture.  "I know I'm different.  You're different, too."

Lance nearly tumbles out of the bed as he jumps to wrap Chris in
his arms.  "Chris!"  It's both only been a little while and also an
eternity since he's last seen his best friend in the whole world.

Chris hugs Lance back.  "Let's get out of here, huh?"

Lance grips Chris's arms, pulling back to look at him.  "Chris, my
sister put me away here.  I think she means to take over the
kingdom.  It isn't safe."

"It has been thirty years, Lance.  We will beat her back.  I will
take care of you."

"Thirty... *years*?" Lance stammers.

"Yes," Chris says simply.  The dog comes back over to them, panting
and pawing at them.  "I think we should go," Chris says, looking
out the window at the ever-darkening sky.

"Right now?  Right this moment?"

"Yes."

Lance doesn't know if he agrees, but he is certain that Chris knows
more about the situation than he does.  He stands and takes Chris's
hand, like they had when they were children, and Chris was leading
him yet again into trouble.

Chris leads Lance down and out, the dog frolicking about them. 
They cross the courtyard and Chris prepares to lead Lance through
the vines.  But they just melt out of the way.

The roses nod in, as if longing to be closer to Lance, but the way
opens in front of them.  Behind them, though, it closes off again. 
It is soon too dark to see, but around them is the noise of growing
things, as the roses put out new shoots, as if scouting ahead. 
Always they surround Lance, and always they part for him.

"What is this?" Lance asks as they walk.  "What are these?"

"Roses," Chris says, his tone a mixture of loathing and pride.

"No, I recognize the flower.  I mean, what is this?  I have never
seen anything like this."

"Magic, I think.  It's kept people away for years.  It must be
meant to be around you, but never touch you."

Lance nods, still holding fast to Chris's hand.  "Or I have been a
part of the magic so long that it's part of me now.  I wonder... 
Can we stop for a moment?  Just a moment?"

"Yes."

Lance squeezes Chris's hand and stops walking.  He holds out the
other, palm up.  He feels a little foolish, but he knows, somewhere
deep inside, that this is right.  He wishes for a flower.

A full-grown rose falls into his hand.  No one has touched it, and
yet the stem is snapped off.

Lance hands the flower to Chris.  "I think," he says, "that they
are my roses now."

Chris looks at the blossom.  "I've been in here for years.  I've
never touched a flower in all that time."

"Years?" Lance asks, tucking the flower behind Chris's ear.

"There was winter ten times," Chris recollects.  "And it's nearly
autumn now."

Lance walks in silence for some time.  Despite the darkness, their
path is easy to find.  The sound of the vines slithering back in
front of them tells them where to put their feet.

Lance is leading him.  It's all Chris can think of.  Lance, who
hasn't moved in three decades, is leading the way to safety.

"Where do you want to go?" Lance asks Chris, after a while.  He
knows where the roses are leading them, but it seems very unfair to
him that Chris has spent so many years trying to rescue him but is
following a path Lance's roses are setting.

"I need to see my family.  But mostly, I need to get you safe."

"Nurse?" Lance asks hopefully.

"My mother was alive, when last I saw my family.  They were going
to Wainsford."

"Can we go there?"

"Yes."  Chris squints up at the sky.  "That way."  He points
slightly off the path they'd been taking.

Lance smiles at the thought of seeing Nurse again and the thought
of reuniting Chris with his family.  The sounds around them cease,
and then begin again, moving in a different direction.

They walk late into the night, sleeping for a few hours before
dawn.  Chris curls protectively around Lance, holding him close and
holding the blanket over both of them.  The roses hold warmth close
to them.  It's novel not to have to sleep on thorns.

Lance is hardly able to sleep.  He feels like he could stay awake
for the rest of his life.  But Chris is tired and so Lance lies
down with him, content to be held and to listen to the soft
rustling of rose petals.

Dawn comes, and they begin walking again.  Chris gives Lance some
cold meat for breakfast.  "We should get there today or tomorrow
morning," he says.

"I don't mind how long it takes," Lance says quietly.  "It's a
privilege just to be awake."

Chris takes Lance's hand.  They walk on in silence.

"Is my sister a terrible ruler?  Or has another taken her place?"

"She is... she is more impressed with power and what she can have
than her people.  She locked you away!"

Lance nods.  "I know that imprisoning me means her motives are
suspect, but I remember that she thought I was too young and
foolish to rule."  He shrugs.  "She was right about that much."

"You were a *child*.  It was her duty to raise you, where your
parents failed.  They abandoned you, and she imprisoned you, rather
than lose power."

"I guess," Lance says doubtfully.  "I'd rather have been raised by
your mother though."

"She loves you."

Lance smiles.  "She remembers me after thirty years?"

"She said you were her son.  That she loves you as a son."

Lance isn't sure whether to laugh with joy or cry.  "I always
wanted to call her Mama and your father Papa."

"Papa died," Chris says gently.  "Years ago.  But I know that he
loved you, too."

Lance blinks back tears.  "Can we stop?  I..."

Chris holds Lance as they both cry.

Lance cries for the death of Chris's father as he had not for his
own parents.  He hadn't really understood then what it meant. 
Being told they had gone away didn't mean anything to him -- they
were always away.  Only Chris's blunt explanations had made sense,
and even then, Lance hadn't been sad.  He'd had the family he
wanted; his parents didn't mean anything to him.

As they cling to each other, sounds reach him over the noise of
sobbing.  Quiet at first, the deep thudding sounds grow louder and
louder until they culminate into a gigantic crash.

Chris cradles Lance and ignores everything around them.  Only Lance
matters.

"Chris, I think the castle just fell down," Lance says.  He doesn't
let go of Chris.  "The roses... they left it.  I think maybe they
were the only thing holding it up."

Chris looks up.  "Have they all come to hold you, too?"

Lance shakes his head.  "No.  They won't come any closer unless I
want them to."  Hesitantly, he adds, "I think they'd go away if I
wanted them to."

"I think we need them," Chris says bluntly.  "I hate them a little,
but I respect them a lot."  He touches Lance's cheek.  "They were
keeping you safe for a long time."

"They hurt you," Lance says, raising his eyes to Chris's face.

"Yes.  They did."

"I'm sorry," Lance says, touching Chris's face and then kissing the
scars one by one.

Chris submits meekly.  "Thank you."

Lance steps back, biting his lip.  "You should go home on your own. 
Without any more roses to hurt you.  I can take them to my sister
and make her stop being bad."

Chris shakes his head.  "No, Lance.  You're my Prince, and I will
go where you go."

Lance can't explain why he feels hollow at hearing that.  "Oh," he
says dully.

Chris adds, "I love you.  My prince."  His devotion and love are
plain in his voice and his face.

""I... I don't want to be your prince," he says.  "I... feel less
than myself just hearing those words.  I want to be your Lance. 
Like we were before, only now."

Chris smiles.  "You'll never not be my Lance," he vows.

Lance's smile returns.  "Then all is right."

"I dreamed of you," Chris says.

"And I of you."

"What did you name the puppy?"

Lance looks startled.  "I... I don't think I ever did.  Or, if he
has a name, I don't remember what it is."

Chris says, "Then you've one more thing to look forward to."  The
dog runs over to them, panting and wagging his tail.  Chris kneels
to pet him.

"I'm with you and awake.  I don't need anything to look forward to. 
Besides," Lance says, kneeling, too, "I think the reason he has no
name is because you were going to help me name him."

Chris looks at Lance over the dog's head.  "Roger?"

After Chris's father.  Lance nods.  "Yes.  Roger is a very good
name."

Chris can't stop looking at Lance.  Even with his slightly blurred
eyesight, Lance is lovely.  He's pale and smooth, and there's
something stubborn about his jaw.  "You will be a good Prince."

Lance shakes his head.  "I have been a bad prince.  I know very few
of the things that I should know.  But I will try hard to be a good
king."

"We will help you learn."

Lance laughs.  "As though either of us knows how.  But, yes, Chris,
I want you there with me."

"Come.  Let's go to our family."

Lance smiles and follows Chris home, surrounded by roses.

~~~~

It's funny.  Chris spent years without ever having a roof over his
head, and now he spends his time hidden inside.  Stacey's been
locked away in a much kinder manner than she'd done to Lance.  Ford
killed himself rather than face the same fate.  The kingdom is
happy and Lance's.

Chris's family has moved back to the palace, serving in new
capacities.  Emily is chatelaine of the whole castle, and she
commands her sisters as a formidable army.  They've cleaned away
decades for disrepair in a few short months.  Chris only wishes his
mother could see it.  She'd made it back to the castle, and back to
her home.  And, one morning after the first snowfall, she'd not
woken up.  But she'd died happy, holding her sons and daughters
close to her heart.

She'd never told him.  Maybe she hadn't seen.  Chris hopes so,
anyway.  He doesn't want her to have known how ugly he is now.  He
frightens children.  He's seen grown men flinch at the sight of
him.  Chris doesn't mind, much.  He manages the security of the
palace, which can be easily done from the shadows.  He advises
Lance as to the desires and needs of the common people.  Chris is
content.

He may also be falling in love with Lance.

The roses have taken over this castle as well as they had taken
over his prison.  Lance does not mind.  He thinks he would miss
them if they were gone.  Chris tells him that the people call him
the Rose Prince, for how he and the roses came and took back the
throne.  These vines are mere traceries on the walls, and they do
not follow him around unless he wishes it so.  But some of the
blooms do decorate the windows in his rooms, and those never change
with the seasons, remaining always fresh and beautiful, even in the
snow.

The kingdom is well-run, the people are content and fed, and his
sister is safely far away.  He hopes that she is happy where she
is, because he is a kind man and does not like others to suffer.

He, however, is miserable.  Chris will not show his face in public
any longer, and so Lance rarely sees him.  He hears Chris's voice
from time to time, but when he turns to look, Chris is usually
gone.

He is lonely, and there is no one left who he knows besides Chris. 
Chris's sisters are competent, but they are strangers to him.

The day his ministers tell him he needs to start looking for a
bride is one of the worst in his life.

Chris watches Lance sleep.  He doesn't need to.  Lance never sleeps
long, and the roses are a much better guard than any man could be. 
Chris can't bear to be away from Lance any longer than a day.  He
stands behind Lance's throne during the day, hidden behind a
tapestry.  He watches over Lance at night.  He hopes the woman
Lance marries does not mind the roses.

Portraits arrive from faraway places, each more lovely than the
last.  All of women of royal blood, princesses, duchesses,
countesses and mere ladies.  Lance glances at each one, but will do
no more than that.  No matter how often he is asked to make a
decision, he does not.

Months pass and the people become aware of the king's stubbornness. 
There are petitions and even riots.

Lance may not care much for the idea of a bride, or for being
pressured by his administrators, but he is quite concerned about
the welfare of the people.

He wishes Nurse were still alive, so he could seek her counsel. 
The advice of someone who loves him and not power or the country
would be priceless.  But he does not have that.  He wishes also
that the hidden desire of his heart could be fulfilled.  But he
does not have that either.

It is with a heavy heart that aches inside him that he prepares the
announcement for the people.  It is very traditional, but that does
not make him happy.

Heralds take the king's message to all corners of the kingdom and
beyond.

The message proclaimed is this, "The Rose Prince intends to wed in
one year's time.  He will take as consort a commoner from within
his kingdom.  The one who is worthy to share the throne is the one
who can win the king's heart from the roses."

There is much curiosity about what the message means, but Lance
does not answer questions about it, other than to say that the
first opportunity to take on this challenge will be at the palace
in a month's time.

The king himself disappears, putting on plain clothes and taking a
horse from the stables.

Chris screams at the roses.  He grabs them, shakes them, tries to
force them to follow Lance.  They tatter his hands, but do not go. 
When he collapses sobbing, soft blossoms surround him and lull him
to sleep with their heavy scent.

Lance returns three weeks later.  He is sunburned and thinner, but
looks deeply satisfied with himself.  He is surrounded before he
even swings off of his horse.  Getting down, he goes through his
saddle bag and pulls out a velvet pouch.  He hands it to a
courtier.  "Put this on my throne."  His manner is cold and
commanding, much different than how he was before he left.  "Be
careful with it.  My heart is inside."

The man swallows hard and bobs his head.  "Yes, Sire."

Chris stands in the heavy shadows at the entrance to the palace and
watches Lance.  "Next time, go with him," he orders the roses.  Not
that they'll obey him.

Lance enters the palace, not looking left or right.  When he gets
to his rooms, the servant waiting there is treated to the edge of
his tongue for not having a bath ready.

Even before he finishes his bath, the word is circulating through
the palace that their king has changed into a different man.  Some
say that he spent his time away having his heart removed and put
into the pouch, and that the kingdom is doomed unless Lance finds
his true love.

Lance is aware of none of this.  After his bath, he goes to the
throne room.  Standing there, he summons the roses, which grow into
a hedge of thorns around the throne.  The vines choke out all sight
of the small velvet pouch on its seat, and there are no blooms on
the vines.  Only tiny, tight buds.

Chris watches this cold, calculating version of Lance.  His Lance
is still there.  Lance will always be his, for good or bad.  Chris
talks to Lance, at night.  He slips into Lance's room when all is
dark and they talk for a few minutes.

"The girls will come tomorrow.  Several will bring champions, to
act in their stead."

Lance shakes his head.  "I will allow no champions.  They must win
through on their own or not at all."

"What will happen to them, when they try?"

Lance shrugs.  "I don't know.  I imagine most of them will give
up."

"Have you truly removed your heart, my Lance?"

Lance looks at him.  "I had not intended to.  I had intended to
obtain a blown glass bauble to place there instead.  But I had a
boon to ask, and its price was that I only allow the one who truly
loves me to claim it.  As I have been sick at heart, it seemed a
small price to pay for what I wanted."

Chris's eyes close.  "Take the roses with you, next time," he
requests in a whisper.  "I worried for you."

"I didn't want to attract attention.  Taking the roses would have
told everyone who I am.  My way worked best."

"Then you got what you wanted."

Lance shakes his head.  "I got what I asked for.  Getting what I
want is a dream."

"What will you do, if the one who gets through is... like me?"

Lance no longer has a heart and so he does not cry.  "I have
promised to marry whoever gets through.  If no one does, then I
must marry the witch who I made the bargain with.  I am satisfied
with that.  With my heart removed, it will not hurt to be married
to someone who does not love me."

The roses rustle.  "Yes, Lance," Chris says.  "Goodnight."  He
turns to leave, whispering, "I love you."  The roses brush his face
as he passes.

Lance does not hear Chris's final words.  It doesn't matter; they
no longer have the power to wound him.  The roses in his windows
fold their petals tight, closing up.

~~~~

There have been seven trials, and there will be no more.  Chris
will not let there be more.  The women who come are ruined after. 
If they try, and they try their hardest, they get only scars and
blood and pain.  Chris will not have it.  He will have no more of
these innocents made to suffer.  He will burn the palace to the
ground before he lets it happen again.

In the dark of night, he approaches the roses.  He sits, leaning
back against the thorny branches.  "Now, roses, here is the way
this must be.  I love Lance greatly, and I will not give him to
that witch, nor let him give himself.  And I will not let you hurt
any more who have done no wrong.  You will open the way for me, and
allow Lance's heart to be claimed, or I will destroy you, and
myself, and this entire palace.  I love Lance with all of my heart,
and I would gladly die for him.  So decide, roses.  Decide."

The branches give way behind him, lowering him slowly onto the
floor.  Over his head, one of the buds is half-open.

Chris stares up at the bud.  "So, if I lay here until the girl
comes and claims his heart, you'll let her through?"

The bud shuts again.  The vines do not regrow nor do thorns emerge
to bloody him.  But the pathway that had opened behind his head
closes off. 

Chris lays in an alcove of vines.  "Me?  Oh, roses.  I cannot take
his heart, though I have wanted to for some time now.  It is not
right.  It would ruin the people and the land.  And Lance, in time. 
I am a man, roses, as Lance is.  Lance needs a woman, to bear him
sons and bring him joy of her self.  To stand at his side and
inspire our people.  I cannot bring him heirs, nor such joy.  I
cannot stand at his side and inspire anything but horror.  You are
cruel to him.  You doom him."

The roses remain stubbornly in place.

"I hate you," Chris whispers, closing his eyes.

Soft petals brush against Chris's face, waiting.

Chris obliges, watering the roses with his tears.  "I hate you.  If
you let her get him, I'll kill you, some way."

The petals wipe his tears dry.

"Keep him safe for me, then?"

There is no response.  Roses, however magical, cannot talk.

"They'll destroy him if I take it," Chris tells the roses.

The vines rustle as they pull away, leaving Chris an open route to
the throne.

"Bring him to me?" Chris requests.  "Bring him, so he can choose."

A thorn pricking his hand wakes Lance.  His dreams have been blank
of late.  Their blankness is comforting.  Emptiness is far better
than the nightmares of always chasing something he can never have. 
He had been having those nightmares every night before he left the
palace and sought out the witch.

He is not happy, but neither is he wretchedly miserable anymore.

He responds to the prompting of the roses, knowing that they have
somewhere they wish him to go.  With a robe tossed on over his
nightshirt and slippers on his feet, he does not look very kingly,
but the whole palace seems to be asleep, holding its breath for
something to happen.

Tomorrow will be time for another challenge of the roses.  He only
allows them once a month.  Fewer women try now.  Only the serious
come.  By the end, there will likely be none willing to attempt it.

Chris rises when Lance comes into the throne room.  He stands in
the space the roses have occupied.  If Lance decides wisely, that
Chris should not do this, Chris hopes the roses will close on him
and kill him.

"Lance."

Lance comes to Chris and looks at him with no emotion on his face. 
The roses accept Chris.  He already knew this.  No thorn will ever
scratch Chris again.  The roses do not obey Chris, but they will
not harm him.

"They'll hate us," Chris says.  "The people will hate, and look
down upon us.  They will call us wrong.  I cannot give you what
these ladies can give you.  I cannot give you heirs that you need. 
I cannot give you... joy of that kind.  I cannot stand at your side
and make our people believe more.  But I love you, my Lance.  And
I would not give you to the witch.  So, please, choose, my love. 
What shall I do?"

"You will do what you do," Lance says.  "My heart loves you.  There
is nothing anyone can give me that equals that.  If it is not you,
then at least I no longer have to feel the pain of having you close
without ever having you."

Chris turns and lifts the velvet pouch from the throne.  He tips
the contents into his hand.  Blazing brightly, Lance's heart is a
pure song of hope.  Chris asks, "Now what?"

"Will you keep it?" Lance asks.  "Will you put it back and then
return tomorrow and do this in front of everyone so that they will
all know who I am to wed?"

"I don't want to put it back," Chris says.  "But I will be here
tomorrow."

"Claim it tomorrow and it is yours to keep."  Softly, he adds, "As
it has always been."

Chris carefully, gently replaces Lance's heart.  "Thank you,
roses."  He steps out of the circle, and the roses close behind
them.  "I love you, my Lance."

Lance nods.  With his heart closed away again, insulated by velvet,
his emotions are also closed to him.  "Tomorrow.  Do not throw me
away again."

"I have never thrown you away," Chris says fiercely.  And he kisses
Lance, to prove it.

Lance just pats his cheek and walks away.

Chris sits back down with the roses.  "Wake me when the sun rises,
please?  I'll need to change."

Sweet perfume surrounds him as the roses grow down to cover him and
keep him safe until the morning.

~~~~

Chris dresses carefully in his best clothing.  He dons the mask
last, and returns to the throne room to wait for Lance to open the
trials.

Another throne has been placed next to the one made invisible by
vines.  Lance sits in the new one.  The other one is now referred
to by all as the Consort's Throne.

Before him are all the courtiers, a witch wise in the ways of
healing, and many of the ordinary people as well.  The trials are
always well-attended.

The herald steps forward, quieting the multitude with a blast on
his horn.  "All those wishing to try for the king's heart, please
make yourselves known now."

Two girls step forward.  One is sturdy and well-tanned, with
strong, muscular arms.  She has a scythe and a pitchfork with her. 
Her clothes are plain and sturdy, and she is not wearing skirts,
but rather trousers.

The other is smaller and paler.  Unlike the first, she is wearing
a dress.  Her family is grouped behind her, whispering at her and
pushing her forward.

Chris steps out from the shadows.  "They will hurt you," he tells
the girls quietly.

The one girl looks frightened.  The other nods to him, "I know."

"I love him.  Do you still want to try?"

The one girl's eyes widen and she steps away from him, back into
her family, who push her forward again.

The stolid girl shrugs.  "Are you going to try?  Doesn't seem to me
that it matters how you feel if you're just going to stand here."

"I'm going to take his heart," Chris says.

She shrugs again.  "If you do, then it's yours.  If not, then I'm
going to try."

Chris nods, and turns to the roses.  He walks toward them, but not
fearlessly.  "I'm here," he tells them.  "Please let me pass."

Someone laughs at the masked man's effrontery, but the whole room
falls silent as the vines part for him.  One moment, the throne is
covered, and then there's a path through the thorns.  Then the
vines pull back completely, leaving only a runner twined around the
back of the chair, with rosebuds haloing it.

Chris murmurs, "Thank you," and retakes the heart, spilling it into
his hand where he cradles it gently.

As Chris displays the heart in his hand, Lance stands and crosses
to him.  He puts his hand on Chris's shoulder.  "This man has won
my heart for his own.  In four months, we will be wed and he will
be my consort.  And then you will all see the magic of this
creation," he indicates the heart.  "It was enchanted so that, no
matter who won it, there would an heir to the throne from our
union."

Chris throws a startled look at Lance.

He moves his hand from Chris's shoulder to the hand that holds the
heart, and takes it, turning Chris's wrist and Chris himself until
the heart is pressed against his own chest.

The bright glow of the heart fades, absorbed into Lance's chest. 
But even as it leaves, some of the glow remains in the bauble in
Chris's hand.  The light inside is a promise for the future.

Lance closes Chris's hand around the heart, then kisses him.

Chris kisses Lance the best he can through his mask, going on
tiptoe to match Lance's fashionably high boots.

Lance steps back and removes Chris's mask from his face.  Quietly,
he says, "You are lovely to me."

Chris ducks his face.  "I know."

Lance smiles and kisses Chris again, reaching for a rose which
obligingly drops into his hand.  He brushes it over Chris's face,
letting the soft petals stroke Chris's skin.  Then he tucks the
rose behind Chris's ear and turns him to present him, unmasked, to
the crowd.

The applause and cheering nearly deafens them.

Chris ducks his face instinctively.  He grins at the applause.  He
should have known that the people care for Lance enough to accept
even this.

"Look at them," Lance whispers.  "Don't hide yourself."

Chris shakes his head.  There are children, and he does not want to
scare them, or see them run away.

"Please?" Lance asks.  "Trust me."

Chris closes his eyes and raises his face.

The applause does not cease, but there are some startled gasps. 
Chris flinches.

Lance does not, because he's watching, and he grins as Chris's
sisters run up and begin hugging him.

Chris knows his sisters.  He knows how they smell and how they
feel.  He hugs them, hiding his face in their hair.

"Your face!" Molly says.  "How is this possible?"

"The magic of the roses," Lance says, smiling at her.

Chris reaches up, feeling smooth, unmarked skin where there were
scars before.  "Lance?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"What have you done?"

"Only what should have been done a long time ago.  Except you
didn't want to love me."

"I have always loved you."

"But you would not join me in bed.  You would not stand by my side. 
You would have allowed me to wed someone else, when the only one
I've ever wanted is you."

"I-in bed?"  Chris looks at Lance in confusion.  "I have been with
you always.  Not... by your side.  You speak true there."

"In bed and by my side and with me always."

Chris says, "Anything.  Everything."

"You have my heart now."  Lance takes the velvet bag from Chris's
hand.  It's oddly heavy in his hand to be empty, and he turns it
out into his hand.

Tear-shaped diamonds spill into his palm.  Lance immediately knows
what they are.  "The tears of my heart, shed for you," he says, and
then holds the pouch out for Chris.  "Keep my heart in here, if you
like.  It is yours forever."

Chris turns his face up to Lance.  "I have your heart, in my heart. 
As I hope my heart will soon be in yours."

"Always."  Lance faces forward, and gestures forward the two women
who would have participated in the trial.  The sturdy girl bobs a
curtsey, and the other one sinks down onto the floor, apparently
terrified.  He steps down and hands each one a diamond.  "For their
courage, all those who attempted to make their way through the
roses will be rewarded."

There's more applause, during which Lance has time to speak to the
older girl.  "If you would like, we could find a place for you at
the palace.  Someone with your sense and determination is always
welcome."

She gives him a sideways look, assessing him.  "I'll think about
it."

Chris smiles at her.  "Thank you.  For wanting to try."

Lance steps back and nods to the herald, signalling the end of open
court.

He hands the remaining diamonds to Emily.  "I trust you'll see
these are distributed to the appropriate people."

She smiles tentatively at him.  "You're better now?"

He nods.  "Yes.  Now that I have Chris, I am."

Emily hooks her hand behind his neck and kisses his cheek.  "Then
he'll be better, too."

"I hope so," Lance says, hugging her.

The crowd clears out, and it's just Chris and Lance and the roses
left.

Lance holds his hand out to Chris.  "Chris?"

Chris takes Lance's hand immediately.

"Will you marry me?" he asks.

"Of course."

Lance touches Chris's face.  "The scars never mattered to me.  They
meant you love me.  Without you right next to me, with me, there
wasn't any point."

"I did not mind them," Chris whispers.  "I was not ashamed of
fighting for you."

"But you were ashamed of staying with me."

"Never," Chris says firmly.

"Then why, Chris?" Lance asks.  "Why would you never be with me?"

"I was with you ever minute of the day, and hours of the night.  I
stood behind you from the time you sat on the throne in the morning
until you retired for the night.  I came and watched you sleep."

"Why not share my bed with me?  Why not stand beside me?  I wanted
you there.  I still do."

"I did not wish to cause fear," Chris says.  "I was a coward."

"I would have given my throne to my sister before giving up you."

"I am here," Chris says.  "I will be here always."

"Come to bed with me now?"

"I do not understand.  But I will follow wherever you wish to lead
me."

Lance's eyes are shining, and he takes Chris's hand.

The roses seem to sigh.  Chris wonders if they feel what Lance
feels.

When they enter Lance's rooms, the air is pregnant with
anticipation.  Lance continues walking, passing through into his
bedroom.  There the roses surround the bed, hundreds of blooms
nodding their heads approvingly.

Chris's hand, clasped in Lance's, is beginning to sweat.  He feels
eager, but does not know for what.

Lance turns and kisses Chris again.  His hands caress Chris's arms
and sides.  "You're my happy ending."

"Ending?" Chris asks, shivering under Lance's hands.  "I thought
this was the middle."

"Ending," Lance says, hands slipping under Chris's tunic.  "So that
a new story can begin."

"What are you doing?" Chris asks, somewhat breathlessly.  Under
Lance's touch, he can feel that *all* his scars have vanished.

"Making love to you."

"How?"

Lance frowns.  "Like this."

"We're both men," Chris says.

"I know."

"Very well."  Chris's hands settle on Lance's sides and he
determines to act in the only way he knows -- as if Lance were a
woman he wanted to court.

"Does it bother you?" Lance asks, trying to understand.

"I simply don't understand," Chris says, gently pulling Lance
closer.

"I want you.  I miss you kissing me and touching me, and I want
more of that."

Chris lifts his face to kiss Lance.  His hands move over Lance's
back, molding them closer to each other.

"Chris," Lance asks between kisses.  "Chris, what do you want?"

"I want you," Chris murmurs back.  He eases them onto the bed,
eliminating the height difference.  He lays along Lance's side,
still kissing.

"My sweet prince," Lance whispers.

"That's what I'm meant to say."

"You rescued me.  You're marrying a king.  You should be a prince." 
Lance gives him a worried look.  "Unless you'd rather be a duke?"

Chris smiles and shakes his head.  "I only want to be your Chris."

"You are."

Lance unclothes Chris.  It's strange, to have someone look on him
naked.  It's humbling to see Lance's slim form unclothed.  And to
touch and taste and take such liberties with Lance, and have such
done to him in return, is beyond Chris's imagining.  He can't
comprehend the enormity of his wonder at this.  He can't describe
the feeling of Lance's heart beating in his chest, or the feeling
of his heart beating and causing Lance to breathe and shudder and
live.

Lance has always known it would be like this.  His dreams were like
this, Chris so much a part of him that they are one.  He lays a
kiss on Chris's sweaty shoulder, too happy and spent to find the
words to tell Chris how he feels.

But around them, vines all over the castle are sprouting buds,
flowering, and bursting into full bloom.