His Majesty, Dean Winchester
~~Jensen as King Bacchus inspired this~~
"May I enquire: what are you doing?"
Dean almost startles at the deep voice that suddenly comes from behind him. He turns around to face steely blue eyes, and ends up with his mouth slightly parted despite no excuse slipping out. Impala just neighs fondly at the familiar face and scratches her hoof on the soft earth, clearly not catching on to her owner's worry. Dean, on the other hand, looks like a servant boy who was caught stealing fruitcake from the royal kitchens:
"Huh... 's not what you think, Cas."
Castiel, as mysteriously foreign as always, just tilts his head with a deep frown. His silver armor clinks with the movement and gleams bright under the dawning sun, as strong and imposing as the Knight wearing it. Dean catches himself swallowing dryly and staring at the symbol which is so boldly embrazoned on the chest - a large winged lion, the Winchester's family crest. Castiel always wears it so proudly, so decisively, even though he had been born in an enemy nation. Dean never had to ask to know that Castiel never wore Queen Naomi's crest so proudly.
"Is that so?" Castiel's voice thunders once again, deep and guttural like a sea storm. The First Knight of the King's Guard always takes his duty too seriously, and he is clearly not letting Dean get away with his folly.
"Because it would seem Your Majesty is packing his horse and preparing to embark on a journey alone, while disguised as a poor man. Alas, the only thing poor about your attire is its ability to fool anyone."
Dean is a little offended at the jab on his disguise skills but quickly relents, "ok, so... maybe it's exactly what you think."
"My Lord," Castiel begins as he comes closer and Dean is already sighing, "if you want to partake in a small journey, I would gladly consent."
A little voice inside Dean's head that sounds far too much like John Winchester points out that no knight should ever dare imply the King needs consent for anything. But that's what he had always liked about Cas, how sometimes he's like an unstoppable force that cares for no rank, for no rule, and simply does what he deems is right and fair. So Dean shuts the voice down, and settles for looking at Castiel with suspicion.
"But you must take the King's Guard with you."
Dean groans in frustration, finally pulling down the tattered hood he had put on in an attempt to remain unrecognizable. "That's not the point of all this, Cas."
Castiel's frown hardens, but he listens attentively regardless as Dean presses on:
"The point of this entire thing is... I dunno. I wanna- I wanna see how my people are living, if they are happy and well fed, iff they truly bless me as their ruler... and I sure as hell can't do that with a whole parade with me."
Impala starts to get slightly antsy and nervous at the commotion, so Dean huffs to himself and tries to calm down. For the first time, his eyes look away from Castiel's and he focuses on Impala, gently patting her long, soft snout and whispering reassurances before he turns back towards his Knight.
"I just... need to know, Cas. And I'll never know for sure if I go as their King..."
Dean can't help the moisture starting to gather in his eyes, but he manages to keep it from falling down his cheeks.
"Even you are treating me differently since the coronation." Dean knew those were the rules. A Knight can't address the King by name, can't reach out to touch a King's shoulder, can't tell a King what an idiot he's being. It still hurt beyond what Dean could describe. "So how can I expect the people to be honest if they recognize me as their King? They know my father would have taken their heads off for even daring to breathe in his direction."
"Dean..." Castiel's voice is suddenly soft, all too kind and loving, and Dean hates it desperately because it exposes all his weaknesses. It has been so long since Cas had spoken his name that his heart starts beating as wildly and he's weak to his knees.
He's not going to lie - it had been fun at first, seeing Cas suddenly calling him Majesty and Lord with that proud smirk. But once the novelty wore off, Dean craved for a moment like this, of blue eyes dawning on him as the sun breaches the horizon, his name dripping from Castiel's lips like was a treasure, a prayer, a hush of something profound and secret and deeply forbidden... like Dean was important just because he was Dean, Castiel's best friend. Not because he was King Dean Winchester of Lawrence.
Dean wants to reach out, to apologize, but every single lesson that had been ground into him traps his throat shut - a king doesn't ask for permission, a king doesn't apologize, a king is a mountain that no mortal can reach. As always, there is an abyss of distance between them. So Dean simply shrugs, something endlessly sad and lonely in the motion.
"I understand your reasons, my Lord. I just can't let you risk your life. You mean so much to so many people." Castiel comes closer still, and his hand hesitates but then gains a brazen courage, daring to touch the King's shoulder without a care if it's proper. "You mean so much to me. It's only because of your kindness that I have learned to be kind. It's because I have seen you caring so much for this realm, that I cared. Dean, I-"
They are interrupted by the sound of the stable door opening wide and the sight of Jack, the stable boy, running out, harrumphed and panicked. He looks exactly like someone who just woke up, found his Majesty's favored mount gone, and thought he'd have his head decapitated if he didn't find the horse soon. It comes as no surprise that, as soon as he sees the Impala standing peacefully next to the King, the boy heaves a giant sigh of relief before realizing he had interrupted something. He excuses himself awkwardly and retreats back into the stables but the moment is already gone.
With the adrenaline lost, Dean finally starts to feel the crispness of the morning air. He shivers in his too thin clothes, the cold seeping into his bones. He feels stupid, almost ridiculous. Even though Winter was creeping in he was wearing sparse clothing - nothing much aside from trousers, a hemp shirt and the thin hooded robe that, despite old and tattered, was clearly made out of expensive material. In his haste, he had prepared no rations, nor water.
Castiel was right. He was fooling no one.
Dean knew how to fling a sword like a second limb, how to kill without mercy, how to lay a death sentence as easily as a mug of ale, how to reign supreme and unwavering - all the things father had taught him, drilled and beaten into him until they were unquestionable truths. But now John Winchester was gone. And Dean didn't know anything about the world, or of the people. He couldn't dress properly by himself, much less pass off as a peasant. If he didn't die of the cold or the sickness than he'd certainly end up being discovered.
Yet he's somehow supposed to believe he can properly take care of the whole kingdom?
His mind grinds to an halt when he feels a warm cape wrap around him, followed by a pair of arms pulling him in. The hug isn't exactly comfortable against all the metal plating but Dean still melts into it, into the safety of Castiel's arms. A rough, calloused hand caresses the nape of his neck and Dean leans into it, letting himself savour that endless pool of loyalty and devotion.
"You're freezing," Castiel whispers and though Dean can tell it's not chiding, he still feels like a child who doesn't know better.
"I'm a fool..." Dean mutters and Castiel chuckles at first but then Dean is burying his head on his shoulder and his voice sounds so faraway and vulnerable that Cas stops smiling. "I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. I'm not strong enough. Father knew it too. I just followed his orders... I just did what he told me. How 'm I supposed to look after them all?"
That is when Castiel sharply pulls away, looking surprisingly angry.
"Dean Winchester of Lawrence, do not dare compare yourself to your father."
His fingers grip Dean's shoulders almost too hard but Dean doesn't fight it, and just stares at his Knight with eyes wide.
"While he waged war, you made peace. While his people starved to make weapons of death and lay waste to the land, your people have bountiful harvests with the new irrigation systems you designed, and they will trade with the roads you commissioned and learn arts and music with the schools you are building. Even your orphans and your poor have homes. You are above your father in any manner, shape or form. You love with all your being. Trust that your people know, just as I do, what a truly benevolent and kind ruler you are. Trust that they know you are the best King that anyone could hope for."
Dean's eyes are shiny with unshed tears, yet he simply turns his face away. "Yeah, right."
That makes Castiel grow all the angrier and resolute. "So be it. If you don't believe my words, I will make you see it for yourself."
They'll do this, but they'll do it Castiel's way.
