A The Princess and The Goblin Fanfic
I'd wanted to write a Princess and the Goblin fanfic for quite some time, purely for nostalgic reasons, and because I always wanted a proper ending. I've turned this into an extended one-shot, as no one's interested and I like to give everything I write some kind of resolution. This seemed like the best idea I could come up with, I also means I have less stories to worry about, which is, you know, great.
Please read this though, I've tried hard at it, and review!!!
Summary: It's been years since Curdie and Irene last met and fought the Goblins. A lot has changed, Irene moved away, blossoming into a young beauty. Curdie continued to work with his father down the mines, becoming a strong young man. Now that Irene's coming back to the castle-with a fiancée – what will there long-awaited reunion be like? CxI
Curdie heard the news the minute he got back from the mine with his father. His mother was preparing dinner, in a rush as usual, her face flushed with the endless amounts of work. She set down the dinner first, beckoning Curdie and his father to sit down. They were just about to tuck into the bread and potato and leek soup, when Curdie's mother, a stout, lively woman, began to speak.
"Have you heard?" she asked, toying with the soup in her bowl, while Curdie and his father tucked in. "The King is to return, after five years of absence."
"Yes, I heard-" his father barely got the words past his lips before Curdie interrupted him.
"The King?" Curdie demanded, his spoon dropping from his fingers, to fall into his soup, making a plopping sound as it spilled over the edges.
"Yes, the King," his mother confirmed, taking a small sip of her soup. "He is to return with his daughter, you remember her, don't you? Princess Irene." Curdie nodded. How could have have forgotten her? In the past five years, Princess Irene frequented his thoughts. He practically never forgot her. He'd grown into a strong man of seventeen, with dark hair, darker eyes and handsome, chiselled features. He could only imagine what she'd grown to be. Curdie remembered of the time that they defeated the goblins together-and the kiss she'd promised him that was never truly fulfilled. She'd kissed him on the cheek instead, and back when he was twelve, this hadn't bothered him so much, but as he grew up, he constantly imagined her lips on his. He knew it caused a stir with the people in his village, they expected him to have taken a wife by now-or at least have shown some sort of interest in his many beautiful neighbours. His own parents didn't understand. They knew he'd been friends with Irene, but they didn't know that she was not only his friend, but his first love. He shook his head, reminding himself for the thousandth time, that she was a Princess, he was a simple miners son. It wouldn't have worked out anyway. But now she was coming back, his heart jerked and leaped around his chest, he had to fight hard not to smile and hug his mother with his joy. Irene was coming back! It was the best news he'd heart all year.
"Is she?" he tried to sound casual and uninterested. "Well, that's good news. The people have dearly missed their King." It was the truth-but it wasn't what his mother expected to hear. She frowned at him, sipping her soup, the conversation melting away. They didn't speak of the matter again, but it never left Curdie's thoughts. He didn't know how he should be feeling about it. The dreams and thoughts he had were wrong of a Princess, he knew that, but he couldn't help imagining their reconciliation, her running into his arms and giving him that proper, long awaited kiss.
He helped his mother wash up afterwards, trying to do anything to distract his mind. It didn't help however, his hands may have been occupied, but the task was so simple that his mind ran away from him, still picturing forbidden things.
"Mother, I'm going to take a walk," Curdie said, after they'd finished. He picked up a lantern and was about to make his way out when his father stopped him.
"Son," he patted his shoulder. "Not tonight. I've been hearing things down the mine-surely you've heard them too?"
"What kind of things?" Curdie's mother pipped up, drying her hands on a dish towel, she already looked worried, her soft face growing stern in an instance.
"Stories, Eva, and I don't like what I've been hearing," he paused, measuring his son's expression, which had taken on a form of arrogance and annoyance. He didn't need his mother and father treating him like he was still a child. He was seventeen! Old enough to work, so therefore, old enough to do anything he wished. He couldn't wait until he was eighteen and was expected to move out, into his own house. He had decided he would go travelling, but he wasn't so sure now, that Irene was back. Who knows what could happen with her?
"They're just silly old wives tales, mother," Curdie went to open the door, but his father pulled him back with a force Curdie had never seen before.
"You're a brave lad, Curdie, but brave as you might be, you aren't going out tonight." His face was flushed and red, with his anger and Curdie took a step back, flinching at his touch. "These are not just old tales, Curdie! I've seen men swear on their own lives that they've seen things, and you know what happened with poor old Jack!" Curdie knew what he was referring to, he'd been there whilst the miners speculated amongst themselves. There'd been several incidents around the mine, strange occurrences, and one mysterious death. Deaths weren't unusual, in their profession, but this death had been especially, as the man in question, Jack, had never been found. Curdie shivered, noticing his mother shake her head at him, about to demand he didn't go. His mother was far too overprotective, she molly-coddled him.
"I know how to handle myself, father. I'll be careful," he pushed open the door, only to have his father shut it again with a bang, face bright red. Shaking with anger.
"Curdie, you may have defeated those goblins years ago, but you might not be so lucky this time! Wait until the morning, when you can see all around you, until you have your walk." His father took the lantern from his hands and stomped off to sit by the fire. Curdie was cornered, the decision made for him. Sighing, he walked off to his room, making a show of thrusting the door closed.
It wasn't fair of his parents to treat him like a child! He could handle himself, all it took was a song, or a whistle of a tune, all it took was the bravery in his heart to fend off any creature of the night. His parents just didn't believe in him. Besides, he liked walking at night much more than during the day. Many, like his parents, didn't like walking in these parts at night, but Curdie found it the easiest time of day to think. The cool night air cleared his mind, and gave him some clarity, the sound of rushing water, as he strolled along the river bank soothing to his thoughts. He had wanted to visit a place he hadn't been to in quite some time, an old willow tree that sat outside the castle gates, engraved with his and Irene's initials and a lopsided heart. He used to always go there, where he'd sit for hours, tracing the engraves, thinking of Irene, but that was back when he was younger, and far more giddy and foolish with his emotions. Now-a-days he bottled them up and kept them hidden, out of sight, out of mind. It was no use dwelling on what might have been, not when there wasn't even a glimmer of hope to latch onto. He sighed, giving in, tonight he wasn't going anywhere. He peered in the mirror, running hands through his dark chocolate locks, his hazel eyes staring back at him, his lips set in a thin hard line. He knew he was handsome-everyone told him so-but handsome wouldn't win over Irene. He bet she had ten thousand handsome beings flocking around her-he needed to get to her before anyone, remind her he was her Curdie. Curdie sighed, ruffling his hair and turning away from the mirror. With a heavy heart he lay down on his bed, still fully clothed, and tried to sleep, closing his eyes with a snap. He heard, Fang, their dog, a German Sheppard, who looked vicious and scary, but was in actual fact an old softie. He patted him on the head, turning over to face the wall, closing his eyes one more and falling into a deep, uneven slumber, filled with complicated, mis-matched dreams of Irene.
He woke the next morning, at dawn, feeling groggy and tired, he got up, still in the same clothes and walked to the kitchen. It was empty, his parents still asleep. He peered out the window, the sun rising in the sky, casting a blanket of yellow-ochre over the world. He rubbed his eyes and whistled quietly for Fang. His parents couldn't stop him from going out during the day time, maybe his walk would be much the same in the early hours of the morning, maybe he'd still be able to think in the same fashion.
He waked along the river bank, the sound of water rushing calming his jumble of thoughts, making him sleepy. He fought the feeling and kept walking, knowing exactly where he was going, to the willow tree where he'd went with Irene all those years ago. He needed to think, and he decided this was the perfect place that he could think in endless circles, with no one disturbing him. It was right by the castle, a castle that was empty and haunted. No one ever went near it-they said it gave them the chills.
and when he opened his eyes, he saw the loveliest face ever standing over him, a contort of worry and confusion masking her pretty features.
He collapsed under the tree, as Fang curled up into a ball and lay panting by his feet. Curdie hugged his knees, looking around him, leaning against the high wall surrounding the castle. He'd once tried to climb over, grazing his knees and falling before he reached the top, causing a broken wrist and a black eye. He must have lain there for hours, the sound of birdsong as the day broke out, when he heard the most unusual sound. It was a clip-clop of hooves, the whirring of wheels, the whistle of men at work. He looked around, confused, still listening. He shushed Fang, shaking his head as the dog began to whimper. He made out a carriage - tall and grand - making it's way up the small path to the drawbridge, the clip-clopping sound coming to a standstill as someone got out and lowered the drawbridge. The carriage proceeded, making it's way into the castle grounds, going out of Curdie's sight. He couldn't have this, and with his heart thumping with the thought of seeing Irene again-he made his way up the tree, climbing it's gnarled trunk, along it's sturdy, withered branches, until he could see over the high wall, and see the carriage sitting outside the castle door. The carriage door opened, and a bulky, burly figure got out, whom Curdie recognised to be Irene's father-the King. He saw his red, curled beard, showcasing a little more grey than usual, and his jolly, fat face, with more lines etched into it's corners than before, but he still had the jolly content look he always seemed to possess. Next a much smaller, thinner figure stepped out, lighter and with far more ease. Curdie's heart hammered in his chest, leaning in closer, trying to see his Irene. Of course, from this distance, seeing her much closer was near impossible, but Curdie could vaguely make her out. A golden waterfall falling down her back, pretty pink lips, knowing green eyes, beautiful features and a lovely face. She was older, of course, and more beautiful than in his dreams. He hoped she'd still be Irene - his Irene - he prayed that she hadn't changed as much as she'd grown. He smiled as he heard her soft soprano voice thank the coachman. He was about get down, swinging his legs over so they were dangling off the tree branch, when he noticed they weren't moving on, and he turned around just in time to see another figure step out. This figure wasn't as big as the King, nor was he was small as Irene. He was tall, kind of lanky, and spoke in a deep, rich voice. He had golden hair, like Irene, and appeared to be passably handsome, although Curdie didn't know how to judge male beauty. Curdie didn't know who it was, he didn't recognise the voice, and he didn't remember Irene having a brother. He decided it must be a new acquaintance of the King-or perhaps a relative. All of these thoughts were shattered, into tiny little fragments, when he saw two figures lean into one another, the smaller figure, Irene, and the taller one, the mysterious guest. At first he had no idea what they were doing, and he frowned, growing confused. Until he realised. They were kissing. He felt anger surge through him, hot and fast, the emotion so alien it almost felt wrong. He clenched his hands into tight fists, setting his jaw into a hard line, almost falling off the tree as he hung onto it precariously. Irene kissing a strange man? His Irene? He shook his head, sighing. He'd been so stupid, imagining things would just fit back into place, go right back to normal. She wasn't his Irene any more, she was that man's. Truthfully, she'd never been his Irene, he just liked to imagine her as such. He was so stupid. They were from two different worlds, they weren't the same, he was a miners son, she a princess. There was no use to dreaming about it when it could never be. He leant on the tree truck, leaning further still, as Irene and her love, walked away, almost at the door. He was leaning so far over the tree branch that he saw himself fall before he felt it, collapsing on the dry grass inside the castle walls, groaning. His leg really did hurt, he lolled back on the grass, clutching his aching leg as he heard shouting, someone crying out, footsteps.
"Oh! Are you all right?" a lilting, beautiful voice asked, cool as a summer breeze. Irene. She wiped a hand over his cheek, pulling it away, revealing scarlet blood dripping off her fingertips. Curdie flinched at her touch, a bolt of electricity shooting from her fingertips. "Oh," was all she said in reply to his muffled groan.
"Irene!" a booming voice cried, the King appearing at her side. "What's this lad doing here? How on earth did he get inside?" They both clearly didn't recognise Curdie, and he groaned. Had he changed that much? He didn't think so.
"He fell," Irene replied, looking over her shoulder at something or someone. "James. You saw him fall, didn't you?" the stranger appeared at her side, frowning at Curdie, who was still in an immense amount of pain-and was finding it hard to stay conscious.
"Yes, I did, sir," he turned to the King, his voice was strangely soft, and his eyes seemed genuine with sadness. "I think it's best if this lad receives care-we can wonder what he was doing falling over the castle wall after he's been tended to." Curdie couldn't believe his ears, he was asking for care for Curdie? His mind was reeling as they all agreed, and two of the Kings men carried Curdie inside the castle, where they took him to one of the maids. She giggled when she had to strip off Curdie to near nakedness, to tend to a gash near his ribs and on his leg. Who knew falling off the castle wall would cause such damage? After he was seen to, and had bandages on his ribs and leg, he was brought in front of the King. Irene
was there, standing beside her James, with a smile on her lips for Curdie. He wondered if she'd still be smiling when he told them why he was hanging over the wall-and who he was.
"Lad, sit down," the King pointed at a chair, Curdie bowed, then sat, eyes on Irene. "Well, first and foremost, I'd like to know your name." He was smiling, Curdie wasn't sure for how long. He saw Irene frown a little, concentrating on his face. He wondered if she was trying to work out who he was before he gave it away.
"Your majesty," Curdie spoke quietly, looking him in the eyes. "I'm afraid that you know me-although you clearly don't remember. My name is Curdie-" Irene gasped, her hand coming up over her sweet rosebud mouth as she cried out in shock. She ignored James' wave of protest and walked towards Curdie.
"You're Curdie?" she looked like she was either going to dance or cry, Curdie couldn't decide which. Her mouth was pulled back into a massive beam, she was now standing right beside Curdie, arms raised as if she was about to embrace him.
"Yes. I'm Curdie," the whisper barely came through his lips before she let out a frantic squeal of joy.
"You know who I am?" he couldn't help laughing. How could he not know his Irene? He stopped himself. She wasn't his any longer, he needed to remember that.
"You're Princess Irene," he smiled shyly. "How could I not remember you?"
"And you're Curdie. The kind, young boy who saved me five years ago. How could I not remember you? I knew your face, I just couldn't name it," she bit her lip, green eyes filling up with tears. "Oh, Curdie-" but her father stopped her from hugging him, with a booming laugh.
"You're Curdie! I remember you, young lad. Not so young now, are you?" he chuckled again, looking Curdie up and down.
"Yes, your majesty. I apologise for ruining your homecoming. I didn't mean to pry, but I was sitting in the tree already, and I heard you coming in - I'm a curious lad. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear." He hoped they could all see he was sorry.
"Of course, don't worry Curdie!" Irene cried, finally hugging him, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, it's so good to see you!" her face was wet with tears as she released him, smiling at him. He felt his heart pound as he drank her in, her luscious hair, her green eyes glittering, lips in a smile, her smell, her voice, her everything.
"It's good to see you too," he replied, truthfully. "I didn't realise how much until just now."
"Does that mean you haven't missed me?" she demanded, playfully, still holding onto him.
"No, I don't mean that at all . . ." Irene leaned in to hug him again, kissing his cheek sweetly, until the King cleared his throat.
"Irene. Perhaps you'd like to introduce James to Curdie?" Irene leapt up, like she was just remembering James. Curdie immediately felt cold and vulnerable without her arms around him.
"James, this is Curdie, a childhood friend. He helped me defeat Goblins five years ago, and saved me from the evil Goblin prince," she shuddered at the remembrance. It sounded like a joke, or some warped fairytale from the way Irene said it, and from James reaction.
"Goblins?" James looked unnerved, face turning a little green at the idea. "You never mentioned this before, my love." Curdie shook a little with anger when he said 'my love'.
"I was repressing the memory. Too much for me to bear, you see," Irene laughed. "Curdie, this is James. Prince James, of Ariva, he's my fiancée," she smiled at James, her face lighting up. "I'm sure you'll love him just as much as I do!"
"Hopefully not as much," James quipped reaching out his hand to Curdie, Curdie took it, admitting a semi-amount of defeat. He couldn't compete with a fiancée that Irene loved. He was nothing more than a beloved childhood friend and forgotten first love to her. "Good to know you," he seemed genuinely pleased to meet him, it felt odd. Curdie had imagined loathing any fiancée of Irene's, but instead he could see that James would be hard to hate. "I understand you and Irene were good friends?" his arm draped loosely around her neck. "Little cutie, was she?"
"Yes," Curdie laughed joylessly. "She was lovely, and we were good friends. Did all sorts together, defeated trolls, visited grandmothers, carved into trees - all sorts."
"Carved into trees?" Irene was looking nervous now. "Oh! That Willow tree? I remember, we carved our names and a hear-" she stopped, mouth snapping shut, shaking her head. "It was a long time ago."
"I still remember," Curdie told her pointedly. "I can't forget." They were quiet then, Irene just looking at him, he just looking at her, hearts pounding as one. They knew what was going on – they knew in their hearts of hearts what was happening. It was unstoppable, uncontrollable, and so unbelievably wonderful, that all these things didn't matter. They didn't want to stop this feeling either way. Curdie had the most amusing urge to kiss her, to run his fingers through her hair, pull her to him and press her lips to his. Irene's urge was much the same, she pretended that James arm around her waist was Curdie's, and suddenly, she was on fire. Her heart like a hummingbird trapped in it's cage, battering and jostling around her, making her want to cry out with happiness. She looked at Curdie,knowing he felt the same way. It was only a matter of time.
Curdie sat under the tree, kicking dirt away with his boots. He knew his parents would be worried about him, and that he had to get back soon. Although it wasn't yet time to work at the mines, it would be soon if he didn't make haste and get back home. Irene sat beside him, curling her skirts underneath her, kneeling. James and her father were inside, sorting out something, and Irene had begged to be allowed to chat with her friend Curdie-she wanted to know how he was doing and about his family. Of course, Irene really wanted to talk about them, but she didn't tell her father that, and so she was allowed to step outside the castle grounds for a 'chat'. Curdie found the engraves, fingers tracing around them, whilst Irene looked at them politely, heart thumping away in her chest.
"You remember now?" Curdie demanded, looping through the C HEARTS I with ease.
"I remembered before, but I wasn't about to let it slip that we'd . . ." she tossed her hands around the air, letting the words trail off.
"I see," Curdie nodded, removing his fingers from the engraves, to rake them through his hair. "You're ashamed of what you did five summers ago. I understand."
"Ashamed?" Irene blurted before she could be stopped. She clamped her lips together, quietening herself.
"Yes, you are, aren't you?"
"No!" Irene couldn't hold her waterfall of words now, they poured from her lips, sliding out before she realised. "Oh, Curdie! How could I ever be ashamed of you? Of us? I loved you, all those years ago." She laughed at little, toying with a strand of golden hair. "Though I didn't think I'd have to admit it. I imagined you were long gone-out to seek your fortune, to have an adventure-"
"I thought about it, many times," Curdie replied instantly. "But each time, I thought, what if she comes back and I'm not there? You were the only thing that held me here, that kept me sane."
"You were the only thing that kept me happy in the castle. I had suitors and friends and people all around, but I was still alone. I didn't have you, there."
"But what about James-"
"Don't speak of James," she cut him off with a sharp, sigh. "Father's idea of a perfect son-in-law. He wouldn't listen to my pleading. He chose James for me, he thinks he's perfect. It's not that I hate him, in fact, he's rather sweet, but I don't love him. I don't want to marry someone I think is sweet." She looked so sad that Curdie found himself with his arms around her, holding her as the tears fell from her big green eyes, as she quietly sobbed into his shoulder. "I want to marry someone who I feel passion for, and because I love them, not because I'm obligated to."
"Marriage should be about love," Curdie agreed, patting her back. "It's a shame it isn't any more." He closed his eyes, begging himself not to ask what was already falling from his lips. It was too late. "Tell me, Irene, if you had to marry someone you loved - who would it be?" There was enveloping silence for several minutes as Irene toyed with suggestions and answers, knowing what she would eventually say, between her muffled sobs.
"You." Her voice was so certain that Curdie's heart began to pound with excitement and longing. "You're the only person I've ever loved." Then she looked at Curdie, at his face lighting up and going a little pink, as he reached down, tilting her face towards him. Her lips were softer than he'd imagined, much fiercer and passionate than he'd imagined. He kissed her harder, arms curving right around her, fingers stroking along her blissful body as hers were in his hair, locking him to her. It was better than the kisses in his mind, the perfect kiss.
"I finally got my proper kiss," he whispered in her ear as he kissed along her jaw, gently biting her neck, making her laugh.
"Mmm . . ." she sighed, sitting up, hands intertwined in his. "Come," she whispered to him, pulling him up, and around the castle wall. They ran around until she stopped at a clump of trees, pushing them out of the way, revealing a small, dry indent in the wall, a sort of cave of sorts. She pulled Curdie inside, already pulling his shirt over his head, hands gliding across the planes of his lightly muscled torso. He kissed her as he gently undid her top dress, pulling the weighted material over her heart, sliding off her corset, until she was in her under-dress, only the cool, thin material between them. He removed his fingers from her waist, moving upwards, touching her tender, taut stomach, making a riot of butterflies glide up. She was of course a virgin, she was supposed to save it for her wedding night, and she knew it was wrong right now, but she couldn't stop it. She loved Curdie more than she could ever love James - she wanted him - here, now. Curdie pulled her thin under garment over her head until she was naked in front of him, his eyes lingering over her beautiful body. She reached for his trousers, unbuttoning them and pulling them down, striping him off until he was naked in front of her too. Her fingers making their way across his chest, admiring the beauty of him. His mouth captured hers again and they sunk to their knees as Curdie shifted his weight on top of her, unsure what to do, fumbling around. It was his first time too - and he was doing what felt natural, even if it wasn't right. He moved on top of her, moaning as he slid inside her, her hands locked onto his waist as he moved on top her hair, their hips curving together. He thrust deep, deeper, harder, faster, Irene feeling pain and someone worse, something sweet and hot and sticky. She called out, screaming as it pleasure rippled through her, fiery and hot, as Curdie kept moving on her, making them both cry out and clutch one another. It was wonderful, this feeling, but the pain returned for Irene and she felt tears sting her eyes. She didn't want this! She didn't want to be crying! Curdie noticed at one and pulled away from her, lying beside her, stroking her hair as she cried into him, the pain stinging her.
"Are you all right?" he bit his lip, afraid. He hoped he hadn't hurt her, he had gotten a little lost in the feeling, moving even when she cried out-he didn't mean to, of course. "I'm sorry I hurt you-"
"You didn't," she shook her head. "I'm just a little sore, don't worry. You were wonderful," her face flushed as she complimented him. The moment had been so fast, she hadn't realised what they were doing until it was over, and she felt ashamed of herself. This wasn't the conduct of a proper lady, doing things like this! She was a shame of a daughter and a fiancée, crawling into bed with another man, kissing him and screaming out with pleasure like that. They got dressed after that, eyes averted from one another, both of them embarrassed. Just as Curdie was walking Irene back to her castle, standing as far apart from her as he could muster, he felt her gaze on his face. He looked up as they stopped still outside the castle gates, just staring at one another.
"Well, goodbye, your majesty . . ." the words barely got past Curdie's lips before Irene propelled herself into him, kissing him fiercely, mouth a hot, fast electrical surge. He gasped, as her tongue flicked inside his lips, kissing him properly in front of . . . They broke apart, realising all that once that several guards were stopped still, watching them. Curdie widened his eyes, motioning to move away from Irene, but upon finding his hands glued to her waist, finding it impossible to move. He expected Irene to look all shy and pained, to hide behind her hair and laugh it off, run into the castle without a backwards glance. She didn't. She tugged on his arm, pulling him along.
"I'm going to be very brave or very foolish, I can't decide which," she hissed to him as she pulled him inside the castle door, hoping to herself. She hoped her father would listen to reason. She hoped they could be together. She hoped she wouldn't have to marry James. "I'm going to tell father about us, about our love, and I'm going to ask him to accept you as the one I want to marry - not James," Curdie's heart leapt at the thought, but he stared at her in horror, shaking his head with every word.
"Irene! You can't!" he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "You'll never be allowed to, and you can't-"
"Why can't I?" she demanded, stopping them both in her tracks, sweet face contorted into an alarmingly angry shape. "I love you, Curdie. Not James. Who I marry should be my business, I thought you agreed with me?"
"I do!" he yelped, feeling her stare bore into him. He tried to be brave and listen to her reasoning, but he couldn't help feeling a hot pang in his stomach that this was all going to go pear-shaped and end badly. "Isn't it rash? I mean, you barely know me, what if I'm . . ."
"I know you," she replied, beginning to walk. "I know you enough to know that my feelings for you aren't going to fade." She felt her cheeks flush pink, biting back a smile. "Come on. I'm sure he'll bend more if we both explain . . ." she smiled ruefully, tugging him along behind her, fully intent on telling her father exactly what she thought of James, and of Curdie. Just as they entered the room, she pressed his lips to his, whispering into them.
"I love you, that is enough, isn't it?" he nodded dumbly, following her into the room. Enough for me, enough for anyone, he thought. I just want to be with my Irene . . . nothing else. He prepared to tell the King everything - especially about his feelings for his daughter.
And so Irene and Curdie explained to her father, relentlessly, until he listened to the reason. He told Irene that if Curdie wast he one who'd make her happy - the only one - then they should marry. The decision was made. The poor, coal-miners son, Curdie, was to marry the rich, princess, Irene - and like they always do - they all lived happily ever after. The end.
There you have it, a modified story basis, turned into a nice little, resolving One Shot! I'm really glad I did this, it works out perfectly!
Thanks for reading. So, you know what to do.