AN: Oh look, another one!

No, but I just lost the newest of what I'd written for Killer's Queen, which involved Cooper and a cabin and semi-forced crossdressing and a brotherly argument over the drugging of a boyfriend, and I really liked it, okay? Third fucking time this shit has happened, just on that one and like, I can't get someone to help retrieve it or anything because hello it's porn, and gay porn with a serial killer at that.

Regardless, yeah, I'm definitely going to literally throw up everything I have that's Klaine for my sanity and your viewing pleasure. Whoop. Whoop.

Okay *deep breath* so, this story is kind of a medieval period piece but I'm disregarding historical accuracy. If it sounds cool it's going in.

Warnings: A 14 year age difference, Blaine being a mentor/adopted father to Kurt, magical elements, abuse of power (by a lot), some darker themes, and probably (ha no I mean definitely) angst at some point. Fun stuff.

Yeah alright here we go.

In Dalton castle, there is a dark dank corridor that leads to a dark dank room, lower in to the ground than even the dungeons. It's hidden away for many reasons, deep below the earth where no guest or servant would ever find it. The only entrance to the corridor is hidden in the King's library, and the only exit can be found by navigating through pitch black passages that mostly lead to dead ends or snake pits, though most of the snakes weren't placed there purposely. Only the King and next in line know even of the room's existence.

Blaine learned late. He was already nineteen when Cooper passed and he became heir to the throne.

It matters not, now. He's the Prince, and come tomorrow evening he shall be the King. It was a shame, his father's death following his brother's so quickly, and his mother had died during labor with their little sister, a babe so sickly that Blaine keeps contact through letters sent to Gangun Hospital. He will make a visit to little Abigail once he has the time. His past several years were full of learning; he had to rule a kingdom and 'twould be irresponsible to allow himself time away from his readings. Now that he was inheriting the throne, he absolutely could not leave. He feels as though the planning of the coronation is enough to turn his hair gray, and immediately after he will have so much to do, sorting out the castle to his liking, holding trials in the courthouse outside the castle grounds, meeting with ambassadors to keep old relations and strike up new ones, and for quite a while he's been thinking of a military reform.

No, seeing Abigail is too much of a hassle at the moment. Besides, she is but eleven. No good conversation could be struck up between the two remaining members of the Royal family.

He shakes his head to clear these thoughts. This always happens to him in these passages; he cannot focus on anything but the trivial. Luckily he is upon the room in but moments, smiling as his hand reaches the ornate golden handle that looks so very out of place on the scuffed wooden door. Pulling the key he keeps on himself always from his silken pocket, he unlocks the small door and steps inside the room which glows soft and blue.

This room is the true treasure keeper of the castle, of the entire kingdom, this one room. It's large, but not near the size of a ballroom. It's ever so slightly smaller than Blaine's bedroom, now that he thinks about it. It's filled though, filled not with jewels but with magic. The books upon books residing all around the room stacked in piles all contain enchantments and curses. The jars haphazardly scattered about incase oddities that only are of use to one who has a knack for potion brewing. He doesn't need anything of that sort today though. He requires one thing, and that thing rests upon the far wall, situated neatly at eye level.

He will move it ever so slightly lower at a later date.

He cannot waste any more precious time down here at the moment than need be. With time in mind, he presses his palm to the cool reflective surface.

The reflective surface transforms, and he can't help but wonder as colors swirl about before fading to reveal himself. He frowns. He looks older somehow, not nearly grayed and wheezing, just more mature, refined. It couldn't be more than a few years ahead, maybe even a few months if being king managed to change him so drastically. He's lost what little he has left of his boyish charm, his face all angles and his shoulders more noticeably broad. He thinks he may be taller.

Older Blaine smiles, and holds out his arms. Within moments a young boy has run into them. A son? Blaine frowns. How could his future hold a son if he does not lay with women? He grits his teeth as a thought tries to wriggle it's way in to remind him of a certain conversation he'd had with his cousin, that rat bastard, revolving around reputation and honor and all sorts of things that he needed to keep a vigilant eye on.

No. He would never take a wife; a man can lay with a man and retain power. It's been done by a man far less than he.

He returns to his all-important vision, reminding himself that the things shown by the mirror are supposed to be life-altering and used as guidance.

The little boy's face lights up as Blaine hands him a beautiful figurine, a little horse and carriage that looked so delicate and were colored so beautifully.

"I got this for you in Caramel," the older Blaine says. His voice, present Blaine notes, is just as beautiful as always, but perhaps a bit deeper. He approves. "It was on display at a vendor's stand and I thought you might like it."

"I love it," the little boy says, studying the figurine with awe. "It's so beautiful."

"Just like you," older Blaine says with fondness. The little boy blushes and buries his face against older Blaine's shoulder.

"I'm not beautiful," he says, his voice muffled by Blaine's robes.

"You are," older Blaine insists. "And one day, you'll be the most beautiful man in the entire world."

Blaine studies the older him, the way he smiles a little bitterly and hugs the boy tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Maybe this is a friend's child? Would he take in the orphan of someone he knows? Probably not, if he's honest. He likes children, but he wouldn't want to have a child who isn't his outshine the ones who are.

Still, it's the most likely scenario.

The picture changes.

This time, knows he must be several years older. He's standing and smiling in the middle of a crowd, watching as everyone does as the boy from before, also several years older now, walks down the large staircase that leads into the ballroom. He really is beautiful, small and delicate but undoubtedly pretty.

Blaine watches himself watch the boy, hazel eyes following him with so many emotions he can't decipher them all, but love and lust are apparent.

So he's probably not a friend's child, then.

When the boy steps in front of him, he places a hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead.

"Congratulations, dear Kurt, for you are a man."

Blaine can hear the thought that runs through his head, so dark and determined and intense.

And so you are mine.

After that it's flashes.

Blaine's teaching him to play the piano.

The boy runs up to meet him as he returns from a quest.

They kiss and the boy runs away.

They kiss and this time the boy stays, older now and more muscular, more of a man.

The boy falls asleep with his head on Blaine's shoulder.

They trade vows.

They enter their room as husbands.

Blaine nearly punches the mirror when it chooses that moment to phase away from the visions and back into a reflective surface, but after taking a moment to breathe harshly, he determines that it was a good point to avoid losing his wavering composure.

He waits a minute in silence, hearing nothing but his heavy breaths as he takes it all in.

Then he goes to find his advisors and have them figure out what this means, and how he'll find the boy.

Wes and Jeff were unhelpful, if one were to put it in the most simplified terms possible. They spent the first ten minutes thinking he was drunk, and then when they realized he was both sober and serious, they waved off the visions the mirror had bestowed upon him.

If Blaine hadn't have grown up with them, they'd have been rotting away in his dungeons long ago, but this was a new level of infuriating.

The best they could eventually come up with was to call upon a woman who supposedly had the blessed powers of sight. Wes hated the idea and made it well known, but as he could come up with no better, it's what they settled on.

Blaine left them to settle it all and went to get a drink. Or five.

It does not take long for Blaine to tire of their half-assed, unreliable, not good enough plan. He calls a meeting of his elite to prove his point. Wes and Jeff will listen this time, and on the off chance that they don't, he will be less likely to behead them with a room full of soldiers looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

He sits on his throne, glaring at the two advisors like they were responsible for everything troubling his mind, which if you asked him, they were.

"How will I find him?" he asks finally. When he gets nothing but blank stares his eyes flash. He finishes his drink in a quick gulp and carelessly throws the glass to the floor, ignoring the flinches that travel through the assembled ranks. "It's been three days!"

"I did warn you about that woman's abilities," Wesley says, but he's not stupid enough to press the matter once he sees the glare Blaine shoots him.

Then a voice pipes up from the back of the room.

"There is someone else."

He turns to the blond man who'd spoken, as does every other person in the room.

"Excuse me?"

The man, more of a boy in all honesty, answers with a confident voice, though his discomfort practically radiates off of him.

"There's another guy who can find him. He's weird," he says with honesty, "but he works."

Blaine tilts his head. This boy, who he shall refer to as a boy despite the fact that he's quite possibly older than him, has taken a great risk. Blaine does not lie to himself; his temper is awful and well-known within his ranks. Yes, the general public may adore him and think of him as their bright-eyes, benevolent savior, but there are those who know him better. Is he kind? Yes. Is he never cruel?

The answer to that is a resounding no. He's been known to humiliate and demoralize enemies and employees simply because he's in a bad mood.

But that is encouraging, because this boy knows that, and he's voluntarily putting himself in the spotlight when everyone is well aware of the lack of constant involved with their Crown Prince's mood.

This boy either knows he has the answer, or is very, very foolish. Blaine likes to think of himself as an optimist; he will imagine it is the first option.

"And your name is?"

"Samuel Evans."

"Contact him," Blaine says evenly. No emotion must be leaked in regards to this. No future enemy can know how very important Kurt is to him, not until the boy is safe in his new home. "If he finds him, then you can be my new guardsman."

Samuel looks a little stunned, and the Crown Prince almost smiles.

"He can probably be here in an hour or two," Samuel manages to get out.

Blaine smiles.

"I like you."

"You caused quite a commotion," Wes says moments later, entering his planning room without knocking. "Offering a new recruit one of the highest-paying positions in your military? Outstanding way to start your legacy."

"Do not speak without permission, Westin," Blaine says without much feeling behind it. "It will do me no good to have my reputation as kind yet almighty be ruined. I can't be thought of as too nice, or as a total bastard, and acting all chummy with those beneath me helps not."

"I apologize, your highness."

"Go fuck your milkmaid you think no one knows about," Blaine snaps. "I have things to get in order."

Fortunately for him, Wes accepts the fact that he is in no mood.

"When Samuel returns, send him up to tell me about his mysterious man who'll find my Kurt."

"Yes, your highness," Wes says, and the professional tone makes Blaine deflate a little.

"That is all, thank you."

Wes remembers to bow and walks out. Blaine's probably hurt his feelings; he and Jeff had always been treated on friendlier terms than anyone else not of royal blood. But he's to be king now. If he wants a strong image then he must not show favoritism without a justifiable reason. 'I knew him since childhood' is not good enough.

Nothing can ever be 'good enough'. From now on, it must all be perfect, for Kurt, and for his honor.

"You call upon me?"

Blaine jumps at the voice, taking a deep breath to keep from covering his undignified response to the voice with anger, instead plastering a smile on his face and turning around.

"Joseph," he greats warmly, refusing to shudder at the picture of the man before him. His hair has grown long and full of twigs and leaves. His clothes are grubby and draped so that Blaine can see where he's had words permeated in to his skin, chants and praises forever etched in to his skin in swirling cursive.

The man isn't wearing shoes.

"Did you want something from me?" the mage asks, tone hoarse and casual, and while most visitors to the castle would be thrown out for speaking to him in such a manner, he finds it a bit charming coming from Joseph. Besides, he has lived in the woods for his entire life, only recently has he moved in to the small village McKinley on the outer edge of the kingdom to 'expand his wisdoms of the world'.

He's a right character, but talented.

"Yes, I wish for your help in finding someone." He looks right in to the mage's brown eyes. "Someone very special."

"Is it someone you've lost or someone you don't know?" the man asks curiously.

"I haven't met him yet, but it is of incredible importance that I do. I feel he is in danger and it would ruin me to fail to protect him."

"A righteous mission." Joseph nods at him with a smile. He pulls a vagabond's sack from his shoulder, digging around to locate what Blaine assumes is necessary for finding his boy. "What's his name?"

"I do not know."

Joseph stops his search and looks up at him with a somewhat blank stare.

"His parents' names?"


"Do you have something of his?"

At Blaine's nod to the negative, Joseph stands up, frowning at him.

"Well, I need something to work with. Does he have a god he feels closeness with?"

"I would not know, Joseph," Blaine grits out, already frustrated with the lack of progress. "I have never met him, did I not mention?"

"You are very upset."

It would be very uncouth of him to hit the mage, very uncontrolled and frowned upon.

"This is a good thing," the mage continues, a thoughtful look on his face. "If you're very connected, I might be able to locate him through you. What's your connection?"

"He is to be my betrothed."

A smile breaks out across the boy's face, and he flops down on one of Blaine's chairs that must now be washed or burnt. "I can find him."

Blaine slowly returns the other man's show of good humor.

"I will never be able to repay you." He almost laughs; now that it's sinking in, his heart feels light. "I can promise you that."

Joseph shrugs, still honestly happy for him.

"Just be good to your betrothed," he says. "And uphold your promise."

Ah, yes. The dirty tree-dweller wished for the forest surrounding the kingdom to be protected; no hunting. He's going to have a growing black market to deal with soon.

"I keep my word, Joseph," Blaine promises. "It will be worth it."

AN: *Loki Voice* Ta-dah. (Talk to me about the second Thor movie if you've seen it, and not to exclude people who aren't familiar with the characters outside of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but I especially want to talk to people who are.)