A king and a clockmaker

A/N: This one's a little weird, reviews much appreciated


Once upon a time there lived a genius. He worked at a clock shop in the middle of a shopping district. In this shop he made enough money to live off of and enough to hole away for rainy days.

He was known as the best clock maker and the best at repairing, easily gutting the machines and re-assembling them within moments, working perfectly.

But his true passion was chess.

Once upon a time there was a fair skinned and dark haired prince, who on order of his older brother was to go and get the royal clock, to which their deceased parents had given them broken, fixed. He did so grumbling, calling upon his personal guard to come along.

The prince did not like dealing with peasantry.

“You there, where is the best clock mender?” One guard asked, knowing his prince would never expect to have to ask on his own.

Once upon a time this guard leading the prince around and asking his questions had been a prince himself. A grand prince with long black hair, snow white eyes and a voice as cold as winter, prideful. Beautiful.

But that was a different story.

The person shrugged one shoulder in the direction they had been going, murmuring something about the Nara family in the center of the shopping district. The guard thanked them and relayed the message to his prince.

“Lead me there then. Quickly now.” He said.

After a time they reached the place, the prince striding in haughtily, staring down his nose at a young girl on the floor, hunched over a disemboweled clock, long brown hair trailing to cover her face from his view. She was skinny and looked to have no endowments whatsoever on her chest.

“Where is the owner?” The prince demanded. The girl looked up, surprising the prince with the fact that he had, actually, mistaken the gender.

“I’m the owner.” Said the boy, as the prince now knew him to be. The prince scowled, but merely lifted a hand, impudently snapping his fingers. Another guard came up, hefting the intricately carved clock, panting and puffing.

Once upon a time this guard, with his sun kissed hair and ocean filled eyes, had held the prince’s heart and replaced it with his own.

But that is also a different story.

“Hey, princely boy, couldn’t you have brought more then us two for this? It’s heavy and he won’t help me!” The blond guard complained immediately upon entry.

The clockmaker chuckled.

The prince scowled.

“No, just set it down you stupid excuse for a guard!” The guard did so, grumbling and complaining. The clockmaker looked it over, nodding his head, before turning to the prince.

“This will cost a pretty penny.” The prince snorted indignantly, waving his hand in another impudent manner.

“No it will not, you will do it for free by order of the King.” The clockmaker looked up at the prince, and then scanned the two guards. He leaned to the right, before leaning to the left, peering out.

“I see no King in my shop.”

Once upon a time, a rebellion was almost started because a prince almost lost his temper, almost striking one of the most loved citizens, if a bit lazy at times. The peasantry in this land had been waiting for something like this, a simple and yet so grand an act by royalty on their innocents.

And that is a part of this story.

“Guards-” He was cut off by the clockmaker lifting a hand, giving him a small knowing smirk.

“Please my prince, a game?” The prince, prideful in his own high intellect and physical prowess, was not un-confident in the slightest.

“What game, peasant?” He questioned, voice ringing with self-assurance.

The clockmaker smiled.

“Nothing but a simple game of chess, prince. If I win, double the charge to fix the clock, if you win, I do it for free.” The prince did not so much as pause before nodding. He drummed his fingers impatiently as the clockmaker set about finding and placing the pieces on the board he pulled from a nearby wooden cabinet.

“Shall you be white or shall you be black, prince?” The clockmaker asked, offering the board to him.

“Black.”

“Very well then, prince.” The title was said in a complacent fashion, almost smug. The prince glared.

Once upon a time the clockmaker had been bested at this game he loved so much. It had been to the father of this brown haired youth, the father now traveling abroad to teach his son some life lessons by forcing him to run the shop.

And maybe to get a break from his son’s constant use of a certain word called troublesome.

From that day on the newest clockmaker, the newly made owner of the shop, did not lose a single game of chess.

The prince was furious.

“Seize him! No peasant could have beaten me; grab him and the stupid clock and take them away from my sight!”

The clockmaker’s eyes widened, before uttering his fathers least favorite word, the one in which he had refrained from in the face of his prince’s volatile nature. As expected, the prince grew angrier.

“Throw him in the dungeon when we get home!”

Once upon a time a king sat on his throne. This king had only been king for a short while yet, having just inherited the mantle from his father. This king’s first order had been to send his younger brother, the prince, off on some errand about a clock.

Currently he was seen leaning back, his gold crown tilted just enough to shadow his eyes and give his piercing glare a more menacing aspect, the rubies sparkling out like a second pair of eyes, watching one’s soul.

“Brother, I have thrown that wretched peasant into the dungeon and I’m afraid the clock was beyond his skill.” The prince reported. The king, who did not care too much for the clock, waved a hand at the prince, narrowing his eyes.

“You have failed me, prince. Go and seek the comfort of your guard; and do not blanch. I may not comment, but that does not mean I am blind to your…taste in partners. Go. I shall see to this peasant myself.”

Once upon a time, a king and a clockmaker made an unannounced agreement pertaining to a certain game. This agreement was that the king would come and play the clockmaker a little game of chess, and each day the stakes would grow higher and higher.

This first began on their very first meeting, which went much smoother then the clockmakers meeting with the prince.

“What did you do to make my little brother so mad?” The king asked. The clockmaker shrugged one bony shoulder, muttering under his breath.

“Troublesome. I only beat him at one little game of chess.” The king smirked lightly, intrigued. Although to him his brother was a fool, he was not to be trifled with amongst peasantry.

“Do you often gamble with these games?” The king asked. There was no law against gambling, but it was not particularly smiled upon even amongst the peasants.

“A friendly wager now and then; just a bit of spice to liven it up. Do you like games, my king?” The clockmaker smiled and the king smirked back, nodding.

“I will play you a game.” The king announced. He turned, striding away to fetch a guard to gather the game from somewhere within the castle. The dungeon, being underground and with only one exit, needed few guards.

The king came back holding a beautiful board, ornately carved pieces rattling within.

“I shall wager better conditions for you.” Said the king, opening the cell and closing it behind him. He did not wish to overestimate himself, but the clockmaker seemed calm and rational, not liable to bolt and if he did, the king felt he could take care of himself.

“I am afraid I have nothing to wager myself, king.” The king nodded, before smirking again. To say he was a slightly sadistic king would not be far off.

“You shall wager your words. If I win, you will never say troublesome again, or be subject to my punishment.” The king set the board carefully on the stone floor, sitting on one side.

“Is that bad?” The clockmaker asked, beginning to set up the pieces.

“Sometimes.” The king helped the clockmaker.

“Sometimes?” The clockmaker helped the king.

“Sometimes they like it, sometimes they hate it.” The king sat back, the pieces set.

“Never love?” The clockmaker sat back as well, curious.

“Never love.”

“Why not.”

“Because I would only punish someone with love that I myself loved.”

“Ah.” The clockmaker nodded.

“Which color shall you be, my king?” He asked, ready now to play the game.

“White.” The king sat straighter, poised.

“Very well then, king.”

And so the game began.

Once upon a time, a king and a clockmaker grew fond of both their games and each other. Upon this time it was not true love, but to say they could walk away from one another and not glance back would be a lie.

“You’re late, my king.” The clockmaker said, draping himself on a plush couch. It amused him to no end that he was still within the cell he’d been placed the first day. Now though he had a magnificent bed, the beautiful chess set, the lovely couch he now lounged on, three square meals a day and anything in-between if he asked.

“I was explaining to the prince why I have not simply moved you out of here or killed you.” The king said. The clockmaker sat up, lifting a brow.

“And why haven’t you, my king?” The king smirked, titling his lips just that much more to show he was smiling inside.

“Why, because you, my little clockmaker, are mine. My little bird in a cage, my doe in a pen. If I let you out; if I ended these games, then you might not come back to me.” The king sat down at one end of the couch, the clockmaker at the other. The clockmaker smiled softly.

“Today it will be this, my king. If I win, I will swear my loyalty to you; I shall be your one and only clockmaker. If you win, you may cast me aside as you wish.” The king nodded and the game began, the two having established a routine long before.

Once upon a time a clockmaker swore his life and soul to his king.

“For you, my king.” The clockmaker knelt, bowing his head respectfully. He lifted one hand, his face following slowly, until he had connected it with his kings. He smiled, laying lips to soft knuckles.

“For you, I swear, I give myself up wholly and to no other.” He bent his head again, pressing his forehead to where he’d kissed. The king did not remove his hand nor comment, running a hand through the clockmaker’s soft brown hair.

The clockmaker understood.

Once upon a time, the stakes to their game transcended all others.

“If you win, clockmaker, you are free.” The king spoke. The clockmaker remained silent.

“Free to stay or free to leave. Free to do whatever you wish. If I win, I will give you whatever you want short of that.”

And so the game began.

Once upon a time, a king and a clockmaker were one.

“This is what you wanted?” The king panted, watching the clockmaker as he kissed and touched all over his chest in a way that sent fire through his belly. The clockmaker nodded, kissing at a navel he’d never seen until this moment.

“I chose to be free. Free to touch you, free to visit your bed, free to walk your halls.” He slid a hand up, cupping his king’s cheek.

“Free to call you by name, Itachi.”

Once upon a time, Shikamaru and Itachi lived happily ever after.