Summary: Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a simple peasant fell in love with a nobleman's daughter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All characters, plot points, and recognizable dialogue belong to DC comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and anyone else with a stake in the Superman franchise.
Author's Note: I have seriously toyed with everything in this story - history, character names (the spelling of Tempos comes from the episode "Soul Mates"), pretty much anything you can think of.
Special Thanks: I have to give credit where credit is due. The overall story was inspired by a Friends episode - the one where Joey is pining after Ross and Rachel's attractive nanny. He likens the forbidden romance to that of "the princess and the stable boy." And Lois' situation with Lex Luthor in this story was inspired by the twist in the Belle and Gaston story in the television show, Once Upon A Time.
And now, without further ado, the story.
***
"Morning, Dad," Clark said cheerfully as his father shuffled sleepily into their tiny kitchen.
"Morning, son. You're up early," Jonathan commented as he made his way over to the sink. He cupped some water in his hands from the bucket that always stood full and ready, and splashed some on his face.
"I've been up most of the night," Clark admitted sheepishly. "Aurora had her foal last night."
"What? Why didn't you wake me?" Jonathan asked, appearing to be jolted into full wakefulness. He took a seat at the battered old wooden table.
Clark shrugged. "I was having trouble sleeping anyway. I figured I'd let you sleep. If anything had gone wrong, I would have woken you up. But everything went smoothly. She delivered a healthy colt just about an hour ago."
"That's great news," Jonathan said. "A healthy colt should be easy enough to find a buyer for."
Clark nodded. "That's what I thought too. He's a beautiful horse. Completely jet black. If he takes after his father at all, he'll make some nobleman a fine mount."
"Let's hope so," Jonathan said with a sigh. "We could use the money."
"I know," Clark sighed in turn, sliding into a chair across the table from his father.
"If things don't turn around for us soon..."
Jonathan didn't bother finishing his statement. He didn't need to. Clark knew how dire their circumstances were. Three years of poor crop yields had wrecked havoc on their limited finances. And, if it didn't rain soon, this year's harvest promised to be no better. In fact, it was only thanks to the occasional sale of one of their animals that they were so far able to keep afloat. Without them, they would have long since been thrown into debtor's prison or sold into slavery. And, Clark had to admit to himself, if not aloud, he feared that it could still happen, the next time Lord Luthor sent out his minions to collect taxes from his subjects.
"We'll find a way," Clark swore. "I can start hunting again, if anything. Thaddeus is always willing to pay a little something for any kind of wild game to sell in his butcher shop."
"No, Clark!" Jonathan snapped out of concern. "You know what you happen if you were caught. It's illegal to hunt Lord Luthor's game."
Clark snorted in disgust. "Keeping everyone in poverty and hunger should be what's illegal," he replied.
"You know that I agree," his father said, his tone infinitely softer. "But I can't have you risking your life."
"We're already risking our lives," Clark retorted. He gestured out beyond the walls of their ramshackle farmhouse. "Every single day, we're risking our lives. Will we die of starvation? Can we afford medicine if we get sick? Will we be sold into slavery if we can't scrounge up the money when the tax collectors come?"
"Clark..."
Clark sighed. "I have to do something, Dad. I can't let anything happen to you. Not if I can help it. I already blame myself for Mom's death."
"Son, she was sick for a long time. There was nothing you could have done," Jonathan gently reminded him.
But Clark's guilt was too strong to be swayed by his father's soft words. "Yes, she was sick. And I couldn't get her the medicine she needed. Because I was too afraid to defy the prohibition on hunting and make a few extra coins."
"Clark, you were merely a boy when that happened," Jonathan said, reaching across the table to take his son's hand.
Clark pulled away from his father's touch. "I was fifteen! More than old enough to go out and at least set some traps or something."
"Clark, we've been through this."
He sighed again. "I know, Dad. But I have to do something. I don't care about the risks to me. The only reason I haven't started hunting is because I'm afraid of what would happen to you if I got caught. You can't run the farm on your own. The two of us together can barely get all of our chores done every day."
"I know. That's why this new colt is such a blessing. He's hope that we can turn things around a little this year."
Clark didn't reply. He wasn't sure his father was right. Oh, he wanted to believe that Jonathan was correct. But, in his heart, he couldn't banish his growing worry. He simply stood and stretched. Jonathan did the same. Both grabbed a couple of pieces of half-stale bread and ate it as they silently left the house to start on the unending list of chores that needed to be done. Of course, Clark knew, Jonathan wasn't going to head directly to whatever chore he'd chosen to tackle first. First, there was a new colt to go see. It made Clark smile, as he thought of how his father would coo and fawn over the newborn animal, even if they couldn't keep the horse.
Clark started with the cows, as he usually did. While the milking could be tedious sometimes, it was mindless work were he could let his mind wander. Usually, he focused on what he needed to do next. But, sometimes, on days like this one, his mind visited other topics. On this day, in particular, he fantasized about what it must be like to never have to worry about money. To never go to bed with a half-empty stomach. To fall asleep on a feather bed, instead of the hard, flat, uncomfortable straw mattresses he'd known all his life.
When he was younger, after his parents had confided in him that he was a foundling child left out in the cornfields, he'd imagine that he was really a prince. In those moments of make-believe, he'd imagined that his mother was a woman of noble birth, and his father a prince or king. In his mind, his existence was a scandal - the product of a shameful love affair - so his mother ran off to birth him in secret to save his life from her noble husband's jealous anger.
He knew, of course, that it wasn't a true story. It was more likely that some poor peasant - not unlike the parents who'd adopted him as their own - was running away from her lot in life and abandoned him because she was unable to care for him. And, if Clark was being honest with himself, it was even more likely that his mother had been a runaway slave.
Not that it mattered to him. He was at peace with the fact that he would never know his true origins. And Jonathan and Martha were the best parents he could have ever wished for. His origins - whatever they were - had never mattered to him. He loved his life, even if the life of a poor farmer was difficult. The work was strenuous and sometimes monotonous, but it gave him the freedom to enjoy the outdoors. He loved the warm summer days spent out in the sunshine, the wind riffling through his hair, the smells of the rich soil in his nostrils. He loved the warm comfort of the barn on cool, rainy days, the close proximity of the animals was a balm for his underlying loneliness.
The long, cold winter days and nights were the hardest. There was still work to be done - just less of it. The eggs still had to be collected. The cows still needed to be milked. The horses still had to be tended to. But Clark usually found himself almost stir-crazy by winter's end, especially the last few years when the cold had been especially biting, forcing everyone indoors as much as humanly possible. Even going into town - a task he normally enjoyed - couldn't lift his spirits. All it meant was more time out in the cold, hoping to sell his wares and buy what he needed as fast as he could. The normal, cheerful conversations with friends were limited, as though speaking aloud leached them all of much needed warmth and strength.
"There you go, Bessy," he told the final cow as he finished milking her. "All set. Now, if you ladies will excuse me," he told the pair of cows, "I have other chores to tend to." He gave them a little bow and turned to pour the pail of milk into a larger container. "Looks like I've got enough for market," he told no one in particular.
He put the pail away and headed out of the barn and into the fields. He carefully examined the crops, systematically going from vegetable to vegetable. His frown deepened at each half-withered leaf and he craned his neck to check the sky. As usual, there was no sign of the rain they so desperately needed. He went back to the barn and grabbed two of the largest buckets they owned. For the next few couple of hours, he ferried water from the nearby river to his fields. Carefully, he gave each plant a well deserved drink. He wished they could just build a series of irrigation trenches, but, as it was, if he was caught "stealing" water from the river, Lord Luthor's punishment would be swift and terrible. He viewed the land he ruled over and everything in it - from the soil, to the water, to the creatures - as his property. Taking any of his "possessions" carried harsh consequences.
So Clark worked as quickly as his legs and aching shoulders would allow, until he was nearly ready to collapse. He stopped only when his knees threatened to give out on him. It was nearly noon by then, so he gave his tired body a rest, but only long enough to join his father and eat a scant lunch of eggs, a hard strip of salted pork, and the last of the bread. It was just enough to quiet the rumbling in his stomach and give him fuel to continue his work.
He and Jonathan kept busy the rest of the afternoon, sometimes working alone and sometimes working alongside each other. It was a productive day. They accomplished more than they had hoped to by the time the sun was getting low on the horizon. Jonathan started on dinner - a simply vegetable soup - and Clark took some time to exercise his already tired muscles. It was something he did as often as he could. In his mind, the stronger he trained his body to be, the faster he could work. The faster he worked, the more he could get done each day. And maybe - just maybe - he and his father could finally get ahead a little bit.
He sighed to himself as he stripped off his sweaty shirt and tossed it to one side. With a grunt of effort, he leapt up and grabbed the low, sturdy branch of the tree where he usually did his chin-ups. He started his usual routine, mindlessly pulling his body up and lowering it back down in a long, repetitive cycle. How many he did, he didn't know. He never kept track. He only went until his muscles seemed ready to give out on him. Then he let himself drop to the ground. He grabbed his shirt and trekked back to the river where he swiftly washed the sheen of dirt and sweat from his body and clothing. It was a dangerous move, but it was easier than trying to draw up water from their well, which was dangerously low.
"Just in time, son," Jonathan said with a smile as Clark opened the door to their home. "The soup's ready."
"Great," Clark said with an enthusiastic smile. "I'm starving."
Jonathan chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me. How much water did you smuggle to the crops today?" He winked at his son.
Clark bowed his head for a moment and shook it slightly. "Not enough. It's never enough."
Jonathan sighed. "It's better than nothing."
"True," he conceded. "I was thinking. We've got enough milk to sell at the market. Eggs too. I think I should go tomorrow and see if I can sell them."
"That's a good idea," Jonathan said after a moment. "There's a few things we could use around here too. I'll go with you. There's not much we can do around here anyway. It won't kill us to miss a day in the fields."
"Sounds good," Clark said, watching as his father ladled the soup out into two wooden bowls. "That looks delicious."
"Thank you."
Jonathan placed the bowls on the table. Clark reached for his spoon and dug in with gusto. He had to admit it - his father was a fantastic cook, even if they usually didn't have a wide variety of ingredients at their disposal. He ate half the bowl before speaking again.
"I thought I'd take some of my carvings to market too," he said as he swirled some of the hot liquid around the bowl with his spoon.
"Good idea," Jonathan nodded with approval. "You've certainly got a talent."
"Thanks, Dad."
Though he didn't often have the time to do so, Clark enjoyed carving animals out of pieces of wood - all salvaged from the firewood pile or found by the wayside on the way to and from town. He had but to look at a piece of wood and could see the fox, owl, squirrel, horse, or whatever animal inside, begging to be let out. He took great pains to get the details just right. Sometimes, he could find a buyer for his carvings - usually one of the nobles who happened to be passing through. Oftentimes, he couldn't find a buyer, but it didn't stop him from carving his animals anyway. He found the activity relaxing and soothing. It was a great way to unwind during the busy growing season and it was a great way to keep busy during the monotonous winter months.
"Last time, I was able to sell four," Clark mused aloud.
"I remember. We were able to buy that venison to last the winter," Jonathan nodded in agreement.
"It must be nice," Clark continued. "To be rich enough to spend money on frivolous things like wooden animal figurines." He grinned. "Not that I'm complaining. It's nice to know that I can do something to help, even when the crops are, well, the way they are."
"Son, you've always been a help. Ever since the day we found you, you've been the greatest blessing your mother and I have ever received. You've always been the best son we could have ever hoped for."
Clark nodded, but said nothing. His parents had always been very upfront and vocal about how grateful they were for the abandoned newborn they'd found. He knew too, how much the two farmers had longed for children before they'd happened upon him out in their field - how much it had hurt them that they'd never been able to conceive a child together. But they'd always said that those wounds had closed and vanished the moment they had adopted him as their own.
"There's enough for seconds," Jonathan urged him, pulling Clark out of his thoughts. He hadn't realized he'd been scraping the bottom of his bowl in an effort to find just one more mouthful. "If you want it, that is."
"Thanks. I think I will have some more." He got up and portioned out another bowl of the soup for both himself and his father.
They ate the rest in relative silence. When they were done, Jonathan did the washing up and Clark headed out into the barn. By the light of a lantern, he milked the two cows one more time, hoping for just a little more to sell in the morning. Then he checked on the horses, especially the newest colt. The baby looked good and appeared to be a feisty little fellow. Clark mentally dubbed him Blaze. When he was done, he bid the animals goodnight, then headed back into the house.
"Going to bed?" Jonathan asked as Clark shut the door behind him.
Clark shook his head. "Not yet. I want to finish up something. I've got a carving in the works. I'd like to try to get it done to bring with me tomorrow."
His father nodded. "Don't stay up too late."
"I won't. Night, Dad."
"Night, Clark."
Clark watched as his father went off to the small room that served as his bedroom before heading toward his own. Once inside, he grabbed the half-completed hawk he was working on and his knife, locating them more by habit than by sight in the darkened room. He took them back to the kitchen, threw a few slender sticks onto the fire, and set to work. For an hour or more, he worked in silence, oblivious to the outside world. He was completely focused on the wooden bird before him.
Finally, he set aside the figurine, happy with the way it looked. Silently, he cleaned up the wood shavings, putting them in a basket near the hearth to use next time they started a fire. He doused the fire and took his knife and hawk back to his room, setting it aside with the others. He thought maybe he had a dozen pieces ready to be sold, though he knew that if he sold one or two, it would be a good day. Then he collapsed in his bed, sleeping deeply until morning dawned.
***
"Ah, Lois! There you are!" Lord Samuel Lane said as he spotted his daughter.
Lois looked up from watching the fish in the pond. It was her favorite place in her family's garden. She'd always found it so quiet and peaceful. She went to give her father a smile, but paused when she saw the troubled look on his face.
"What's wrong, Father?"
Samuel frowned. "There's been news."
"What kind of news?"
"Raids."
"Raids?" Lois repeated. "What...?"
"Lord Tempos. His troops have started raiding villages all over the kingdom."
"Tempos." Lois spat out the name like a curse. "What does that pig want?"
Samuel shook his head. "To take whatever he can. To expand his own territory."
Lois snorted her distaste. "He'll never get away with it."
"He already has, from what I hear. He's taken control of Lord Daniel's lands."
That gave Lois pause and filled her body with dread. "Lord Daniel has a bigger army than we do."
Samuel nodded. "Yes."
"But that means..." She couldn't finish her statement.
Again, her father nodded. "It means we could very well be next on his list."
"How will we stop them?"
"I've asked Lord Alexander Luthor to join forces with us," her father said, not meeting her eyes.
"Lex?" she asked, fully aware that the man in question rarely went by his full name. "He never gives away anything without taking something in return. Even his aid."
"I know," Samuel said in a quiet tone.
"So...what does he want?" Lois demanded to know.
"He hasn't given me an answer yet."
"Then why are you telling me this?" Lois asked, her suspicions raised.
"Because he's promised to think it over and come to our home, personally, once he's made up his mind to help or not."
"You mean, once he's set his price," Lois supplied.
Samuel barely managed a weak smile. "That may well be the case."
"And if he doesn't help?" Lois asked, watching as the fish darted around beneath the surface of the clear, cool water.
"I think he will," Samuel said with certainty in his voice. "If we combine our forces, we stand a chance of defeating Tempos so thoroughly, he won't be able to launch a second attack at either one of our lands."
"And where do I come in?" Lois crossed her arms, knowing that her father wouldn't be telling her any of this unless he needed or expected something from her.
Samuel gave her a hesitant half-smile. "You know me too well. Very well then. When Lord Luthor arrives, I'd like for you meet him. Keep him company. Make sure he is made comfortable in our home."
"You mean, model myself as a potential wife," Lois snapped.
"I...uh...that is to say..." Samuel stammered.
Lois nodded curtly. "As I said."
"Lois..." Samuel paused and sighed a little. "Yes. You're right. Word has it that he's looking to remarry."
"His wife's been dead what? Less than a year?" Lois asked with a healthy measure of distaste.
"Slightly more than a year," Samuel corrected her, seemingly more by reflex than by a desire to defend Lord Luthor.
"Oh, well, that makes it so much better," Lois sarcastically tossed back.
"Lois! Why are you so resistant to this?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"He's a good man! You'll be well provided for," Samuel argued. "He's one of the richest lords in the entire kingdom."
"Right. He'll make an excellent ally," Lois said, her voice hard.
"You'll want for nothing with him."
"Except for a real marriage," Lois snorted. "He's more than twice my age! What could we ever have in common?"
"Maybe you should meet with him and find out," Samuel urged. "At least give him a chance, if he chooses to come. We need his cooperation. And his troops, if we're to defeat Lord Tempos."
"Fine," Lois huffed. "I'll meet with him. But don't expect me to fall head over heels for him. I've heard the rumors about him. How he's always with other women. How his wife was treated more like...like a hunting trophy than a human being. How he's cruel to the people he lords over."
"I've heard the rumors too. But they may just be that - rumors."
"We'll see."
To Be Continued...
