I Was Once, Possibly, Perhaps, Maybe a King [Brusnop]

Chapter One Pt. 1

'Wake up, you wanker!' James' voice called from within the kitchen. It didn't take much of an effort for those words to reach Ben's ears; the Cassells family, including Ben, lived in a dwarf-sized home with barely enough space to support a household of four.

Ben stirred slightly, shouting back a muffled response sounding something similar to, 'I'll be outta' bed in a moment!' The boy's words were slurred, his groggy and half awoken state not doing much to help.

Many minutes had passed and Ben was still sprawled beneath the thin blankets atop his bed, snoring slightly.

The material provided little warmth while he slept, but the boy didn't complain. This was all they could afford, and fifteen years of being raised by the Cassells had taught him to appreciate what he had.

It wasn't long before James caught on, realising his best friend wouldn't be leaving his sanctuary any time soon.

Muttering several profanities directed at the older boy, James put his bowl of half-eaten oatmeal back down onto the kitchen counter and headed for the room belonging to the two boys.

Their bedroom was small, to say the least.

And despite the way Ben often joked about James' caveman-like characteristics, his side of the room was noticeably neater than Ben's, whose bed was surrounded with scattered piles of rubbish and dirty clothes.

Rolling his eyes at the mess, he walked over to Ben's bed, narrowly missing the scraps of God-knows-what on the floor.

James eyed his friend's limp form carefully. And... there it was; the ever so soft rises and falls of Ben's chest, alongside the breathy puffs of air that left his lips every so often, indicated that he was still asleep.

'You'll miss breakfast,' James cooed, poking Ben's limp figure. The older boy groaned in response, sleepily slapping away the fingers that assaulted his body.

Truth be told, the cold and slimy meal that James had half-heartedly prepared for the two of them that morning couldn't exactly be described as a proper breakfast, or an actual meal for that matter.

Ben knew this, of course. When it came down to making food, or doing anything useful in general, James wasn't the best person for the job.

Thus, instead of obediently getting out of bed like the younger boy had wanted, Ben merely shoved his friend away and dived his head back beneath his pillow, earning a groan of protest from James.

'We've gotta leave in twenty minutes Ben. Y'know what'll happen to us if we miss the King's parade,' James warned, lifting Ben's pillow off of him and chucking it over to the foot of the small bed, receiving complaints of 'Oi!' and 'What was that for?' from him in response.

And honestly, Ben had no idea what these consequences were. He also had a lingering suspicion that his best friend didn't either, judging by the uncertain look in his eyes.

But the gruesome rumours were still enough to send a shiver down his spine, regardless of how unrealistic the stories sounded.

The king couldn't torture someone because of something as stupid as missing a celebration, could he?

Ben couldn't be too sure. Besides, this wasn't just any celebration. In a little less than an hour, the 35th anniversary of King Gregory Worsnop's reign as king would officially begin.

James gave his friend another hearty shove, interrupting his thoughts and effectively getting him to roll out of his bed with a low grunt. 'Fanks, mate,' the mousy haired boy muttered, picking himself up and shooting an icy glare in his friend's direction.

But really, it couldn't be helped. James was only trying to keep Ben out of trouble, and he understood this, knowing all too well that his reputation in the past wasn't the greatest.

Accepting defeat, he trudged over to the undersized dresser that, much like the rest of his possessions, also belonged to James.

Ben scanned his limited supply of clothing, searching for something neat and presentable. It was harder than he first thought it would be, his eyebrows creasing in frustration after a few minutes of searching.

How was he expected to keep his clothes clean when he himself hadn't bathed in days?

After some time of rummaging through both his and James' drawers, he finally managed to find an outfit that didn't look too grungy.Ben looked over towards his friend who was still seated on the edge of Ben's bed, creasing his eyebrows once more.

James immediately took the hint and left the room, allowing the other boy to get changed without the feeling of being watched, pausing only once to remind him, 'Fifteen minutes!'

Ben hummed in response despite hearing the soft thump of the door closing, signalling James' departure. Raking a hand through his messy hair, he tugged off his pants, replacing them with the cleaner pair that laid folded on the bed in front of him.

It didn't take much time for Ben to get himself ready.

After getting dressed and combing his hair, or at least attempting to; the cheap comb barely managing to get past the boy's stubborn tangles, he took a quick glance into the mirror that rested on his dresser.

The reflection in the mirror didn't look too bad, he supposed. He no longer looked like a homeless teenager, and that was a start. 'Baby steps,' he reminded himself.