Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Little Rose in the Frost ❯ Little Rose in the Frost ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Rose and Frost

 

Author: Danni

 

Summary: Frost craves the blood red Rose. It craves the scent, it craves the essence. The Frost shall not be denied its due. The King shall receive the petal-soft flesh of youth once more. And both the Frost and the King demand a great price.

 

The Players: Gohan the Son (der Sohn)

Goku the Father (der Vater)

The Uncles (die Onkels)

Vegeta the Erlkönig

Trunks the Lavender Prince (Lavendelprinz)

Bra, Princess Bluebell (Glockenblume)

 

Pairing: Vegeta/Gohan.

 

Warning: mature situations, character death.

 

Disclaimer: I do not in any shape or form own Dragonball/Z/GT. Nor do I not generate any sort of profit off this piece whatsoever. It is purely for creative entertainment.

 

Furthermore, this entire piece was heavily inspired by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's “Erlkönig.” Some parts were inspired by von Goethe's “Heidenröslein.” I have taken excerpts and heavily derived scenes from the two above poems, as well as Rammstein's “Dalai Lama,” which is also based off “Erlkönig.”

 

 

„Sah ein Knab ein Röslein stehn,

Röslein auf der Heiden,

War so jung und morgenschön,

Lief er schnell, es nah zu sehn,

Sah's mit vielen Freuden.“

 

Indifferent frost had bedecked the land in preparation for winter's long and silent ball. The past fortnight had been dedicated to opaque hoarfrost decorating the dark evergreens and slowly—delicately—withering any audacious flora who had survived the scythe of autumn.

 

But Tenacity had, for many generations, flown through the blood of the Son family. And despite glancing at an initial impotence around the estate, the young boy continued his quest for an enduring blossom.

 

“Oh!” Joy hopped in his chest. “Hallo, hallo! What have I spotted?” Yet climbing to Heaven, out of that old hearth in the tiny garden, was a tiny yearnful rosebud, petals cautious to embrace the chilly air. The young boy kneeled before it.

 

“The last little rose,” he sighed with a smile. “How pleasing you are to the eye? I ought to introduce you to my father and uncles. Oh! they would be so pleased to see you,” and his boyish fingers reached for the thorny stem, but the little rose seemed to sway away windlessly.

 

“Hmm? What is this?” And on a windless day. The little rose bowing with its back to the child. Gohan felt quite puzzled and tried again; but again it recoiled and slowly stood when it believed in its safety.

 

“Why sway you so?” asked puzzled Gohan. “I have plucked many buds before, and they neither recoiled nor truly embraced. Why differ so?” And he tried a third time, with another gentle sway from his impertinent fingers.

 

But recall; Tenacity abodes in his blood, and with a boyish pout on his peach countenance, he declared, “I shall pluck you, and you will be the gift to my father!”

 

And the rosebud seemed to bow, in its trademark sluggishness, but it also seemed to note a trade-off in its concession: “Then may it be so,” it seemed to say, “that your fingers will pluck, but as a result so will you be stuck,” and when Gohan's fingertips finally succeeded—

 

“Ah!” The defensive thorns, tipped by Frustration, greeted them with a smart bleeding. “Ay, me!” And he leapt to his feet, hand recoiling against his chest. Then he glanced at his injury and his wine-coloured tips. The youth sniffled, “I find you abhorrent, little hearth rose!” And he stamped with all dejection to the household.

 

But how unwise those angry feet did not first avenge their Master's slight? For ordinarily boys trampling on helpless buds are Roman soldiers defiling Christian martyrs. But Gohan was not ordinary; neither was this tiny bud born from pagan loins, pre-dating that younger religion. Those thorns were merely teeth, and now the snow—that blanched tongue—could savour the blood of impetuous youth.

 

And the Master, to whom these teeth and this tongue belonged, was awakened by the sweet iron taste, unaware of what he had tasted but interest peaked to sample more.

 

 

In the meanwhile, Gohan followed the laughter of uncles and Father to their den. He rushed to the figure decked in dark blue: “Vater! Vater! I have been stuck! I have been stuck!”

 

A young man, Goku Son, with an eternal smile, immediately embraced his child and brought him on his lap. “My sweet Gohan, what befell you? Why cry you out so?”

 

“Vater,” he began, “a rose has stabbed me!”

 

Goku merely chuckled. “But mein Sohn, many a fair flower has fallen under the coming frost. How came you upon a rose?”

 

“In the tiny hearth in the garden,” replied Gohan. “It was a tiny fellow, and when I tried to pluck him, he stuck me so,” and he showed his blood-smeared fingers to his father. Goku stood with his son in arm.

 

“Let us find you a friendly bandage or two and make you well once more,” he replied as he strolled to the kitchen. Then he set his son daintily upon the kitchen table and sifted through the cabinets for some ointment and wraps. He dabbed away at most of the blood with a handkerchief and painted the ointment onto Gohan's fingers.

 

“Ah!” The youth cried at the renewed sting, but Goku chuckled and replied, “Just due for all your mischief! Seeking all your fairies and goblins—a good decade has claimed you. You must soon learn to reason scientifically.”

 

Gohan pouted. “Oh, Vater, but it was so queer indeed! The little rose swayed all about in order to resist my touch. When finally it conceded, its thorns did avenge it.”

 

“Ho ho!” chuckled Goku. “Avenge itself, eh?” And Gohan bowed his shameful face. “If your fairy flora carried genuine spirits, then you have properly noted its self defence,” and once every fingertip was tightly bound, paternal lips kissed each. “Now come, mein Sohn, we depart. We must prepare for your mother's birthday.”

 

The boy smiled meekly and nodded and followed his father to gather their coats. Then Goku began to bid his brothers fare well, but the oldest one in all apprehension began: “Oh, ah… Bruder, perhaps you ought to stay one more night? You know not if the road has been blocked by the weather—”

 

But the younger man chuckled heartily. “Why! the weather has been quite fair for a fortnight. Or else we would not have come. I assure you,” he said as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “no greater than one half-hour's ride awaits us. Now come, Gohan! Your mother shall worry greatly if we are indeed one day late.”

 

Young Gohan shared his uncle's apprehension long before he had arrived at his house. For even in the presence of his Enlightened mother and scientific, industrial father, Gohan has life-long clung to the potential spirits, goblins, and demons of tarnished fairy tales. Tonight seemed star-crossed, hexed by such an early entrance of hoarfrost, and the boy feared for his soul in the evergreen dominion of phantasms.

 

 

Gohan conceded out of respect for his father, but how tragic that he could not confirm his acute child's tuition? For the Master of that little red rose in the hearth, of that deathly pale snow, and of that early frost, was fully awakened. And his soul tuned itself to the soul of the boy. He beheld no vision of the child just yet, but his magic would soon change that.

 

“Spies! To me!” cried an authoritative voice, and from the misty shadows coalesced more Shades, as phantasmagorical as the mists and as their Master; a tall, pale youth with flowing locks that have ever been the envy of lavender and his sister, locks the bane of every bluebell, and bedecked in every vine, bloom, and gold of her grandmother.

 

These children kneeled and beckoned, “What bid You, Father-King?”

 

Before them in regal splendour bode a proud and grim Shade, proudest and grimmest of them all. His throne of hardened thorn-vines little bothered his weathered hide, and crowning his noble brow was a hematite circlet with an onyx jewel at its heart. His robes were as grey and black and dried-blood-hued as his servant shadows and actually seemed a part of them.

 

All this Shade, and he still bore splendour, an ineffable aura of silver, dieser Erlkönig. The austere monarch replied, “My spy, der Lavendelprinz, I require your ability to conjure mortal faces.”

 

“As you will, Father-King,” replied the husky-voiced Shade, and he ascended the steps to his standing king. A gloved hand handed him a vial, and der Erlkönig bade: “Show me the face of this youth. I have tasted his vestal blood, and I will that I know more.”

 

“Of course, Father-King,” said der Lavendelprinz, and he returned to the floor, conjuring his divining sands from the satchel by his side. And while the sands twirled round him, he popped the cork, delicately dropping the blood as it floated atop the swirling sand clouds. Then he chanted arcane words in an ancient tongue, and with serpentine flight, the sand ascended and revealed the mirror to the mortal world.

 

In an instant der Erlkönig saw his youth: a handsome boy, gripped by a mere decade, of shining ebony locks and eyes clearer than even the onyx gem. Gohan had returned to the hearth and the humble red rose, servant of the King, to bid it a final inspection and final farewell.

 

“Oh, little rose upon the hearth,” began Gohan as he kneeled, “you are such a queer thing. If only I could convince Vater not to leave on such a terrible eve! But…” He paused, searching for words but finding none. Then he dabbed a sweet kiss on that red rose head and said, “Farewell! for in all your strangeness and bitterness, I can bear no strangeness or bitterness in return.” And he stood and skipped quite merrily away.

 

This lad intrigued the wild-haired King. “He has every chance to avenge himself,” He noted aloud, “yet he bears a mercy unseen among lads—all children, for that matter—for many centuries.” And he daintily touched the tip of his nose and said, “I even tasted the innocence in his blood.”

 

Then der Erlkönig stepped from His throne, the mist and His robes stirred and reforming into dark waves behind Him. With a hand on His black heart, He proclaimed, “I must have this child. I must have this innocent! For centuries have I been deprived of such a lovely mortal—his fair face, his shining locks, his… innocent eyes!—ah! That creature will become mine—that magnificent creature!”

 

“As You Will it, Father-King,” declared the sibling spies, and all three shades faded into the swirling murk in order to pursue the poor, unknowing innocent.

 

 

„Aus den Wolken tropt ein Chor

Kriecht sich in das kleine Ohr

 

„Komm her, bleib hier

Wir sind gut zu dir

Komm her, bleib hier

Wir sind Brüder dir“

 

“Mein Bruder, mein Bruder, are you certain that you will be fine?” asked Son's older brother with apprehension in his voice. “The sun sets fast, and fog comes quickly. You must take no risk!”

 

But Goku merely chuckled. “The road is clearly marked. Even the fog could never deceive it, and the fog we receive is more of a mere mist. Meine Brüder, meine Brüder, Gohan and I shall be quite all right.”

 

But the uncles glanced into the lad's eyes. They sat above and mismatched to that smile. His eyes confessed concern about that foreboding forest, but aloud no Contradiction was made to Goku's scientific thought.

 

“I confess, Bruder,” began the man's dark-skinned twin, “the forest is malignant to mortal travellers. The night is reserved for faery delight, and if you dare disrupt their games, then—”

 

“Bruder,” he sighed, preparing to ride off, “cling no more to superstition. Now I must tend to my wife and deliver my son home, so if you both mind it not”—and he tipped his head—“we depart,” and nudging the chocolate brown steed in its sides, the creature galloped down the chocolate brown path, into the ominous evergreen and the eerily chilly wind.

 

Mein Vater, mein Vater, why heed you not? wondered dearest Gohan as they galloped out of sight. I fear for our lives on this terrible night. But he knew that Goku would dismiss him quickly, rabbling about queer roses and sinister mists.

 

“Ah, the first fog of the season, eh?” noted Goku with a smile. “Worry not! We shall arrive home in half an hour's passing.”

 

But would half an hour be enough time to escape the ire (or uninvited affection) of phantasmal entities? For their steed merely trod at a leisurely pace, and Gohan was dismayed by strange shapes in the fog.

 

What could that shade be? begged he to know, squinting into the twilight and mist. For no mist ever swirled in such seeming sentience; nor had it donned such a penetrating hue of ash; nor ever had such whispering—Whispers? he nearly exclaimed—crept in its moisture.

 

Is that a face? wondered Gohan quite correctly; the faint face of a man with wild hair and crowning his head, a dark coronet, perhaps? (The contrast of the shade was quite poor.) And he seemed to don robes, darker than twilight and composed from the mist, that the child nearly thought the face floated on its own accord.

 

“Vater,” began Gohan, “see you that shade?”

 

“What shade?” asked Goku.

 

“That fellow ahead, with wild locks reaching to Heaven, locks not even as wild as our own? He stands among the trees, bedecked by the fog.”

 

And Goku strained his eyes, to his left and his right, to see the portent of fairies who only children can see. Duly so, he saw no Erlenkönig and replied, “Mein Sohn, the trees play tricks on your eyes.”

 

Gohan glanced up at his father and realised not to insist. For the shade's head had vanished, and he bowed his own head, drawing his father's large coat more tightly around himself.

 

“…Gohan…. Gohan….”

 

The whispering had begun delicately and unintelligibly, but soon his name crept into his little ears. “What is it, Vater?” asked he, but Goku asked in return, “What, mein Sohn?”

 

“You whispered my name. What want you of me?”

 

“No, Gohan, I have said naught.”

 

“Hmm….” How odd? And the lad rested his eyes, only to hear his sweet name echo once more: “…Gohan….Gohan….”

 

The boy lifted his face, and his eyes darted round. He saw only evergreen and the dark swirling mists. Then Gohan suddenly recalled a story his elder uncle had told him the previous night, when all the forest was a-roaring with fierce winds:

 

“There is a creature,” began that man with long, wild locks, “who is no mere creature, but he is certainly no Man. He commands all the dark forest and compels the dark spirits of the wind to his whim. He is not evil, but he is certainly no good. For He is the One who haunts the paths of man and Fee and binds the souls of young rustics to him.”

 

Young Gohan had listened attentively, in apprehension but also curiosity. He had asked: “Who is this Shade, oh Onkel?”

 

The uncle of long, wild locks had replied: “His Names forever out-span the many tongues of Man and Beast, but in our lands He is known simply as der Erlkönig. But no simple creature is he! for not even God can bind this proud Shade. He weaves His own fate and can weave the fate of other souls. The shadows and mists are His unquestioning slaves, and even the tiniest hint of His slaves is give-away to His presence. And His presence means Death…”

 

The misty son of Azrael, though Gohan with a shiver, and he wrapped his and his father's cloaks more tightly round him.

 

“…Will you not… -ith me…”

 

“Ah!” The boy gasped and lifted his head. Goku asked, “Mein Sohn, what bothers you now?”

 

But the youth delivered no instant reply. His wide, innocent eyes darted about, and he asked with his young voice all a-quiver: “Mein Vater, mein Vater! Hear you not these voices? The active spirits of evergreen and mist?”

 

Goku cocked his head in curiosity and pursed his lips. He glanced about like a man searching for signs of brigands. He saw naught and shook his head in shame. “Sweet Gohan, have your uncles stuffed your ears with faery folly again?”

 

“But Vater, what reason have I to fabricate? If you believe not in spirits, then believe you in robbers?”

 

“Even this night is a poor one for rascals—”

 

“But not poor for us?”

 

“Now hush your nonsense!” snapped Goku suddenly. “I shall give you a lecture as soon as we arrived home, and until then will you remain hush.”

 

Poor Gohan shrank beneath that anger. Then an arm wrapped round his tiny waist. With a tight, reassuring embrace, his father replied, “Forgive me, but you must not allow your uncles' faery folly to cloud your reasoning.” And he kissed that pale, warm forehead.

 

 

„Und das Kind zum Vater spricht

Hörst du denn den Donner nicht

Das ist der König aller Wind

Er will mich zu seinem Kinder

 

„Aus den Wolken tropt ein Chor

Kriecht sich in das kleine Ohr...“

 

But the lad's assumptions were not mere faery folly. In fact, they were fact, not mere assumptions. For children have always been better attuned to the unseen world, better than adults, even many adolescents. Gohan was aware of the wild-haired King, and the King was aware of him, aware of his aware, and aware of the father's unaware.

 

“His father's vain disbelief avails Me,” said der Erlkönig. “This youth is mine with little struggle,” and a wisp of enchanted fog carried his voice to Gohan's ears. “Sweet Gohan, young swain, you must come with me. I shall shower you with riches, fine food and drink, and affection.”

 

The child perked up at these words, though he heard not them all. Still he cringed and hid his face.

 

“Sweet Gohan,” he continued, “why will you not join me? See you not my daughter, how splendid she is? She and I shall bedeck you in robes, jewels, and honeyed perfumes, far fairer than any you could find in this life.”

 

Gohan groaned, then he moaned, “Oh Vater, Vater!”

 

“Are you yet hearing fairy fiddle-faddle?” asked the rational mind, to which his empirical son replied in fear: “Vater, you know not the promises he makes me.”

 

“Who, mein Sohn?”

 

“Der Erlkönig!” cried he in frustration and boldness. “That King of Shades and Proud Lord of Wiles. He and his daughter, with those locks like bluebells, tempt me with riches, tempting me from you.”

 

The man glanced about for any strange ladies in white and blue, but seeing none replied he: “Gohan, `tis the thickening mist riding this ghostly wind. But not a ghost is here.”

 

But Gohan cared not for this answer. His disdain was further hardened by the wild-haired King's constant coaxing: “See, precious Gohan, meinen ältersten Sohn? Der Lavendelprinz—he conjures better than the best of mortals. But his is no devilry, for he and I practice that magic of bygone years, when pagans healed and celebrated in gay. His conjurations usher about pleasure, and he can teach you well his hallowed art.”

 

And all about the boy swirled beasts that not even the most current grimoire recognised: but friendly were they, beasts of land, air and sea and even æther. Some lovely, some ugly, and others down-right absurd, but no matter their good humour, Gohan still resisted.

 

“Vater, lieber Vater, are we so far from home? For he taunts me once more and with dark pagan acts. See you not his son, with those long lavender locks, conjuring beasts that even the ancient Greek or turbaned man has not even described?”

 

Goku glanced about a time again, thoroughly frustrated with what (to him) was his son's overactive imagination; his reason clouded by the fluff of old wives. Goku replied with utter agitation, “Be still, you reuevolles Kind, it is merely the leaves rustling between the ancient trees. Now begone, these poisonous thoughts to rationality! You'll speak no more of it.”

 

Gohan's head lowered in defeat. Even more disheartening than der Erlkönig's attacks was his father's lack of belief in him. Perhaps, began he to wonder, I am better in a world where every spirit believes that you have seen another? For I cannot reside in a world where my own blood and flesh disbelieves in me.

 

Now der Erlkönig, being so quickly attuned to Gohan's thoughts, heard this. And His growing rage began to subside after hearing this. Nevertheless He would not allow the boy's previous hesitance to go unpunished.

 

The words resounded clearest of all, and because He now used such powerful magic, the horse whinnied and nearly reared and did stop in his tracks.

 

“Youth,” began the wild-haired King, “I finally confess. I can beguile you no longer. I am in love, oh youth, with you! All yourself—your form, your spirit—arouse both my form and spirit. And if you come not by your will, you will come by My Force.”

 

So blew the air colder, and the horse's head shook but out of fear. And the tremors trickled down its neck and to all its body. Confounded Goku tried to ease his steed forward, but its hooves bounced back. Then the horse cried and Gohan gasped.

 

The wild-haired King, with His dark wild eyes, stood directly in their path. Yet blind Goku saw not His Shade, only a dark, ashen, ominous mist. It rushed towards them and robbed Gohan of breath. He squeaked and cried out chillingly: “Vater!”

 

Goku glanced with wide, black, frightened eyes at his pale son as the boy gasped, “He holds me! He holds me by my throat! Der Erlkönig will not release me—ah!”

 

Whether such a shade truly existed or not, the man dug his heels deeply into his steed. The beast snarled and flew down the path, its hooves thundering with the echo of war drums, unheeding of the fast encroaching night, the ravenous fog, and the relentless, throttling wind. Goku held tightly to his child, enough so that he could squeeze the soul out of the boy. And he feared that the forest would overtake them before they reached home.

 

Finally that path to their village came to view. He rode harder and faster at its appearance until he arrived at their tiny estate path, soaring passed the black iron gates to the stables. Then Goku leapt from his wild steed, with his son close in arm, and laid the poor lad on the dry and clean hay. He put an ear to his tiny chest and…

 

…heard naught. Then he put the other ear to his ajar lips and heard no breath and felt no air. To the contrary, the lad was as pale as that frost at his uncles' home and about as chilly, especially on those lips.

 

Goku brought the child into his arms again, tears choking his vision and burning his wind-frosted cheeks. He sobbed, “Robbed… robbed of meinem Sohn… ah! Mein schöner Sohn lies dead! Ah!” And for the longest while, he cringed over that body, soaking that face with sorrow.

 

But Gohan yet lay elsewhere, where no sorrow yet touched him; but the gloved hand of a highly satisfied Shade.

 

 

Said the King to his subjects: “I have beheld no finer youth. He is so innocent that he resisted temptations that other lads would have with all enthusiasm instantly accepted. Not that I would have rejected him if he had,” He added, “but I long for him all the more now,” and He kissed that snow-white brow and lingered on those rose-tinted lips.

 

For der Erlkönig had extracted that soul, with an iota of help from Goku, whose embrace had truly been enough to give that young soul some extra boost. And now Gohan lay in robes, fair grey as the morn mists of the sea and more delicate than silk or unicorn locks; beneath the rose-pink, black and rose-red covers of his bed, a greater luxury than any bed with the finest feathers.

 

Honeyed scents bathed the young lad and his bed and his room—honeyed but faintly, not at all overwhelming, with hints of the rose, lavender and bluebells, frankincense and myrrh. All was in accord to the Will of that wild-haired King, who spoke:

 

“Soon the new Prince and my sweetest swain will awaken. Bathe him in every luxury,” declared He, “and make him forget—make him weary of that world, which disbelieves in me—no! Far more criminal than disbelieving in me, for it disbelieved in him, and he walked among them as real as but more tangible than I.”

 

“As You Will it, Great Father-King,” said all of his subjects and all of his children, and He departed to ready himself for his love when fair Gohan finally awoke.

 

 

Translation: Mein Bruder = my brother. Pl. n. meine Brüder.

 

Fee = fay, fairy.

 

Meinen ältersten Sohn = my eldest son.

 

Lieber Vater = dear father.

 

Reuevolles Kind = rueful child.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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