Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a boy named Yeosang. Yeosang was a prince, heir to his father - the King's - throne. Yeosang's mother passed when he was very little, and his father remarried shortly after to Yeosang's stepmother, the Queen.
Yeosang's father raised him to be an upstanding, just man. The King taught his son to be kind and fair to all subjects - no matter their circumstances, and Yeosang took those values to heart. He never forgot his father's teachings.
Even in his passing.
Though groomed to be the heir, Yeosang was not old enough to take the throne. So the Queen took it in his place. As Yeosang grew up, soon his outside began to reflect this beautiful inside. Not only did he have a heart of gold - he features one would attribute only to the most ethereal beings.
The vain Queen grew to resent the young prince and started to hide him away. One day, she stole away to her chambers and consulted with an arcane artifact she possesed - her Magic Mirror.
"Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" She asked.
"Why, Yeosang, of course. His majesty is the fairest of them all."
This enraged the Queen, and she began to hide him away. Yeosang was barred from attending balls, and the castle stopped taking guests for anything other than the barest necessities. He got saddled with heaps of studying and menial tasks. In the meanwhile, the Queen continued her effort to establish herself as the fairest in the land.
Years passed, and yet again the Queen consulted.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
The Magic Mirror answered yet again, "Prince Yeosang is the fairest of them all."
Enraged, the Queen decided right then and there to oust Yeosang from the kingdom. She was determined - she would be the fairest of them all, no matter the cost.
Days later, the young prince was banished, cast out. He set out to the thick woods beyond the Castle gardens, and the Kingdom was rid of their crown prince. The Queen hired a huntsman to finish him, which prompted Yeosang to run.
He ran deep, deep into the woods with little more than the clothes on his back, a dull dagger, and his hope. Much to his surprise, the Prince fared relatively well. He lived day by day, moving across the woods, setting up camp, rinsing and repeating in the hopes of finding some new purpose. His heart ached for the loss of his Kingdom. He wondered what his father would think. Ultimately, Yeosang determined not to dwell on the negative and continued to forge forward.
Things grew ever more challenging as time wore on.
One night, a storm destroyed his small camp, displacing him. Yeosang woke up, wet and shivering, narrowly escaping the wreckage. When day finally broke, Yeosang began to wander. He had no choice. Cold and fatigue started setting into his bones, but he trudged on, driven to survive.
After hours of hiking, Yeosang happened upon a lovely cottage. Yeosang had been raised to always mind his manners. Always, but in his compromised state, chilled to the bone and still wet from the rains, his judgment withered.
That one time, he walked in, readying an earnest apology to the owners.
Much to his surprise, the cottage was more spacious inside - almost as if a spell had been cast. A comforting fragrance drifts into Yesoang's nose, and he followed it to a nearby table with a fresh bread roll. His mouth watered, and - without thought - he scarfed the whole thing down. Leaden with exhaustion and fullness, the sickly prince crumbled into a heap right onto the wooden floor and passed out.
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Prince Yeosang woke up to a commotion. The noises filtered into his ears first. Upon opening his eyes, seven strange men with pointed ears circled him. They muttered amongst themselves with bemused expressions. Upon noticing Yeosang's open eyes, they threw accusations his way.
"Thief!"
"Scoundrel!"
They berated him. Yeosang's heart dipped in sorrow as he knew their words to ring true. Even so, he felt desperate to explain himself.
"I- I'm sorry. I had nowhere to go. The storm- it was so cold. I truly am sorry. Please, let me repay you. I'll do anything to make this right."
He didn't expect kindness, but that was what he received. The strange men spoke amongst themselves, and one among them delivered the apparent verdict had long, dark hair.
"It's alright. We forgive you. It's clear after a better look at you that you needed that bread more than we did."
"Still, I'm so sorry."
"Think nothing of it. You know you can... You can stay with us, if you want."
"Hm?"
The black-haired man smiled warmly and extended a hand - a peace offering for the sickly prince. Yeosang took it, heart warm with gratitude, and allowed the stranger to hoist him up. Yeosang's gaze drew toward their ears again - all so similar to his, save for their length and the gentle point.
"We're dwarves," The black-haired one explained to him.
"Dwarves?" Yeosang's eyes widened with shock. "You certainly don't look like dwarves. " He recalls their descriptions from mythology.
The strange men grouse, each grumbling their own protests. They explain that their kind had been defamed, cast aside and belittled in historical depiction in order to elevate the "heros" of lore. They were cast aside and their contributions downplayed. Yeosang nodded bashfully as they each told their stories. Given the reality in front of him, he couldn't deny their assertions and nodded bashfully in acceptance.
The tellings of yore could not have been further off. The dwarves were perhaps the most beautiful creatures Yeosang had ever met, each one distinct with their own features and personalities he would soon come to know.
Despite the many failings of oratory history, one part of the tales had been accurate. Dwarves did, in fact, have mastery of many crafts. When Yeosang inquired about it, they all lit up with excitement, delighting in sharing their creations. That was how Yeosang grew to know them best. As unique as they all were, each had a craft fitting their personality.
Hongjoong was an adept atelier with an unbelievably kind heart.
Seonghwa sculpted, his work ranging from elaborate to dainty to substantial and hardy.
Yunho - like the sun itself - preferred woodwork. His work was all hand hewn and impressive, each one honoring the piece of wood from which it came, synergizing with the grain and texture.
Wooyoung, a cheeky one with wavy hair, always smiled and laughed. Even when hunched over the stock pot, concocting a brilliant stew or formulating a new dish, he effortlessly warmed the room.
San, Wooyoung's partner in crime, had a delicate hand with which he crafted chains and threaded gems they mined to make beautiful jewelry.
Mingi, though fledgling, labored to improve his magic every day. His gentle, sincere nature contrasted his intimidating appearance greatly.
Jongho, their youngest, had a more taciturn nature outwardly. However, with gentle prodding his fiery side came out - and that fire rivaled the flame of the forge he worked over every day as a smithy.
Yeosang sat in utter awe of the skill and talent he found himself in the presence of. He couldn't believe that such a talented bunch would take him in.
Yet they did - with open arms, no less.
At first, Yeosang worried about space inside the cottage; however, that is when he learned the discrepancy between its exterior and interior was the result of Mingi's magic! He could make as much or as little room as needed, and they accommodated him with ease.
Over time, the frigidity of isolation loosened its hold on Yeosang's heart. With every passing day, he grew more assured in the company of the dwarves. He regained his strength and began to contribute.
Wooyoung taught him how to garden, and Seonghwa helped him learn how to properly forage. The prince, though not particularly skilled, felt grateful to contribute. It was the least he could do.
Over time, the cottage in the woods felt more like home than the castle had since the passing of his father. He sang with the blue birds and broke bread with the dwarves.