Now, you might recall that this story started with the end. And the end was death like sleep. Or was it sleep like death?

You might wonder if the end is now, then.

But it could not possibly be. You see, we have not met any haunted-or-magic armor, yet. And we haven't met the sleeping-or-mourning fairies. Clearly, we are not at the end. Therefore, the premature ending needs to be subverted.

You might have some ideas of how it is done, too. Oh, don't overthink it. You're probably right with your first or second thought on this matter.

The thing about cliches is that they get overused until no one will touch them, and then they get underused until they are fresh, once again. The subversion here, therefore, will hopefully feel fresh and new, though it was once considered a terrible cliche, one near-impossible to forgive.

Or am I mixing up a different cliche, I wonder?

Oh, it doesn't matter.

--

The King knelt and picked up the Prince, taking him away from Nana's still form. He turned Prince Aurore's eyes away, as well, and descended from the dais as voices began to pierce the silence, once more.

"Can you do anything," the King asked, approaching the Fair Folk. His eyes were wild. "He is all I have. Please." His questions all came out as statements and demands. Any other day, he would have been worried about offending the Fair Folk with such a tone. "Please," he repeated. "He is all I have."

The three Altissi stepped forward, their hands joined and the Altissimum standing in the middle, Altissima to their left and Altissimus to their right.

"Can you take the Curse away?" the King asked. He was smothering his son with how tightly he was hugging the Prince close. He couldn't lose the Prince. He couldn't lose the last piece of Queen Mirielle that he had. "Please, I will do anything."

"We cannot erase the curse," the Altissima said.

The King was ready to break, gray and limp in expression and body. It was the waiting that would be the worst. Could he steel himself? Could he avert it? What could a man do against magic.

"But," the Altissimus cut in, "we may be able to change it."

The three moved forward until they formed a disconcerting half circle, right before the King. The Altissi -- unlike the Malefissi and the Benefissi -- were all tall and regal and somewhat unnatural. Elves, perhaps, where the Malefissi were Fey and the Benefissi were Faerie. The Malefissi and Benefissi were more natural and limber and loose, somehow, in spite of being intensely regal, powerful, and magical. They were tuned into nature. The Altissi were above nature, somehow.

"He will not die," the Altissimum said.

The King swallowed heavily and waited with held breath. There was more.

"He will sleep," the Altissimum whispered.

The other two Altissi reached out to place their hands on the Prince's head. His crying stopped abruptly, his expression became vacant, and his eyes widened once again.

"He will sleep an enchanted sleep, which will hold him until the Curse is broken in due course. Do not bury him. He will not be dead. Do not try to wake him. You will not hold the key," the Altissimum dropped the hands of their compatriots and reached forward themself. "He will Wake, one day, when the Curse is broken. But you will not see the day he wakes, King Father."

A sob escaped the King. "So there is nothing you can do," he accused. "He is lost to me."

"But he will not be dead..." the Altissimum attempted to soothe.

The King pressed the child into the Altissimum's arms. "Take him from me. I will do all I can to avoid that fate, to avert that Curse, but until the dawn after his sixteenth birthday, I don't want him," he said. "I can't. I have already lost his mother, my Queen. I refuse to lose him. And, should I lose him anyway, I refuse to be attached to him. I will... I will compensate you any way you ask. Please take care of him."

The Altissimum looked at the child. The Altissima and Altissimus looked at him, as well. The Prince looked back at them.

"Nana," the Prince whispered.

That broke the King further. His first word had to be the lost nursemaid.

"Take her away," the King said, hoarse and broken. "Take her away, now." Two soldiers stepped forward to obey as the King indicated the nursemaid, loosely and brokenly as his words. Nana was lifted off the ground, her limbs and head those of a ragdoll without sensation or life.

"Nana," the Prince repeated, turning in the Altissimum's grip to watch Nana and the soldiers. He reached out his hands toward her. "Nana!"

"Leave!" the King said. It was a demand thrown to everyone. The festivities were over. "Leave," he repeated, quieter. "Altissi, take the child's gifts. Keep them, if you wish. Destroy repurpose them. Give them to the boy. I do not care, so long as I do not have to look at them."

--

The Altissi elected to pass over offense and to forgive the King his anger, sadness, rudeness, and desperation. To forgive him his demands, and to give into them. They took the Prince Aurore when they left, and their cohorts took the gifts.

Philippe and his son Pip were one of the last people in the Great Hall when everyone had flooded out. Pip seemed much softer than he had when he and the Prince had faced off. "He will be all right?" Pip asked.

"He may be," Philippe answered.

The Altissi paid them very little heed.

"Nana," the Prince echoed, much quieter. He clung to the Altissimum desperately, his face pressed to their shoulder. "Nana. Nana."

"Hush, human child," the Altissima said, over the Altissimum's shoulder.

The Prince sniffled in response, wiping his face on the Altissimum's opposite shoulder.

"We must find proper caretakers," the Altissimus said, a step behind his fellow Altissi. "It cannot and should not be us. We cannot favor this child or this child's family more than we already have."

"Perhaps the faeries," the Altissima suggested. She turned to the Altissimus for approval, and then to the Altissimum.

"The faeries," mused the Altissimum. "I suppose they would be safer than the Fey, and less strict and one-minded than the Elvenkind. But I will not have us wash hands of this responsibility so easily. We will not simply push this child to the faeries and hope they take him into their community."

"Of course not," the Altissima said.

They stopped at the Great Hall's door.

"We should choose his caretakers," the Altissimus said. His voice told the other two that he was not looking forward to following through with their responsibility. True, the Altissi were supposed to operate much like a single entity. The Benefissi and Malefissi were supposed to operate much like a single entity, too. But the Altissi were something special, sometimes. They did not always agree. They did not always find it easy to come to consensuses. Choosing caretakers would not be a simple thing when the Altissi each prioritized different things.

"There should be three," the Altissimum murmured. The Prince seemed to have silenced. It took the 'mus a moment to realize that this was because the 'mum had cast a sleeping spell of their own.

The three Altissi looked at the door. Here, they were in agreement and the Altissima stepped forward in a silent expression of the silent agreement. A moment later, the door was a portal to the Wood. Home, of a sort, but not the home the Altissi usually dwelled in.

"Three caretakers," the Altissima said, stepping back from the portal. The three of them, and the Prince, stepped through as one. The portal dissipated behind them, leaving their kin to find their own ways home. "I agree. Three is a good number."

Ferns uncurled around them, and the trees and shrubbery offered a sun-dappled maze. The path would lead most astray, yes, but this Wood knew better than to disrespect the Altissi. It would lead them where they wished to go.

"A strong number," the Altissimus offered.

"A safe number," the Altissimum murmured over the sleeping Prince. "One to keep him safe from dangers, curses, bad magic, and anything else this forest or any person or people might see fit to throw at him."