Chapter Text
To the king, Burt Hummel, a daughter is born.
When he first sees her, he weeps. She is so tiny, and wrinkled, and pink, but her face is that of her mother’s, and she has thick auburn hair already. She screams and cries, but then she settles, and before he knows it Burt is holding a sleeping baby--so delicate, so breakable, gods, he could lose her at any time--but then his wife is smiling at him and all is right with the world again.
The kingdom celebrates, and lavish banquets are thrown for the rich while the poor break out their best bread and ale and toast to the new princess. She is the light of her father’s eyes, and thus the light of kingdom. She is their future. A beautiful little baby with bright blue eyes and thick auburn hair like her mother’s. She’s sweet and bright and such a charming girl, even as she grows. She is the light of her father’s eyes, from infant to toddler, in her tiny dresses, with her tumbling locks of soft, soft hair. Burt adores her, adores watching her play with dolls and tea and dresses.
And it stays that way until her third year.
One night, after putting their child to bed, the queen approaches her husband.
“What is it?” Burt asks.
“I have news of our son,” Elizabeth says.
Burt stands, misunderstanding. “Are you--”
“No,” Elizabeth says. “We were mistaken. Kate is--not Kate.”
Burt blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Tonight, I was informed that our daughter is, in fact, our son.”
“She--he is--a reborn?” he asks, wondering that a child who plays with dolls and dresses and tea sets could have been born in the wrong body when she--or he--was born as a girl.
“I think--a carrier, actually,” Elizabeth says.
A Carrier. A child that is male to all appearances, but with--different genitalia. A gender in between. Burt only half understands it himself, hasn’t met one of these rare individuals, but--a son?
“A son?” Burt says, tears in his eyes. “I have a son?”
“Yes, my love,” the queen says, and Burt feels a touch of mourning for his beautiful daughter, but it’s overwhelmed by the love he feels for--his son. So he simply smiles and wraps her in his arms.
“I always wanted a son,” he says, and she laughs before they make an appointment with the tailor for the very next day.
Of course, Burt has no idea what to say the next morning when his--his son walks in to breakfast in little breeches and a tiny tunic, holding his mother’s hand and beaming underneath short-cropped hair.
“Hello,” Burt says, smiling down at what is clearly a little boy. “What can I call you now, son?” It’s a traditional question to ask those who are reborn--people who find themselves a gender other than that they were assigned at birth. And while his son is not technically a reborn, but rather another of their society’s five accepted genders--a carrier, one who carries unconventional anatomy--Burt has no other way to handle this.
“I like your name Daddy,” he says in his sweet little voice.
“You should have your own name, sweetheart,” Elizabeth says. “Why not...Kurt? So it’s like your daddy’s, and yours too.”
The boy smiles. “Kurt.”
Kurt.
And as he grows, it becomes clear that the young prince was indeed correct--for he was never a girl to begin with, but indeed a carrier: a male in every way, save for the genitalia, which caused the confusion in the first place. There’s no perfect way to identify carriers, nor any gender, until a child has declared themselves, usually when puberty hits. Whether their bodies match that gender is individual to each, but Kurt grows into a boy’s body, all flat chest and gangly limbs and narrow hips, and by the time he is ten, he is the kingdom’s most prized possession--a bright boy, perhaps too bright for his own good, still the light of his father’s eyes, though he still prefers to play with dresses and dolls and not any pastime Burt has interest in.
He becomes more than that, though, after his wife the queen falls to an assassination in their son’s eighth year. Burt has his enemies among the nobles, who look to climb to his position, or among foreign diplomats, and one in particular seemed to hate him enough to commit a murder. But the assassin, stabbing the queen one night as she walked through her gardens unattended, got away, and so Burt has no idea who among his enemies sent them, or why. But he does know that he lost his beloved wife, and Kurt’s mother. And so Kurt is all the king has, his heir and the continuation of his line, who can provide more heirs in the future.
A gift like this needs to be protected.
Burt doesn’t understand his son. Kurt is not an easy child to know--often cool and distant, better acquainted with his mother’s company and more favorable to it--sp when his mother dies, and Kurt withdraws even further, Burt doesn’t know what to do. He tries--he tries for years, but he and Kurt seem baffled by each other. He’s baffled by Kurt’s delicate sensibilities and his introversion, his preference for solitude over the company of the other children in the palace. Kurt seems baffled by Burt’s simplicity, his traditional mores and content with things being much as they are. Kurt has all these ideas and Burt does his best to field them. But this child is always unsatisfied, and Burt feels that he can’t offer him the life he wants.
And so two years past the death of his queen, Burt comes to a decision. Kurt is so like his mother, and Burt can’t help but face the fact that his son needs a different atmosphere, as well as more protection than guards, who can be left behind and slipped away from. Kurt is too independent to stay in their range. He is a child and believes himself invincible, and the loss of his mother brought death into his life far too soon, but he’s still so wayward, perhaps even more so. He needs more protection and a more understanding hand in his life, one that has the time to devote to his complexities. So one night, shortly after Kurt’s tenth birthday, Burt calls his son to meet with him.
“How are your studies, Kurt?” he asks, unsure of how to break into the news.
“They’re fine,” Kurt sighs. He’s often melancholy as of late--he has always felt apart from the other children in the palace, and misses his mother, though he bears it with a strength that impresses Burt every day. “But you should retire Madame Hagberg--she’s far too old and keeps confusing me for a princess. My voice isn’t that high…”
“Well,” Burt says. It’s not the segue he’d wished for, but it’s the one he’s got. “You won’t have to worry about Madame Hagberg anymore, Kurt. You’re going somewhere.”
Kurt’s eyes light up. “Where?”
Burt feels guilt creep into his stomach, but he ignores it. “You’re going to a new keep. I’m sure you’ve heard--sometimes princesses are given their own castle, with--”
“With a dragon,” Kurt finishes. “But I am not a princess.”
“No, but you are the most precious person in this kingdom,” Burt says. “And you need to be protected in ways the guards cannot.”
“Is this about Mom?” Kurt asks, growing indignant. “I won’t die, Dad, please don’t send me away--”
“Kurt, you’ll love your new home, I promise,” Burt says. “You’ll have your own dragon to watch over you, to teach you all the centuries of knowledge he has. You’ll grow with the finest education and any luxury you desire. And no one will touch you, you hear me? You’ll be safe.”
Kurt has begun to cry. “But Daddy--”
“I’m sorry you’re sad,” Burt says. “But this is for the best. Kurt, I can’t give you the life you deserve here and now. It’s not unheard of for princes and princesses alike to be fostered--think of it that way. I’ll still come and visit you, and you’ll have the best tutor I can give you. You’ll need to pack your things, and you can request anything you wish--nothing will be denied you now. You leave by week’s end.”
Kurt stands, and his eyes are cold as he stares down at his father. “Fine.”
He whirls away. Burt can only watch him go in silence, for he knows his son and he knows that nothing will comfort him just yet. Kurt is a stubborn boy, willful and stunningly intelligent for his age, and so sure of himself. Not much sways him, least of all Burt--and Burt has felt the separation between them, the distance, growing wider since the death of Kurt’s mother. Burt loves his son fiercely still, but Kurt is a different creature than Burt. He likes finer things, clothes and balls and fairytales. Burt had hoped that last would have made this easier, but perhaps Burt overlooked the fact that when a princess--or a prince, in this case--is sent away, that’s not the happy part of the story.
He hopes Kurt realizes that this is all for the hope of a happy ending.