I'm rather unsure about what this actually is, category- and genre-wise. I quite like it myself, but I'd really love to hear other people's opinion about it. It's meant to be tragic, romantic and cute-ish, and if anyone wants to read anything perverted into it, go ahead, just don't bother me with it. Also, any possible repetiveness was intentional.

The Farmer and his Prince

Once upon a time, there was a young farmer. He lived in a small cottage just outside of town with only his chickens and a sheepdog for company; all the members of his family had died or deserted him a long time ago. And, although this farmer was always kind towards strangers, always hospitable towards travellers looking for shelter from the storm, he never seemed to be in the mood for small talk, or for making new friends. In fact, he hadn't any friends at all. The villagers all assumed he just liked to be alone, liked the peace and quiet, but they were wrong. He wasn't a loner; he was merely lonely.

In the spring- and summertime, when all the other men his age went a-courting, the young farmer would stay home and plough his fields. All alone, he didn't even have a stable boy. This all had to do with the one (and only) reason why he never feasted around the fires on Midsummer's Eve but awkwardly declined to dance with the countless young ladies, seeking his attention. The simply fact that, in stead of dancing with those young ladies, he would have preferred to dance with a young man.

There wasn't a particular dancing partner he had in mind; none of the men in his village were to his liking, or were particular good dancers, for that matter. But sometimes, when he was absolutely sure nobody was watching, he'd imagine the perfect dancer. He'd dance all around his cottage with this prince he'd thought up, whose footwork was divine.

But he knew this imaginary companion was doomed to stay just that: a fantasy. Once, after he'd stopped twirling, had stopped his feet from moving, he'd thought he really saw his Prince's eyes, staring into his. Two seconds later, he had been heartbroken when he'd realised: it was just his own reflection, looking back at him from the mirror. From that moment on, he'd known; he would only ever be allowed to dance with girls, or with himself, in real life.

The young farmer proceeded to dance with his dreams, he danced away the nights, the weeks, season after season, until one day, you'll have guessed, his Prince did come to call. It wasn't an actual prince, of course, what business would a real prince have in a town as backwards as this? No, it was a gypsy boy, no more than 19 winters old, with warm brown eyes and a shadow of a beard set along his jaw.

He came on Midsummer's Eve, on a wagon full of musicians, heralding the upcoming festivities. The gipsies' cheerful music lured the villagers out of their homes and soon, children were bobbing for apples, and the air was filled with the smell of wild boars roasting above great fires and housewives chattering away.

Our farmer just looked on from behind his window, not feeling very festive at all.

Suddenly, everyone became quite quiet and still: the Prince had started dancing. An old gypsy woman sang, a song older than mankind, in a language none of the villagers could understand, but they felt it. And saw it in the Prince's movements; he danced like there was no tomorrow, and all stood mesmerized.

In his cottage, the young farmer gasped for breath: out there, jumping around the fire, was the man he'd danced with in his imagination! He had to go out there, he could stay indoors no longer, it was simply impossible!

He opened the porch, not even noticing the sheepdog jumping at his feet, and slowly, yet deliberately made his way towards the fest. He was the only one, apart from the Prince, still standing. The others were all seated in a circle around the fire, but he – a plain peasant, nothing special really – stood out. And the Prince noticed him! His heart skipped a beat when, smiling, laughing, the Prince extended his hand and led him out of the circle. The young farmer's feet reacted instantly, he couldn've have objected even if he'd wanted to.

And so they danced. For a few moments, the whole world seemed to melt away and it was just them, the Farmer and the Prince. Then others joined in and before long, everybody, whether villager or visitor, man, woman or child, was twirling, singing and crying out with mirth!

After an eternity, the Prince and the farmer broke from the crowd. They lay down in the grass, watching the stars move overhead.

The Prince asked of his new friend, Why stay here, where you're forced to dance in line, at set occasions, with partners others pick for you? Come with me, with us, (he motioned at the gipsies) and you'll be able to dance whenever you want, with whoever you want, for as long as you want!

The other man had to concur, This town's rigid tradition has never agreed with me.

So on the morrow, after they had watched the sun rise, the young farmer sold his chickens and his land, and left. On a wagon full of musicians, leaving his old life and ways behind him and greeting a new dawn, where he would dance whenever he wanted, exactly as long as he wanted, with the only person he wanted; his gypsy Prince, whose footwork would make any god jealous.

The End