*****reposted as there's more to come*******
Twice upon a time--once when it actually occurred, twice as I'm telling it to you know--there thrived a kingdom second to none. Strong, wealthy, and ruled by a pair seemingly blessed by the gods; this kingdom was the envy of all others, especially its capital City, the Jewel of the World. Merchants from far and wide sailed into the City's famous ports on exotic ships with foreign goods, knights from all over the world came to test their might in famous tournaments, and hopeful peasants seeking to make names for themselves arrived in droves. The City was all.
In the centre of this great city rose the palace, a mighty gleaming compound all a flutter with official business. There lived the King and Queen, the most sought after people in the world. Famous for their wisdom and compassion, their presence alone was reason enough for the influx of foreign dignitaries, prince's and great knights, but today was a special day and there was another reason. It was the Princess's birthday. Despite the dark rumours that surrounded her birth and the repulsion with which she was viewed, officials and royal persons could not ignore this day. It would be a grave insult to the awesome persona's that were her parents for one, and for another, no one would miss such an opportunity to ingratiate themselves in this splendid Court.
Like the other nervous people shuffling in the great line that led to the throne room, in which gifts were being received, Prince Al-Fayed waited, impatient. Among all the other brightly overdressed people in line he stood out; he stood tall where they stooped—from years of fawning, no doubt—and for his conservative dress. He wore short black boots, over which flowed long black cotton breeches, held in place by—you guessed it—a tight black belt with a diamond studded buckle. He wore a dark grey sleeveless top, exposing his dark brown muscled arms, criss-crossed with scars. Wrapped tightly around both arms were golden armbands upon which flowed a glowing script. His face, usually bare of emotion, now twisted with barely held-in rage.
“Qatar, why is it taking so long,” He hissed to his long time companion. “Do they not know who I am? Have the caller announce me once more.”
“My lord,” Qatar said with a long-suffering sigh, “We’ve had the caller announce us several times, I do not think doing so again will make a difference. The third son of a powerful Sheik is, it seems, not important enough to skip ahead.”
Al-Fayed turned to stare at his friend in surprise. “You jest surely.” Qatar merely stared back at him expressionless. “Even after I went so far as to change my robe for something more pleasing to their eyes? I don’t see any of these peacocks doing the same.” He said, indicating the garish group ahead of him.
“Yes my Lord, even after that. It seems they go by something called ‘equality’, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me Qatar. You know any other lord would have banished you for you insolence, long before now.”
“Of course my Lord.”
Al-Fayed sighed. Qatar was his friend, tutor, servant and bodyguard all in one; he couldn’t remember a time when Qatar hadn’t been there for him, nor could he count the number of times the man had saved his life, but sometimes he really did go to far. He looked over at his friend now, who was grooming his nails, and couldn’t help smiling. Qatar was a small bald man, sun-browned and possessed of a wiry strength. You wouldn’t believe him capable of defending himself let alone another, yet he could move at blindingly fast speeds when he wanted to and was perhaps the deadliest man Al-Fayed had ever come across.
“Well, you may as well entertain me as we wait.” He said, staring at king and queen who he could just barely see.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, indeed it is. What’s the story behind the princess anyway?” He asked presently, noting curiously the distance the royal pair seemed to hold for each other. They sat separately, neither glancing at the other, merely nodding or smiling at the fawning individual bowing before them.
“Ah, well by all accounts it’s a most fantastical story, but rather lengthy. Perhaps another time my lord?
“As it seems certain that we’ll be here to nightfall, that wont be a problem Qatar. Proceed.”
The little man looked to the ceiling, as if praying for deliverance. "Very well then my Lord, this is the tale as it is known.”
”One night, many years ago, the king had a…curious indiscretion. He was out in the stables, rubbing down his favourite horse—a mighty black stallion—, when he heard the most magical, most enchanting sound. It tinkled on the edge of his hearing and he immediately hungered for more. So, leaping upon his horse he thundered out into the night, hunting for the source. Beyond the rushing of the wind and beating of his horse’s hooves, he heard snatches—mere fragments of song—yet they drove him wild, spurring him deeper and deeper into the Old Forest from whence the sound came.
Of its own volition, the horse slowed, coming to a stop in an unusually precise, circular clearing. The King thought nothing of it, or the strange symbols wiggling through the dirt, seemingly possessed with life; his attention was wholly on the woman in the centre of the clearing. Hair, like liquid night, flowed down her milky cream skin, highlighting her intense blue eyes. Moist, lightly shining red lips parted and from them issued the most wonderful sound, lighting the king’s heart, ensnaring him in its tendrils.
The king couldn’t see beneath the veil of magic, couldn’t know that what he was staring at was the most vile creature alive; a misshapen she-troll sorceress. Glowing symbols that hurt to look upon writhed over her squat, ugly features. Instead of the flowing tresses the bewitched king saw, there was a stark bald head. At least, that is what the people like to believe. In truth, the queen is barren. They hungered for a child, a fulfillment for their love, and an heir for the kingdom. No magician, sorcerer, priest or priestess could help, but the king knew that there existed powers—ancient before the coming of man—that could help.” Qatar’s voice lowered and rose dramatically. Ever the storyteller, he paused.
Al-Fayed resisted the urge to smile. “So what did he do next?”
“Ah,” Qatar’s eyes crinkled with delight, he was enjoying this. “He sought out the Elves. I see you’re surprised; they left this world long ago, did they not? Yet a rumour persisted, of an elven presence, and so he sought it out venturing alone into the Old Forest. What happened next, is anyone’s guess,” he said indifferent, looking around him in pretend interest.
“Come now Qatar, don’t tease. You know more then your saying.”
“Truly my lord, I know nothing else,” he said, suddenly finding something terribly interesting in his nails. “And you know, I don’t think my skills are being appreciated enough here.”
“ok, ok already. I bow to your infinite knowledge and skill in presenting a tale. Now finish it off before I behead you,” Al-Fayed replied, rolling his eyes. “Happy now?”
“Immeasurably”
“The rumours were true! An elven sorceress truly did exist in the forest, but all was not as it seemed … she was a vision of beauty, demanding of the king a promise the details of which are not known—even by me,” he said warningly, forestalling any protest. “I do know however, that she was hiding her true nature, and that she was part troll cast out as a freak, accepted by either troll or elf.
She sought solace within the deep, green heart of the Old Forest, away from people, from the hurt. She gained power though, and swore revenge. She learnt the tongue of beast and plant, gaining much lore and power. Traversing the paths of forest and spirit world, her knowledge trebled and her strength grew; she learnt the secret of the siren’s call, by convincing the creature that she was one of her children, she learnt the art of weatherwitching by lulling the Sentinel of Elements into complacency with the Songs of Charm. She learnt all through trickery. She became known to the spirits as The One Who Tricks—they weren’t a very imaginative bunch—and so from them too she was shunned.
Outcast, alone, none know why she even agreed to the king’s request. She has her reasons though of that I’m sure.” Qatar muttered darkly. “She wrought her spell, a powerful enchantment calling on gods not our own, using a power fey even to the Otherworld … she had no intention of curing the queen, instead she did something no main could resist: she stripped. Gazing at the naked perfection of her body—the illusion of it anyway—he lost control, as men are want to.
The next day the king awoke to a strange sound. He was near naked, unshaven and generally dirty. The sound came again and he looked: there, face screwed up in hunger, cried a baby girl. Something was wrong with the child though, and the king could see in her face, the truth of what he’d lain with. How much time had passed? He didn’t know, but guilt lingered.
The walk home was long and painful, his feet blistered and bled, his skin burned and darkened, and as he walked the word spread and the people gathered, whispering.
The King’s back! Praise the Gods, he’s alive!
The King’s back and what’s this…he has a child!
A Bastard.
A filthy, ugly little girl; she is to blame!
They whispered and the tale grew, but the people didn’t blame the king and in their hearts forgave him. Instead they turned on the child, thrusting the blame on her: for the queen’s distress at her husband’s nine-month long absence, for the turmoil of the kingdom and the bad harvests. She was to blame, and lo! The gods knew it too, for why else would they curse a child with such an affliction?
The King marched onward, back bowed under the sun’s heat, giving shade to the resting babe. He was oblivious to the whispers and the stares, being lost in his own private world of agony. He had betrayed his beloved Queen. Shamed her and himself and brought a child into this world. Before long he reached the city, walking down the many paved avenues and colourful markets, through the hustle and bustle of everyday commerce—which gradually ground to a halt as people turned to stare—and to the palace gates.
She waited there, splendid in a long black dress that flared out to the bottom, as she had everyday for the last nine months awaiting her husband’s return. Her advisers recommended she remarry, to stabilise the kingdom and set order to the world, as they knew it. She denied. Partly because some small part of her still hoped for her husbands return and partly because she was afraid, that no one would want her. She was no longer young and the last couple of months hadn’t been easy on her. Grey hairs now threaded her sparkling blonde ones her face was more worn with lines of grief and she had put on some weight. So she waited.
He saw all this and more in his first glance of her. He drank in every detail and as he did so, his back straightened out, his strides lengthened and a smile grew on his face. The mere sight of her had a healing effect. For the queen, there was an opposite effect, with each step she grew more enraged—both by the fact that he actually was alive and by the implications the baby in his arms held.
“Lilandra, my sweet—" He began, voice rugged with disuse, but was stopped mid-sentence by a mind-numbing slap. He rocked back, stunned.
“Where have you been, husband?” she asked in a cold voice. Her eyes flashed dangerously. She had spent the last months in agony, trying to find explanations, come up with reasonable ideas that could explain her husband’s absence, but she had never thought of this. Plainly she had been a naïve fool.
"I know not my love, but perhaps we can discuss this inside. This is a delicate matter.” He licked his dry, cracking lips, suddenly wavering on his feet. “And I require assistance.”
She bit her lip, wanting to hit and scream at him, but it was obvious that he was in need of medical attention. She stifled her anger, after all she was no common housewife to be seen screaming in the street, she was lady, so, plastering a false smile on her lips she said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
“Guards, take him to the guest suite.” She called, addressing the anxious soldiers hovering behind her. With that she turned, striding imperiously forward into the palace compound. The iron gates slammed shut behind her, in the faces of the curious populace.”
“And that my lord is the tale as it is known,” Qatar said. “It is still a point of contention between the Queen, who as yet has not conceived, and the King.”
The prince, who had by this time been engrossed in the tale, shook himself a little. “That was rather well informed for a common rumour.”
It was now well past noon, they were much closer to the throne and the sun was setting. Palace servants, dressed in blue and gold livery, were lighting torches all along the palace walkways and down the colonnaded throne room. Carvings, intricate and beautiful spiraled up and about these columns, telling the heroic fables of bygone times. A lush, exotic rug spread over the paved floor, depicting the major gods in all their glory. Ve, goddess of war and hunters, Wyr the lord of wisdom and knowledge, Ka the Healer god and dominating in the middle stood the Elder. This is a truly magnificent palace, thought Al-Fayed gazing in wonder at craftsmanship of the work, I hope to see more of it.
He turned his attention back to Qatar, eyebrows raised quizzically. “Now that is one fantastic story.”
“Ah,” Qatar intoned, eyes gleaming, “But that is not the common tale, rather it is one that I have spent a very long time compiling.”
Al-Fayed’s eyebrows rose,” really? And what makes you so interested in this story?”
“I make it my business to know my enemies.” The enigmatic little man replied. Before Al-Fayed could remark on that, a royal fanfare blew. His head swiveled to the source of the sound. At the foot of a spiraling staircase, in the corner of the room stood a pair of stone gargoyles. Living stone gargoyles. One of them stood, wings outstretched, with a golden horn at its lips. The other strode forward with a disturbing liquidity and at a closer look the prince could see in place of eyes it had two sparkling jewels. Lifted its gnarled head, it announced in a booming voice,
“Give way to her Highness, the Royal Princess.”
happy writing!
I will just be throwing in my thoughts as I read and then do a summary of what I thought at the end...
