Many thanks to my beta reader, and best friend, Charity Flint, for her kind words, counsel, one super suggestion, and grammar fixes.
The Novice Scribe
The king swept into the dimly lit chamber, his boots clacking on the stone floor loudly. He stood tall in his leather armor, as his cloak fluttered in his wake. The tone in the room was somber. Numerous cloaked figures stood around the room, each holding quill and tome, summoned by their king for this meeting.
Some of them lifted their heads to gaze upon the king as he entered, noting his stern, but calm countenance. Others kept their heads bowed, either out of reverence, or sadness, or perhaps fear, maybe even shame. Their tension was palpable, yet none feared for their safety. They knew their beloved king would never smite them. Not ever. They had been called to act, brought together, united in a common goal, even though most had never been summoned before their king.
The king looked over the group assembled before him, noting many downcast eyes. Some were visibly shaken, others tearful, still more resigned to what fate had set at their feet. Their realm had suffered a serious blow. Forces beyond the Goblin city, and outside the king's control, had left their devastating mark upon his kingdom. And although the walls still stood, and the sun did still shine high in his kingdom, a crippling ennui had settled in after the shock of a devastating loss. True, his realm's course had been set upon the stars many decades ago, and still ran true regardless of these outside forces. However, he feared that many of his most trusted and experienced scribes might have lost their inspiration. And he knew that without inspiration and hope, his kingdom was in great peril. Therefore, he summoned all of his scribes, experienced and neophyte, before him this day.
"My trusted scribes," the king began, "All of our hearts are heavy this day. The loss of a man so great, though he was a mortal, was bound to touch each of us profoundly. So many have expressed to me that the grief hinders the creative flow. Some have taken leave of us to mourn in private. And so I need to call more of you into action. Some of you have not written for me in many years. Some have written nothing at all. I have brought you all here to set this task before you, to challenge you to take up the reins and weave new stories for our realm."
The scribes listened reverently, but said nothing in return. Some looked to others in the group, seeking assurance, guidance, assistance, or perhaps just sympathy.
"I understand the task set before you is not an easy one," the king continued, "That your hearts are heavy with grief, and that you feel perhaps you'll never be able to lift quill to parchment again, but I ask that you reflect on your talents, and inspirations, and what drives you, and bring forth new works. Without you, our realm will grow dimmer and dimmer, until we cease to exist entirely."
The scribes as a unit shifted uncomfortably, some had finally raised their heads to look upon their king, but none said a word. The king, sensing their collective reluctance, continued.
"The seed of our existence was planted long ago. Our realm has thrived under the care of our scribes and love of our subjects. These are what can and will continue to grow and flourish as long as we keep the faith, and honor our creators. Our creators would not want you to cease your efforts simply because they have left their mortal coil. They have given you a gift. Take it, nourish it, and bring forth new stories to share with your fellow Labyrinth dwellers." He implored, trying to sway them with his words and rouse them from their melancholy. "For I am alive and well, and I do intend to stay that way… forever!" he bellowed, and flashed his trademark Goblin King smirk, which brought a few titters from the group, bringing much needed levity to the moment. Most were standing a little taller now, he noted. Perhaps his message had reached them, or at least some of them.
The Goblin King then turned to his most experienced scribes, standing front and center. These were his most trusted and prolific authors, those who had pushed past the overwhelming sorrow, and recently crafted some touching and comic pieces that had delighted him immensely.
"Jetredgirl, HachimanKitsune, CeleciaLeigh, Bloodsong, Spartiechic" He addressed each as he called their names, "you have all made me proud! You have proven you are able to push through the incredible sorrow you are feeling. Like a rock tossed into a pond makes ripples that spread across the water, your talent spreads across our realm, and serves as an inspiration to others. Let the muse take you at your will. I do so look forward to more of your works." He then turned and faced the others.
"Think of the names of mortals like Aristotle, or Plato, Shakespeare and Milton. Or even J.K Rowling, Sir Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman. Why do you know their names? They are master scribes, and their creations are eternal because their scribes gave them immortality with their words. You can do the same for me!" He told the group standing before him.
"I need you. I need all of you. Search your inner selves, seek out your own vision. If you have never even so much as penned a word, do not be discouraged. You needn't write a novel. Just start out small, and build on that. Even a one shot will help. The more that is written, the more ripples that spread across our realm. I need more ripples." He teased, earning a chuckle or two from the group. "I have faith in you. In all of you." He finished. He looked out over the group once more, gratified to see more faces with what he hoped was a bit of determination in their eyes, and turned to leave.
As he walked toward the door, the king noticed one scribe standing alone, head bowed, pacing to and fro while muttering quietly. As all the others appeared to be talking animatedly with each other, ideas already flowing, it concerned him that this lone scribe appeared troubled instead of motivated by his speech.
Slowly he made his way to where she stood. The scribe, apparently lost in her own thoughts, didn't notice his approach, and nearly walked into the king as she paced.
"Your Majesty!" She gasped, "Forgive me, I did not see you there. Please don't bog me." She pleaded. He placed his gloved hand under her chin, startling her, and causing her to flinch at the unexpected contact.
The king looked down at the scribe in confusion. "Have I alarmed you, then? The way you jumped just now, makes me wonder what awful thing you've done to be so afraid of your king." He teased. The poor scribe paled, and stuttered incoherently.
"Wha-, no, no, Your Majesty, I mean, yes Your Majesty, of course, you are frightening-" she halted in mid-sentence, and looked away, seeming confused. "Wait, no that's not right either." She huffed, impatient with her own inability to string words together, and gazed up at the king, who by now, was looking down upon her with amusement.
"You seem troubled, little one. What distresses you so?" he asked.
"I'm quite at ease, Your Majesty. Quite." She assured him, nodding her head enthusiastically, and when his only response was to continue peering down at her, she added "Truly. I'm …fine."
"Hmmm" he responded, "I don't think so. You shouldn't lie to your king." He warned her, and watched as her face paled.
"Well, I, er, that is, I will be fine, it's just…" she trailed off, "Or maybe I won't. I'm very confused. I've been in your realm for quite some time now, and you've never once spoken to me before today. And I've never been in service to you before now, so I'm just puzzled as to why you would charge me with such an important task. I'm not at all certain I'm up to this challenge. I've never even written anything before." She confessed.
"Ah, but I can see the ability in you. You have the talent, and the skills. And I need new scribes to fill the void. You can do this, you know." The king assured her, "After all, do you not love me?" He asked.
"Of course I do, Your Majesty! You are my king." She said reverently, "I gladly take up this challenge. It is only that I fear disappointing you. I don't even know where to begin." She confided.
"Ah, well, that is the beauty of this realm. Virtually any place is a good place to start. There are many denizens in the Underground. Of course, I would make a terrific subject" the king preened.
"That you would." The young scribe readily agreed. He was, after all, handsome, magical, musical, more than a bit of a rogue, and an incurable flirt to boot. "But I don't think another J/S story this time. That's an awfully big mountain to tackle." She observed. The king nodded his agreement. His and Sarah's story was as vast and complex as the universe itself, and perhaps would never be known in its entirety.
"Well, we need to embrace our subjects; our loyal readers, and writers, whose thirst for new material is great. You need to write something from your heart," he told her and winked. "Something that our loyal subjects could feel they might be a part of," he suggested.
The scribe shook herself. 'Did the king just wink at me?' she wondered.
"And of course, you know I'm always partial to a story with a liberal dusting of smut," he added with a wolfish grin, which caused the scribe's breath to catch in her throat.
"Uh, I don't think I can do that, Majesty. I haven't even started…." The scribe began, but the king leaned in close, effectively cutting off her protest. He caressed her cheek softly with a gloved hand, and whispered to her.
"Oh Dear One, I think you could," he purred, and the poor scribe felt her heart rate shoot skyward. "In fact", he continued, running his thumb over her lower lip, "I believe I can feel the creative juices flowing right now." He chuckled as an embarrassed blush rose in her cheeks. 'Oh, he's wicked,' she thought, 'It's not fair for one Fae king to have that much sex appeal!'
"Now," he continued, "I think you'll find that if you put yourself into our readers' shoes that you'll have an idea of where to start," he declared with a smirk. "Perhaps with yourself, in fact," he added cryptically, and stepped back allowing her to breathe more freely.
"Will you do this for me? For your King?" he asked her, and she gulped thickly, the weight of his request coming to rest firmly on her shoulders.
"Of course, my king. I will do this for you," she promised. With those words, the king's face split into a not entirely pleasant grin. It was the kind of grin that warned the young scribe that the king would be content to take a chunk out of her hide if she did not, in fact, deliver a story to his liking.
"Excellent!" he cried, clearly delighted with his efforts, and swept out of the room.
The Novice Scribe clutched her book and quill tightly to her chest. As she looked around, she could see some of the others chattering amiably with each other, while others were already scribbling in their books. No one had seemed to notice her exchange with the king, or if they had, none seemed to care.
'Start with yourself, he said. What does that mean?' she thought. 'Something our readers might feel a part of…' she mused. And suddenly, she had an idea. It might be an awful idea, but there it was. And with that, the Novice Scribe took herself off to write her story for the pleasure of the Goblin King.
_
A/N – I took my inspiration from the lyrics of Tonight (Bowie/Pop), which, in light of recent events, I'm interpreting in a completely different way than I did 30 years ago, and a far cry from the song's original meaning.
We will all be alright. We need to pause and reflect. I will continue to love Bowie, the artist, till the end of my days. And the stars do look different today, because I'm convinced he's up there. Tonight.
Everything Will Be Alright Tonight
Everything Will Be Alright Tonight
No One Moves
No One Talks
No One Thinks
No One Walks Tonight
I am Gonna Love You Till The End
I Will Love You Till I Reach The End
I Will Love You Till I Die
I Will See You In The Sky
Tonight