Oops! A reader asked if there was a connection between Trista the Harp and Tristen and Tristis the Elves. The answer is no (it hadn't even occurred to me . . . I guess I just like Trist- names). Sorry for any confusion.
Thanks to all reviewers and KaitlynFall for betaing!
Enjoy!
Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale
Alicia Blade
Chapter 14: The Princess Who Couldn't Laugh
Soon afterwards he came to a city where a king ruled who had
a daughter who was so serious that no one could make her laugh.
from The Golden Goose
Darien's stomach began to churn.
The chopping block? They were being taken to the chopping block?
He saw the dark-eyed princess sigh and massage her brow with her fingertips, looking mortified.
As the guards prodded him, Melvin, and Zoicite back out of the oak tree and down the winding steps, Darien could hear barely controlled snickering all around them.
His feet were made of lead as he was marched to his death. It was not long before he spotted the looming "chopping block" at the edge of the village—little more than a platform with three wooden blocks position equally apart, each with an axe jutting from its crown.
Darien searched his mind for an escape plan, some way to convince the king that he was making a huge mistake, that he needed them in order to save his daughters—but his brain, too, felt like it was made of lead. All he could think of was how ridiculous this turn of events had become.
He was to be beheaded.
By elves.
How could his safe, secure, rational life have led him to this fate?
He realized that Melvin was murmuring something, and pulled his thoughts of disbelief back to reality, only to realize that Melvin wasn't talking to him, but rather mumbling more of those strange incantations to himself. His eyes were screwed up tight in concentration, and Darien wasn't sure if the sight filled him with hope or irritation.
Here they were, about to die, and Melvin was practicing magic tricks?
The guards shoved them up onto the platform and forced them to kneel before the blocks. Darien stared down at the axe, filled with dread.
"Your Majesty," said Zoicite. Looking up, Darien saw that the king, along with his daughter, had come with the crowd. "I must again plead for your mercy and understanding. Our kingdoms have long enjoyed peace at our boundaries. And we are here now on an extremely important quest, one that involves everyone in the land. Lord Grimm himself has sanctioned this quest and urged us to defeat the evil—"
"Lord Grimm?" the king sneered. "The storyteller who cursed Andrew, one of my own subjects, with the power of Guardianship? Which ultimately led to his downfall and death?"
"But . . . but Andrew was a traitor!" said Zoicite. "He betrayed us to Queen Beryl. He—"
"That is enough. I will no longer listen to the lies that come from your filthy human mouths."
"Think of your daughter!" said Darien. "You've already lost one to the sorcerer. Are you willing to lose another?"
"Father, please," said the princess, laying a hand on the king's arm. "Enough of this charade. Don't you think there are more important matters—"
"Silence! You shall show respect for your father and king when before his subjects."
She rolled her dark eyes up to the sky. "Because you command respect so well, I suppose?"
The king either did not hear her, or refused to respond. "My daughters have told me of their dreams," he said to the captives, "and shown me their tattered shoes. And you are right—my youngest daughter disappeared two nights hence." Though there was a flicker of pain in his eyes, it was quickly swallowed by contempt. "But what can you do about it?"
Zoicite straightened his shoulders. "Our companion, the Guardian of Happy Endings, hid in the princesses' rooms while they slept and was able to follow them to the sorcerer's lair. We would like to keep watch over your daughter, that we may do the same, and rescue—"
"What?" the king bellowed. "You want me to allow three men into the private quarters of my virgin daughter while she sleeps? With no supervision? Why—you sneaky, predatory, lying thieves! Off with their heads!"
"Oh, for Grimm's sake," murmured the princess.
"Tristis, hush," said her father, glowering at her. "You're going to ruin this moment for me."
"Pity."
The king cleared his throat, and his solemn frown was the last sight Darien saw before his head was grasped by powerful hands and forced down to the block, his cheek crushed against the smooth wood. Far too smooth—how many cheeks had lain here before?
He thought he might be sick.
And all the while, Melvin's chanting continued, quick and uneven and nervous, but never halting. Darien gritted his teeth and stared at his best friend of two years, wondering what ludicrous optimism inspired this chanting at such a time.
He heard the axe being ripped from the block, and saw another executioner lift Melvin's beside him.
Darien squeezed his eyes shut, but then quickly opened them again. Even if they met only a chanting Melvin and a group of giddy-looking elves, this was the last chance they would ever have to be open. He tried to drink in the trees, the sky, the crisp, cool wind that sifted through his hair.
He thought of his mom and his stepdad. They would never know what had become of him.
He thought of Serena. His muscles tensed and he began to struggle against his captors—she needed him!—but the ties around his wrists were too strong and the hands holding his head tight against the block would not relinquish their grip.
Hot tears began to seep from his eyes, dripping over the bridge of his nose and down to the wood.
Serena . . .
He could feel the crowd growing restless and knew that his executioner had raised the axe overhead. Melvin's chanting grew loud and tense and strained, but no one paid him any attention.
Darien held his breath and finally shut his eyes.
THUNK.
The crowd gasped.
Darien stiffened and then shuddered, sure he was dead. But also amazed at how quick it had been. Virtually painless.
A murmur began to rise up from the crowd, and Darien was stunned that he could still hear. He realized Melvin's chanting had stopped.
A sickening sensation filled him. Had they killed Melvin first?
His eyes flew open.
But no—Melvin was all in one piece. His executioner was still holding the axe, but it was down at his side as if he'd forgotten all about it. They were both staring at . . .
Darien shifted his gaze to see another axe planted into the wooden floorboards of the platform, only inches from his knee.
The hands that had been holding his head had released him, and so Darien slowly sat up and turned to see, not an elf guard standing behind him, but a pig. A small, fat pig.
It snorted at Darien, then scooted around the platform, trying to look at itself.
The crowd burst into laughter.
It was the most raucous, delighted, hearty laughter that Darien had ever heard. Looking out over the crowd, he saw elves falling to the ground and rolling around with glee, kicking their short legs in the air. Elves hunched over, gripping their stomachs. Elves snorting and shaking their rear ends in imitation of the pig. Even the king was joining the fun, smacking the closest elf on the shoulder over and over again while his great rolling laughter billowed up, louder than any other elf's in the village.
The pig did not seem distraught by the commotion as it scurried from chopping block to chopping block, twitching its snout and wagging its curly tail at the crowd.
The princess alone did not share in the glee, just stared with mute surprise at the pig as it paraded itself around the platform.
Darien turned to Melvin, who was gaping at the pig with flushed cheeks and an open mouth—partly stunned, partly proud. The guard behind him was rolling around and crying from laughter.
Looking over at Zoicite, Darien saw a similar spectacle with the other guard, and the prince was using the respite to work his binds against the blade of the axe. It took only a minute for the twine to snap, then Zoicite set to freeing Darien.
None of the elves paid them any heed, though the princess watched with blank eyes.
Wiping tears from his cheeks, the king looked up at them with a glowing smile. "That was the best entertainment we've had in ages!"
Darien found he could breathe again as the twine fell from his wrists. He rubbed at the sore flesh, staring down with mute shock at the crowd of elves—all watching them with goofy grins.
"Is it just me," continued the king, "or does anyone else have a craving for pork all the sudden?"
The response was a unified, gut-bursting laughter all around him.
Darien risked a glance at Zoicite, but the prince was concentrating too hard on sawing through Melvin's binds with the axe blade.
The king's face grew suddenly serious again. "I do not know that a visitor to our city has ever made me laugh so hard, and for that, I commend you," he said. "Too bad you've now trespassed on our land and spied on our ladies and assaulted one of my soldiers. We were just playing before, but now you're really going to have to die."
Zoicite freed Melvin and wasted no time in holding the axe out defensively before him. Spurred to action, Darien reached down and grabbed the axe that had once been targeted at his own neck.
All giddiness in the crowd vanished in a blink, and every last elf drew a weapon and aimed it up toward the prisoners on the platform. The captives found themselves facing a wall of mismatched weaponry—everything from swords to slingshots.
Princess Tristis slumped onto a tree stump, cupping her exasperated face with both hands.
"Wait," said the king, holding up a hand. "I like you young men. You've got spunk. Perhaps we can reach a compromise."
Darien tightened his grip on the axe handle.
"Tell me, gentlemen, what do you think of my kingdom?" The king gestured around the lush town square. "Is it not splendid?"
"Breathtaking," Zoicite said, sans emotion.
"And—what do you think of my daughter, the lovely Princess Tristis?" The king turned his sparkling eyes on the princess; she narrowed her eyes back at him. "She is beautiful, is she not?"
Here, Zoicite had no tactful comment to make. The king's words seemed to hold a trap within them.
"You're a lucky man," Darien ventured.
"Indeed, I am." The king's gaze fell on Melvin. "You, Sorcerer, you do not speak much."
Melvin blinked down at him through his spectacles, rubbing mindlessly where the rope had cut into his wrists. "I'm trying to remember how to turn the pig back into an elf."
The king and all his subjects chortled. The pig snuffled on the edge of the platform, trying to find a way down.
"Tell me, Sorcerer, what do you think of my kingdom?"
"Um. Honestly, I was a little preoccupied to pay it much attention." He pushed his glasses up on his nose.
"Perfectly all right! But now, look around—a lovely city, a beautiful princess. . . . But alas, my boundless goodwill has been tainted now for some sixteen years." The king heaved a deep, melodramatic sigh.
Princess Tristis groaned. "Oh, please."
"For you see," said the king, ignoring his daughter, "I am plagued with the worst tragedy that can ever befall an elf king. All the beauty and all the joy of my subjects cannot begin to dislodge the eternal sorrow in my heart from this one terrible misfortune. My own daughter!" The king wailed, clasping a hand to his heart. "She is so sad!"
"Father, you're making a fool of yourself."
"Do I lie?"
Tristis tightened her lips and looked away.
"Look at her. Such astounding beauty. Such perfect skin. Such fair hair. But those eyes . . . a spark of light has never flashed in those black orbs. And those lips, as sweet and cherry pink as they are, have never once curled into a grin. Would you believe, she has never laughed? Not once in her life."
The men watched as Tristis drew down into herself, trying to shrink into the tree stump.
"Even as a baby—a baby! Babes should giggle and coo, is it not so? Is it not natural? But no, not my miserable child. From the moment she arrived in the world, she has been as silent and cold as a well. It breaks a father's heart."
A shimmering tear appeared in Tristis's dark eye, but it was blinked away and replaced with only shadow.
"I have been blessed, of course, with Tristen, my second daughter. She is cheerful and merry, as all good elves are, and has brought me much delight in my old age. But nevertheless, it has become my lifelong dream to one day see my eldest daughter smile. To hear a chiming laugh escape her lips. It is not so much to ask, is it?" He turned to Tristis, as if pleading, but she would not look at him.
"Well," said the king. "That is why I propose this little bargain to you. A little game for us to play. And in return for playing this game, I promise not to have you killed.
"You see, I declared three years ago, when my daughter was at the ripe marrying age of thirteen, that any man—whether he be elf, human, or even dwarf," this last word was said with a sneer, "who had the power to make my daughter laugh would be given her hand in marriage and be crowned king." He grinned smugly at his visitors. "What do you think? It sounds fair, does it not? You regain your freedom and win a lovely bride, all for the simple task of telling a few jokes."
No one was quick to respond.
"Well? Don't you agree that it is a fair solution?"
Melvin cleared his throat. "H-has she agreed to this . . . declaration?"
The king looked at him. He had until this point kept his gaze mostly trained on Darien, and looked surprised that Melvin had spoken at all.
"Why, she wants what every young girl wants. Happiness."
"Father," said Tristis, sitting tall once more and clasping her hands in her lap, "these men are not here to play your ridiculous games. They are here to help Tristen. You cannot waste their time with your inane—"
"That is enough." Anger seemed to flash in the king's eyes, but it quickly faded into a soft smile as he pet his daughter's hair. "Dear Tristis, someday you will be queen. Do you think our people want a queen filled with such misery?"
"I will be kind and just," she said through gritted teeth.
"Well, the elves would rather have a queen who laughs."
"But father—"
"So, who will it be?" the king bellowed, effectively silencing the princess.
When none of the men spoke, the king wiggled his eyebrows. "What's the matter? Elf got your tongue?" He burst into giggles, and was met with a roar of delight from all the other elves. Except for Tristis, who sighed and slumped over her knees.
The king had to bang his palm on his thigh a few times to regain control of himself. "All right—how about you, m'boy?" He pointed at Darien. "Why don't you give it a shot?"
Darien stared slack-jawed at the king. Marrying this sad princess and becoming king of the elves seemed like a horrible prize. Besides, he didn't know very many jokes. "And if we fail?"
"Oh, you will be beheaded, but that's hardly a worse fate than where you already stand."
Darien bristled. "But you said you wouldn't kill us if we agreed to play your game."
"Oh—oh, darn, I did say that, didn't I?" The king scratched at the back of his neck. "All right, fine, we won't kill you. We'll just . . . throw you in jail. How does that sound?"
Blood rushed to Darien's face.
"Don't look so upset," said the king. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Just try your best."
Darien looked between the king and the princess. The axe had grown heavy in his hands, and the elves surrounding them had not lowered their weapons through all of the king's monologue. But Darien could not be imprisoned, not when Serena was in danger.
He also had no desire to marry the princess, but suspected that saying so would greatly displease the king.
At least he could buy them some time. Maybe Melvin could use it to come up with another spell. Or maybe Zoicite would brainstorm a great escape plan.
He glanced at the prince, who gave him a terse nod.
"Fine, I'll try," he muttered, propping the axe blade onto the wood and leaning against it. "Knock, knock."
The king stared. The princess stared.
After an uncomfortable moment, Melvin piped up, "Who's there?"
Darien shook his head and waved the question away. "Never mind. Um . . . how about . . . why did Santa's little helper go to see a shrink?" A quick pause. "Because he had low elf-esteem."
He was met with silence, and then the king turned to the nearest elf and whispered, "What's Santa?"
The elf shrugged and asked, "What's a shrink?"
Darien groaned and shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was bad."
The king grunted. "You have two more tries."
"What? You didn't say anything about only getting three tries."
"Didn't I? Well—you do. Three tries. And after that, death. Oops, I mean, prison."
Darien pulled a hand harshly through his hair. His mind was drawing a blank. Who laughed at dumb jokes, anyway?
"What is an elf's favorite kind of cookie?" he said after an agonizing moment.
The king rubbed his chin in deep thought, then shrugged. "I give up."
"Shortbread."
An uncomfortable, sickening silence, and then—
"Ha! Shortbread!" said the king, slapping the nearest elf hard on the back. Similar guffaws spread throughout the crowd.
Darien let out a breath of relief, only to realize that Princess Tristis was gazing up at him with confused, sympathetic eyes.
"Because you're short," Darien said over the commotion. "Compared to humans."
"I understood it," she said. "But it was not funny. I am sorry . . . I will try harder this time."
Darien lowered his gaze, furrowing his brow. He searched the deepest, dustiest recesses of his imagination, before snapping his fingers. "Okay, okay, this is a good one."
"This is your last one," said the king, though his eyes twinkled.
Maybe—just maybe—if Darien could make him laugh hard enough, it wouldn't matter whether or not Tristis laughed too. Maybe entertaining the king would be enough.
He crossed his fingers.
"When is a piece of wood like a king?"
The king shook his head. "When?"
"When it's a ruler."
Again, after a moment of digestion, the audience burst into laughter.
Darien watched Tristis very closely. Her reaction was slower than those around her, but she did finally suck in a quick breath, force her mouth to turn upward, and laugh.
And then gagged on the sound.
She grimaced and pounded on her sternum as she cleared her throat of the traitorous chuckle. Her pale face was tinged with pink, but it was not a cheerful blush. Able to breathe again, she raised worried eyes to Darien.
The king was watching his daughter with a mixture of disappointment and contempt. He shook his head. "It is not enough," he said. "He has failed in his task. Tristis still does not laugh."
The princess jumped to her feet. "This is absurd. You cannot confine him over such a ridiculous game. Father, don't you see that he has more important things to be concerned with right now, things that concern all of us? And besides, why should these men be punished for what is my inadequacy?"
The king listened, but when his daughter had finished speaking, he only shook his head. "We made a bargain."
"It was a foolish bargain, and you know they had no real choice in it!"
"Enough." Face growing red, the king looked up at Darien, who felt his heart shrink beneath his glare. "Take them to the jail cell."
Darien set his jaw and pulled the axe from the stump.
"Now I understand why the dwarfs don't care for them," Zoicite muttered beneath his breath.
The crowd inched toward the platform. It was evident from the way they held their weapons that they were not used to using them in real battle, and they all eyed the axes with trepidation.
"Oh, I remember!" Melvin said, snapping his fingers and pointing at the pig. "Come here, and I'll turn you back."
"Melvin, please pay attention," Darien hissed.
Still in his fighting stance, Zoicite's gaze slid to the piglet at the edge of the platform. "No, turn him back," he said.
"As you are small, I make you big . . ."
Grasping the axe in one hand, Zoicite stooped and swept the small pig up under its belly with his free hand.
". . . Become a man, you little pig."
Zoicite hurled the squealing pig toward the crowd. A puff of white smoke engulfed it, and the squealing became a startled cry as the pig turned into a human-sized male flying through the air.
He crashed into the elves' front line and, in one fell swoop, they all tumbled to the ground. Only the king and princess were left standing, astonished.
Melvin cursed. "That was a human spell! How do I make an elf?"
"Forget it," cried Darien, grabbing Melvin's elbow and dragging him off the platform and into the forest.
Hmm, probably the least cliff-hangerish ending yet, huh? I'll have to post again soon. ^_^
Please review.