The Goblin Queen Returns
A short story by MightyMightyMunson
"Now, quit yer squirmin'!" Mama scolded, struggling in vain to tame her son's wild thatch of black hair and make it stand straight up, nice and proper.
Being a mother of six little goblins was no easy task, especially when the youngest among them, a bouncy sprite if there ever was one, was refusing to hold still.
"If you don't stop wigglin' like a worm, we'll be late to the castle and then do you know what will happen?" she said crossly, giving up on his hair entirely and plopping a purple and yellow cap and bells hat down on the boy's lopsided head. It matched nicely with this most festive outfit, patches and all if she did say so herself. "Do you?"
Little Plognark gasped, "Bog time?" His older goblin siblings stopped pulling hair, chasing the family pet chicken and making faces at the mere mention of the most terrible of terrible things.
"That's right, Laddie and not just for you, but the whole lot of us, I'd wager," Mama warned as she motioned for her spawn to get a movin' on out the door and towards the castle beyond the goblin city. "His Majesty won't tolerate lateness, not on this night."
With that warning, the bouncy goblin brood and their frazzled matriarch hurried from their thatched roofed home in the center of the goblin city up towards the castle. It was late for her children to be up, but this was a special night, a right cause for celebration if there ever was one.
(For tonight, SHE comes back…)
The goblin city was unusually tidy and quiet this evening, for most of the city's inhabitants were already at the castle waiting for the arrival of their long-awaited guest. For a week, the whole city had worked tooth and nail, cleaning and polishing up everything to a spit shine, from the oldest hobgoblin to the littlest imp. Yes, everyone had done their part.
Plognark gasped when the family rounded a corner and the castle proper was visible. Bathed in the light of countless beeswax candles, it shone brightly in the darkness, a beautiful beacon of welcome. There were flags on the tower minarets, the symbol of their Sovereign Lord emblazoned on them and, even from this far away, sweet music could be heard from inside the castle.
The family hurried across the drawbridge, past the impressive goblin army guards in their polished armor and heroic medals and into the castle proper. Even more beautiful on the inside than the outside, the halls of the castle were decorated with twining boughs of Autumn leaves - golden aspen, red maple and orange oak. Wild Ivy ran ramshod as well, brilliantly hued, some of the leaves even a dark purple as they wrapped up and around every nook and cranny of the stone castle. This coupled with large pumpkins and gourds and the ever present flickering gold of candles made the place magical.
"Now, remember to mind your manners. No bitin', no scratchin' and NO nose pickin', you understand me?" Mama fussed over her children one more time, inspecting each little one to ensure they looked their very best.
"Yes, Mama," Plognark promised solemnly. This was his first visit to the castle on a night such as this. In all the year, there were only 8 days when all work ceased, only 8 nights when the entire Goblin Kingdom laid down their burdens and worries and celebrated widely along with their king.
With nary a misstep, the goblin family entered the great throne room. It was splendidly decorated, every color of Autumn present along with the literal fruits of their hard labors. There were wooden tables groaning with the weight of red, crunchy apples, crumbly meat and sweet pasties and barrels of ale and cider just waiting to be savored. Plognark, spying a particularly perfect apple, started for the table, but his mama caught him and gave him a hard flick on the ear, quieting him down.
The throne room was packed to the gills with goblins, each one silent as if waiting for something, or in this case, someone. A shower of glitter announced the King of the Goblins as he appeared with a thunderclap of sound and applause, standing proudly on the dais of his throne. Tall and pale, the Lord of the Land slowly surveyed the room, his angular features flickering hard and sharp in the candlelight. He was dressed in black a shade darker than midnight, the fabric twinkling softly like captured stars. Hair wild and eyes mismatched, he was fearsome to behold.
Amid the riotous applause of the goblins, the great clock began to strike, each pell deep and echoing. The king held up his hand, and the swarming crowd became utterly silent, hundreds of breaths held in anticipation of what would happen next, all eyes fixed on a large, shining mirror that directly faced the throne. Taller than any goblin, taller in fact than the great king himself, the frame was richly carved in wood, a scene of goblin chasing and catching woodland prey and it was gilt with gold leaf that reflected brightly in the candlelit room.
The clock struck thirteen and the surface of the mirror began to warp and ripple as if made of water. Plognark pointed excitedly when he saw a figure appear in the mirror, not the reflection of the King, but of a woman, a mortal if his eyes did not deceive him.
She was tall and slender, like the young willow trees where he and siblings played in the Summer and her hair was as dark as the night sky and long, falling past her waist. She was dressed strangely, wearing trousers of blue and a blouse of deep green. Plognark squinted and saw that her eyes were the same color and even behind the ripping glass they glowed and danced like fire.
"Oh, Mama," awed, he tried to whisper as quietly as he could, "who is that?"
"Hush, Child," his mama put a gnarled hand on his shoulder. Her black eyes were shining with proud, unshed tears, as she watched the King of the Goblins step down from the dais and walk slowly towards the mirror, his expression as entranced as her son, "that is our Queen."
There was an unspoken ritual when the King raised his hand and the woman beyond the mirror frame did the same. Hands in a holy palmers kiss, the two stared intently at each other for a moment, and then the fell king took the hand of his beautiful queen and pulled her through the mirror, glass parting like waves.
As she emerged into the throne room, her apparel changed, the blue hose and billowy blouse vanishing, replaced with a gown of spun, gossamer moonlight. Her hair was bound up with a crown of quicksilver and there was no longer a patina of mortality clinging to her. She was ethereal and powerful at the same time. Plognark looked up at Mama, not sure why there were tears on her cheeks and on the cheeks of many of the other goblins in the room. Surely this wasn't something sad.
His confusion grew when, with a silent cry of longing, the beautiful, dark haired woman stepped into the waiting arms of the king and was fiercely embraced. Plognark did gasp then despite his efforts to be well behaved. Kings, to the best of his knowledge, did not give hugs to anyone. Nor were goblin kings wont to kiss anyone, pretty or not, on the mouth like they were starving.
At the kiss, the entire goblin crowd burst into rambunctious cheers and applause, the sound like a joyous damn breaking, filling the throne room with celebration. The gentle music changed into something jaunty, a lilting waltz that had goblin toes a tappin' and the queen and king dancing.
Plognark finally got his apple and it was as juicy and crunchy as he'd imagined it to be and the hot cider was crisp and tart. Sitting on a large pumpkin he ate and drank, wide-eyed and happy as he watched a king he both loved and feared laugh and smile in response to something his queen said and she, grinning as wickedly as any goblin might, laughed in return and rested her head against the king's strong shoulder.
The night moved on, past the tolls of the great clock into the wee hours of the morning. On and on the king and queen danced, as if they were making up for lost time. The goblin-folk danced too, their moves wild and unconstrained.
"Mama, where did our Queen come from? Is she a mortal?" Plognark asked an hour or so later, a little sleepily as it was far past his bedtime.
"A mortal? No, I'd wager not quite, not after so much time Underground," she replied, sipping noisily on a cup of cider. "Nor is she quite Fae, like the King. She is…" his mama looked thoughtfully at the royal pair, "...who she is. She's the Goblin Queen and that's more than enough."
Plognark considered this, then asked quietly, "if she's our Queen, then why does she not live with the King?" That didn't make any sense. "Oughtn't she?"
His mother sighed, a low and sad exhalation and motioned for her son to come and sit on her round lap.
"She is bound to her world, Lovey, like the King is bound to ours. Neither can fully live with the other, which is a cryin' shame, that it is," she motioned out to the dark windows to the starry night sky beyond, "when the sun and moon and stars are just right, the veil becomes thin and they can cross and be together for the space of a night and a day."
She sadly wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and found solace by taking an enormous bite of a sweet, pumpkin pasty before she softly continued, "breaks my old heart, thinkin' about them only having 8 whole days in the whole bloomin' year. Truth be told, I don't know how the poor dears manage."
"Oh," Plognark said soberly, holding what was left of his munched upon apple in both hands, eyes fixed on the happy monarchs as they laughed and spun and smiled. In the few times he'd seen the King, he'd never seen him laugh or smile. Not once.
"Oh," he repeated softly, hiccupping back a ragged sob as he thought about not being able to be with his family, save for 8 days. A year was a very, very long time, even for a king or queen.
It wasn't fair.
The sob became a sniffle and then, much to Mama's embarrassment and horror, it became a keening wail. There are few things in the Underground louder than a wailing goblin and nothing half as snotty.
"Shush now!" she tsk'd worriedly, offering the sobbing goblin child her half-eaten pasty, trying to tempt him with something…anything to get him to quiet up, "you'll get us in trouble, that you will!"
But it was no use and her admonishments only made the wailing worse, loud enough that goblins nearby stopped up their ears with whatever was available, be that fingers, pasties or apple cores.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Looking up through a blurry wall of tears, little Plognark saw to his dismay that both the Goblin King and Queen were standing before him. The king did not look happy, no, not a bit and had his hands on his hips. The invisible music had stopped and the whole throne room was now dangerously quiet.
"A hundred and a half pardons your Majesty!" Mama jumped up so fast that her hysterical son slid right off her lap and onto the floor. She began to bow profusely, as her son's wailing took on an ear-splitting pitch that set everyone's teeth on end, "he's got a right tender heart and…and…he don't mean anything ill by it!"
The King's stern countenance turned into a dark scowl when several of the other children in the family began to sniffle and sob as well, then cry outright when their mother begged for mercy and pled with the King not to be bogged right then and there.
"Oh, heavens, there will be no bogging," to the King, his mama's and Plognark's surprise, the Queen knelt down beside him, pretty dress and all. She glanced up at the King with a look of her own, one that reminded Plognark of the time his mama had faced down a Fiery with nothin' but a frying pan and won.
"Why don't you tell me what's wrong," she said kindly, and began using the hem of her gown to wipe the child's streaming tears and runny nose. The King, bless him, made a face that looked like he might be sick and with a wave of his hand, materialized a white, lace hanky and handed it silently to the woman to use instead.
"Mama said that you…you can't stay here, even though we want you to," the little goblin stuttered sadly, "...that you have to go away, aboveground, even though you make the King happy…" his lower lip wibbled and wobbled, revealing a row of sharp, uneven teeth, "...that makes me SO sad."
Something akin to grief washed over both the King and his Consort's expressions, a fleeting glimpse of loss and longing and other emotions that the goblin mother, a widow of three years, understood all too well. The King's face softened a little, The Queen's expression was kind, her smile bright, even if there was pain in her eyes.
"It makes me sad too," she picked up Plognark, cradling the child easily in her arms, before handing him back to his mother, "but I'll tell you a secret," she leaned close, "some day, we'll figure out a way for me to stay here."
"Forever?"
"And Ever," the Queen said, exchanging a soft look at the King standing beside her, his hand on her slender shoulder, "I promise."
"And the promise of a queen must be kept," the King said sternly, brooking no space for argument.
A hint of something that almost resembled a smile if you looked at it sideways appeared on the King's face. Mama sighed in relief, her fears of eternal bogging abated.
"That's true. After all, what's said is said," the Queen quipped slyly, an unspoken exchange passing between her and her beloved.
Outside, the first pale hints of morning were appearing, and from somewhere in the city, a cock crowed. The weary goblin crowd began to mill about, and then, after taking their leave of the King and Queen, slowly began to exit the throne room. There was no bogging to be had, apparently, and the food and cider were long gone. The fun was over.
Mama, her youngest well in hand, bowed low, both her Lord and Lady. Her children did likewise, then turned to leave.
"Good-bye, Plognark," the queen called out, "I'll see you soon."
"You know my name!" The little goblin was astonished. So was his mother.
"I know all your names, as does the King," was her reply.
With a flourish of the King's hand, the empty ale and cider barrels and tables were cleared. The candles also vanished, one by one, deepening the dark in the throne room.
Getting sleepy, his heavy head resting on his mama's shoulder as she carried him home, Plognark watched as the king took the queen into his arms and with a word and a whisper, vanished, leaving the throne empty, save for a throne and across the way, a mirror from one world to the next.
The End. 3
Author's Notes:
This is a "ficlet" prompt that was posted on the LFFL facebook group. The challenge was to write a short story based on the picture of a toothsome, little green goblin sitting merrily on a large pumpkin with a half-eaten apple in one hand and a hot mug of something that I am sure is quite tasty. The very talented artist of the picture is Plognark on Deviant Art.