Thank you to all my reviewers! Elementals, I'm honored you think so...does this mean I might be able to get this little ditty bound in leather and gold leaf?! :D swim6516, I'm so glad you liked the Black Snake, and the bits with Lizzie getting a clue; thank you, too, for your energy and excitement about this story (whenever I reduce someone to singing in a review, I know I did good!) pixievix, I can't tell you precisely when it'll all come out, but we're inching closer...enjoy the ride! ;) MissEmmy, my younger siblings refuse to believe how brilliant I am...I can't wait to show them that an unbiased third party agrees with me! ::evil, older sister laugh:: MysteriouslyUnique, I hope you enjoy this chapter too! Thanks so much for the feedback, James—I love hearing what I'm doing right (the more specific, the better!) JustAGirl4—wow! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Please, please don't bite all your fingernails off, though! Black Knight 03, I didn't even think about how rare some of these fairy tales are...I just picked 'em for their plot devices. ;D The fairy tale in this chapter might be a little more familiar; at any rate, I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 11: King Grizzlebeard
Lizzie was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when Gordo's satisfied exclamation startled her eyes open. It was not yet dusk, she noted, the air chilled by the slanting retreat of the sun. Shifting her cheek reluctantly against Gordo's warm back, she fought a shiver and blinked at the land below them.
They were nearing a lone tower of rock standing sentry at the base of a three-pronged cluster of foothills—the Black Snake's last landmark for this day's journey. No wonder Gordo had cried out.
"Nearly there?" she said muzzily, startling both Gordo and the carpet into a slight hiccup.
Regaining control and dipping the carpet into a steady descent, he turned just enough to say over his shoulder, "I thought you were asleep."
She shrugged, even though he couldn't see, and shivered again. "Not exactly. I think I was just drifting." She yawned and gingerly tightened her arms around his middle. Now that she was fully awake, she was cold. "You seemed to have the navigation fully in hand."
He laughed. "Yeah. I guess I did."
"You guess?" she echoed, smiling. "You were so focused, I don't think you even tasted your lunch."
"And I suppose I wasn't much of a conversationalist either, huh?" More laughter in his voice. "Sorry."
"That's okay. We're here, aren't we? Besides, apparently I needed the rest."
"Apparently." Another laugh; this one Lizzie tried to meet only to discover abruptly how full her bladder was. In previous travels, they'd been able to pause for the necessary bathroom breaks, but this time the Black Snake had specified absolutely no stops. She'd forgotten about that until just now. Wonderful.
To keep her mind off it, she concentrated on the growing dimness as they slipped into the shadow of the foothills. Despite the sky's gold cast, grey twilight already gripped the land below. By the time the carpet met earth—with Lizzie's heartfelt thanks—there was barely enough light to gather firewood...even if they had known what to do with it.
"Cheerful," Lizzie remarked, standing for a moment to steady herself on cramped legs and stiff feet.
Gordo smiled. "Yup. Man, when I get home, I am definitely learning how to build a fire."
"Note to self," Lizzie agreed, taking a few hesitant steps. Steady, at last. Sighing, she excused herself and, without even awaiting Gordo's response, stumbled into the surrounding forest, intent on finding a suitable spot as quickly as possible.
When she returned, much more comfortable, she was startled to discover that Gordo was not alone. He stood beside the carpet, apparently chatting easily with a tall, broad-shouldered man. The stranger was dressed simply in a dark tunic and trousers, his straight, pale hair gathered back.
"Hey, Lizzie," Gordo greeted as she caught his gaze. "This is Loyde. Loyde, meet Lizzie."
"Delighted," Loyde bowed as Lizzie walked the remaining steps to Gordo's side.
"Yes, me too," she returned, dipping a quick curtsy.
"I was just inviting your husband to join my wife and myself at our camp. You are welcome to our fire."
Husband? Lizzie shot a quick glance to Gordo, not surprised to see his mouth quirk upward. Right. Just go with it. "Ah, well, you see," she said, turning back to smile at the other man, "I'm afraid we must stay here."
Loyde nodded. "Yes. Your husband told me of the precise directions you have received. But I believe you were told merely to sleep here. Surely you can join our fire for supper. Then, once you've eaten, you can come back here to retire for the night. That should allow you to meet your requirements."
Lizzie glanced again to Gordo. He looked as uncertain as she felt. While Loyde seemed harmless enough, thus far on their journey all their...helpers...had worn the faces of their friends from home. Or at least traveled with people who did. Loyde wasn't at all familiar, which didn't bode well.
Seeing in Gordo's expression that he'd come to the same conclusion, Lizzie was just about to politely refuse the stranger's offer when a shriek pierced the darkening air. A stream of virulent curses swiftly followed—most of which Lizzie had never heard before—and then another shriek, this one recognizable as, "Loyde!"
Unconsciously, Lizzie took a step closer to Gordo. What the bloody—?
In front of them, Loyde was chuckling, a fond smile curving his lips. "My wife," he explained, raising his voice to call, "Just over here, my darling!"
The curses resumed, growing louder as the woman approached. Just before she came into view, Lizzie reached beyond her shock at the words to realize she knew that voice. Eyes opening even wider, she turned to Gordo and whispered, "Veruca!" and then the woman herself was standing before them.
Bright red even in the dusk, her hair hung wild around her shoulders. She wore a simple, dark dress but glared at Loyde, and them, as though she stood draped in an ermine cloak.
"What of supper?" she demanded.
"What of it?" Loyde replied calmly, his amusement dimmed to his eyes.
"I am hungry. When my father shipped me off with you, I am sure it was with the understanding that I would be fed."
"Indeed, wife—"
"Don't call me that!"
"—and as soon as you fix it, you shall eat your supper."
Veruca's glare turned murderous. "Fix it?!" she shrilled. "I can't cook! I'm not some common scullion, you—you—deflowerer of goats!" By the look on the woman's face, the insult was not nearly satisfying enough. She drew breath for what Lizzie guessed was another stream of abuse.
"Are you not?" Loyde's soft voice slid into the brief silence like a knife. All amusement was gone from his gaze. "As I believe you are aware, wife," the word drew out, a slow, deliberate reminder, "your father has given me his blessing. You are not his any longer. You are under my roof now. And under my roof, my wife fixes supper. You would be wise to forget your prior standing, wife." Again, that emphasis—that challenge. "Better a common scullion than a princess under my roof."
To Lizzie's surprise, Veruca said not a word. Her glare remained, as did the stubborn jut of her jaw, but her lips were locked tight. Lizzie exchanged a glance with Gordo, who looked as shocked as she, herself, must, before returning her gaze to Loyde.
"Darling," the man addressed his wife, all ease once more, "I have just invited these people to join us." He turned his attention to them. "It seems supper is not yet ready, but you are still welcome to share our fire and a little conversation."
Lizzie groped for her voice, not certain what answer to even give, then abandoned the search as Gordo sighed, nodded, and with an extended arm, said, "After you, Mrs. Gordo."
"Delightful," Loyde beamed. "Just follow me. Darling?" After a long moment, Veruca reluctantly accepted her husband's arm, and the two of them led the way around the curving rock face to a small campsite where a fire was indeed burning.
An expectant look from her husband prompted a gruff but subdued, "Please, have a seat," from Veruca. Lizzie and Gordo obediently settled on the ground, watching as Loyde assisted his wife to her seat before sitting himself.
"Such pleasant company is always welcome on the road, is it not?" Loyde asked genially. "I am a musician, you see—a troubadour—and most of my life has been travel. The journey is far swifter with talk, I've always thought." He glanced at his wife. "Shall you not get started on supper, darling?" The murderous glare returned, but Veruca's lips remained closed as she stood and stalked some yards away, presumably to gather supplies.
Loyde spared her not a look. "In fact, it is my traveling, and my trade, that has earned me such a delightful wife." Lizzie marveled that the man actually looked genuine. "You see, in my last stop, the kingdom north of here, I stumbled into a most fortuitous moment. My wife, she who was the princess of that kingdom, had spurned all her suitors: she has a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue and used both to the devastation of any who sought her hand.
"Apparently, her father, the King, grew tired of her witty refusals and, in a fit of pique, declared that the next man to walk through the door would be her husband. And who should happen in next? Myself! Not expecting but the chance to share my music for a little food and a warm bed, and instead the king bestowed his own daughter on me! You can well imagine my amazement. A princess...for my wife!"
A pot gonged from where Veruca stood, making Lizzie jump; Loyde seemed not to hear it. "Now that I'm married," he said, "I've decided the troubadour's life is not suitable for a woman. So, I'm taking my wife's dowry back to the town of my birth to set up a little marketing stall. It won't be much, but it should suit us better than a life on the road.
"Of course, it won't be easy for my wife to grow used to my simple life, especially not when my king was one of her suitors." He looked to Veruca. "He was the one you called Grizzlebeard, was he not, darling?" The pot rang again. "She need not worry, though. The king has little to do with the market stalls." He smiled at them, but Lizzie thought she saw something sad in his eyes.
And little wonder at that, considering. Grizzlebeard. Loyde's story had seemed familiar, but it wasn't until he said that name that she remembered. "King Grizzlebeard" was one of the fairy tales she'd read. It went exactly as Loyde said—save he'd neglected to explain that he was Grizzlebeard.
"Does he?" she couldn't help asking, smiling a little at the disguised king. Yes, there. She could see the faint grey at his temples—just a touch, really, probably invisible in daylight. He doubtless looked older with his beard, that grey-grizzled beard the princess had ridiculed. And now, here he sat, clean-shaven, a humble, pretend musician bent on humbling his very spoiled, haughty wife. Poor girl, she thought, then, Poor king. She didn't know who she pitied more.
Loyde was answering. "Yes," he said, "very little," and Lizzie turned her gaze to find much more king than musician peering out at her. She smiled wider, ignoring Gordo's wrinkling forehead.
"That's too bad," she sighed, wrestling against the knowing tilt of her mouth. "I think your king would enjoy your market stall."
That king's eyes held hers another long moment, delving deep, searching, and Lizzie just kept smiling. Finally, the garrulous, easy musician returned, echoing her smile with a chuckle. "Yes," he agreed, "perhaps you are right." He raised his voice, "Did you hear, Aurelia? Perhaps the king might just visit our market stall! He daren't stay for supper, darling, but he might visit. How would you like that?"
There was a long beat of silence before Veruca—Aurelia—finally garbled a strained, "As you desire, husband." Loyde gave a satisfied nod, a sliver of solemn purpose sparking in his eyes as they skimmed past Lizzie. He understood that she knew, that she would not betray the charade, and Lizzie read his apology, for actions that seemed perhaps cruel to her, in that fleeting cross of glances.
Not that she had any need for an apology. She knew the story, that Aurelia would blossom under the king's lessons just as much as his love. Still, she found herself unable to simply sit while Aurelia struggled over their dinner. Turning a reassuring smile on Gordo's confused face, she said, "I'll go see if Aurelia needs any help." She stood before he could manage a nod, and heard Loyde cheerily compliment Gordo on his "very agreeable wife," just as she reached the former princess.
"Can I help with anything?" she asked. Aurelia, kneeling amid a chaos of supplies, didn't look up from the second travel pack she was rummaging. Lizzie was just about to repeat the question when the long, straight curtain of red hair slid aside to reveal a pair of dark eyes glowing wet in the firelight. Oh, Lizzie swallowed the gasp. Bubble universe or no, Aurelia was very like her alternate. That same tough, hard shell on the outside; that same soft, vulnerable heart on the inside. She wanted to hug the other girl, tell her everything would turn out right in the end—that her husband was a good man, a fine king, that he did love her.
But Aurelia wasn't Veruca. She wasn't Lizzie's close friend, and her walls were much harder, and higher, than Veruca's. Aurelia was arrogant and hurtful and, though she might never accept it, she was lucky to have someone like Loyde to love her. Lizzie only wished the king's attempts to knock those walls down didn't have to hurt the princess so badly.
Stunned, uncertain, Lizzie couldn't think of anything to do but join Aurelia on the ground. She was wishing for a Kleenex—handkerchief?—when Aurelia suddenly blinked, cleared the sheen from her eyes, and briskly replied, "Can you cook?"
Of all the things.... Lizzie couldn't help but laugh. Leaning forward so she could whisper, she admitted, "No, not at all. You?"
Despite the other woman's attempt to suppress it, humor dimpled Aurelia's cheek. "Not a bit."
Lizzie laughed again, exclaimed, "Some wives we are!" The words rang against the rock, their echo silencing the murmuring male voices behind her. She immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, turning slowly to see both Gordo and Loyde staring. She wasn't sure whether she was more embarrassed for disappointing the king's expectations of an agreeable wife or for playing along so obviously as Gordo's wife in the first place.
After a moment, Loyde spoke up, "What's this?"
Face flushed hot, Lizzie removed her hands and announced as sedately as she could manage, "I'm afraid, sir, that neither your wife nor myself can cook."
"Not even you, madam?" Loyde asked, following Lizzie's apologetic grimace at Gordo with an incredulous glance of his own.
"No," Lizzie began, immensely glad when Gordo stepped in.
"Well, she can cook," he explained. "She's just not used to this manner of cooking, I'm afraid. We've been getting by on bread and cheese so far."
Loyde the king was back, looking intently between Gordo and Lizzie. "This manner?" he echoed. "You must come from very far indeed. I thought everyone cooked the way we do."
"Obviously these people don't, Loyde," Aurelia spoke up. "Now perhaps we might begin supper and leave the questioning alone?" A hint of the shrill woman of earlier had returned to her voice, but she was plainly speaking in their defense—a kindness directed against her husband, but a kindness nonetheless...and one Loyde would accept, Lizzie guessed, seeing a quiet, thin pride in his wife flit through his eyes.
"Yes, indeed, Aurelia," he affirmed, his king's gaze gone, "Now bring me the big pot and some of those vegetables at your knee. I'll give you all a simple lesson in simple wanderer's fare."
*********#######*********
"So, you want to tell me what was going on, Lizzie?"
The light from Loyde's makeshift torch had faded entirely, leaving Gordo and Lizzie utterly alone in the dark of their own campsite. Still, Lizzie waited a moment to answer, just to make sure Loyde was out of earshot—maybe even returned to his fire after guiding the two of them back.
Shifting gingerly to sit on the carpet below her feet, she sighed, said, "I assume you mean that exchange between Loyde and me?"
Gordo's faintly blacker silhouette settled to the carpet beside her. "Sure," he agreed, "but, honestly, any insight you can give me on this evening's encounter would be greatly appreciated. I know you may not agree with me, but this trip's gettin' weirder all the time."
Lizzie huffed a weary laugh. They'd stayed with Loyde and Aurelia for a few music and chatter-filled hours after eating, and despite having dozed much of the day, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. "That's only because for once we've found a fairy tale you didn't read."
"Ah," Gordo yawned, "so I take it you did read it?"
"Yup." She gave a brief outline of the story through her answering yawn—snotty princess, king in disguise, long process of humility, snotty princess loses attitude, now-charming princess falls in love, king loses disguise. "And they all live happily ever after," she finished.
"Of course." His voice sounded strange. Closer to the ground, somehow. "Never doubted it for a moment." Ah. He was lying down! Lizzie's weary eyes were immediately jealous and took the opportunity to remedy the situation as soon as possible. Within moments, before she really knew she was moving, she was stretched out beside him, eyes closed as her back released the day's tension into the ground. She reveled in the sigh rising in her chest.
After a moment of blissful, sleepy silence, Gordo spoke again, "Have to admit, though, that's not exactly the standard fairy tale king."
Lizzie managed a murmured, "Oh?"
"Well, no." Now his voice was higher up—he'd probably propped himself on his elbows. No matter. She wasn't moving. "I mean, most of the time the king or prince is primarily concerned with just finding a beautiful, charming wife. He doesn't exactly put in a lot of effort to, well, tame her, for lack of a better term. Interesting."
"Yup," Lizzie sighed.
"Kinda cool, too."
"Mmhmm."
"It rather implies a relationship based more on friendship than your typical love at first sight."
That got Lizzie's attention. "Friendship?" she asked, fighting the urge to sit up next to him. "Loyde and Aurelia don't exactly seem to be anything close to friends, Gordo."
"C'mon, Liz," he said, voice accompanied by a rustle of fabric as he shifted position again. "Loyde and Aurelia are not friendly, but you have to admit friendship involves more than just friendliness. If that were all that mattered, you and Kate would be friends half the time. Fact is, good friends are just as concerned with the deeper stuff.
"Personally, I think Loyde knows Aurelia's not happy the way she is, and I think he knows that she never will be if she keeps acting like she does. So, however painful it may be for her, he's making her really look at herself. He's not typical, and it probably won't be immediately obvious, but I don't doubt he's the best friend Aurelia has ever had. Moreover, he's the kind of friend that sees something in her that she can't see, something good that he will always make her work up to. That's what I've always thought made for a strong relationship, especially a romantic one."
Right. Romantic friendship. Something about that.... "Anyway," Gordo continued, rustling again, the air flitting against Lizzie's face announcing he'd laid back down. "Enough of that. I'm exhausted. Goodnight, Liz."
Lizzie managed a goodnight of her own, but her thoughts were still on his other words. He hadn't said anything about Loyde and Aurelia that she hadn't already thought of, even if she hadn't articulated them in quite that way. Still, something in what he'd said niggled at her.
Romantic friendship. When she thought about it, of course she wanted her eventual husband to be her friend. Of course. But there was something about applying that idea to Loyde and Aurelia that surprised her. Almost as though she'd forgotten about the less pleasant parts of a friendship. The parts where your friends tell you to stop being silly or careless or cruel.
Oh.
The part where your very best friend comes over to your house to tell you how badly you've been acting. The part where you shout at him and throw him out, but only after a week of truly reprehensible behavior on your part...and the usual strong, supportive concern on his.
Oh. No. Oh, no.
The fight, distant and even fading these past days, came back to her with painful intensity, a deluge of image and emotion and words—such awful, awful words. What had they said to one another? Looking back, she really should have simply explained when he asked her to. How hard would it have been, really, to just tell him she was worried about college, about leaving, about hi—But then she got defensive and he called her—had he really called her that? Never in her life had any of her friends called her names like that. And so she retaliated...by denying his concern, his worry, his friendship. She'd practically said she didn't want to be his friend anymore. Childish, but good God had it hurt to say that. No wonder he'd looked so...strange.
She shivered, remembering that incomprehensible combination of stance and expression just before he left. Never again. They'd lived their entire lives without fighting like that, and she never wanted to do it again.
And soon, very soon, she would have to make amends. She'd apologize and—her stomach skittered from the idea of explaining her behavior to him, but Lizzie pressed her lips together and nodded. She still didn't quite understand her own actions yet, but not explaining had only made things worse. Gordo was her best friend. She ought to trust that sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself. She'd apologize and she'd explain. Soon.
Decided, Lizzie lifted a hand to soothe her uneasy stomach and sighed, staring up into the night. Much of the view was blacked by the giant rock chimney beside them and the forest pressing close around, but a small puddle of sloe-black sky lay open, radiant with trembling stars. She watched for a long time, long after Gordo's faint snuffling snores began and then ended, until at last she too slipped into sleep.
****
end of chapter 11
chapter notes:
Though perhaps it ought to
offend what feminist sensibilities I possess, I have to admit that "King
Grizzlebeard" is perhaps my favorite fairy tale...and probably the best-known
of those found in this story. The version I used came from The Starlight
Princess and Other Princess Stories, retold by Annie Dalton, embroideries
by Belinda Downes. (Check it out for the embroidered illustrations, if nothing
else...they're amazing!)