Prompt 2: "Nothing is ever done beautifully which is done in rivalship: or nobly, which is done in pride." ~ John Ruskin

† Gift †

Once upon a time, there was a day of jubilee and festivity, a grand party like none other the kingdom had ever seen. And in the castle that stood upon the eastern shore, there was a grand gathering of creatures, large and small, mighty and fragile, and they had all brought the very best gifts they could find so they could kneel before the King and adore him.

An elephant told a story. A lion roared his roar. A bird sang a song. A horse pranced and leapt in the courtyard. A centaur showed his body, hard with muscle and trained for war. A man gave his money, earned with toil and sweat.

And the King stood there and watched them all, thoroughly unimpressed.

The elephant was praising his own wisdom and wouldn't dare to be interrupted. The lion was boasting of his grandeur and wouldn't dare to be talked down. The bird was proud of her voice and wouldn't dare to be ignored. The horse was neighing and stamping his foot so that he could be seen. The centaur needed no explanation, for nobody believed he was born that way. The man kept explaining himself, for nobody believed him when he said it was a joy to give. Soon, the bilious lot were all quarreling and boasting at the King, begging to be heard over the rest. The wisdom was invaluable, the roar was mighty, the song was angelic, the prancing majestic, the muscle imposing, the money extravagant.

And the King stood there and watched them all, thoroughly unimpressed.

Soon were all quarreling and boasting at each other, and before long, no one was talking at the King. In fact, no one was talking of the King at all. They were all talking of themselves, their glory, their splendiferousness, their greatness and grandeur and splendor, and why it was more important than everyone else's. Wisdom is the stuff of brains; a roar is the call of the strong; a song is the anthem of the angels; the prancing is a glorious mingling of power and grace; the body is a work of art; the money is what makes things happen, and a pox on the King if one more coin should be given.

Yet the King stood there and watched them all, thoroughly unimpressed.

If you were a King, you would have many important things to do, but I have never heard of you thinking it a duty to sit through a tribute to you that isn't really about you at all. And so the King left the castle, head hanging low, eyes full of sorrow. Nobody noticed he had left, nobody seemed to care...nobody except a lesser Queen and her courtier, who said, "He's wild, you know, not like a tame lion."

But as the noise of the castle disappeared in the distance and all that remained was the rush of water upon the shore, the King heard his name being called by a tiny voice.

It was a little child, a little squirrel, with the biggest brightest eyes you ever saw, and a mouth that turned up past her very large front teeth. And the squirrel opened up his paws, and out of them burst a necklace, made of sea shells and flowers all strung together with a shaggy cord. And what wonder of wonders, what joy there was, as the King smiled and bade the squirrel to let it fall over his neck. It was just the King's size. And he knelt down and whispered something in her ear, something wondrous and precious, something only she would be able to share with him and herself.

Time passed by, and the little squirrel grew up. She went to school, she fell in love, and she had children and a husband and a tidy warm hole in an oak tree. She never told them about of the elephant and his story, the lion and his roar, the bird and her song, the horse and his prancing, the centaur and his strength, or the man and his money. In fact, no one talked about them—except for them, of course, who remained indignant as ever. But she never told her family about the necklace, either. She said someone gave him a special gift—one that was not from the top of a coffer nor from the top of a head, but from the bottom of the heart—and she told her children that if the King ever came around again, it would bless him if they gave the same.

But there was one more wonder that must be told. When the squirrel was older and her children fully grown, and her husband had gone off to bed one evening, the King came round to her tree, smiling just as warmly and broadly as he had before. And around his neck, bobbing merrily against his mane, flowers still in bloom, shells unbroken, was the necklace, still fitting him as perfectly as it did before. And at once, she remembered his words, whispered into her ear and never to be repeated to anyone else:

"It was the best gift of all."

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part;
But what I can, I give Him—give my heart.

~ Christina Rossetti