KINDRED: Final Draft

[AnthonyEden]

Thank you to the wonderful Jeni Chappelle for helping me make the most of my story.

Here it is, my nordic flash fic fairytale with a happy ending: Kindred.

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Once upon a time, not very long ago, a changeling-prince returned to the halls of his parents. Fifty years had passed since he was placed in the crib of his human family, like a cuckoo in a garden warbler's nest. He'd grown up like most human children do, if a bit awkward on account of his tail, which was very eager to leap at the outside world and give a friendly swat. Well established in the mortal realm though he was, his return was marked with nervous tension. What would his family think of him? What would he think of them?

Beneath the flowing green landscape lay a vast kingdom that reached as far as the horizon and burrowed into a great mountain. Crisp flowers framed an unassuming white-washed cottage, within which was a fire that never went out: this was the doorway through which stepped all fair-folk to go before the Mountain-Trolls and tell them of the past year. Along the cavernous walls of the great hall grew mushrooms that cast everything in a crisp, untethered light like gossamer.

The gnomes brought bowls of porridge laced with almonds and coins as tribute. The elves offered wreaths of ivy and bluebells. But the troll-prince, not knowing the custom of his kin, went before his parents empty-handed.

"What tribute, this? What travesty?" asked Queen-Mountain, her crown jangling with polished stones. Both queen and king were clad in moss that glowed from within. "My son and heir--"

"Expecting amnesty." His father gestured, big nostrils flaring. "Clothed as such. What is that?"

"Suspenders," squeaked a goblin.

"A necktie for hanging!" cried another. "The consummate bureaucrat."

"An accountant, actually," the changeling decreed, adjusting his glasses. The congregation of fairies went up in a murmur. Beside the royals sat the other changeling--the human whose place he took, flowers like a wreath in his silvery hair and beads braided into his graying beard, brown eyes wide with apprehension. Their eyes met across the hall, a sense of kinship fluttering within the prince's chest.

"Quiet!" boomed the Queen. "For your negligence, we'll set you a challenge. A riddle."

The King suggested, "Not too difficult, nor too easy, but right down the middle."

Her Majesty agreed. "For every heart what needs a box; for every lock, a key. Present to us this paradox; make use of your degree."

The troll-prince simply stared. "Wait, hang on. Make a box for my heart? You're joking."

But the prince was sent on his way with his tail bobbing behind him. He had to solve the riddle or he?d never be accepted by his birth parents.

Once home, he set out to the hardware store, returning to his studio apartment with a toolkit for beginners. The first box he made was an eyesore and much too small. The second day, he made another, much improved. The prince was pleased but wary of cutting his own heart from his chest. It would be gruesome, at best.

On the third day his box was finished. There was only one thing left to do. He readied his knife, but a desperate rapping at his door stopped him. It was the human changeling, as out of his element as a troll without its cave. "What do you think you?re doing? Knife in hand, poised to stab yourself in the chest! Are you mad?"

"Not as I'm aware." The troll-prince scratched his head with the tip of his knife. He turned on his heel, measuring his chest for the best way to cut it open.

The human marched right in, and took the knife away. "To be a prince, you'd need an inkling. That riddle's a test, and you?re too dumb to see it."

 "I work with numbers for a living!" The prince guffawed, reaching for the blade; the human interjecting himself, the distance closed between the two.

The moment held, like their eyes, a flush sparking between them. The knife clattered to the table, effectively calling a truce. "You mean it's a trick?"

"Of course it is!" the human hissed. "You dick? Pardon."

They each slumped onto a kitchen chair, one wood-frame creaking more than the other. The troll elaborated, "I guess I'm not good with riddles."

"You've your flaws, I've mine. But spending too much time among the fairies, one gains an understanding."

The troll leaned back, brown eyes twinkling. "Not an 'inkling'?"

"Quiet." The human grinned. "You're too literal. The riddle: take a stab at it. Pun intended."

"A box for every heart?"

The human reached across the distance, placing his hand atop the prince's knuckles. "It?s a test of your wits, not craftsmanship or daring. Are you too dumb to take the throne, or just the right amount of clever? What of your heart? Where does it lie in wait for greater things?"

"Right here." He smacked his breast.

Not yet satisfied, the human arched his eyebrows, waiting for the proverbial penny to drop. It was then it came to the prince, the answer to all his miscalculations. He eyed the box, or rather the chest, and grabbed it.

The faerie court was still in session when they went before the Majesties. Realizing his previous mistake, the prince was now in his finest: a nose ring, and earrings, and cufflinks to match.

"My son returns," announced the Queen. "A sight for sore eyes!"

"The man-changeling at his side," noted the King, wry. "The pair of them in proper guise. Or something like it."

"Hold your tongue. Show me, my darlings, what have you crafted?"

The prince presented his box, revealing its contents. Mother squinted at him. "Where be your heart, child?"

"My heart is mine to keep, and there's no finer chest for it than my own. If anyone's to unlock it, the key is mine to give."

The hall rang with sudden claps like thunder, as the King applauded him. "I told you he's cleverer than his looks suggest!"

Her Majesty moaned, publicly outed. "And whose idea was it, to put him to the test?"

The changelings smiled at each other. "You're not mad," whispered the human. "I admit I was wrong."

"Nor as dumb as they feared," said the prince.

"As reunions go, not a good start, nor too bad. To think your parents were missing you, all along."

The troll reached between them, their fingers twining. "If we're to be friends, you've got to stop rhyming."

The human chuckled, merry as a faun. "Only if you start. For asking me out on a date, you've got terrible timing."

And so it was, that a troll-prince was set a challenge, and in reconnecting with his roots came out a winner.

~The End~

[erikafrose]

 

[justine_manzano]

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