Fairy Tales: Part 7; The Bad Kid
Once upon a time, in a long-ago land, beginning in a time faraway (and ending sooner) there lived a little princess. Now oft-times, in these sorts of tales, the princess is sweet as a lark and light as a nightingale. I'm sorry, but our tale is not about one of those. No, the princess was a brat.
It didn't help matters much, that she was adored by her mother's court. And that her mother's was the first stable reign in 150 or so years. 40 knights and 40 knaves served in the palace, and each and every one was beholden to Princess Mariposa. She ruled them with an iron pout and a steel tear.
For, whenever she didn't get her way? Her face would fuss all up, and turn red, and her eyes would glisten and her lower lip would ratchet out like the drawbridge of a castle, before a counter-siege sortie. And then? Her foot would stomp. Always the right one. For it was the more formidable of her two delicate silken petal-blossom feet.
Now in truth, the tale is more about Princess Petal-Blossom's spoiled bratness, but as a tale-length treatise on that might grow pointed, or at least wearisome it must needs be that we craft a tale about her. Now in this tale, there obviously needs to be a rather dashing male lead. So we'll say the captain of the guard, (who is a knight, in his own right, and a rather bright-light, in a career field more historically known for dim-bulbs) had fallen deepest into her spell.
Well, worse yet, truth to tell, what the he...ck, when the evil Normand invaded from across the sea, Princess Pout's kingdom (or her mother's to be more precise) was the first to fall, and with it her 40 knights and sixty or eighty knaves (as knights are much more expensive and difficult to replace than knaves, which is why all young girls want to marry a knight rather than a knave.) Though, counting Captain Sir Sardon one supposes it was rather more like 39 knights and sixty-five to seventy-five knaves. Really, why are you so concerned about numbers anyway? One knight more or less barely turns a battle, whereas one night more or less rarely leaves fields fallow. If you follow the metaphor, particularly amongst knaves, which is why princesses are never protected by knaves either.
As it happens, the Captain and the Princess set out, her on a fetching donkey, in a fetching outfit, that only occasionally betrayed the fetchingness of anyone's ass, while he rode atop a remarkably unfetching, ill-mannered, though in his defense, not at all pouty, charger. The stallion's manners were rather knave-like, if you like, so that any socialist's fears are appeased, to see all classes represented in this tale by me.
They wandered, by wood and by sea, on the shore, of course, for Princess Mariposa got into a devilish pout whenever her slippers got wet and not even Sir Captain Sardon dared risk that. Now in the woods, they were set upon by 7 trolls, each the younger brother of the other. Well all except one, of course. For he was the elder. But you really need to abandon your obsession with all these ones, they're merely rounding errors in a leprechaun's game of knuckle-bones, you see? There was a mighty fight, of course, for Sir Captain Sardon was a mighty fighter, a mighty knight, as well as being mighty bright. He charged his powerful stallion into the mix, chopping and hewing and hacking and striking with glee; if a liar were being honest, he'd likely admit that perhaps Princess Petal-Blossom's presence and petulance had contributed, somewhat, per se, to Sir Captain Sardon's desire to hack up trolls into little-bitty bits, in the forest, or on the shore.
However, Sir Captain Sardon, as mighty as was he, was simply no match for a slew of seven trolls, which is not to say he slew seven trolls, for they're remarkably hard to slay and he barely got three. The other four, being (in some fashion) brothers of the others, were equally remarkably sour. For much, much longer than an hour, I tell you. Thus, one of the brothers, (Grink or Groot, I can never keep those two straight,) clobbered him about his head with a mighty tree branch, which felled him quite free. Of his consciousness that is.
This, of course, is when Sir Captain Sardon had them right where he wanted them. For all four of the trolls, now, were trapped alone in the woods with the princess, with no escape. Being uncommonly ambitious for trolls, even up to commonly accosting travelers, they wasted no time in bundling up the unconscious Sir Captain Sardon, the unnamed-but-conscious stallion, not to mention the named Princess and her little donkey too. Strung on poles, a short forced march had them all back to troll camp (which might conjure up images of camp and order, but really was a clearing in the forest, with trees with rough bark good for scratching troll-backs and lots of berry bushes for days when trolls got too lazy to look for other food).
Well, first the princess kept it to herself, she was strong and brave, only an occasional sniffle or glistening crystal tear leaked out in stoic royal majesty. Trolls being rather insensitive brutes, she slowly added whimpers, gasps, and finally outright heart-wrenching broken sobs. This, of course, caused all four trolls to immediately stop arguing over how best to boil a princess and rush to her side. After learning that her bonds were uncomfortable, they agreed, charitably with her very reasoned logic (weighed with some decorous and charming sniffles) that there was no reason to keep her uncomfortable.
Shortly, she began to advise them on how best to eat a princess, and got rather heated when they were wrong about the proper ways of doing it. It took barely four hours, and the trolls had been convinced that there was no where in the forest to find a princess-skull-fork or any of the other proper utensils needed to make a civilized meal of a real princess; and fearing that the princess would have another pout if they brought it up again (her shrieking and foot stomping alone caused every woodland creature for 100 miles to flee in fear of a troll war party) they'd decided to drop it.
From there, it wasn't that much more unreasonable for them to carry the princess (so her pretty slippers didn't get dirty) into the bushes while she tinkled. Then, of course, eating Sir Captain Sardon was stupid, as his armor had undoubtedly tainted his skin with rust that would turn a troll's tongue red. Fortunately for the princess none of the trolls realized that troll tongues are always red. Because it soon fell into place that the princess would pout if her ass or Sir Captain Sardon's stallion were eaten, not to mention her donkey.
Four days later, the four troll brothers, along with a few woodland gnomes, a sea sprite, and two or three coastal goblin tribes marched north, each of them guiding the princess toward her uncle, the duke's castle. She swept the country, Sir Captain Sardon protecting himself by falling unconscious at the first opportune moment, occasionally even by hitting his head, while tucking over quickly, on a counter, trying to flee her foot stomp and the awe-inspiring power of her lower jutting lip. He woke up and the latest monster, challenge, or obstacle had been cowed into joining their army by Princess Mariposa's powerful pout.
Pretty soon, Pucks competed with goblins, who competed with elves, and bandits and priests and mayors and generals to please the brat princess, the whole world slowly fell before her mighty bratness. The Normand who took her mother's kingdom were first, of course. If you don't count the dryads, elves, dwarves, gnomes, knights of her mother's court and trolls, that is. Then Normanda itself.
Sir Captain Sardon traveled the world, Princess Petal-Blossom's agent-at-large, fainting at the first sign of opposition, faking sick in hundreds of courts, tripping at the first excuse, as court after court fell to Princess Pout. Finally, Sir Captain Sardon had had enough. And he forbid the princess to pout, any more. Now see, you think this tale, so far, has been mostly about how the bratty princess pouts, and not so much about her brattiness (well and you think it is about all these little one person here or there that you think I keep forgetting).
Well, there was no other option, but for the Princess to pout. And stomp her foot. And throw a right royal temper tantrum. A fit even. Though of course we never call it that. It is 'an episode' when her royalness does it. Except Sir Captain Sardon. He decided to call it a tantrum. And out of the deepest love, he issued an ultimatum of his own. "Princess Mariposa, I love you more than all the crowns of the world combined. But if you don't stop pouting, I am going to 'pank you very hard!"
And she said, "I am a big girl. I don't talk baby talk. And I don't get spankings!" Then she stomped her foot. And squinched up her eyes and her face got all red and she dared Sir Captain Sardon to say different.
He didn't of course, rather, instead, he swept her up into his big, strong, protective arms, and threw her on the royal bed. At which point in time, he cast her royal posterior, over his noble knee, and swept up her gown; leaving her bare for all to see. Though, truthfully, they were alone in the room.
Sir Captain Sardon loved her so so much, more than all the crowns of the world and all the stars in the sky combined. So he spanked her for a really good long time. First she started in protest-land, and like the trot of a faithful steed his warm rough palm took her through, she detoured the ride into the village of Squirmy, down into the valley of pouty, until, chasing the sun, it swept up, up lifting up with the sound of her voice, into the mountain's range. Finally, they broke through to the clear glades of sobbing and her noble knight shushed and sussed, fussing and cuddling, until her sobs subsided. The noble knight whispered softly in her ear, "Your bottom is the beautiful color of a sunrise, my dear. How it blossoms, Petal Blossom." with mischief and love in his tone.
After that, the princess and Sir Captain Sardon lived happily ever after, they ruled an empire wide and strong, wise and strong. But. Every once in while? Princess Pout would come back. And bring Princess Brat. And the conversation would start out the same. The maids and grooms, knights and knaves would all take sick, or go hunting when ever the word "pankings" was heard through an open window or through a closed door, and once in a while, Sir Captain Sardon was heard to slyly remark that he'd done his part, for the universe, in hiding weapons of mass destruction.
The End.
K.