Once upon a time, in the Kingdom of Trolloria there stood a mighty castle made of smooth black stones. It rose from the top of the highest hill, looking down over the kingdom. Inside the impressive dark fortress, many a strong and terrible troll had sat upon the throne. Within its mighty walls, many a troll prince had been born and raised up to be king when his father’s rule reached one-hundred years.
This was the way it had always been. On one warm summer’s evening, such a prince was to be born. But the legacy of this particular Troll Prince would be the most unusual of all.
A castle servant named Scralp was dispatched by a nursemaid to fetch King Ungerous and inform him that the Queen had given birth. Scralp’s stumpy legs carried him as fast as they could through the cavernous halls of the royal palace. Menacing, monsterous portraits of past Kings stared down on him as he went. The King had been pacing the castle all morning gnawing on ox bones and nervously slurping down steamy buckets of tar pit tea with saw grass blades and ground thistles to calm his nerves.
Scralp finally found the King in his trophy room grinding the edge of his favorite battle axe for a third time that day. The hulking, mustard skinned King hunched over with his back toward the door, running an otter pelt rag across the broad curved blade. He peered with satisfaction down his squash-like nose at the blade. Squatty, green Scralp cowered in his presence. He knew this was the very axe that King Ungerous had used to slay the legendary fireworm that threatened Trolloria decades before. Scralp nervously cleared his throat. He smoothed his frizzy red mane and side-burns with a moss-colored hand and stuttered to get the first words out.
“Ah-ahem, you . . . your highness,” he said.
King Ungerous whirled his mountainous body around, his black and silver robe twirling around him, gripping the axe in his melon-sized hand. His large oval eyes squinted at the servant and he leaned down, glaring past his bulbous nose at the diminutive servant. His thick, purple beard with braided knots fell against his barrel chest. He gnashed his jagged teeth with irritation.
“What is it?” he demanded. The steel crown shifted on his furrowing brow. His bushy purple hair rose three pumpkins high off of his head and flowed back in a wave, resting on his pancake sized ears.
“It’s the-the-the Queen, your highness,” Scralp stammered. “She’s given birth.”
The King’s eyes widened like ostrich eggs.
“My child has arrived?” he said with excitement. “What is it? What did she have?”
Scralp shifted nervously.
“I believe I heard the nursemaid say it is a Prince,” he answered. “I mean, he is a Prince. The child, that is. You – you have a son, sire.”
King Ungerous raised his mighty axe into the air. Scralp’s knees buckled and he covered his head with his stubby arms. The King let loose a howl of joy and flung his beloved axe across the room, sticking the blade deep into the stone wall with a powerful thud.
“I have a Prince!” he bellowed. He lifted Scralp into the air and swung him around like a child’s stuffed werebear. They danced around the room as the King chanted a joyous tune. His trophy room shook with every foot fall. “I have a Prince! I have a Prince!”
Finally Ungerous dropped Scralp to the hard floor and bounded down the corridor toward the East Wing. Suits of heavy troll armor clattered and shook as his huge yellow feet pounded the stone. When he reached the thick oak door of the nursery, he didn’t even stop to turn the handle. His mighty spotted forearms rammed the door off its iron hinges as he burst through with an excited grin on his watermelon sized jaw.
“Where is he?” he bellowed. “Where’s my boy? Where is my Prince?”
Queen Grebleena had her head back against a pillow and a blue skinned maid dabbed at her forehead with cool cloth. Her orange hair was matted to her round ears and her pink skin glistened with sweat. She looked exhausted.
“Madam,” said the blue troll softly. “His Royal Highness has arrived. He’s asking to see the child.”
“Yes,” said Ungerous, going to his wife’s bedside and taking her clammy hand. “I have come, dear wife. Where is he? I wish to see our son.”
“Ungerous,” said Queen Grebleena, opening her gentle purple eyes. “I sent Rattina to clean the child and wrap him in warm blankets. She’ll bring him in momentarily.”
“Someone fetch her now,” Ungerous demanded. “I want to see the boy. We must give him a name; a proper name. I was thinking Grunlock, after Grunlock the Terrible. Grunlock was the greatest bridge troll in history. It’s a strong name. A name befitting the next King of Trolloria.”
“Husband, please,” said the Queen. “You must stop blathering. I need you to listen to me.”
The King could see she was looking at him gravely.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is wrong? Is the child not healthy?”
“Oh, he appears to be healthy,” she said. “And he bellows as loud as his father.”
The King swelled with pride.
“He’s a born King,” said Ungerous. “I knew he’d be a natural leader among trolls. Just like me! What is his color?”
“That’s just it,” said Queen Grebleena. “His color is, well, unusual.”
The King eyed her suspiciously.
“How do you mean, unusual? Is he some new shade of purple or green? There’s no shame in that. A leader should stand out. I’ve often wished my yellow hide and lavender spots were more unique.”
“Ungerous, listen to me. I suppose his skin is somewhat . . . pinkish.”
“Pink? Well, then he takes his color from you. Your skin is pink. There is no shame in that. Blagthorpe the Bloodthirsty was pink, and bald. No one mocked him, I assure you.”
“Not pink like me,” she said. “A strange, lighter shade of pink. Almost more like the peaches that grow in the fields along the southern border by the Mungo Bridge.”
“Hmm,” the King muttered, pondering this news. “I don’t find that so alarming. Unusual yes, but no need for panic. When his hair grows out and his nose sprouts, he’ll be a fine troll.”
“That’s the problem my husband,” said the Queen. “He has some hair already. It’s soft and thin and lays flat against his head. Strangest of all, it’s merely . . . brown.”
“Brown?” repeated the King.
“And his nose,” she went on. “Bare in mind husband, he is just born, but his nose is somewhat tiny. In fact, it’s barely a button on his peachy face.”
“Rattina!” King Ungerous growled. “Bring me my child, now!”
“Ungerous, please,” said the Queen, trying to calm him and patting his hand.
“I want to see this child for myself. I want to see this brown hair, and unformed nose, and strangely peach colored flesh. I want to see it with my own eyes, before I let this madness you speak affect my mind.”
The nervous maid did as she was commanded and carried in the newborn for the King to inspect.
Ungerous took his infant son and with one calloused yellow finger moved the blankets away. The child was sleeping. Indeed the flesh was soft and pinkish, and he had a tiny round head, like a melon. Its hair was thin and straight and brown. Ungerous poked gently at it. Finally, he pushed the child back at the nursemaid.
“Take it away,” he said softly. “There must be a mistake. That is no manner of troll I’ve ever seen.”
“Ungerous!” the Queen exclaimed. “That is our son! Your son. You can not cast him away simply because he is different!”
“How can that be our son?” he bellowed. “Our child is to be the next King of all Trolloria. He is to lead our people and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! Do you think the ogres or goblins will remain in exile if they learn the next King of Trolloria looks like a . . .? “
“Like a what?” the Queen glared. “What were you about to say? And consider your words carefully before you answer, husband.”
“Well, I mean to say . . . that is,” The King stammered, seeing his wife’s displeasure. Perhaps, he thought, best to tread gently. “It’s just that, well, the child looks . . ., that is to say, he resembles a, well, a human.”
“Ungerous,” she said again, “the boy is your son, no matter what you think he resembles. You will not shun him. If you do, you will find yourself feeling quite shunned. At least around this castle! In fact I dare say you are beginning to resemble a creature other than a troll yourself. A jackass!”
The King sighed, looking again at the sleeping infant.
“But how can he grow to be King?” he asked.
“Give it time, husband,” said the Queen. “Perhaps he was just born a bit premature. Surely your mighty nose was not so protrusive the day you were born. And I recall your ears were quite small for your head well into your training years.”
If the Troll King weren’t yellow, he might have blushed bright scarlet at this memory.
“Very well,” he said. He took his Queen’s pudgy pink hand. “I will love this child as though he were born with green skin and hair of bright fuchsia.”
The King looked around the room at the servants and maids. They were all smiling now. It made him nervous. As King, Ungerous knew he had enemies all around. He could not afford to appear weak. Nor could he allow talk of weakness in his line.
“But I make a decree here and now, in front of all of you,” he boomed, looking sternly at every troll in the room. “News of his birth shall not leave this castle!”
He took Scralp by the throat and lifted him into the air for all to see.
“None of you is to say a word,” Ungerous continued. “The child is to remain safe within the castle for as long as I say, and not even a hint of his birth is to slip over these walls.”
“Ungerous,” Queen Grebleena protested.
“It is for his own good,” he interrupted. “We will raise him here and watch his growing until he blossoms into a full-fledged troll. When that happens, I will proclaim his birth from the top of this castle so that it will be heard on the furthest edges of Trolloria. But not before, is that clear?”
“Y-y-your majesty m-makes himself quite clear,” Scralp squeaked as the grip around his neck tightened. “Naaaa . . . not a word will be uttered of the Prince’s birth beyond these castle walls.”
The other servants nodded in agreement.
“Very well,” said the King releasing Scralp with a drop and thud. “Your confidence will be rewarded. Just as any loose talk or disloyalty will be met with a wrath unimagined.”
King Ungerous took the child again. He could cradle the babe in just his palm and forearm. Gently he patted its small head.
Queen Grebleena watched with a sigh. She was glad at least to see her husband accepting the child, if in his own way.
“What do you wish to name your heir?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Perhaps he should be called Mannen.”
The Queen knew this was a word for “human” in one of the outsiders’ tongues. She once again scowled at her husband.
“He will not be called Mannen,” Grebleena growled. “What do you say to calling him Kronen?”
“Kronen?” the King repeated. “After Kronen the Wise, who ended the Troll War and united bridge and cave trolls?”
“That’s correct. Prince Kronen. He will wear the crown of Trolloria after his father’s one-hundredth year, just as tradition demands. This child will impress you, I am sure of it.”
And so it was.
The birth of Prince Kronen, first son of King Ungerous and Queen Grebleena went wholly unheralded in the kingdom of Trolloria. The King ordered construction of a whole new wing for the boy, complete with a private garden courtyard not visible from outside. The child had his own little forest, complete with a bog and a waterfall. He had toy clubs and wooden troll soldiers. Pet swamp rats and spikeypines to hunt. Even a purple Iguanadog called Groot who followed him faithfully wherever he went. Prince Kronen knew no life outside of the castle, and little life outside of his southern wing. He also knew nothing of the difference between himself and his mother and father, or the servants who attended to him daily.
To Prince Kronen, he was just a young troll, and he was happy.
to be continued . . .
B. Scott 12/01/2009
