The Crybaby and the Elf Part 6

 Just as clarification, this is not my usual writing style, but I like it for these comedic stories.

The Crybaby and the Elf

(And also a really mean dragon)

Part 6

By

Hannah Williams

            It was wonderful to finally have that girl gone, Sharenth thought. There was no describing the relief he felt to be able to turn around without that pest being constantly underfoot. Yes, a pest. That pest was now gone. Wonderful. Delightful. He couldn’t have been happier.

            Really.

            But the more Sharenth told himself this, the less he believed it. The truth was Eretheal Wood was empty without her. It was disappointment, not relief that pricked him when he glanced over his shoulder and saw only his own shadow. It was a curious fact that when he’d first left Eretheal Wood, he’d be anxious to return to his friends as soon as possible. Now that he’d returned, he realized most of those so-called friends were the plants in his house, and their company was very dull in comparison to Wailie’s constant chatter.

            The other elves swept back into their daily life with ease, but Sharenth secluded himself even more than usual.

            The shrewd Thancolen took notice within a week that his head botanist was walking around with a little grey cloud raining over his head. Not literally, of course. Then again, maybe literally. You can never tell with elves.

            Sharenth’s strange inability had always been a mystery to the elves. Many cures and herbs had been tested upon him, but he never could get more than two words out per sentence. Some had decided it was a mental debilitation, but Thancolen scoffed at the idea. Most likely it was a miss-fired spell from a clumsy fairy. There was always a way to break an enchantment. Thancolen had established his own personal theory as to what might be the cure, but there was only one way to find out.

            The lord of the elves meandered into what we would call a glorified greenhouse, sat down across from Sharenth, folded his hands, and said, “You miss her.”

            Sharenth didn’t even look up from where he knelt over a withered trillium, trying to coax it back to health. “Yes sir,” he said softly.

            “That is little wonder. She is a charming, spirited young lady with a sweet heart.”

            Looking rather shocked, Sharenth protested, “But first—”

            “But first she was different? Yes, I suppose we would all be if we were given anything we wanted at the slightest whimper. Her experience in the real world has changed her much for the better and will continue to do so, I believe. And she’s quite lovely too, I might add.”

            Sharenth flushed and stammered something incomprehensible.

            Thancolen stood. “What you decide to do with your life is your choice, but if I were you, I wouldn’t simply mope around till some other man sweeps her off her feet, but I’d go after her.” He shrugged. “Of course, that’s your call. Don’t let me influence you.

            After the elf lord made his exit, Sharenth stared down at the trillium which had already perked under his careful touch. Perhaps Thancolen was right. Whatever the case, spending immortality in this lonely vigil taking care of plants sounded very bleak. Even downright depressing.

            That did it.

            Sharenth sprang up, and fastening his cloak about him, he grabbed a few necessities, and left Eretheal Wood for the third time in his life. 
 

By some stroke of luck (or it might have been logic), Sharenth traveled to Pluopia first. As soon as he saw the rising smoke from the charred plain where once the castle had stood, he broke into a run. Heart pounding, he skidded to a stop at the edge of the ruins. Of course! He had never made sure that the king had read the oh-so-important letter, and Fellfang had caught them unawares! But when? Suppose Wailie had returned home and then he had scorched the place? Desperately, Sharenth looked about himself…and saw the camp in the forest glade nearby where people were constructing houses. (Note to readers: building your new home right next to the one the dragon destroyed is considered most unwise. But then Pluopia was never renowned for intelligence.)

            Amongst the cluster of people planting a corn field Sharenth spotted the king despite his humble appearance. He’d vastly changed wearing dirty clothing and smudged with dust and sweat. His hair had grown out to a most unfashionable length. But it was him. Never one to waste words, Sharenth vaulted over the fence, grabbed King Henry by the collar of his shirt, and shouted, “Where’s Wailie?”

            The king paled and threw his hands in front of his face. “Augh! I don’t have any money! I mean, I used to have money, but now I don’t! Augh!”

            “Henry!” barked a stern voice, and both king and elf looked over to see Queen Mizelbeth, hands on hips. “Quit that blubbering. You should like our deceased daughter.”

            Now it was Sharenth’s turn to go pale. He dropped Henry from numb fingers. “She’s dead?” he whispered.

            Mizelbeth wearily shrugged her shoulders. “Aye, lad. The horrid dragon that destroyed our castle snatched her away. She’s dead for sure.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know anyway?” Her voice went shrill. “Wait a second! You’re that pretty boy that stole our Wailie!”

            That got Henry’s attention and he stormed over to shake a fist in Sharenth’s face. “You cruel curmudgeon! Stealing our precious petunia like that! Sly scoundrel! How dare you?”

            Sharenth remained impassive as they ranted insults in his face. When they paused for breath, he flatly spoke his piece. “You idiots.”

            Without a sentence more, he pivoted on his heel and marched away, leaving the stunned monarchs behind him. “I say,” Henry stammered. “I’m the king…he can’t call me that!”

            Simmering with resentment, Sharenth picked up pace. The dragon took her so she was dead, was she? He let out a little growl. Well, wasn’t Wailie lucky that she had parents who’d go and find out? It occurred to he could use a horse to reach Fellfang quicker, so with an about face he marched back to the village for an unoccupied horse tied to a tree. The monarchs paused in their bickering long enough to stare with gaping mouths as Sharenth untied the horse, swung on it, saluted them, and rode off. Then they returned to bickering.

            The horse galloped effortlessly across the country, inspired by the fact that an elf was riding it. Throughout the ride, Sharenth’s mind worked furiously. He hadn’t asked when the dragon dropped in, so he could only hope it was recently. Every moment he’d spent with Wailie, even the unpleasant ones,  flashed through his mind. She couldn’t be dead. Not eager-to-please, wide-eyed Wailie. She had to be alive. And he would do whatever it took to save her. Until now, he hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to mean to him.

            But how to kill Fellfang? He simply wouldn’t be able to waltz in and steal her away under the dragon’s nose. Not by a long shot. But his scales seemed impervious to weapons; anyway, Sharenth wasn’t much of a warrior. To kill this dragon seemed impossible. If only he could cook up a plan in time.

            Cooking. Yes. He needed ingredients. And an oven.

            Luckily, he knew where to find both.

            Aunt Agatha was busy hanging up the laundry when Sharenth rode in. She beamed a smile his way and waved. “Well! If it isn’t the elf of few words! What can I do for you?”

            Breathlessly, he dashed over and gasped, “An oven.”

            With a puzzled look, she pushed back her bonnet. (Have you ever seen a shriveled old trolless in a flowery dress and poke bonnet? I didn’t think so.) “What for?” she asked.

            He blinked. “To cook.”

            She gave him a quizzical look, but without trying to explain, Sharenth rushed past her to into the house, a bundle tucked under one arm. Shaking her head, Agatha went back to work. Once she’d finished, she wandered into the cottage and began to dust.

            Sharenth was busy with is pie, mixing together the filling of the ingredients he’d stashed in his cloak. At the moment, he was stirring a sauce into chopped stuff with extreme energy. Agatha sidled past and dipped a finger into the bowl as Sharenth turned to grab something else. The elf turned back just in time to see the trolless raise her finger to her mouth. With a cry, Sharenth lunged forward and grabbed her hand, forcing it down just in time. “No eating!” he snapped.

            Agatha sputtered in surprise. “No need to break an old lady’s wrist, you thoughtless creature. Why if I…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at the mixture, drawing in a deep sniff. Her mouth turned down. “Shareth,” she said solemnly. “Since when did you decided to become an assassin?”

            “Very recently,” he replied.

            She cast a wary eye over the concoction as if it was going to leap out at her. “What’s in it?”

            He scribbled out the recipe on a note, and she read it aloud. “Bane berries, nightshade berries, amanita, and both poison and water hemlock.” She whistled. “That’s quite the combination. Who is this delicacy for anyway?”

            “Friend Fellfang,” he replied with a sly but grim smile.

            “I don’t know,” she said with a doleful air. “I don’t know if that pie is going to be strong enough to take out a big dragon like Fellfang.” She stumped into her pantry, then returned with a glass of purple liquid which she drizzled over the mixture. A horrid smell filled the house and Sharenth gagged. “There,” she said, popping the cork back in. “That should finish him.”

            “Thank you.”

            She sighed. “Do you really want to take this risk, Sharenth? We don’t want to lose you.”

            “Wailie’s captured.”

            Short and precise, with the effect of a thunderbolt. “Wailie?” she repeated, her body going rigid as stone. “Our pretty Wailie?”

            “The same,” he answered.

            At last the pie was baked and packaging it in a crate, Sharenth started back out. Wringing her hands, Agatha asked, “Is there anything else I can do?”

            “You’ve helped,” he assured, holding the pie up with a smile. 

             Nevertheless, Agatha was not consoled as she watched him mount the horse and ride off. She didn’t stop watching even after he had long since vanished.

To Be Continued....