Nathaniel The Beardless Fairy

Nathaniel is upset.

He sits and stares at the mirror, taking in every detail of the pretty little face looking back at him.  His perfectly smooth skin glows in the iridescent light filtering through the leafy canopy above.  His delicately curved lips are pursed to form a tiny petulant pout, and he shifts his head from side to side, examining each of his profiles with the scrutiny of the world’s most determined detective.  The object of his search eludes him and he flounces in frustration, turning from the mirror in disgust.  Flapping his delicate wings, he hovers momentarily above the stool upon which he was sitting, before floating down from his branch to where his mother is preparing food below.

‘Whatever is wrong, sweetheart?’ his mother asks, her concern evident on her elfin features.

Nathaniel merely sulks, slouching his shoulders and huffing in the direction of the floor of their tree-house.  When this gains no reaction, he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long suffering (and slightly annoying) sigh.

‘What’s the matter Nay?’ his mother continues sweetly, unperturbed by his childish display.

‘I want a beard.’ He states huffily, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.

His mother stops stirring the contents of a small acorn pot and turns to regard her son.  After a moment’s contemplation, she floats over to him and places a consoling hand on his stiff shoulder.

‘But sweetheart,’ she says softly in her sing-song voice before continuing, ‘That is not possible – we are fairy-folk.

And fairies cannot grow beards.’

 

This is not good enough for Nathaniel.  All of his life he has wanted a big bushy beard, like the dwarves.  So much can be done with a beard – he would comb it for hours, plait it, braid it – if he could grow a beard he wouldnever shave.   He would let it grow until it was bigger than him (which would not take long as he is the size of a pine-cone).  He would flap and fly around the forest, allowing all to see the magnificent manly bush of hair sprouting from his masculine cheeks.

But this will never be.

Because Nathaniel is a fairy and, try as he might, he will never grow a beard.

 

Nathaniel decides to go see the Dwarves, to see if they can help him grow a beard.

Flying through the forest at breakneck speed, he heads to the cave that leads to the network of tunnels in which the Dwarves reside.  Pausing momentarily at the entrance, his little fairy-heart beating rapidly from the exertion of flying, he gathers his nerve, such that it is, before darting inside and down into the darkness.

As his zips along, with the fairy-light that magically encircles his race illuminating the way ahead, he gaze flits this way and that, searching for a member of the subterranean tribe of miners that inhabit these veins carved through rock.

It is not long before his search bears fruit, as he sees light emanating from the end of a side tunnel.  As he approaches, he can see a squat figure seated upon a stalagmite, busily whittling a small piece of wood.  Nathaniel is almost upon the hunched form before the object of his quest raises its head and glares at him.

‘What do you want?’ states a gruff voice from beneath the most magnificent beard Nathaniel has ever seen.  It is huge – expanding in all directions – and is plaited and braided and decorated with all manner of beads and baubles.  Nathaniel is stunned for a while, but manages to gather some decorum.

‘Excuse me, but are you a dwarf?’

‘No,’ is the testy reply, ‘I’m a giant.  I’m just lost.’

Nathaniel stares a while, his innocent fairy character unused to such hostile sarcasm.

‘What do you want?’ the dwarf repeats.

‘I want to grow a beard.’ Nathaniel states meekly.

The dwarf laughs loud and hard.  The mirth changes to a coughing fit and once this subsides, the dwarf calms and returns its gaze to delicately illuminated figure hovering at eye-level in the tunnel.

‘Well, well, well.  Want to grow a beard eh boy?’ the dwarf stops, peering closer at Nathaniel through thick, bushy brows, ‘You are a boy aren’t you?’

‘Yes!’ Nathaniel replies in exasperation, performing a girlish twirl of discontent, before it is his turn to float closer to the dwarf and stare, ‘Are you a boy?’

‘No I am not!’ the dwarf answers angrily.

‘Oh my gosh!’ exclaims Nathaniel, ‘Even girl dwarves can grow beards!’

Nathaniel floats gently to the floor, completely defeated.  He begins to softly sob.

‘There there now, son, don’t be a fair…oh. Anyway, let’s see if we can get you that beard eh?’

Nathaniel immediately brightens, ‘You can?  And you will?’

‘Of course, son.  Now let’s see.  Us Dwarves have beards because it’s damn cold down in these mines.  Need to keep our faces warm, eh? So it makes sense that if you do a little work in the mines, you’ll grow a beard, huh?’

‘Yes! Of course!’ Nathaniel performs several excited loop-the-loops, ‘Let’s get started!’

The dwarf carefully stows the whittling wood and knife, before pulling herself awkwardly to her feet.  ‘Right then, let’s go to work.’

Nathaniel circles the dwarf’s head as they walk along the tunnel, singing in his sweet soprano voice, ‘I Ho, I Ho, it’s off- ’

He stops as the dwarf suddenly turns and glares at him.

‘What under earth are you doing boy?’ she demands harshly.

‘Sorry, I thought that’s what we were supposed to do.’ Nathaniel replies in a small, scared voice.

‘Pah!’ the dwarf spits, ‘Damn storytellers and they’re damn stories. Pah!’

 

The pickaxe rises and falls with a steady, unending rhythm.  Each time it strikes the rock large chunks break away and fall to the floor.  The dwarf is relentless, smashing and bashing, until the tunnel is littered with grey stone and brightly coloured gems.  Nathaniel daps around the flurry of activity, ducking and weaving to avoid the axe as it falls, diving to the floor to lift a pebble, or the smallest of rubies, before flying in a strained, erratic manner to one of the two carts further down the passage.  He has worked like this for several hours and is completely exhausted.  Convinced he has moved at least half of the mountain by now, he glances into one of the carts to see the fruits of his labour, only to find a pile of stone that would fit comfortably into a badgers paw.

The dwarf stops her incessant mining, running a sleeve across her brow.  Walking over to the carts and glancing inside, she turns an unreadable gaze on Nathaniel.

‘Good work.’ She says without emotion.

Nathaniel ignores her in his excitement and flits up, presenting to her his chin, ‘Anything?’ he asks eagerly.

The dwarf is at least polite enough to pretend to look, ‘Ah… I’m afraid not.’

‘Oh!’ Nathaniel cries, dejected.

‘It may…ahh…take a little longer than a couple of hours son.’ The dwarf says in a diplomatic tone.

Nathaniel says nothing, but merely perches on the edge of the cart and places his head in his hands.

The dwarf wants to help, she truly does, but having the little fairy with her is slowing her down and she has quotas to meet.  Every hour the fairy works with her is another hour she falls behind.  He is constantly flitting about, getting in the way, causing her to continually adjust the trajectory of her axe to avoid swatting the little twa…guy.  She’ll never make quota with him here.

‘Look son, maybe I was wrong eh?  Maybe hard work won’t make you grow a beard and there’s no sense tiring yourself for nothing eh?’ Nathaniel does not reply, so the dwarf presses on in a brighter tone, ‘Why don’t you go see the trolls eh?  They have beards- maybe they can help you grow one.’

Nathaniel raises his head, ‘The Trolls?  Really?’

‘Yes son.  They’ll help, I’m sure.’

‘Thank you!’ Nathaniel exclaims, his enthusiasm renewed, ‘I’ll go see them straight away!’

The dwarf mutters something under her breath and when Nathaniel asks her to repeat it she tries to cover herself.

‘Ahh…I said thank Duck for that.’ She doesn’t look convinced that her subterfuge will work but continues with it regardless, ‘Duck is…ahh…one of the trolls.’

‘A troll named Duck?  How odd, but okay.  Bye Dwarf.  Enjoy your beard!’ he sings as he floats off.

‘Take care son.’ The dwarf says, before turning and picking up her axe.

 

Nathaniel flies above the forest, trying to think of the best place to find a troll.  He does not know a great deal about the trollkin, but nearly every story he has heard that has involved a troll has also included a bridge, so he decides that is the best place to start.  Heading to the river, he follows it’s gently wending course until he comes across a rickety wooden construction that acts as a crossing for the human traders in the distant towns.  Floating down to the riverbank, Nathaniel peers cautiously into the gloom beneath the arches.

He is in luck.  A large form lies, seemingly inert, in the shadow cast by the bridge above.  Humanoid but oversized, the troll is grotesquely malformed, with arms that seem too long for his body and a head too big for its neck.  Its gangly frame is composed as if asleep, a state that is only contradicted by the occasional glow of a pipe bowl and the resultant plumes of smoke whirling away on the mellow breeze.  The troll is dressed in torn, grubby, loose-fitting pantaloons and a filthy vest.  Nathaniel waits for several minutes without any reaction from the slumbering form, so he floats a little closer.

‘Excuse me?’ he ventures in a timid tone, ‘Hello?’

‘Wha? Whassat?’

Nathaniel startles at the sudden movement from the troll, flying up and away from the troll’s grasping arms.  The troll rubs his eyes for what seems an age, before squinting up at Nathaniel.

‘Who you?’ he asks lazily.

‘Nathaniel.  I’ve come to see you if that’s okay.  Are you a troll?’

The troll blinks several times, ‘Yep.  Are you?’

‘No,’ Nathaniel giggles, ‘I’m a fairy.’

The troll motions with an arm as he returns to his previous position, ‘Come down, come down.  Lez sit a while.’  Settling himself the troll takes several long draws on the pipe.  He stares blankly ahead for a long time as if trying to remember something, then shakes his head and shrugs.  Looking back to Nathaniel and raising his eyebrows as if noticing him for the first time, he asks, ‘Wanna smoke?’

‘No thank you.’ Nathaniel answers, performing a deft aerial manoeuvre to avoid the troll’s fetid exhalation of breath.

‘What do you want then?’

‘I want to grow a beard.’

‘Aha!’ the troll exclaims making Nathaniel jump, ‘Good plan.  Good plan.  I’ll do the same.  Race you.’ He leans back against the arch.  Running a hand over his chin and through the matted, tangled, food-littered mess that is passing as beard, he looks back to Nathaniel and pronounces, ‘I win. Ah ah ah ah ah.’

When the troll laughs he merely opens his mouth and makes the required noises, as if exerting any more energy would be a waste.  The troll falls silent, staring off into the middle distance with an abstract look on his jumbo features.  He is quiet for some time so Nathaniel attempts to restart the conversation.

‘Um, what’s your name?’

The troll startles, ‘Wha? Whoosat? Oh it’s you again.  Name? Me name’s Duck.’

Nathaniel looks incredulous, ‘Duck? Really? What are the chances of that?’

Duck stares away again for some time, jaw moving slowly as if chewing some food, before looking back to Nathaniel and hazarding, ‘Dunno.  Four-to-one?’

Nathaniel sighs, ‘Never mind – it was rhetorical.’

Duck frowns, ‘Oooh get you, schoolboy.’

And then silence once again.

Nathaniel has a feeling it is going to be a long day.

The two of them sit in smoky silence for maybe an hour, enjoying the summers day from the shadowy seclusion beneath the bridge.  Their independent reveries are broken eventually by the sound of hooves clopping across the planks above them.  Duck suddenly stirs.

‘Hey you all right Bill?’ he shouts up to the pedestrian above.  The reply is a series of bleats.  Duck turns to Nathaniel with a half-smile on his lips, ‘He’s all right our Bill, but he can be a little gruff.’ He waits with an expectant look on his face.  When Nathaniel stares back, a slightly bemused look on his face, Duck continues, ‘Geddit.  A bit gruff. Ah ah ah ah ah.’  Nathaniel merely shrugs and Duck concedes defeat, ‘You sure you don’t wanna smoke?’

‘No thank…’

Nathaniel does not have chance to finish his reply as a huge bellow of blue-grey smoke engulfs him.  His eyes roll back in his head, his wings fold behind him and Nathaniel plummets to the ground, unconscious.

 

‘Ah ah ah ah ah.  Check you out. Ah ah ah ah.  Passed right out.  Ah ah ah ah.  You  gotta a fairy’s lungs-’ he stops, before doubling over in uncontrollable mirth, ‘You have got a fairy’s lungs! Ah ah ah ah.  Coz youse a fairy. Ah ah ah ah ah.’

Nathaniel blinks rapidly and tries not to throw up.  The world is spinning and everything is definitely not right.  He continues to try and pull the various parts of his mind back together to the soundtrack of the troll’s half-hearted laughter.

Trollweed.  Nothing stronger.

‘I need to go.’ Nathaniel says woozily.

‘Nah.  Stay a while.  You fun ah ah ah.’ Duck says.

Nathaniel has little choice – he is too high to fly at the moment anyway.  He lies back on the grass and as the nausea slowly fades it is replaced by a warm euphoria. Pleasant memories rise to greet him and he drifts off to sleep.

He is woken sometime later to the sound of splashing.  Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Nathaniel looks to the source of the sound.

Duck is stood in the river, pipe in one hand and occasionally striking at the water with the other.  Huge scoops of water are pulled from the flow with each swipe, and the waves splash down on the bank.  Nathaniel launches into the air to avoid drowning in the downpour.

‘Whatever are you doing Duck?’

‘Fishin’ is the simply stated reply.

Several swipes later a silvery form leaves the river with the water, slamming into the upright of the bridge and falling to the ground to lie still.

‘Got the bassad!’

Duck exits the water, picks up the fish and tears it in half.

‘Want some?’ he asks Nathaniel, offering a bloody gut-oozing mess in his direction.

‘Ah… no thanks.  I’m good.’

‘Okay.’ Duck shrugs, before slobbering over the meal.  Once he is done, Nathaniel notices the majority of the raw fish has joined the other detritus in the troll’s beard.

It’s all a bit much for the little fairy, who floats away a short distance to avoid being sick.  When he returns, with every intention of bidding farewell to the troll, he finds his new friend vigorously rummaging in the seat of his pants.  After a short time, Duck removes his hand and stares at his fingers.

‘Ha! I knews it!’

‘What?’ asks Nathaniel, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

‘Louse!’ says Duck triumphantly, pointing a finger at Nathaniel, under the fingernail of which he can see a bug wriggling.  Ignoring Nathaniel’s disgusted expression Duck continues, ‘I sez to Boris I had em.  He sed not.  He sed they like dirty bodies and he sed that I is clean coz I had a bath last summer,’ He leans closer to Nathaniel, as if about to share a secret, ‘but I didn’t have a bath last summer.  I only sed that coz Boris is well posh and baths every summer.  Dint want him to fink I’m a minger.’

Enough is enough for the little fairy, ‘Duck I have to go.’  Without giving the troll chance to answer, Nathaniel flies up and away off in the direction of home.

 

 

‘Nathaniel!  Wherever have you been?’ his mother cries as he floats down into their tree-house.

‘Trying to grow a beard, Mum.’ Is his weary reply.

‘Oh I see.  Well, let’s get you bathed eh?’

‘Oh yes mum!  With bubbles!’

Nathaniel has his bubblebath, washing away the day’s turmoil, and once he is clean and warm and soft, his mother leads him to his bed to tuck him in.  Snuggling down beneath the leaves, a contented smile grows on his pretty little face.

‘So dear,’ he mums says, ‘do you still want a beard?’

Nathaniel’s face contorts with exaggerated despair, ‘Oh no!  I don’t want to work hard and I certainly don’t want to be a minger!  I’m Nathaniel the Beardless Fairy and I am proud of it!’

His mother laughs and kisses his forehead.  When she looks to her son again, his face is pained.

‘What’s wrong love?’

‘I don’t feel well, mummy.’

‘Oh there sweetheart.  The apothecary is closed now.  Would you like me to call the Night Nurse?’

‘Yes please, mummy.’

She rises and walks to the door of the room.  When she looks back her son is already asleep.

 

 

© Nathan Lear 2012.  All Rights Reserved.

 

 

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