Grimm Truths: A Happy Ending (Or, a Tale Completely Spun)

 

There she goes. Riding out again.

The grandest of carriages, as always. People gathered in the streets, gazing as she goes past. All eyes upon her, just how she likes it. She’s done this for years - putting on a show for old Joe and Josephine Public. The way that they react to it, you’d think that they normally stare blankly at their cottage walls all day long. But I can’t blame them this time. This is her final performance.

After all, there’s no riding back from the land of the dead.

The people do not speak. Some cry, some wail, but they don’t speak. They solemnly watch the carriage carrying their fairytale queen – a miller’s daughter turned gold-spinning regal sensation – to her eternal bed in a marble crypt. It’s been five years since she last laid beside her husband. Now they will be reunited. Her blue eyes have closed forever.

I’m not there among the crowd, of course. I'll never be welcome back in their neck of the woods. The old lie still prevails. I, embarrassment’s exile, watch the proceedings from high up in the hills, venturing as close as I dare to the unfolding scene. 

Though I think of the lady in the black carriage, the purple velvet drapes tightly drawn against the bright sunlight as though it may wake her, the majority of my thoughts are about the young man walking behind it, dressed in an elegant outfit that is both mournful yet majestic.

To the gathered people, he is their lord and sovereign – king of the realm, and several others besides.

To me, he is “son”.

A truth he can - or will - never know. It's a secret even I would not reveal now... just so he can retain his throne, and the privileged life I could never provide.

As I behold him, a voice behind me speaks.

“I knew you’d be watching this.”

I turn. Then I smile. It is a young female figure: red hair flowing, her long white dress fluttering in the wind. A friendly grin, mirroring mine, is upon her face. Not bad for a servant of Death.

“Ailbe,” I say. “Back again, are we?”

“All part of the service. Get to know your banshee before you kick the bucket. Don’t worry, I’m just dropping by. Your time isn’t up yet. Unlike hers. The poor woman.”

“She’s with her husband again. That’s one good thing. She’ll be happy over there. On the other side.”

“Nice of you to say that,” Ailbe remarks.

“Ah, well,” I reply. “She’s the mother of my child.”

I stop. I don’t understand. How can it still hurt so much after all these years? The baby prince has become a king. He’s grown up – he doesn’t need a father now. Why miss the family you never had? What you never could have had?

But I do. Inside, I feel as cold and lifeless as the gold I once spun.

“She said your name, you know,” Ailbe whispers. “As she lay dying. I was there.”

"I'm surprised she even remembered it.”

“The courtiers dismissed it as a nightmare.”

“It probably was.”

“Oh no - not at all.”

She sighs.

“She did care for you, you know. Deep down. But marrying the prince brought her power and wealth – something her father always taught her to strive for. But you... you were her first love. Her true love, perhaps.”

I hesitate – a lump coming to my throat as I struggle to articulate my answer.

“And she was mine,” I confess - partially to myself. “I just wish she'd had the courage to...”

I draw in a sharp breath.

“Never mind,” I mutter. “It's all over now, anyway. She's dead and gone.”

Ailbe puts a hand on my shoulder – her touch ice cold upon my skin.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s walk together. We can discuss what you want to happen… when you go, I mean.”

“When will that be?” I ask.

She laughs.

“Ah, that would be telling.”

“Don’t play games with me, love. I know it’s soon. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

We walk down the hill together, heading back towards the long road to the foreign mountains that I call home. Part of me always wants to turn and go to the village where I grew up. But there’s no point. My family will have died by now, and the others will despise me. I revealed long-treasured secrets – the spinner’s alchemy. I have broken years of father-son tradition.

Now I can never be a father to my son. Perhaps that is my punishment.

I walk on, and then I notice that Ailbe has vanished. It doesn't concern me too greatly – banshees come and go all the time. I remember when she first came to me: to warn me that my time was almost finished. She asked me how I wanted to story of my life to conclude. I had only one request.

“Let it have a happy ending.”

She smiled back, and nodded her head, but has never mentioned it since. I even asked her if she could set something up with the Grim Reaper. She told me that Azrael – that’s his name, apparently – was busy at the moment, working on setting up a sideline in gardening tools… but she’d put in a good word for me.

I carry on walking down the hill. It takes a lot longer than it used to. I’m not the spry young man I used to be back when I was sneaking into palace dungeons. My pulse is racing.

More than normal, actually.

Wait… no… this can’t be right… Ailbe said…

Pain seizes my chest. Gasping for air, I tumble to the grass beneath me.

I look around for the banshee. She’s still not here.

She lied to me. That was her last visit. Very soon, I will face another banishment – one into the next world. A woman has destroyed me again. How ironic that I’m dying of a broken heart… only this time, it’s far more literal.

My body grows heavy, and my feet start to stumble over the rocky terrain. I flop down like a ragdoll – sliding helplessly down the hillside in a spray of browned plants and oozing mud.

Everything I see and hear after that is bathed in a soft, distant haze. A cry goes up from below... footsteps rushing up the hill towards me. The ever-slowing heavy beats of my heart echo in my head as I am cradled and carried by the calloused, coarse hands of the hard-working townspeople.

They take me down to the village, down towards the procession, unsure of what to do. They are good hearted – it seems that they believe even I, an utter stranger to them, do not deserve to die on a hillside, discarded and alone. A few words stand out among the low buzz of chattering voices - “doctor”, “Majesty”, “dying” - but they hold little meaning.

Then suddenly, as I look up, I spot two bright blue sapphires blinking back at me.

My mouth achingly contorts into a crumpled smile.

He has his mother's eyes.

The young king kneels down on the cobbled road, taking me into his arms beneath his ermine cloak – almost as if I were the one who was royalty. The feeling is blissful: warm and soft, like when I laid in his mother's embrace all those years ago. Like the embrace of my own loving mother – welcoming and familiar.

At long last, the exile has come home.

He rambles off a stream of questions, hoping I will respond, but I am unable to. Not merely because I am dying. Even if I were fit and well, the flood of love and happiness I feel in this moment would still rob me of my speech. Until, finally, one phrase reaches my ears – a question of which I am certain of the answer.

He asks me my name.

With my last breath, I tell him... and bring my story to a beautiful end.